ã€ŠThe Glass Mage: An Artisanal Progression Fantasyã€‹


 Chapter One: Movement is Everything

    Flames hot enough to melt steel dance in front of my face. I rotate a hollow metal rod within the orange-white glow of the furnace, ignoring the wavering air and wash of heat as I gather a ball of molten glass. Breathing in a slow, steady rhythm to keep myself calm, I spin the glass on the end of the blow pipe while I stride back to my workbench. Heart thudding and hands clammy, I nonetheless hold firm, never losing my grip. My workers are depending on the income from this commission. I¡¯m not about to let them down, so I can¡¯t afford any mistakes.

    Before I begin shaping the glass, I brace the blow pipe against the marver, leaving one hand free to tuck my unruly black curls back under my blue headband, which is already soaked with sweat. The other hand keeps the glass in endless motion, rolling it across the lustrous, smooth top of the workbench.

    Gravity is both friend and foe in the hot shop. Stop spinning for too long, and the glass will drip like melting wax down the side of a candle. Stillness causes glass to fall to the ground in a hot, useless blob. Turn the pipe vertical with the glass pointing down, however? Now gravity becomes a tool; the glass will elongate and expand as I turn, stretching into my desired shape. Movement is everything.

    Humming to myself to keep on rhythm, I take stock of the glowing gather, nodding as I come to a conclusion. The molten ball of glass needs to grow. I bite down on a carved bone mouthpiece, inhale through my nose, and blow out through a flexible tube hooked up to the back of the hollow metal blow pipe. The air forces the globe of glass at the end of the blowpipe to slowly expand like a balloon.

    A bead of sweat drips down into my eyes, making me flinch. I wag my head back and forth like a dog shaking water off its fur. The violent motion flings the stinging, salty drops of sweat out of my eyes so I can see again. I blink the final obscuring droplets away, and my gaze flickers over to a poster tacked up on the wall next to me.

    Next year, now that I¡¯m coming of age this summer, I¡¯ll finally be eligible to compete in the triennial All-Densmore Glass Making Competition. But I don¡¯t plan to just compete. I aim to win the entire thing. And to get there, I need to improve my skills.

    ¡°Time to get to work, Nuri,¡± I mutter to myself, returning my attention to the task at hand. I turn the glass as I keep blowing, growing the orb at the end of the blow pipe.

    When the glowing glass globe finally reaches the desired size, I rest the metal rod on the bench, pick up a pair of tongs, known as jacks, and poke a hole in the far side of the translucent ball. I shape the glass further, molding it to my will. Metal jacks in one hand and a graphite paddle in the other, I press and pull, flatten and twist, to modify the shape of the glass. I¡¯m using my boot to push the metal rod back and forth across the top of the workstation now, rolling it to maintain the required expansion as I work with both hands.

    My master¡¯s words echo in my mind: keep the glass moving if you want to eat.

    Chuckling at the memory of master Ember¡¯s stern but sincere warning, I force the jacks into the gap I poked earlier, teasing the opening wider with one hand while I press the inside of the globe flat. All the while, I never stop pushing and pulling with my boot to roll the blow pipe attached to the glass, which keeps the huge glass ball rotating at a steady pace. I¡¯m not going to be able to sell an ugly, misshapen lump, after all, so I have to keep the blowpipe moving to ensure that the glass is even.

    Once I¡¯m satisfied with the rough size and shape I¡¯ve created, I crack my neck and take a deep breath. I set aside the paddles and jacks, which I wield like a sculptor shaping a statue, and lean forward to examine the glass more closely. Using a smaller set of tongs, I delicately pinch and pull tiny bits of the glass, drawing them upward to create a forest of miniature spines.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I stop spinning and lift up the hollow metal pipe to balance it across twin steel bars at the workbench. They glimmer in the light of the furnace, polished to gleaming perfection by decades of metal spinning on metal. The sheen reminds me of a multi-hued oil slick on water.

    With a brief pulse of mana, I call on my first and only Skill, [Lesser Heat Manipulation]. Grimacing at the rush of power and the sudden storm of cold around me as I draw in a portion of the warmth in the room, I force myself onward. I apply the harvested heat to the very end of the pipe, where the glass has started to cool around the metal. As the temperature spikes, the glass softens. I pull the blow pipe back, twisting my wrist slightly as I move, and create a small protrusion of glass from the main ball of gathered glass.

    ¡°Kiln!¡± I call out to Ifran, the shop assistant I took on as an unpaid intern last month. He doesn¡¯t have the actual [Assistant] designation yet, but his parents are grateful that I gave him the opportunity to see if he has any chance at earning a Class. They couldn¡¯t afford to test his affinity or help him with mana harvesting practice, so they¡¯re hoping that an apprenticeship will reveal whether or not he has enough Potential to take the all-important next steps.

    I know what it¡¯s like to be young and uncertain, since I leave my teens behind next week, so I¡¯m happy to give Ifran a chance. He¡¯s a good kid who works hard so far, although his talent with glass is yet to be determined.

    The twelve-year-old boy rushes over, mopping his own brow with a rag. He hastily tucks it in his pocket and dons a pair of massive, faded brown gloves. Woven from graphite fibers that are naturally flame resistant, the gloves envelop his hands and arms, reaching up to his elbows. Since he doesn¡¯t have any Skills to manage heat in the studio yet, the sturdy gloves help keep him safe. Around the cuffs of each glove, a complex rune that further impedes heat transfer is inscribed, although I can¡¯t read it. Runes are fascinating, and I¡¯ve always been interested in learning more about them, but I lack the time to study. I have a studio to supervise.

    ¡°Bring this hedgehog body over to the kiln. I¡¯ll make the stubby little legs for our newest animal friend next,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°Yes sir, Nuri!¡± Ifran salutes awkwardly with his oversized gloves. He takes his position by the side of the workbench and cradles the glowing glass in his hands, holding it out away from his chest despite the heavy leather apron he wears for further protection in addition to the specialized gloves. He braces himself to support the weight once the hot glass falls off the end of the blow pipe, nodding at me to signal he¡¯s ready.

    I nod back. My left hand holds the metal blow pipe in place while I line up my target. I snatch up a little hammer and tap the neck where the glass is weakest, simultaneously drawing the heat from the glass so that it¡¯s cold and brittle from the precipitous drop in temperature.

    The glass breaks; the globe drops; Ifran catches it in deft hands and hollers in triumph.

    I breathe out a sigh of relief, then cheer along with Ifran, watching with a surge of pride as he trots off to gently place the glass body in the kiln, where the creation will keep warm until I¡¯m ready to attach the legs and then anneal the entire creature. He¡¯s growing up fast. I hope he earns a glass-making Class soon¡ªand more Skills than my singular ability. I wouldn¡¯t wish my hang ups on anyone.

    A niggling voice in the back of my mind reminds me that it¡¯s because I¡¯m not trying hard enough. If I can get over the fear of using the mana Skill that I have, I¡¯ll probably earn more. But what if the mana boils in my channels, burning me up from the inside out? I shudder as an ugly memory springs to my mind unbidden: my parents dying, convulsing uncontrollably in their beds as they succumb to the mana plague. It¡¯s a mental image that I can¡¯t shake, no matter how many times I¡¯ve used mana without side effects.

    Ifran bounces back over, grinning at me. His excitement pulls me back from the precipice of abyssal memories. ¡°That was awesome! What¡¯s next, boss?¡±

    His enthusiasm is infectious. I laugh and head back to the furnace to get another gather of molten glass. When I reach for the furnace door, I pause and look back over my shoulder, as though I¡¯ve just remembered something. ¡°Oh, Ifran, I was thinking. I believe you¡¯ve earned a chance to try your first project. Stay a little late today to practice once I make the rest of this plump little hedgehog. Think you can handle it?¡±

    The fervor shining in his eyes is answer enough.

 Chapter Two: Crown of Glass

    For three glorious days each week, I get to be king.

    I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp, cool air of the early dawn as I stride along the path, enjoying my morning journey across the fields and forest. I hum out a contented sigh. My glass-making talents are on loan to the Peliharaon Glass Works, our sister studio, for three out of five work days all summer long. That means that the start of the work week is now instantly my favorite. No more shadowing master Ember and assisting with tasks around the hot shop, no fulfilling boring orders for five dozen identical cups if I don¡¯t want to, and no pressure to advance my mediocre mana use.

    Instead, I¡¯ve been entrusted with the opportunity to oversee the last few [Glassworkers] at the studio, along with an elderly [Gaffer] who puts in part-time work in the glass hot shop. They¡¯re all old hands, except for Ifran. I suspect that they don¡¯t really need my direction, but they like paperwork even less than I do, so they¡¯re happy to turn admin work over to me. I appreciate the chance to run the show by myself, and I¡¯m determined to do my best to prove that I¡¯m the right choice for the job on a more permanent basis.

    ¡°My coronation awaits,¡± I call out to anyone who will listen, startling a family of marsh wrens nesting in a stand of vibrant, emerald-green bulrushes. I laugh at my own ridiculousness, reminding myself to tell Ifran about my misadventures when I get to the hot shop.

    My hot shop.

    I savor the possessive word. All of my hard work over the last year is paying off. I¡¯ve put in long hours learning the administrative side of the job and helping Ember run the glass studio. Challenging me with managing a hot shop solo is a flattering show of trust by Ember, my master in glass and the owner and proprietor of Silaraon Glass Works. She¡¯s tough and talented, strict but fair. She¡¯s looked out for me at work and meticulously taught me the trade since my parents passed. I owe her everything.

    Feeling jaunty, I snatch up a stick from amid the lush carpet of grass, brandishing it like a sword. I quick-step through a few of the forms that Ember taught me. Swinging about manfully, as though I¡¯m one of Densmore¡¯s great heroes, I strike down five or six of the dastardly bulrushes. I bellow out a war cry: ¡°For the Lion. For the Glass Forge!¡±

    My laughter rings out across the glade. Thankfully, there¡¯s no one around to hear me.

    Whooping in exultation at the fresh air and wide-open horizons, I pick up the pace to a half jog so that I¡¯ll reach my destination sooner. Work hasn¡¯t been this fun in ages. The entire world is cast in a golden glow that has more to do with the fierce shiver of joy in my heart than the soft radiance of the pre-dawn sunlight. My fortunes are on the upswing. I can feel it in my bones and marrow. Buoyed up by my happiness, I make the journey from Silaraon, the little city where I was born and raised, with a lightness to my steps, an irrepressible strut that I fear will make me float away someday.

    The best part about working in the other studio is that the [Gaffer] learned from my father before my parents passed away from the wasting mana plague. The tales the [Gaffer] tells make my heart swell with pride. My father was a virtuoso of glassmaking, to hear the stories, although I suspect they have been embellished with time. Even so, I want to be just like my father, right down to every mannerism and turn of speech.

    Self-consciously, I scratch my jaw as I walk through the town gates. I¡¯m growing out the scraggly bit of stubble on my chin that passes for a beard, just so that I¡¯ll look more like my father. Ever since the old [Gaffer] mentioned my father¡¯s beard in an offhand comment, I¡¯ve been trying to grow one of my own, but it¡¯s slow going.

    My father and I share the same thick, black curls, the same big, dancing brown eyes, and the same tawny skin, a combination that he apparently said made him look like an owl at dusk, according to a quote the [Gaffer] passed along to me. We share the same height¡ªslightly above average¡ªand vaguely athletic build. Admittedly, I still have a ways to go to pack on as much muscle as my father carried on his powerful frame.

    The only real difference is that he was deep into the ranks, well past the First Threshold, with a varied array of glass-related Skills. Me? I¡¯m still struggling along, stuck with only a single Skill that¡¯s not even glass-specific. I¡¯m afraid that if I push too hard, too fast, I¡¯ll open myself up to wasting away from mana sickness.

    Just like my dad.

    I rub my arm, suddenly cold as I approach the front door of Peliharaon Glass Works. I know it¡¯s crazy to think that I¡¯ll catch such a rare plague, but every time I ignite my Skill, [Lesser Heat Manipulation], irrational fear seizes me. The plague got my parents. Why not me, too?

    ¡°Nuri! Glad you¡¯re here. No one gets anything done without you cracking the whip,¡± the old [Gaffer] calls out in greeting, cackling with laughter. He¡¯s gone by his Class title for so long that no one remembers his name anymore. His enthusiasm melts away my morose thoughts. He shuffles over, taking his time, a snaggle-tooth smile splitting his wrinkled face with genuine warmth. He reaches out and clasps my hand.

    I grin back. ¡°Ember runs a tight outfit. Guess I take after her.¡±

    ¡°That she does,¡± the [Gaffer] agrees readily. He salutes and saunters over to his bench to get started for the day, but I follow him over to keep chatting. ¡°Well, we¡¯re glad to have you. I¡¯ll leave you to the joys of paperwork while I catch up on the orders from last week. We always fall behind when you¡¯re not directing things. Any chance we could convince Ember to release you from your own duties in Silaraon?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯ve still got to put in my dues.¡±

    ¡°Tell her that the boy you took under your wing needs you,¡± he says. He frowns and snaps his fingers. ¡°What¡¯s his name again?¡±

    ¡°Ifran,¡± I reply patiently, although I¡¯ve told him half a dozen times already.

    ¡°See?¡± he says with a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m too old. Can¡¯t recall anything, anymore. He needs a bright lad like you to teach him the craft and take him through to his Threshold.¡±

    I nod at the old [Gaffer]. His vote of confidence warms my heart. Out here, no one cares that I¡¯m technically an [Assistant Glassworker] with only one Skill to my name. My work speaks for itself, and the quality of my glass creation has earned respect for my traditional abilities. No one seems to remember I haven¡¯t surpassed the first Threshold, either.

    Or maybe the dear old [Gaffer] is so ancient that he forgot, I think with a smirk. Even that isn¡¯t enough to stop the warm flush of happiness I feel at working here.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s on the docket for today?¡± he asks me while spinning a rod, shaping the glass as instinctively as most people breathe. He¡¯s made glass wares for longer than I¡¯ve been alive, but somehow he¡¯s content to look to me for direction.

    I flash a cheeky smile at the pair of assembled [Glass Workers] that have drifted over to listen in to the conversation. ¡°Look sharp, fellows. I have it on good authority that the venerable Lord Garman is shopping around for another show piece to display at his castle. My brother Mikko told me he overheard some staggering prices bandied about when the [Chamberlain] stopped by the blacksmith shop to see about a commission. I¡¯ll bet I can convince him that his wife will be more impressed with the beauty of glass work, though, instead of the cold, hard edges of an iron sculpture.¡±

    Bijan, the elder of the two [Glass Workers], laughs at me incredulously. ¡°You''re going to steal work right out from under your brother''s nose? That¡¯s bold, even for you, Nuri.¡± He folds his arms across his chest, scowling. I wonder if he¡¯s resentful that I took his job.

    I wave Bijan off. ¡°Pfft. Mikko¡¯s got more work than he knows what to do with. Trust me, he''s drowning under the weight of all the commissions flowing in lately. ¡±

    ¡°No wonder you moved out," Ifran teases me. ¡°My big brother would kick me out, too, if I kept stealing his work.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± I protest, laughing despite myself. ¡°I¡¯d like to think I''ve got a hand in his success, by the way, since I¡¯ve shared some glass techniques with him. Besides, I¡¯m the big brother. Or, well, I¡¯m the older brother, at least. He¡¯s just a mountain of muscle, which makes him bigger, but not older. With my encouragement, he''s been able to roughly apply some of my glass-making ideas to metalworking, which gives his pieces a distinctive look. Sometimes we even do some combination work, so I certainly don''t feel too bad if we have a friendly competition over Lord Garman¡¯s coin. Besides, if I win the job, then I¡¯ll share the profits.¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    The [Gaffer] scratches his ear absently. ¡°You got something in mind, Nuri? You have the easy, confident air of a man with a plan.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve always got a plan,¡± I assure him. I lift my hands up in the air and beckon the workers closer with a crook of my fingers, as though to invite their praise. ¡°Watch and learn, my friends. I¡¯m going to be the youngest Master of glass in Densmore¡¯s history. One day, you¡¯ll tell your great grandchildren that you were there when Nuri the Resplendent crafted his first masterwork. Their eyes will grow as big as saucers, even when you tell them the story for the hundredth time. Their jaws will hit the floor when you promise that Nuri earned the title before he even hit the First Threshold. How many twenty-year-olds can make that claim?¡±

    ¡°None, because most of them have already reached the First Threshold if they¡¯re not low on Potential,¡± the [Gaffer] says, winking at me.

    ¡°I think my great-aunt makes a pill for getting in touch with your magical side, if you¡¯re having some trouble,¡± Calix, the younger and more good-natured [Glass Worker] says, snickering.

    With the utmost dignity and maturity, I stick out my tongue and make a rude noise in his general direction, which just sets him off chuckling all the harder. ¡°I have more magical ability in my pinky than you¡¯ve got in your entire body. Now get back to work!¡±

    The old [Gaffer] claps Bijan on the shoulder before he can make a sour comment. ¡°Very well, young master Nuri. Carry on.¡±

    We share a look, then I clap my hands twice, just like Ember does, signaling for them to get started on the rest of the day¡¯s projects. Idle hands are poor hands, after all.

    ¡°All right, friends, watch me make the glass sing.¡± I slip on woven-mesh gloves threaded with ceramic threads for heat resistance, crack my neck loudly, and stride toward the seething crucible. Theoretically, I could mitigate the sweltering buildup of heat by using my singular Skill, [Lesser Heat Manipulation]. The idea sends my gut churning in unease, though. The agony my parents went through before succumbing to the wasting mana plague is a stark deterrent. Even the thought of channeling mana at the moment makes me nauseated. A shiver runs through me despite the oppressive heat, but I force myself to keep moving.

    I gather a clump of molten glass on the end of the metal rod, lifting it up and turning the blow pipe to ensure that the glass doesn¡¯t clump or drip onto the floor in a gooey glob. Shining and lustrous, like amber-gold honey at sunset, the glass flows around the head of the pipe in slow, mesmerizing patterns. By the time I return to my workbench, I shrug off my momentary fears and put my confidence back on, like donning an old, comfortable coat.

    With practiced ease, I place the long metal pipe across the top of the low table, resting it on metal yokes on either end to hold it in place. I place the bottom of my boot against the pipe and roll my foot back and forth so that it turns smoothly and evenly while leaving my hands free to work. I bite down on a thin, carved bone mouthpiece connected to a flexible tube that¡¯s fastened to the back of the pipe. By blowing through the tube I can keep the glass expanding slowly while still watching what I¡¯m doing. I prefer using this method as opposed to blowing directly through the end of the pipe, because then I can¡¯t reach the glass to fashion and craft it at the same time.

    In my left hand I grip a pair of jacks, and in my right hand I wield a graphite paddle for shaping the hot glass. The jacks snag the hot glass, and I pluck at the expanding globe, twisting and pulling the glass into the desired shape. With the paddle, I press the glass flat, reining in the wild curves of the molten, distended glass globe. All my work is in service of bringing order and structure to the free-flowing possibilities of my unruly medium.

    Every few turns, I blink away the stinging sweat that drips into my eyes. The broiling heat on the furnace bathes the hot shop in sweltering, orange-white glory. I embrace the vicious heat, rising to the challenge of bending the elements to my command. Inch by inch, I turn and blow and expand and mold until a recognizable shape begins to emerge.

    Long trunk lifted up in a curve, big flappy ears, and fearsome tusks¡ªa glass elephant, the undisputed emperor of the glass plains. The fierce elephant is certainly more majestic than the hedgehog that I made the other day. For this commission, I¡¯m crafting an entire menagerie of perfect glass animals, each so real that people will swear they can hear the sounds of wildlife emanating from the collected glass beasts. Before long, I¡¯ve finished the elephant, and turn my attention to sketching the next fantastical creature on my list.

    I keep one eye on the clock, monitoring the time as I draw and iterate. As soon as the clock hand clicks over the upright position, signaling noon, I blow the whistle to announce the lunch hour. The [Gaffer] gives me a salute and a wink before retiring to the break room to eat his customary rye bread with a slice of salami.

    Idly, I wonder if Mikko can make the clockwork mechanism required to fit inside a sleek watch I can slip in my pocket. I''m moving up in the world, after all. A man ought to have a fancy timepiece, not just the huge, ungainly clock that sits on my desk at home. Portability is the wave of the future.

    After a cursory glance around the shop to make sure everything is in order for the rest of the day¡¯s activities, I snatch up my satchel and saunter out through the door. A creature of habit, I¡¯ve taken to enjoying my meal under the shade of a large oak tree. There¡¯s something charming about the way the golden sunlight filters through the leafy canopy.

    I flop down under the majestic tree and withdraw my most prized possessions: a stack of books I purchased on credit from Camdyn, the local [Book Seller]. He keeps me well supplied with fantastical stories and exciting new releases. My favorites are the classics, though, most of which are about the legendary Heroes of Densmore.

    I pull up my treasured, scarlet-painted, hardbound book, admiring the hand-done gilt lettering. With a goofy grin, I hold it up to my nose and inhale deeply to get a good sniff of the new book smell. Unlike the musty old books in Ember¡¯s bookshelf, which she keeps in the upper room above the glass studio, this book smells pristine¡ªfresh from the alchemical printers, with crisp lettering and no ink smudges on the page. Today, I¡¯m about to read my favorite tale for what¡¯s probably the tenth time, even though I just got the book. I¡¯m reading about a local hero, a great man born and bred in the Silaraon region.

    I crack open the book and find my bookmark, anticipation building. Ahh, the adventures of Tem Cytekin, [Expert Scout] and rogue mage-killer.

    =+=

    Lord Garman¡¯s [Chamberlain] is waiting for me in the front of the studio when I return from lunch break. He straightens his robe, looks down his long nose with a sigh, and gestures for me to take a scroll from him.

    I unroll the scroll and pore over the designs of what appears to be a replica of a seaside port town, full of colorful houses perched on a sheer cliffside.

    ¡°Well? Can you do it?¡± He coughs into his fist, interrupting my thoughts. Skepticism rolls off him, so thick it¡¯s almost smothering.

    ¡°I have a counter-proposal,¡± I say, caught up in a riptide of inspiration. Excitement makes me trip over my words in my rush to explain the vision in my head. ¡°Have you ever heard of the Grotto of the [Guardians]?¡±

    The [Chamberlain] nods, stroking his beard in thought. He rolls his wrist, gesturing for me to continue, which I take as a good sign. Lord Garman¡ªand, by extension, his house staff¡ªis notoriously difficult to please.

    ¡°What if I make a diorama of sorts. A cutaway of a cave, just like the Grotto, sparkling with various colors of glass that look like stalactites and stalagmites. In the center of the cave, I will install a special feature: a long-burning candle for illumination that will sparkle and glint off the various glass spikes. I¡¯ll make it as tall as your waist. Imagine that on a pedestal. You can¡¯t beat that as a display piece.¡±

    ¡°It certainly sounds . . . flashy,¡± the [Chamberlain] says, hesitation writ large on his face. ¡°I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s quite the right piece to show the decorum and discriminating taste that the Lord is so well known for.¡±

    ¡°Come. I have something to show you,¡± I reply, beckoning for him to join me in the back room. I grit my teeth and force a drop of mana into a small mage lamp ensconced halfway up the wall, instantly brightening up the dim storage space. While I wait for the [Chamberlain] to join me, since he¡¯s far too dignified to rush, I locate what I¡¯m looking for, uncap a thick paper cylinder, and withdraw a rolled-up poster sheet from within the container.

    ¡°Take a look at this. It¡¯s a light painting captured by an [Image Mage].¡± The detailed, luminescent picture depicts a massive grotto by the sea, filled with a thousand stalactites and stalagmites that look like the needlepoint teeth of a giant monster. The stone shimmers in the sun, shifting between periwinkle and vermillion.

    ¡°Beautiful,¡± the [Chamberlain] murmurs, this time reverently. He reaches out his hand, not quite touching the poster, and traces the shape of the Grotto with his index finger. ¡°I may have been overly hasty to dismiss such a sight. We expect a preliminary model by the end of next week. Do not disappoint, young glass smith, or we¡¯ll take our business elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way,¡± I assure him, and I mean it. Few things fire me up like earning respect and making a name for myself. I thrive in the face of challenges. That¡¯s why I have my eye on the All-Densmore glass competition. This commission only serves to whet my appetite for the chance to prove myself.

    The old [Gaffer] sees our esteemed guest out the door, and we get back to work. For the rest of the afternoon, all hands are on deck for the prototype project. Our first, rough-hewn iteration comes together quickly, and soon I¡¯ve finished my work for the day. A quick check with the studio clock shows that I¡¯m half an hour early, so I take the last few moments of my work day to make a mold for Ifran that will help him make simple objects. Next week, if I have time after we present the prototype to Lord Garman, I¡¯ll teach Ifran how to roll a bit of hot glass across the mold to create repeatable shapes, like little knobs for drawers or cabinets.

    For now, it¡¯s time to head home and catch up on sleep. I swagger the whole way back to my cabin. I can¡¯t help myself. Life is going well. I¡¯ve tentatively landed the biggest commission of my short career. Even my uncompromising master will be impressed by my progress when I go back to my normal work the next day. For once, the thought of slipping back into the daily grind doesn¡¯t faze me. The start of each work week may be my favorite since I¡¯m in charge, but it¡¯s also nice to be among friends and experts who can teach me.

    I whistle while I walk, admiring the sunset casting its golden glow across the rich, fertile fields of my homeland. Yep, I may as well be king.

 Chapter Three: In My Fathers Footsteps

    Prototyping the rest of the commission for Lord Garman takes the better part of my three-day work week in Peliharaon. By the end I¡¯ve finally completed the shape of the grotto. Copying all the water-carved curves and sharp angles correctly is backbreaking. I had to start over after cracking my first attempt at the spikes that will become the stalactites and stalagmites. I stay late on the third day to put the finishing touches on the whorls and sharp edges inside the grotto, only leaving the studio when I start to lose sunlight. A new idea to take the display piece to the next level pops into my mind on the way back to Silaraon.

    By the time I trudge back to my cabin in the evening, I¡¯m too tired to hike all the way to Mikko¡¯s house to spend the night like I promised his parents. They treat me like their own son, but I''m growing up. I can¡¯t always do things their way. My little cabin is hardly more than a nice hut, but I like having a place to claim as my own while I¡¯m working out of town. My adopted family¡¯s farmstead is on the opposite side of the city from the Peliharaon Glass Studio, which means I¡¯m saving over an hour of walking each direction. It''s bittersweet, renting out the cabin instead of returning to the place where I grew up over the last decade and a half since my parents passed, but it''s an essential step in my path toward adulthood.

    A note is waiting for me when I arrive, pinned to the door by an elaborately-shaped nail. My lips curl up into a smile. The intricate etching and tiny, elegant script on the sides of the nail look like one of Mikko¡¯s recent challenges. His master at the forge has been encouraging him to try finer detail work, since he usually prefers to do large scale pieces that require sturdy metals and powerful hammer blows. He is the strongest man I know, other than his father, Reijo. Hitting his First Threshold late last year propelled him to new heights; I wouldn¡¯t be terribly surprised if he could smash open a chunk of granite with one of his hammers from the forge.

    With a grunt, I work the nail back and forth, pulling it out of the door by degrees. Did he have to sink it in so deeply? I wonder as I slide the envelope off the sharp point of the nail, admiring the precise figuring. Mikko¡¯s method of improvement intrigues me, since it''s the exact opposite of what I like to do. Rather than shore up my weaknesses, I embrace my strength and avoid glass work that frustrates me or challenges me to learn new things. I can almost hear the echo of Ember¡¯s sigh rattling in my head from when I told her that I''m going to pick and choose my commissions from now on. She lets me get away with it because it''s lucrative and that helps the studio business, but she''s been encouraging me to expand my horizons and become a more well-rounded glass worker for my own sake.

    A quandary to solve tomorrow, when I¡¯m more well rested, I tell myself. I¡¯ll untangle that knot after a good night¡¯s sleep. I unfold the letter and spread it out on the bed, smoothing the creases with my open palms. I flop down on my bed belly-first, prop up my elbows, and rest my chin in my hands as I read.

    Dear Nuri,

    I know the hot gasses from the studio furnace mess with your head, but try to remember to show up tomorrow for your birthday. If you''re not here by lunch time, then I''m going to come drag you out of bed myself.

    Much love, your big brother Mikko

    ¡°Hey! He might be a bit bigger, but I''m still the older brother,¡± I mutter, chuckling at his baldface impudence. It''s not my fault the big lummox swings around a hammer all day and has more muscles than brains.

    The mental image of my brother Mikko kicking down the door, swinging me over his shoulders like a little lost lamb, and loping across the city with me shouting in protest brings a huge, crooked smile to my face. It would be just like Mikko to dump me at the family table in the place of honor for my own birthday celebration. We were always close growing up, but after his family took me in, we¡¯ve been best friends as well as adopted brothers. I can count on him for anything, no matter how outlandish.

    ¡°Better set my alarm so I don¡¯t miss the festivities,¡± I murmur, shuffling to my desk and moving aside my overflowing collection of figurines and glass prototypes until I uncover the big clockwork device that Mikko gave me as a moving-out present. I wind up the clock, setting the alarm for an hour after dawn. Usually, I¡¯m up before the sun, but I need some extra sleep after my busy week. I should still be able to get to my parent¡¯s house well before lunch, even if I take the time to shower and straighten up my woefully-neglected cabin. A slow walk to shake off the fatigue from my limbs should get me there with plenty of time to spare.

    I finish getting ready for bed with a warm glow of contentment in my heart. It¡¯s nice to know I¡¯m still loved, even after I moved out on my own. I drift asleep and, for the first time in years, dream of my father¡ªand the terrifying void of his absence.

    My only memories of my father are all haze and heat. I can never recall his face, only his back. The curve of his cheekbones, the prominence of his nose, the color of his eyes¡ªthese details are mysteries lost to the treacherous tides of time.

    Swathed in shadows, the glasswork studio also loses definition in the murky depths of memory. In reality, I know every burn mark on the treated hardwood floor, every knot in the paneling on the walls, and every patch of peeling paint on the once-blue, now-blackened ceiling. In my mind¡¯s eye, however, the space is half-formed and hollow, as though something has eaten the meat and left me nothing but bones. They are my only memories of the man; no matter how much I furrow my brow and squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to delve the depths of my mind for more domestic scenes or familial comforts, I see nothing else.

    The caricature of my father plays out in my mind. Steady and relaxed, he settles into a wide-set stance as he waits for the glass to hit the perfect temperature and consistency. He is unmoving except for his strong hands, which ceaselessly turn the metal rod with almost reverent devotion. ¡°There¡¯s only one sin in the glassworks,¡± he told me once in his amused basso rumble. He always sounded like he was enjoying a private joke. I suppose I¡¯ll never know the punchline now. ¡°All else may be forgiven, but never let the glass grow still.¡±

    Those are the only words I actually remember from him.

    The cherry-red glow of molten glass within the crucible pierces through the leaden gloom, illuminating the artisan in action. Indomitable, his backlit silhouette wreathed in flickering flames, he dominates my memories like a hero out of myth. His broad shoulders make him look more like a seasoned warrior than a crafter. As a child, his strength comforted me; as a man, I feel inadequate measured against the memories I carry of him. All the same, I¡¯m glad for their familiar warmth.

    In this shadow world of times gone by, I huddle in the far corner of the glassworks, away from the terrible, torrid reach of the furnace. A deep, bone-rattling thrum of bellows shakes my chest like an earthquake, and my little body trembles in anticipation of the light show about to explode inside the shadowed workshop once the charging begins. Emberlin, the head glass smith, claps twice to warn us that she¡¯s about to ignite her Skills to accelerate the fuel and prep the batch. [Burn], she commands the furnace, and the entire world obeys.

    Even now, my skin crawls and itches with the specter of my oldest memories: the hungry, preternatural flames licking up the charcoal in an instant before seeking something more to devour. Wood, oxygen, or, perhaps, that greatest delicacy of all, lifeblood, should a careless boy venture too close¡ªincinerating everything without prejudice, seeking simply to consume and grow, burning without end.

    I wake feeling groggy and missing my parents more than ever. Skipping breakfast, since I know Kirsi prepared a huge feast, I hurry across town to my adopted family''s house so I don''t miss my own birthday celebration.

    =+=

    ¡°Happy Birthday, Nuri!¡±

    The chorus of cheers and celebration catches me off guard. I almost stumble on my way through the doorway, righting myself at the last minute by grabbing onto the huge, carved oak door frame and stabilizing my balance. Half the shop workers are here, along with a few of my acquaintances from the local pub, to wish me well as I come of age.

    Honeyed flatbread and curried goat fill the platters on the table, while candied nuts and sliced oranges await for dessert. Scented candles burn cheerily all around the house, despite the sunlight through the windows. Everything feels warm and welcoming, and it¡¯s all for me.

    I spread my arms wide, grinning as I take in the festivities. ¡°Thank you all for coming. I¡¯m glad to have the privilege of celebrating with such fine folks. Let¡¯s eat!¡±

    More cheers meet my declaration.

    ¡°Look at you all grown up.¡± Kirsi, my adoptive mother, sweeps across the room to engulf me in a warm hug. ¡°I let you out of my sight for a few weeks, and you filled out, grew a beard, and took over a new job. What happened to my little boy?¡± She makes a show of wiping away a pretend tear.

    ¡°Wait until you see what the next few weeks bring,¡± I reply, waggling my eyebrows. She laughed freely, and I plant a kiss on her cheek.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Nuri, I hear good things from the [Gaffer] in Peliharaon,¡° Reijo says, clapping me on the shoulder. ¡°He says that you take to administration like a fish in water.¡°

    Mikko sneaks up and elbows me in the ribs while I''m half distracted greeting our father. He flings an arm around my shoulder. ¡°Fish in water? Isn¡¯t that just a fancy way of saying that Nuri likes bossing people around as much as a pig likes mud?¡±

    ¡°Hey, nothing wrong with pigs. They''re kind, highly intelligent, and loyal creatures,¡± my coworker Lionel interjects. He salutes me and then holds out his hand. We clasp forearms in greeting, like we''re old-fashioned heroes instead of modern men who just shake hands the way normal people do. Lio, Mikko, and I have built up a reputation over the years as mischievous partners in crime, but Lio and I were always the true troublemakers, while Mikko just went along with whatever craziness we found ourselves mired in.

    ¡°Ah, I see my mistake,¡± Mikko says, his peals of laughter ringing out with the deep, sonorous tones of a struck bell. ¡°Kind and highly intelligent sounds nothing like Nuri¡ªthough he''s surprisingly loyal when he¡¯s not stealing work from me. I¡¯ll give him that.¡±

    ¡°Indeed I am,¡± I announce grandly, planting my feet wide and pressing my fists into my hips. I puff up my chest and jut out my chin. ¡°I¡¯m so loyal, in fact, that I¡¯m hiring you to help with Lord Garman''s commission.¡±

    ¡°You mean the one you swiped right out from under my nose?¡± Mikko says with another round of raucous, joyful laughter. ¡°Yes, I can see how that''s a good example of your outstanding loyalty.¡±

    I snicker. ¡°I¡¯d never dream of leaving my own brother in the lurch. How¡¯d you like to make some gears for me? Maybe it will fund our ongoing search for an affordable [Enchanter]. Or maybe we¡¯ll make it rich and we won¡¯t need to worry about the cost at all anymore.¡±

    Mikko brightens at the suggestion. ¡°I do want to complete the Iron Lunk sometime this year. You¡¯re probably charging three times what I could, anyway, so I guess it works out. Don¡¯t forget who tipped you off in the first place, though. You still owe me.¡±

    Dad drifts off, shaking his head at our shameless banter. The room is full of laughter and the susurrus of half a dozen overlapping conversations, and I bask in the warmth. My friends, family, and closest coworkers are here on my behalf, and that makes me feel exceptionally good today. I glance around again, taking a quick inventory of the guests, and amend my statement. Everyone¡¯s here except for the Linas, as we call the twin sisters who are the stars of the glass studio. I hail my master, Emberlin, and inquire about the missing twins, Avelina and Melina.

    She gives me a withering look. ¡°Do you think because it¡¯s your birthday, I¡¯m going to stop all projects and announce a paid holiday? Do I look like I¡¯m in the habit of losing money just so we can celebrate the anniversary of when you wiggled your way into the world as a crying little baby? Someone has to take charge of the shop. Melina is a natural choice.¡±

    ¡°Yep. She has a good head on her shoulders,¡± I say, grinning at Ember¡¯s brusque nature. That¡¯s just how she shows that she cares. The gruffer she seems, the more she likes you.

    ¡°Melina knows how to keep things running exactly the way I like,¡± Ember says after an awkward pause. A vein in her forehead pulses, standing out as her jaw clenches. ¡°I¡¯ll switch with her in an hour so that she can pay her respects. And I suppose that it¡¯s only fair that I also give Avelina time off. But no further concessions. Lionel is already here as it is.¡±

    I grin at her discomfort. ¡°Thank you, O most gracious master. It was kind of you to come. I know how much you hate social obligations. I¡¯m glad Melina could step in while you¡¯re gone. A good second in command is valuable.¡±

    Ember¡¯s voice goes soft for a brief moment. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t miss this, Nuri. You¡¯re important to us. I¡¯m proud of how you¡¯ve grown.¡±

    I hug her impulsively. Her muscles stiffen, but she reluctantly returns the embrace and pats my shoulder twice before disengaging.

    Then the moment passes, and she straightens, coughing into her fist. ¡°I heard you hired a helper.¡± Ember¡¯s typical clipped, flat tones are back. For a moment, I think she''s going to scold me for making a personnel move without her input, but she inclines her head a fraction of an inch to signal her approval. ¡°I''m glad to see my lessons about delegation and training didn''t fly over your head, Nuri. Nonetheless, I''ll need to come in person and audit the books¡ªparticularly now that you have an assistant on the payroll.¡±

    I grin slyly. ¡°In that case, why don''t you lend me a Skill to help finish the commission I just landed? I think I can convince Lord Garman to pay extra for a glasswork sun hovering over the grotto. Imagine the sun burning with heat as it rises and sets, moving across the vault of the sky. Just think how beautiful the glowing glass will look when it illuminates the Grotto of the [Guardians]!¡±

    Ember snorts. ¡°You want me to use [Embered Heart] so you can charge a premium.¡±

    ¡°Naturally. Passing up this chance would be downright negligent.¡±

    Her eyes narrow and her lips press flat. She stands at attention, shoulders lifted and strong like a [Soldier]. All of her lines are square and solid. For a moment, I think she¡¯s going to say no, but at last she gives me a curt nod, and I break into a grin. ¡°Their studio could use the cash infusion to stay afloat. I accept.¡±

    I pump my fist in triumph. Two collaborators secured. Halfway there. ¡°Now I just need to ask Mel to make me a star chart, or presume upon one of the Silaraon City Academy students to secure a copy for me. I¡¯ll get a [Woodworker] to make a display table, too, and then I can double my already sky-high price!¡±

    ¡°I look forward to my cut,¡± Ember says, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make it up to you, Ember. I swear,¡± I say earnestly, smacking my fist into my open palm.

    ¡°Don¡¯t make promises you can¡¯t keep, Nuri. Particularly not to your boss.¡±

    ¡°Reijo! Don¡¯t scare me like that,¡± I shout in protest as I spin toward my adopted father. ¡°I didn¡¯t even see you come back.¡± I wrap an arm around his shoulders and squeeze as hard as I can; petty revenge for making me jump. It¡¯s still not enough to budge his sturdy frame. I can see where Mikko gets his muscles. ¡°Always with the life advice.¡±

    ¡°Always,¡± he rumbles in agreement, tousling my hair like he did when I was little. ¡°That¡¯s my job, Nuri, even though you¡¯re moved out now and working for a local Lord. Well done. Keep making us proud.¡±

    ¡°Will do. It¡¯s in my blood,¡± I answer with a wink.

    He chuckles. ¡°You have an advantage, after all. Not one, but two, excellent families. By blood and by choice.¡±

    ¡°Stop embarrassing the poor man,¡± Mikko says, nudging me with his elbow. The gentle nudge almost topples me, and I hold in a grunt. ¡°We''re not children anymore, Da. Hey, speaking of, any big plans now that you¡¯re a full-grown man, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°Nah, not really,¡± I reply reflexively, although I enjoy running a shop on my own. I hope that position becomes more permanent soon. ¡°Well, I still want to see more of Densmore and maybe have an adventure or three. Nothing too major.¡±

    Mikko nods sagely, then hands me a mug frothing with mead. He calls for attention in his booming, boisterous voice, hushing the pleasant conversations around us. ¡°Everyone, grab a glass and raise it high. Let¡¯s celebrate the best brother a man could ask for.¡± He clinks his cup against my mug, and shouts, ¡°To a lifetime of adventure!¡±

    I drain the mug, reveling in the sweet, smooth burn of the honey mead as it trickles down my throat. A roar of approval from my gathered friends and family practically shakes the house¡¯s foundations, and the festivities begin in earnest.

    =+=

    The infamous Linas finally arrive just as the food and drink starts winding down, and the raucous celebration begins to fade into something mellower but more pleasant. Melina pulls me into a quick hug, then claps to get everyone''s attention.

    She leads me to the center of the family room and makes me stand in front of the whole crowd with my eyes closed. Scattered whispers and soft laughter surrounds me. I fight off the urge to peek, although I¡¯m dying of curiosity. This kind of theatrics is unusual for Melina, who is usually the mature, responsible one of the bunch.

    The patter of hurried footsteps reaches my ears, followed by a clank and the rustle of fabric. Frantic whispers bounce around, then cut. I am more confused than ever.

    Melina¡¯s excited voice rings out. ¡°All right, open your eyes!¡±

    A wooden easel stands in front of me, with a group picture of glass makers in a hot shop. One of them looks like a younger version of the venerable old [Gaffer] in the Peliharaon Glass Works, and I¡¯m fairly certain it¡¯s actually him, but I can''t place the other workers. They''re clustered standing around an imposing figure in the center. He looks like me with a beard, although older and more heavily muscled. His stern eyes radiate pride and confidence.

    ¡°I certainly hope I look that dashing when I¡¯m older,¡± I joke while I try to place the scene in my mind, coming up empty when I try to find the right words to tell Melina thank you.

    Avelina snorts, drawing my attention to her. She''s tapping her foot impatiently, her arms crossed as she glares at me. She rolls her eyes at her sister, and then bursts out laughing at my confused expression. ¡°I told you that he wouldn''t get it. You better pay up this time, sis.¡±

    ¡°Glad I could be the subject of another bet. I hope Ava doesn¡¯t bankrupt you, Mel,¡± I tease Melina.

    ¡°Someone has to support her expensive hobbies, since you know she can¡¯t be bothered to earn it herself. Consider this my charity,¡± Melina shoots back, winking at her twin sister. ¡°But that¡¯s not the point! Nuri, don¡¯t you know who that is?¡±

    The unusual level of excitement in Melina¡¯s voice prompts me to look again with a more discerning eye. I shuffle closer, peering at the grizzled man in the portrait who looks strikingly similar to me. Something about his bearing tugs at my memory. He stands tall and strong, feet planted wide as though he owns the world. His hands appear ready for action, and his powerful shoulders and arms tell the tale of a man of action. Adorning his chest is a simple crest that marks him as an honorably retired member of the Densmore Royal Army. At his side, twin crystalized swords are strapped to his wide leather belt.

    A shock of realization jolts through me. Those are my father¡¯s swords, Hellfire and Brimstone!

    I whirl around to stare at the twins, who are grinning at me now like a pair of smug alley cats on their home turf. Lionel and Mikko saunter over to join them, both of them smiling so hard I¡¯m amazed that their jaws don''t fall right off. My four closest friends stand side by side, their arms linked together, and beam at me. I¡¯ve never been so happy in my life.

    ¡°Where did you find this?¡± I ask softly, tears welling up in my eyes. I blink them back, but my jaw clenches as I consider just how princely a gift I¡¯ve received. ¡°Thank you all,¡± I say again, struggling to speak under the weight of the emotions. ¡°This is the first time I¡¯ve seen my father¡¯s face in over fifteen years.¡±

 Chapter Four: Ambush

    Flush with happiness after my birthday, and still riding the crest of the wave from winning the commission for Lord Garman, I approach Ember early in my next shift.

    Her raised brows don¡¯t put me off; I¡¯m not above begging to get my way. I clear my throat and give her what I hope is a winning smile. ¡°I need extra time in the Peliharaon studio to fulfill the Lord¡¯s increasingly extravagant order. With you and Mikko to help, it will be the finest work I¡¯ve ever put out, but I can¡¯t do a rush job.¡±

    Her eyes spark. ¡°Of course not. I understand you¡¯ll need to forgo your responsibilities here, so I¡¯ll hold your pay while you¡¯re busy.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not exactly what I had in mind,¡± I start to protest, but I stop when I see just how amused Ember is at my reaction.

    ¡°Would you rather I grumble about losing your talents for the second half of the week, and not let you go? This commission is valuable, and you¡¯ll come out ahead in the long run. But I can¡¯t pay you for work you don¡¯t do.¡±

    I nod slowly as I consider her words. Honestly, I think part of her is proud that I¡¯ve earned such a respectable client, and she makes a good point that it¡¯s not fair to get paid when I¡¯m not contributing to the studio here in Silaraon.

    ¡°Are you still coming along?¡± I ask, nervous that she¡¯s changed her mind. ¡°I could really use your help with the glass sun.¡±

    ¡°Fine. On one condition: you help us catch up on a few menial tasks first. If we¡¯re both gone, then I need some of the mindless tasks done and the books set in order.¡±

    ¡°Deal!¡±

    While I¡¯m still in Silaraon, I rush around the glass studio, sweeping up and straightening, sorting glass and organizing flux and filler. I color coordinate bits of glass fritz, mix up several new batches of glass ready to be blown, and check the tubing on all the blow pipes to ensure that there are no leaks or cracks that will prevent consistent air flow. Technically, I could make an [Apprentice] handle it, but I¡¯m faster and more skilled. No sense leaving this in the hands of amateurs, after all.

    After I¡¯m done with the inspections, I help Lionel pull cane in the wings of the studio, just off the side of the hot shop. Pulling cane is simple in concept, just stretching hot glass into long, thin rods, but it requires a steady hand, patience, and attention to detail. While Lionel and I are self-professed rapscallions outside of work, we take our job seriously when it¡¯s time to make things. We settle into a comfortable rhythm as we go about the familiar task, working side by side like we have for years. At times like this, I wonder why I feel such recalcitrance to stay here for a lifetime. Why do I always get the urge to see new places and experience the thrill of adventure for myself? Why can¡¯t I be content?

    ¡°Pining after someone back in Peliharaon, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°I wish! It¡¯s all glass and paperwork when I¡¯m there. No time for fun,¡± I reply, scrunching up my nose.

    He snickers. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have believed you if you¡¯d said yes, anyway.¡±

    I stick my tongue out, but Lio¡¯s teasing always grounds me when I¡¯m feeling down or my mind starts to drift. Soon, we¡¯re chatting and laughing while we work. I let my stormy thoughts dissipate under the burnished-bronze glow of good friends and hard work.

    My responsibilities finally discharged, I head back to the little cabin I¡¯m renting and grab a knapsack with supplies for the day.

    As expected, Ember is waiting for me outside when I¡¯m done, already looking impatient. She has a full-sized backpack on that puts my knapsack to shame. A long knife is strapped to her hip, the deadly, triangular point reaching down to her knee. It¡¯s the most martial I¡¯ve seen her in a long time. In an instant, an image of the heroic soldier appears, superimposed over the creative yet strict and bookish administrator that I¡¯ve grown used to in the studio.

    ¡°Stir your stumps, Nuri. It''s time I teach you what a forced march really looks like.¡± She winks at me and then stomps off at a surprisingly fast clip, never once looking back to check if I''m following. She knows I won¡¯t back down from the challenge, no matter how wide the gulf between us might be. She¡¯s deep into the next rank, while I''m still struggling to reach my first Threshold, and she has decades of experience with the army to fall back on.

    Twenty minutes later, we¡¯re most of the way there. I¡¯m out of breath and clutching at my side, sure that the cramp is going to be the death of me. The walk usually takes me a little over an hour, and that¡¯s at a brisk pace. I need to start working on my conditioning.

    Ember holds up a hand, halting abruptly as we reach a thick band of old growth trees. She sniffs, peering through the gloom at something I can¡¯t see. ¡°I¡¯ll catch up shortly, Nuri. Not often that I get a chance to pick wild ginseng root. It will sell well in the market¡ªperhaps this trip will be profitable, after all.¡±

    A rare smile on her face, Ember glides into the woods soundlessly, soon disappearing into the underbrush like a specter.

    One day, I¡¯m going to move like a ghost, I vow to myself as I watch her with a mixture of envy and awe. She might not be one of the great champions of Densmore, but she¡¯s always been a hero in my book. Aside from teaching me the foundations of glass making after my father passed, she¡¯s also drilled into me the rudimentary skills necessary for defending myself. While she always insists that I have to promise not to join the Army or run off and become an adventurer like my father did before settling down, she¡¯s made sure that I can more or less hold my own.

    My head full of dreams about a more glorious future, I press forward through the woods, eager to reach the studio and show off the progress we''ve made. Sunlight filters through the leaves, dabbling the ground with leafy patterns, and the gentle breeze carries a floral scent that I find oddly relaxing. I should spend more time in the woods.

    I¡¯m so wrapped up in enjoying the beauty of nature that I don¡¯t notice the ambush until it''s almost too late.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Flashing claws catch the sunlight right in front of my face. The reflection saves my life as a jolt of fear and excitement shoots through me. I scream and lurch sideways on instinct, avoiding the worst of the blow as the very tips of the claws rake the side of my face. Agony erupts across my cheeks. Hot blood paints my face. I fling myself to the ground, rolling behind a tree to avoid the snapping jaws that seek my throat.

    Shadow Jaguar!

    A distant part of me is pleased with my presence of mind to identify the threat and take evasive action. My thoughts haven¡¯t devolved into gibbering fear, and I am already back on my feet and dodging behind another tree. It¡¯s only bronze-ranked. I can do this.

    Before I can crow in triumph, I need to survive.

    Roaring out a wordless war cry, I snatch up a fallen branch as thick as my wrist and swing for the jaguar. Pouring as much mana as I can into my singular Skill, I ignite the walking stick only a heartbeat before the gnarled end of the hardwood smashes into the big cat¡¯s face, knocking out a long, pointed tooth.

    A frantic yowl of pain rewards me for my efforts. The cat recoils, its spine arching and its silky black fur bunching and bristling. Sparks of fire smolder on its whiskers where I hit it in the face, but it shakes its head to try to dislodge the burning embers and hisses, spitting in anger and readying itself for another attack.

    Keeping the tempo advantage, I lunge forward with a double-handed overhead strike, slamming my makeshift staff against the Jaguar¡¯s skull. Its head twists to the side sharply, but it keeps its footing and gathers itself for a powerful leap.

    Acting purely on instinct, I fall back into a defensive guard, my feet wide and planted in the dirt. I angle the stick across my chest to protect my vitals and meet the fury of claw and fang with a bellowing shout of defiance. Its claws dig deep into the stick, nearly wrenching it from my grasp, But I twist and push hard enough to shunt its momentum to the side.

    The force of the predator¡¯s pounce knocks me on the ground, and as I scramble to catch my bearings, I lose sight of the obsidian-furred cat. My heart thuds against my ribs. Fear spikes through me. An unmanly shriek echoes through the clearing a second later as its fangs sink into the meaty part of my shoulder.

    My Skill flares to life, radiating heat into the hungry predator¡¯s twisted face. Its lips sizzle in the blistering heat, and it releases me, flinches away as it howls in pain and anger. I jam the end of the branch into its mouth, reversing the flow of my [Lesser Heat Manipulation] and freezing its jaws shut around the wood. A sharp kick from my boots sends it stumbling backward, and I drop the stick and flee through the trees toward an open field a short ways ahead.

    Furious growls follow my mad-dash escape, but a quick glance over my shoulder proves that the jaguar can¡¯t run properly with the big branch affixed to its face. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s alone or not, however, so I push onward with every last drop of energy I can muster.

    Sunlight washes over me a few heartbeats later as I break free of the dense woodlands and stumble into a nearby [Farmer]¡¯s field. A pair of workers look up from where they¡¯re hoeing in the furrows, digging weeds up from the dirt. Their startled, perplexed looks transform into fear and alarm a moment later when another jaguar emerges from the trees, screaming a triumphant hunting call.

    ¡°Sound the alarm!¡± I yell, stumbling toward the two and stating the obvious.

    To my surprise, instead of signaling their superiors or coming to my aid, they drop their hoes and take off sprinting. The movement triggers some primal, predatorial instinct in the big cat, and it springs into action. Its long, loping stride eats up the ground, and I barely have time to try to push my Skill past its limits to burn its feet while it¡¯s still within my range.

    The burning flash of heat makes it jump, skipping sideways and tossing its head to and fro in confusion. Enraged at my meddling, it switches targets, charging toward me with savage violence and preternatural intelligence gleaming in its eyes.

    Incoherent screams rip from my throat as it launches itself at me. I drop and roll under its claws, wishing I still had my staff, and cling to the hope that Ember will arrive before it¡¯s too late, but I¡¯m not sure if she can hear me, let alone save me.

    A whistle sounds out, high and thin. The jaguar flinches, spinning around and crouching in preparation for action. Eyes as black as the abyss dart in every direction, looking for the threat. A heavy thud follows a split second later, and my mind takes time to catch up to what my eyes just witnessed. The jaguar is no longer in front of me, and I spin in place, searching frantically to find my attacker. There! The predator is pinned to the ground twenty feet to the side, leaving a trail of battered, flattened vegetation in its wake. A thick branch, twice the size of the one I¡¯d picked up to fight off the first jaguar, juts out of the big cat¡¯s rib cage. It came hurtling through the air faster than I could follow, slamming into the creature with the force of a runaway ox cart.

    Ember sprints into view, breaking out of the treeline with flames gathered around her fists and a halo of darkness around her head. She dashes up to me, her face contorted in terror, and flings herself to her knees by my side. Fingers fumbling at her pack, she croons to me gently like a mother soothing her upset child.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move, Nuri. I¡¯ll bind you up. You¡¯ll be good in no time; their poison is too low-level to resist this general antidote,¡± Ember says, her voice soft and gentle as she daubs my cuts with antiseptic. Her strong hands pin me in place so I can¡¯t squirm when the medicinal salve smears across my open wounds. ¡°Good work on the first jaguar; I dispatched him on the way to find you. Freezing the stick into its mouth was smart. Probably the only thing that kept you alive.¡±

    She keeps up a steady stream of speech, which is surprising for her. I wonder if it¡¯s to distract me from the severity of my injuries and keep me from worrying about the pain from the bites and scratches. If so, it¡¯s working. I¡¯m thankful for her efforts on my behalf.

    ¡°What would I do without you?¡± I say in a fierce half whisper, still too jittery from my near brush with death to find the strength to speak any louder. I clutch Ember¡¯s strong hand in my own, smiling up at her gratefully.

    ¡°You¡¯d figure something out. You¡¯re a tough kid,¡± Ember grunts. She shakes her head, lips pursed. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t call you that anymore, I guess. You¡¯re a man now. Stood and fought, didn¡¯t die. Proud of you.¡±

    The praise warms me. Ember is my rock. Reliable and looking out for me, just like always. I owe her my life, although I already did before today. Without her, I would have nothing to my name; no hope, no future, no skills or trade to support myself.

    ¡°The [Farmers] ran off,¡± I say, struggling to my feet despite her efforts to keep me in place. ¡°They have no chance if there are other monsters around. If we don¡¯t help, then who will?¡±

    Ember growls in righteous indignation. ¡°Monsters like that shouldn''t be allowed to flourish so close to the city walls. The watch will keep them out of Silaraon, not to mention the mana barrier repels them, but Peliharaon has no such defenses.¡±

    I nod sharply. ¡°Then let¡¯s go. Pull out that branch you used to skewer the jaguar, and I¡¯ll lean on it like a walking stick. If nothing else, I can try to freeze them and slow them down for you to butcher.¡±

    Ember regards me shrewdly, but aside from a subtle tightening of the small muscles around her eyes, she doesn¡¯t gainsay me. A fast step and a single bound brings her to the cat¡¯s side, and she wrenches the branch free with a jerk of her hand. ¡°Keep your eyes open. I¡¯ll likely need to run on ahead to get there in time to save people. Be smart, hear me? Don¡¯t force me to choose between them or you; I don¡¯t need their blood on my conscience.¡±

 Chapter Five: Reckoning

    Pride and envy burn side by side in my chest as I watch Ember sprint toward danger to hunt down monsters and seek glory. She springs into action, ghosting down the dirt trail like a bolt of lightning. If I squint, I can almost imagine she left an afterimage in the air.

    I follow as quickly as I can, but more cautiously than before, keeping an eye on my surroundings so I''m not ambushed again. My mana swirls eagerly at my call, my [Lesser Heat Manipulation] primed and ready for use. The energy circulates throughout my body with unusual ease, as though the barrier that¡¯s always prevented me from embracing magic is gone.

    Perhaps it is. There''s no sense in letting my fear of death keep me from living.

    Thankfully, the terrain between the forests and the glass works studio is relatively flat¡ªall rolling grasslands and parceled-off farmland¡ªand some roads which are paved over to facilitate commercial traffic. A few mansions dot the otherwise bland landscape, set back from the road and hidden from the common rabble by rows of flowering bushes and stately trees.

    Up ahead, beyond my limited visibility on this fine, misty morning, the screams from the attacking monsters intensify. The faint answering cries of the harried town folk transform my earnest resolve into steely conviction. I may lack the required conditioning for long distance running, but I¡¯m not a weakling. Or a coward. I lift the stick Ember gave me, resting it over my shoulder, and resume running, albeit at a slower pace as I try to ignore the stabbing pain in my shoulder from where the first jaguar bit me.

    If they''re a Bronze-ranked threat, then I hope that I never run into a Silver monster. Not this side of the First Threshold, at any rate.

    Pushing through the discomfort, I break through the thinning fog at last and catch my first glimpse of the carnage that the mana-empowered beasts are wreaking upon the sleepy hamlet of Peliharaon.

    A few minutes later, I approach the gates of Peliharaon, sick with worry over what I might find. I pray that my friends at the glass studio are all unharmed, though that seems selfish. Do the other people not matter just because I don¡¯t know them? I scoff, put the ridiculous thoughts aside, and make my way to the studio. The workers should all be there by now, waiting for me.

    I rap my knuckles against the door. The rusty protest of the deadbolt, stiff and squeaking from age, sounds out from inside. Once drawn, the old [Gaffer] creaks open the door a few inches, as far as it can go before the safety chain catches. His rheumy eye peers through the crack. ¡°Crazy times, Nuri! Get inside. Monsters on the streets.¡±

    ¡°I know. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. Stay safe, and don¡¯t let Ifran out. Ember is slaughtering the monsters in droves. She¡¯ll take care of everything.¡±

    The old [Gaffer] snorts; the sound is unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. ¡°You¡¯re going to help her, aren¡¯t you? Just like your father. Let her do the heavy lifting, you hear? Come back to us in one piece.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± I promise. I turn to go, then spin back on my heel awkwardly. ¡°Give me our biggest metal punty, the one we use for our oversized commissions. I don¡¯t have anything sturdier than this stick, and I¡¯m more used to glass-making tools, anyway.¡±

    He sighs, fiddles with the chain, and opens the door. ¡°Too bad you don''t have your father''s swords. Come on in and get what you need.¡±

    I grunt in agreement about the swords. I dart inside and throw on the heaviest leather apron I can find. It¡¯s not much, as far as armor goes, but it¡¯s better than nothing. I pick up the punty I was looking for, hefting the thick, sturdy metal rod in my hands and frowning at its relatively short reach. A spear would make me feel safer. ¡°This will have to do the trick.¡±

    Screams and snarls from a few blocks over reach my ears, and I jog back toward the door. The old [Gaffer] meets my gaze as I go, giving me a mournful look, but he doesn¡¯t try to stop me. His hunched form disappears from view as I dash away, though from the corner of my eye I catch sight of him waving farewell. I hope this isn¡¯t a permanent parting. My heartbeat speeds up at that terrifying thought. But I have to do what I can against the threat. People are in danger, and the Silaraon watch isn''t around.

    Two streets later, my heroic sprint is an undignified hobble. My left hamstring cramps up; I can¡¯t seem to stretch it out or loosen up the muscle, but I don¡¯t have time to stop. I lean on my makeshift weapon as I walk closer to the cries, eyeing the crusty bits of dried glass covered in caked-on mud from using the metal rod as a walking stick. I¡¯m a delicate artist, not some brute [Warrior], but there¡¯s no one else backing up Ember, so I¡¯m committed to the battle.

    I skid to a stop and survey the invading pack. Each Shadow Jaguar is almost the size of a small pony, but they move with the grace and rapidity of house cats. The predators leap up to low rooftops without needing to crouch or gather themselves. Their muscular bodies ripple and twitch under glossy, sable fur, propelling them past fleeing civilians. Chaos unfolds all around me, and my untrained eyes strain to follow the carnage. Three of the creatures surround a young family, roaring with gaping jaws and long, yellowed teeth.

    Like a spark leaping free from the furnace, Ember flashes down from a nearby house to interpose herself between the Shadow Jaguars and a mother cradling a small child in her arms. Ember¡¯s dagger gleams in her hands, wreathed in dark fire, and she skewers the first monster through the skull before it can respond to her threat. Two more slashes across the throat of each big cat, and the dangerous predators are eliminated as the jaguars bleed out. Three beasts dead in the blink of an eye. How?

    I lift my hand to hail her, but she¡¯s already in motion, blurring toward the next group of interlopers. I''ve never heard of them traveling in such a large pack before.

    I jog toward the family to see if they still need help, ignoring the cramp in my leg in my eagerness to be useful. The father nods at me gratefully, but doesn¡¯t say much. He¡¯s too busy herding the children toward steps cut into the stone street. Underneath the dark, low archway, the stairway entrance is covered by a thin membrane of magic. The portal is keyed to only allow sophont species through, not beasts like the Shadow Jaguars. Once inside, the family will be safe from the attack.

    I wave at their retreating backs as they disappear through the shimmering portal. Idly, I wonder why a barrier of this quality can¡¯t envelop the entire town, like it does for Silaraon, but I suppose the mana costs for such a potent security measure is probably exorbitant. Maybe I could erect a set of glass spikes or something once I discover how to imbue with mana. I¡¯ll learn someday. I¡¯m determined to push the limits of glass to greater heights than anyone before me. That truth resonates in my bones and marrow, down to my innermost soul. I need it to protect people.

    Undeterred by my lack of success so far, I head deeper into the town, accessing my one Skill to lower the surrounding temperature and superheat the end of the metal rod in my hands instead. By the time I round the corner and find a pair of the Shadow Jaguars patrolling down the street, the tool itself is in danger of melting, glowing almost white-hot with the transfer of heat, while my breath is visible in the shallow pocket of frigid cold around me.

    One of the Shadow Jaguars turns toward me, its amber eyes instantly locking on mine. It¡¯s larger than the others, and faint patterns in its fur marks it as more evolved than the others. Immediately, I break the connection, staring instead at its claws, not daring to test its reported mental attacks. I need a clear mind for what¡¯s coming next, but I also need to see it moving so I can react. Paranoia will only get me killed, and I have big plans. This is a stepping stone into my future, an affirmation that my path is uniquely my own.

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    The rangy jaguar lunges forward, its claws raking sideways at my face. A faint sheen of sickly green mana coats the claws, visible to my naked eye, and I instinctively know that I do not want to let the putrefying attack touch me. I surge forward, twisting in the air to fling myself flat onto the dusty cobblestones, and stab the glowing metal tip of the rod up at the monster¡¯s face. Sizzling flesh and tormented howls reward my blind thrust, and my heart practically vibrates in my chest with the excitement of scoring my first hit. Seizing the momentum, I roll to my feet and swing at its exposed underbelly with both hands on the thick steel punty.

    Thrashing about, the monster smashes its shoulder into my gut at the same time my wild stroke connects. The blow sends me sprawling, tumbling across the street to smack into a stone wall. My vision flashes white, and I clutch at my chest, scared that I broke a rib. A gurgling wheeze escapes my throat. I can¡¯t breathe, sucking air to no avail.

    I¡¯ve had the wind knocked out of me before, but the agony in my chest feels more like my lungs are popping. Once again, I siphon the ambient heat into the metal rod, but this time I intentionally draw it away from my cracked ribs and screaming lungs, hoping that it will numb the pain. The sudden coat of rime on my skin probably isn¡¯t good for my health, but the chill does its job, deadening the pain, and snaps my mind back into a state of clarity.

    I force myself into a martial stance, thankful that I¡¯m still clutching my makeshift weapon, and flare the heat outward in a dramatic arc. The sudden burst of pseudo-fire makes the beasts flinch back, buying me time to regroup and try to come up with a battle plan, but the terrifying keenness of their gaze tells me that they¡¯re too smart to fall for the trick for long.

    Instead of trying to flee on my cramping leg, I double down on my feint and charge them as best I can in my injured state. With a grunt, I swing the rod, cycling through the combat forms that Ember taught. I stagger the cat backward, then snap into a defensive guard just in time to block its retaliatory swipe. Wrath rising up within me, I push through my legs and hips, turning the torque into power as I smash the rod across its face. I¡¯m like a grumpy child beating a dirty rug free of dust even though it¡¯s his least favorite chore¡ªa vivid scene from my childhood that suddenly flashes through my mind for some reason.

    The jaguar lashes out with its claw, jolting my crude weapon off target, and hits back, scoring a slash across my chest and knocking me to the ground. My ribs groan in protest at the violence of the impact, but the thick leather apron from the hot shop saves my skin. Literally. If the envenomed, razor-sharp claws cut me, I probably won¡¯t live long enough to get to a healer or find an antidote. The shop¡¯s alchemical leather treatment makes the apron far tougher than it could otherwise become through natural means.

    Only one of the huge cats has attacked me so far, but when I still show signs of struggle after the latest smack-down, the second Shadow Jaguar launches itself into the fray with a snarl. The momentum of its attack knocks the wind out of me again. Its weight pins me to the ground while it slavers on my face, its hot, warm breath reeking of death and decay. My right arm, along with the metal rod, is twisted underneath me, no longer a factor in my desperate melee. Without the threat of fire, the monstrous cats have nothing further to fear.

    I punch ineffectually at its sleek, predatory snout with my free hand, but it seems more bemused than threatened by me, snuffling as it lowers closer, looming over me with the gloating certainty of a superior beast. Every one of its whiskers is in stark focus in front of my eyes, quivering as its nose scrunches up while it sniffs my supine form. My entire body shakes uncontrollably with a spike of fear-fueled anger.

    Deep within me, a spark of defiance comes to life. I slap my left palm to its face and draw more deeply on [Lesser Heat Manipulation] than ever before. Flaring the Skill even further proves difficult with my clumsy, underdeveloped control. The Skill strains, resisting my efforts to draw more power into it. I feel as though I¡¯m trying to drink up an entire river through a straw. I heave anyway, pulling as hard as I can until something inside snaps. Mana spools out of me at an alarming rate, and frost radiates across the black fur of the Shadow Jaguar, flash-freezing its eyes in its skull. The monster rears back with an ear-piercing shriek of agony, freeing me from its weight.

    No longer trapped, I push myself up to my knees, my blood burning with righteous fury. Every action demands a reaction, however. I have to send the gathered heat somewhere. I jab my hand forward, my fingers rigid like a blade, into the massive cat¡¯s soft stomach, and unleash the excess heat. With a heady rush of power, the overcharged Skill pours forth in blistering heat, charring the beast from the inside out. Thick, oily, rancid smoke assaults my senses, stinging my eyes and choking me as it roils inside my throat. Singed fur and burning flesh smell terrible.

    The incredible energy draw via my solitary Skill drains my mana pool down to the very last dregs, sending waves of nausea through me. A splitting headache blurs my vision for the second time in the last few minutes. I heave up my breakfast onto the street, tears streaking down my cheeks, and fight valiantly to stay conscious.

    The other monster roars, but doesn¡¯t attack right away, circling me on its massive paws, seemingly wary after its packmate¡ªor actual mate? I don¡¯t know much about their pack¡¯s social structure¡ªboth freezes and burns right in front of it.

    I fling myself sideways to avoid the death throes of the monster still half on top of me, dragging my increasingly-unresponsive body out of the danger zone. ¡°At least I took another one with me,¡± I mutter in grim satisfaction. If my actions today save people¡¯s lives, then it¡¯s a good enough trade in my book.

    A blur hurtles through the air, smashing into the remaining monster and sending out a shockwave on impact. Dark, flickering flames erupt into a starburst all around me. Ember stands over the mangled corpse of the jaguar, her knife in hand. Viscera drips off it like the bloody fang of a true apex predator.

    She crosses her arms, shaking her head slowly as she looks down at my bruised body. ¡°Twice in one day, Nuri. That¡¯s a new record for saving your life.¡±

    I sit up, wheezing as the pain in my side redoubles. ¡°My hero. Thanks.¡±

    She chuckles. ¡°You have a death wish? Charging those cats was foolish. Impressive kill, I admit, but what would you have done without backup? You should have stayed at the studio after you checked in on the workers. Good job making sure they were safe, by the way.¡±

    I nod mutely, too dizzy to respond just yet. The edges of my vision are tinged red-black, as though the entire world is bleeding. I push myself back up to standing, swaying on my feet, and collapse sideways as the darkness rushes in.

    ¡°Hey! None of that now, Nuri. Were you always this foolhardy, or did you inhale too many fumes working the furnace?¡±

    Ember¡¯s amused voice rattles around in my skull, dragging me back to the land of the living a second later. My eyelids flutter open, but the sharp stab of pain when the sunlight hits my eyes makes me groan and instantly regret my life choices. My head is pounding with the worst headache of all time, and my brain feels like it¡¯s too swollen to fit inside my head. I rub at my now squeezed-shut eyes with the palms of my hands, and let out a strained bark that barely passes as laughter when I realize she¡¯s carrying me suspended in her arms.

    ¡°Was I always this foolhardy?¡± I echo, rubbing my chin. ¡°Why, yes. I believe I come by it honestly, Em.¡±

    She snorts through her nose with enough force that I feel the wind of it on my forearms, her entire body shaking with mirth. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare call me that in front of the others, Nuri. If that nickname catches on, I¡¯ll personally drag you into the woods and let the cats finish the job. And that would ruin the hard work I did to save you. Twice! Don¡¯t make me regret my efforts.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for jumping in when you did,¡± I croak out, chuckling at her joke. I take a chance at opening my eyes again, a little at a time, blinking in the bright, harsh light as I take in our surroundings. We are backtracking toward the Peliharaon Glass Works, and sudden horror grips me at the thought of the others seeing me carried about like a baby.

    ¡°Set me on my feet! I¡¯ll never live it down if the others see me coddled like this.¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine. Can¡¯t let you die on my watch, though,¡± she says, gently squeezing my shoulder as she puts me down and instead offers her arm for balance. ¡°Bad for morale.¡±

    I snort in laughter, then clutch my tender ribs. ¡°Har har. I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t mourn me at all, huh?¡±

    ¡°Of course I would, you ninny. Now, let¡¯s get you inside and clean you up. I¡¯ll leave you in the old [Gaffer]¡¯s capable hands.¡± Ember¡¯s face turns stormy as she glances around, surveying the carnage. Her fingers curl into tight fists. ¡°When we get back to Silaraon, don¡¯t go out unless you¡¯re in a group. Fetch yourself a sturdy staff if you¡¯re outside, and tell your brother to carry his biggest hammer from the forge. In the meantime? I¡¯m going hunting.¡±

 Chapter Six: Recovery

    The day after the ambush, once Ember confirms that she¡¯s slaughtered enough of the jaguars to ensure that the town will survive until the detachment of [Soldiers] stationed in Silaraon can arrive to defend them from further incursions, she declares that it¡¯s safe to travel back to Silaraon. I¡¯m not keen to get up from bed, as bruised and battered as I am from the beatdown I took from the big cats, but I agree that it¡¯s smarter to travel with Ember now rather than strike out on my own in a few extra days.

    Hobbling back to the Silaraon Glass Works takes half the day, since we stop often to let me catch my breath. My cracked ribs will heal on their own in time, but each breath elicits sharp, insistent pain in my chest. The cramp in my leg is slowly improving as I stretch out and walk, but it¡¯s still not back to normal.

    Lionel and the Linas greet us outside the studio, leading a contingent of workers on their break. Concern creases their faces into frowns, but a ragged cheer goes up when they see us. The lunch bell is still echoing across the grounds as we amble over to assure them that we¡¯re all right, which doesn¡¯t seem to escape Ember¡¯s note. She glances up pointedly at the clock on the side of the wall, but lets it slide.

    ¡°Any casualties?¡± Ember asks, her gaze roving about the courtyard. Her voice is calm and matter of fact, but the way the muscles tighten around her eyes makes me think she¡¯s on the verge of erupting into another murderous hunting spree if any of her workers were harmed. She pushes us hard, but she frets over us like a mother hen all the same.

    ¡°No,¡± Melina responds immediately. ¡°We heard the reports from a [Messenger], but he said all the monsters were heading toward Peliharaon. Even so, I kept everyone here for the day. I let them sleep on the shop floor, with padding from the recent shipments as bedding. Not ideal for comfort, but we were safe.¡± She smiles tightly. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine that the jaguars fared well with you in the area, though.¡±

    A savage smile splits Ember¡¯s face in response. ¡°No, they most certainly did not.¡±

    ¡°What happened to you, Nuri?¡± Lionel asks, poking at my bandaged shoulder.

    ¡°Cut it out, Lio! I got bit being a hero. Hurts,¡± I growl, swatting his hand away, which only makes him grin innocently and try to poke me again.

    ¡°All right, time to get you inside,¡± Ember commands, guiding me toward the door by my uninjured shoulder. She jerks her head at my troublemaking friend. ¡°Lionel, since you¡¯re so full of spunk today, run and get a [Healer]. Nuri took a few wounds during his first hunt. He¡¯s earned some time to convalesce, and his two kill bounties will cover the costs of recuperating.¡±

    I turn to watch Lionel¡¯s reaction to the news that I claimed bounties on my own, and sure enough, he doesn¡¯t disappoint. His mouth gapes open like a caught fish dangling on the fishing line, and he stares at me unblinking for a long, awkward moment before whooping and running in a circle, pumping his fist in the air. ¡°Nice work, bro!¡±

    I shrug off Ember¡¯s hand and bow, drinking in the looks of surprise and admiration. ¡°I¡¯ll regale you with the full tale later. Now, you heard the Boss; scurry off and fetch a [Healer].¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get my Aunt. She¡¯s the best [Healer] in Silaraon. Or, at least, she¡¯s the only one who works for free,¡± Lionel responds. He salutes me and dashes away.

    I chuckle, watching him sprint out of the Silaraon Glass Works compound as though he¡¯s got a jaguar chasing him. It¡¯s good to have friends.

    Ember prevails on me once more, steering me inside without further resistance. She all but carries me up the stairs to her studio apartment, since my muscles are cramping up and I¡¯m still dealing with the headache from overdrawing my mana yesterday. Tutting at me, Ember sets me down on her bed to wait for Lionel to return with a [Healer].

    ¡°Thank you for bringing me here to recover from my injuries,¡± I say, settling back onto the feather-stuffed mattress. It¡¯s my first time in her apartment suite above the glass studio, and I¡¯m pleasantly surprised by how cozy it seems.

    ¡°Can¡¯t very well let you stay in that little hut unattended,¡± Ember replies, sighing as she glances at the door. ¡°Of course, once Reijo hears what happened, he¡¯ll want to take you home. For now, you¡¯ll stay here. I have to go back downstairs; I¡¯ve got a studio to run. Don¡¯t even think about getting up until you¡¯ve been treated, young man. Your father entrusted me with your care, and I¡¯m not about to let you bleed out due to overexertion after going through all the work of dragging you to safety. I can¡¯t lose you, Nuri. I promised your parents I¡¯d watch over you, and I¡¯ll do that to the best of my ability until I draw my final breath. You¡¯re family.¡±

    I choke up at her uncharacteristic admission of affection, and clutch her hand, squeezing once to show my gratitude.

    Awkward silence greets my emotional outburst, but she smiles at me and pats my hand before withdrawing from my grip. The sight of the infamous Emberlin, adventurer of yore and boss-lady of the hardest-working glass studio around, gingerly wiping dirt off her hand where I smudged her, sets me off in a fit of soft laughter. The searing pain in my cracked ribs knocks on my mental door to deliver a strongly-worded letter that, yes, I am an idiot, and no, I should not keep trying to move or laugh until I¡¯m recovered. I groan and flop back in the bed, grinding my teeth together to ward off the pain.

    ¡°Feel better, Nuri.¡±

    I nod in response, but the soft bed is making me drowsy, and I don¡¯t feel like saying any words right now. She smiles tightly one last time, then slips out the door to get back to work, leaving me to take a long-overdue nap.

    =+=

    ¡°Sleeping on the job, eh?¡±

    I wake to see Lionel¡¯s teasing face looming over me, and I instinctively flinch back, smacking my head on the headboard. I scowl up at my friend, who has the decency to look ashamed.

    ¡°Sorry, buddy,¡± Lionel says, wincing. He grins at me a moment later. ¡°I figured since you solo-killed a monster, you could handle little ole me.¡±

    ¡°Move aside, ¡®little¡¯ Lio. I have a patient to attend to,¡± his Aunt Althea says sternly, shooing away her nephew. She holds her open palm over my shoulder, hovering a few inches in the air, and moves her hand over the contour of my body, unerringly discovering each cracked rib or bruised limb.

    Tingling energy bounces between her palm and my skin, where it burrows into me and buzzes against my channels. Strange as the sensation is, I wouldn''t consider it entirely unpleasant. Warmth flows along the connection between us, and already my pain lessens.

    Althea lets out a cautious hum. ¡°Well, you¡¯re fortunate. No lingering malicious mana that I can sense. Emberlin¡¯s antidote did the job. Your mundane wounds will heal. I¡¯ve coaxed your body into compliance, but I¡¯m no miracle worker. You¡¯ll still need some time until you¡¯re fit for work. I¡¯ll tell your boss to go easy on you.¡±

    Lionel snorts at her proclamation. ¡°Ember doesn¡¯t know how to go easy on anyone. But don¡¯t worry, Auntie, I¡¯ll take good care of your patient.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s precisely what I was afraid of,¡± Althea replies, arching her brow at him. ¡°He¡¯ll be back on his feet in no time, as long as he doesn¡¯t suffer unduly from your ministrations.¡±

    Lionel claps a hand over his heart with an aggrieved expression on his face. ¡°You wound me, Auntie! You know I have only his best in mind.¡±

    ¡°As do I. That''s why I won¡¯t let you anywhere near him for the next few days,¡± she says, nudging her nephew with her elbow. ¡°This humble [Healer] remembers how much mischief you two got into as children.¡±

    A moment later, Ember pops in to check on us. She frowns at Lionel. ¡°Don¡¯t you have work to take care of? Seem to recall asking you to fetch your esteemed Aunt, not to hang around and play hooky.¡±

    ¡°With respect, I couldn¡¯t leave my friend in this kind of condition in good conscience. Now that he¡¯s been cleared, I¡¯ll get back to work. Clearly, you were worried about him too." Lionel gives her a cheeky grin. ¡°You know I¡¯m always good for my orders, sooner or later.¡±

    Ember¡¯s lips press into a thin flat line. Finally, she sighs and gestures toward the chair next to the bed. ¡°You might as well make yourself comfortable. Keep an eye on him, and don¡¯t let him get up yet. I was going to stay with him, but better you than me in case someone has to assist him with the lavatory.¡±

    Horror dawns on Lionel¡¯s face. ¡°On second thought, I have an important commission to finish up. Deadline¡¯s tonight. Whadya know about that!¡±

    Aunt Althea snickers and ushers him out of the room, leaving me to talk with my Master.

    ¡°I¡¯m not an invalid. I can take myself to the lav,¡± I protest, though without any heat in light of the way everyone is caring for me. ¡°Hey, I killed two of those big monsters attacking the town. And I¡¯ll bet if I had more than one Skill, I could have taken out the third one, too!¡±

    Ember rolls her eyes and huffs at me with crossed arms, but I just laugh at her. Irritation is how she shows affection, which means I haven¡¯t annoyed her yet. When she grows aloof, that means she¡¯s angry. Well and truly peeved. She leans down and looks me in the eye, transfixing me with her intense gaze. I swallow uncomfortably, my mouth bone-dry.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Taking a fight you can¡¯t win is foolish, but heroic in some contexts. If that were your only kind of foolishness, it might be charming. But you!¡± She flicks my ear to drive home her point, and I relax. Amusement floods me; her fleeting wrath has passed, or has at least been transmuted into the kind of pity reserved for those who truly can¡¯t help themselves. ¡°You still have such an inflexible mindset, lamenting your lack of additional Skills. As if they would have made a difference; you''re a [Glass Worker], not a [Warrior]. That kind of shortsightedness makes me worried for your long-term survival.¡±

    ¡°I saw you fight. You were using Skills. It was amazing.¡± My raspy voice sounds accusing, but we both grin anyway.

    ¡°Skills that I earned after years of training in the Royal army¡ª¡± she holds up a finger to forestall the reply we both knew was brewing within me. ¡°Training that you do not have, and that I don¡¯t have the time to teach properly right now, as much as it pains me to admit. We¡¯ll find time when things slow down and I¡¯m not as busy running the studio.¡±

    ¡°Then why did you let me help at all?¡± I prod, searching for answers. She¡¯s piqued my interest. ¡°You were incredible all by yourself. A true hero!¡±

    She uncrosses her arms and speaks slowly, standing at attention like she¡¯s a raw recruit again. She shuffles from foot to foot as though she doesn''t like admitting that she¡¯s a hero. ¡°The town garrison was away on patrol. The cats noticed and took advantage. No one else was there. So I stepped up. You were the only one there I could trust to also step up, and I was glad to have you on my side. Don¡¯t complain that you can¡¯t keep up with a trained [Soldier].¡±

    I swallow the lump in my throat. ¡°Thank you. That means a lot to me. That¡¯s why it makes sense to teach me more combat, though. I mean, I already helped this time. I killed a Shadow Jaguar by myself. Imagine what I could do if you teach me?¡±

    ¡°When you¡¯re better, Nuri. Promise. For now, relax and heal up.¡±

    My lips tug downward into a frown, but she talks over me. Now that she¡¯s on a roll, the words come gushing out of her, like water surging through a broken dam. ¡°I¡¯ll admit that you¡¯re tough and you have good instincts, but you¡¯re a glass smith, not a fighter. You¡¯re good at glass. In fact¡ªand don''t let this go to your head¡ªyou¡¯re extraordinary when you apply yourself.¡±

    My jaw clenches with a flurry of emotion, and my eyes well up, but for once I bite my tongue and listen without shooting back a wisecrack.

    ¡°Nuri, you need to stop worrying over Skills all the time. You¡¯re obsessing over the wrong details. Improve your technique, and actually master your current Skill. I know you¡¯re scared you¡¯ll end up like your parents, but you proved how powerful your [Lesser Heat Manipulation] can be with some effort. You treat the Skill like a discarded dishwashing rag, not an integral part of your identity. Why do you think you¡¯ll earn more if you can¡¯t even appreciate the one Skill you have? Hone your Skill. You¡¯ll be glad of the work you put in now once you hit your threshold advancement. If you live that long,¡± she finishes with a wink.

    I chuckle, then wince at the pain in my ribs from laughing too much today. Groaning, I shift and hold my hand to my ribcage. ¡°I know you¡¯re right. It¡¯s just hard to be patient.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll get there. You¡¯re already one of our most valuable workers and you¡¯ve barely left your childhood behind. Don¡¯t fret,¡± Ember says. I know encouragement doesn¡¯t come naturally to her, so it means more when she offers kind words.

    Her advice reminds me of an old debate, popular with both pre-adolescents and old philosophers alike: What do you think comes first, mastery, or magic? I frown thoughtfully, already knowing Ember¡¯s answer to the supposed conundrum. Put in the work, get rewarded. Lazy, foolhardy, and also gifted? That combo doesn¡¯t exist in her world¡ªat least, not past the First threshold. Even after converting Potential into a Class, learning to wield mana Skills is hard.

    ¡°I should still have more than one Skill,¡± I say. Years of habit guide my words, rather than any real conviction. I dislike the simple answer, but deep down, I know she¡¯s right. I¡¯ve never been proud of my lesser Skill, and so I rarely use it for more than utility. I know people are supposed to practice mana Skills, but the idea of working to improve [Lesser Heat Manipulation] embarrasses me. It¡¯s just boring. Why couldn¡¯t I have gotten something awesome, like [Flametouch], or at least a Skill well suited for an artist. Maybe [Eye of Discernment] to aid with aesthetic designs?

    ¡°Hmph. I expect more sense from you, Nuri. What¡¯s one or two years spent shoring up your foundation compared with the work of decades? Be patient. Don¡¯t throw away your life. You have talent, just like your father.¡±

    I flush at the comparison to a true master, unsure of how to grapple with the rush of warmth and affection. ¡°I reckon that¡¯s the nicest thing you¡¯ve ever said to me.¡±

    Ember pats my shoulder. ¡°Cheer up, Nuri. We¡¯ll talk more when you recover.¡±

    I nod weakly, too tired to continue our conversation anyway, and she slips out the door after waving goodbye. I don¡¯t mind that she''s getting back to work so soon; I¡¯m touched that she¡¯s spent this much time away from the glass studio as it is. She looks after us all, in her gruff way.

    As my head sinks back into the soft mound of pillows, I mull over Ember¡¯s mild rebuke. Am I simply impatient? It¡¯s been half a dozen years since I gained my Class, and I¡¯ve made big improvements in my understanding of glassblowing, flameworking, and forge artistry. Without boasting, I can legitimately claim that I have real talent when I¡¯m working with glass and not mindlessly controlling the flow of heat with my single, solitary Skill. Is that why progress is eluding me? Because I don¡¯t respect the Skill I have? I have the talent and mindset to provisionally room my own studio. I should also have two more main Skills, but I¡¯m stuck.

    Some people pick up Skills more easily than others, but no one has an endless arsenal of mana abilities. I¡¯ve certainly never heard of more than half a dozen per Class, and even that is usually for those in the Second Threshold. I¡¯m sure some noble-born [Mage] with every advantage available at his fingertips is able to break into the double-digits after advancement to the shockingly-rare Third Threshold. But does that truly make those once-in-a-generation geniuses any better? Or do more Skills simply take more time to master? Maybe adding versatility to the toolkit isn¡¯t worth the trade-off.

    Earning new Skills takes time and dedication. That¡¯s why my Class Skill is so important. [Heat Manipulation] is useful for glasswork, even though it¡¯s a lesser variation of the Skill. It¡¯s an excellent beginner Skill. My Class Skill is the only one that comes automatically, for ¡°free,¡± in a sense, and it serves as the foundation for future advancements. I¡¯ve devoted my entire life to becoming an artist with glass. So why is my starting Skill, my only Skill, lesser? It¡¯s eaten at me ever since the notification chimed in my mind after I gained my Class, and I can¡¯t shake the feeling of inferiority.

    I scoff, adjusting my head slightly on the pillow so my breathing comes more naturally. The rattling sound in my bruised chest doesn¡¯t stop, but at least I don¡¯t feel as lightheaded in this position anymore. Maybe Ember is right. Maybe I¡¯m hampering my growth by using my Skill sparingly.

    A seed of hope starts to grow within me. Maybe I¡¯m too focused on the number of Skills instead of the quality of the Skill. It¡¯s true that Skills don¡¯t bridge the gap between lack of ability and mastery of a subject¡ªthey only provide a magical framework to allow our talents to flourish. If I¡¯ve neglected my framework, then maybe it¡¯s not my Skill that¡¯s bad.

    Maybe it¡¯s just my mindset.

    With that admission, my perspective crystalizes. Clarity brings order to my thoughts. I¡¯m suddenly glad that Ember lectured me. It''s probably been a long time coming.

    Tentatively, I poke at my Skill deep within me. It still feels raw and strained after drawing so much mana at once, but it responds to my mental nudge. The bedroom warms up a little, but the response is disappointing. Everything feels sluggish, like the leftover mana in my channels is sludge that can¡¯t move properly. I need to replenish my reserves and flush out whatever junk is causing problems.

    I release my strangely tenuous connection with the Skill, close my eyes, and turn inward to examine [Lesser Heat Manipulation] with fresh perspective. I tell myself that I don¡¯t have to activate the strained ability right now, only take an objective look to see if I can locate areas for improvement. My fingers are trembling as I¡¯m caught between excitement and disappointment. Yet when I delve into my core space and draw near to the familiar, dizzyingly-complex crystalline energy structure that provides a pathway for my mana, an icy pang of terror grips my heart.

    Cracks cover the surface of the Skill.

    Panic crashes through me. What if it breaks? I hiss soundlessly, deep within the inner space of my soul, and my hands start to shake even harder. Just because the Skill isn¡¯t top tier doesn¡¯t mean that I want to lose the only ability I¡¯ve ever gained. Forcing myself to calm down and deal with this rationally, I breathe more evenly and relax. I move my view, sending my consciousness in an orbit around the framework and examining it for damage. Thankfully, the hairline cracks are fairly localized, and they don¡¯t seem as deep as I first assumed.

    And then I see it. On the far side, hidden from view in my initial approach, the glowing title on the Skill confuses me. The banner is unfamiliar, pulsing with more energy than I remember. I focus on it now closely, read the words twice to confirm what I''ve read, and whoop in excitement.

    Eyes wide open, barely believing what I¡¯ve just seen, I fling the covers off and sit up. A wave of dizziness dissuades me from standing up, but I can¡¯t stop cackling in glee. Footsteps pound up the stairs outside the little apartment, and a moment later, the Linas fling open the door to see what all the fuss is about, with Lionel in tow. It downright touches my heart to see the worry written large on their faces. I grin at the trio like a madman, fling my hands up above my head, and blow a bubble of concentrated heat so intense that the air itself ignites and steams.

    Avelina promptly dispels it with a wave of her hand, showing off her superior control of fire, but she catches the undercurrent of excitement in the room and returns my grin. ¡°Nuri did it! He finally did it. If I had known all it took was burning him, then I would have lit him on fire years ago.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s never too late to give it a shot,¡± Lionel jokes.

    Melina sputters in response, staring slack-jawed at her twin. Avelina drags her over next to me, preening over the fact that for once her ¡°smarter¡± sister isn¡¯t the first one to figure things out. ¡°So,¡± she says slyly, ¡°Ember finally knocked some sense into you. About time. What¡¯d you get?¡±

    Understanding finally dawns on Melina¡¯s face, and she surprises me with a squeal and a hug right around my tender ribs. ¡°Nuri! I¡¯m so proud of you. Congratulations on gaining a second Skill!¡±

    Ignoring the jolt of pain from Melina¡¯s hug, I put on a dramatic expression and shake my head slowly. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±

    Guilt flashes over her features, and she fumbles for a reply, suddenly so awkward that it¡¯s physically painful.

    I can¡¯t hold back any longer, and start grinning again, this time so hard that my cheeks ache. ¡°I didn¡¯t gain a second Skill. I did get a new one, however. You¡¯re talking to the proud wielder of the upgraded, full-fledged Skill [Heat Manipulation].¡±

    ¡°Nice job persevering. Impressive upgrade while a jaguar used you as a chew toy,¡± Lionel says, returning my grin.

    I stick my tongue out in an incredibly mature, thoughtful response.

    Laughter washes over me, and I bask in their congratulations. I endure more good-natured ribbing about losing my [Lesser] qualifier, grinning all the while. The term ¡°lesser¡± no longer stings as badly as it did earlier. Ember was right. I haven¡¯t been truly practicing to master the Skill I already have. To my chagrin, I never pushed the limits of what it can do, not until I was thrown into a life-or-death showdown. I''ve been complacent, never using my Skill to its full potential. Pressing against the resistance and breaking through at the expense of straining my mana channels, however, has been enough to earn an upgrade.

    I still don¡¯t have a second Skill. But for the first time in years, I¡¯m not ashamed of the one I own.

 Chapter Seven: A Coronation Deferred

    "Nuri! Need casing help at workbench three.¡±

    Ember¡¯s voice crackles above the din of stamping feet and shuffled rods. I salute in her direction, wincing at the discomfort in my shoulder. I¡¯m still recovering from the bite I sustained a few days ago, but thankfully the jaguar¡¯s teeth weren¡¯t necrotic like their claws. Lionel¡¯s Aunt, Althea, says I¡¯ll be back to normal within another week or so. In the meantime I¡¯m helping out with light, less-demanding tasks around the hot shop so I don¡¯t reinjure myself wrestling with the full loads of glass before I¡¯m cleared for more physically challenging work.

    Clapping her calloused hands to get everyone¡¯s attention, Ember ignites her Skills to fire up the furnaces. I brace in anticipation of the inevitable wash of prickling discomfort across my body as the various furnace fires quicken from deep crimson to pure gold, and then burst into shimmering whites and cobalt blues too dazzling to stare at directly. The fires are mesmerizing, blazing with glory, an intoxicating and furious display of power that I hope to one day seize for myself. Maybe I¡¯ll gain a flame Skill, like Avelina, or¡ª

    ¡°Nuri! Any day now,¡± Ember repeats, chuckling at my distraction.

    The pleasant dream breaks, bringing me back to reality. I tense up as I slam back into the present and nod in Ember¡¯s direction, sauntering off toward workbench three. She rolls her eyes at me for daydreaming again, and I pick up the pace. As usual, there¡¯s so much to be done that she can¡¯t spare a moment from the work to scold me.

    I join the Lina twins at the third workstation in the glass studio. Like me, they¡¯re both wearing matching, alchemically-treated leather aprons today, but that¡¯s where the similarities between them end. Tangle-haired and with the proverbial dancing eyes of a born mischief-maker, Avelina is too volatile to work with anyone but her sister, Melina. Still, she¡¯s surprisingly good at evocation, applying an expert stream of liquid fire from the first fingertip on her right hand. She flashes me a knowing grin, happily showing off her [Flameworker] Class and its profusion of fire-related Skills. She might not be as talented at glasswork as her twin sister is, or as I am for that matter, but she¡¯s certainly better suited to melting, burning, and breathing fire. Nice girl, if obsessive about general mayhem and destruction.

    Her twin, Melina, the younger by less than five minutes, looks nothing like Avelina. Taller than her fireplug of a twin, with long hair so pale it seems white like the first frost, Melina is all angular and earnest where her sister is quicksilver and undeniable feminine allure. Never fancy enough to put on airs, she wears her hair pulled back in a single plain ponytail, eschewing the complex black weaves of her sister. Far from severe, however, she simply loves glass and doesn¡¯t care about much else. Her mind and hands are far more adroit than ours, and we all know it. There¡¯s a reason she¡¯s our youngest [Gaffer] ever, and her list of Skills is as daunting as her sister¡¯s, if a bit less hazardous to my health.

    Melina ignores both my arrival and Avelina¡¯s smug grin, too intent on her glasswork to allow herself to be sidetracked by taunting and studio politics. She masterfully turns a new layer of cream-colored glass over a gather of sea-foam green, decorating a vase that I recognize as a matching set for Lord Anzor, rival to Lord Garman and magistrate of the villages on the opposite side of Silaraon. Her entire body thrills, rising to the challenge of the work, and she soon finishes the relatively simple casing without my help.

    Not missing a beat, she motions toward the nearest furnace, and I finally get a chance to do something to assist. I bring over a pre-prepped, glowing, elongated orb of glass that looks like spun gold, cradling it directly in my hands thanks to [Heat Manipulation].

    ¡°Showing off, Nuri?¡± Avelina mimics clapping politely. ¡°It''s fun to see you embrace your magic.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s certainly freeing,¡± I admit.

    Melina beckons me to help. I let the molten glass stretch down until the soft, malleable glass kisses the edge of the goblet Melina¡¯s making. She turns it at an even pace, expertly wrapping a spiral around the creation. With a soft sigh, she holds it up to the light, examining her handiwork, and nods in satisfaction.

    ¡°Thanks for the assist! I think that¡¯s a wrap for this one, Nuri,¡± Melina says. Her faint smile deepens the rusty hues of her cheeks. "Ember must have things well in hand if she can spare one of the most talented glassworkers in the studio to help me."

    Melina continues to chat while she holds the scorching vase suspended mid-air above her left palm, where it shifts color and solidifies, then anneals at rapid speeds.

    I try not to gawk at her combination Skills in action, which she fused together after achieving her First Threshold. She has earned an exceedingly rare localized time compression Skill, [In the Blink of an Eye], plus [Lesser Object Manipulation] to go along with the much-sought-after [Flawless Annealing]. By sheer force of will, she¡¯ll finish the entire project faster than most of the senior [Crafters].

    Melina pats my shoulder. ¡°Another batch? I have more orders to fulfill, and I¡¯m not keen on dawdling today.¡±

    Avelina laces her hands together and leans forward, her eyebrows drawn up in mock surprise. ¡°Oh? Special plans I should know about, sister?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I have plans. No, they¡¯re none of your business,¡± Melina replies without stopping her annealing process. She gestures toward the crucible with her chin, while her hands wave in vague patterns in the air, directing her magic. ¡°Appreciate the help. Next batch, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°Shop assistant at your service!¡± Throwing a salute, I dutifully trot over to the crucible, amused that I¡¯ve been turned into a delivery boy during my convalescence. It¡¯s refreshing to go back to the basics, without any pressure. Or paperwork. That is a blessing and a half.

    After I ensure the glass is just the right elasticity and temperature, malleable and ready for her work, I drop off the next batch with Melina and help her complete the rest of her orders. With no other instructions, I return to the crucible to make myself useful with small tasks that don¡¯t bother my shoulder too badly.

    I catch Ember¡¯s eye from across the studio, point toward the crucible, and tap my chest. She gives me a slight nod, so I relieve the current worker, who¡¯s only too glad to take a break. Just like that, it¡¯s my turn for crucible duty. The simple work doesn¡¯t stretch my skills or let me show off, but it¡¯s a good way to pass the time quietly. An hour later, my gaze wanders over to the studio clock to check how long until lunch break. I¡¯m getting bored, and I want to go read my adventure books and relax.

    As I prep the next batch of glass, my thoughts wander back to my father. In the early days, just after he passed away, the old-timers told me fantastical stories. Most of the older [Gaffers] have moved on to retirement by now. Or, like my father, they have ascended beyond the skies¡ªor so I hope, shaking off the faint chill of dread that accompanies thinking of death. From their tales, I know my father never shied away from grunt work, so I keep working as an homage to him.

    Cracking my knuckles, I pry open the threefold metal door to the crucible and get to work turning the metal rod. I gather up a viscous clump of red-gold glass, flowing like honey, and hand it off to the first [Assistant Gaffer] in line. Many of them prefer to prepare their own glass, but in our studio we usually have someone permanently working the crucible, freeing up the younger assistants to ply the trade before they¡¯ve developed the necessary Skills. Most of the senior crafters already have some variation of [Heat Control] or [Flametouch], so they don¡¯t need to return to the physical furnaces unless they¡¯re feeling nostalgic.

    The other workers all trust the composition and consistency of my batches of glass. Wryly, I note that this is the most like an assistant I¡¯ve been in years, so it¡¯s fitting for my class. ¡°Assistant¡± no longer bothers me the way that it used to. I¡¯ve been on the other side of the scale, and the weight of responsibility involved in administering a studio is simply another kind of drudgery. Pay is better, at least.

    I take an offered steel rod from my shop mate Lionel. Freshly graduated, my longtime childhood friend is now a full fledged [Glassworker]. He and I work well together, when we¡¯re not distracted by cracking jokes. Mindful of my orders, I shove the hollow metal rod into the mix of molten glass. He waves as he returns to his bench, a spark of good humor in his eyes. Nothing ever seems to faze him much. That¡¯s why we¡¯re friends.

    An army of sparks from the crucible leap out to assail the dark, tight curls of my surely-soon-to-be luxurious beard. They find no purchase, since I instantly douse them with [Heat Manipulation], my increasingly useful Class Skill. Pride at how quickly I harnessed the mana of the world courses through me. I¡¯ve had enough of fear and frustration over mana and Skills.

    I¡¯ve been an [Assistant Glassworker] for the better part of my adolescence, ever since I hit the age of eligibility to explore my magic and attempt to sense, harvest, and manipulate mana. By now, I ought to have enough Potential to gain a basic glass-making Class, but try as I might, I haven¡¯t been able to upgrade or consolidate the Class. My entire being hums with the truth that I¡¯m on the cusp of the First Threshold, as best as I can gauge things, with little to show for my hard work. Sure, my efforts to master the art of glasswork in its various forms have given me a strong set of general skills, roughly on par with the average senior [Gaffer], but without Skills, that¡¯s not worth as much as it could be. I¡¯m stuck, sure as the sun rises.

    Technically, I¡¯m as skilled with glass as anyone here¡ªmaybe even on par with Ember in her working days, back before she transitioned to administering the entire studio¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t matter as much as it should. Without the proper Skills to enhance my work, I¡¯m slow. Traditional. Mundane. And slow doesn¡¯t pay the bills.

    [Lampworkers] and [Shop Assistants] bustle about like worker bees, their ever-shifting shapes indistinct in the dusky half-light of the workshop. Whenever I glance behind me during a lull in the work, the edges of their forms waver as the oppressive blaze of the triple furnaces warps the air itself, until they¡¯re nearly indistinguishable from the shadows. It¡¯s a bustling, happy place, thrumming with the ever-present memories of hard work and familial pride.

    I wince and take a break from the work as my wounds throb with pain. Gingerly stretching out my sore shoulder, I glance around the cozy, busy studio that¡¯s been a second home to me for most of my life. Beyond the hot shop, out in the gallery, fluted vases with impossibly-thin whorls line the shelves. A variety of fanciful ornaments and practical utensils decorate the far wall, a riot of color muted by the haze of smoke and the darkness of early morning chaos.

    As always, my gaze lingers on the smoky-edged, translucent black blades hanging in a cross-pattern above the front desk where customers put in their orders. Ember claims they subconsciously agree to better deals under the effects of the masterworks, but I suspect it¡¯s a rare moment of weakness. She just wants to show off. Although made from glass, like everything else in our studio, the swords were imbued with mana upon creation by a [Master Artisan] with a rare Skill to strengthen glass until it makes steel cry in shame and envy. Light and razor-sharp, impervious to damage¡ªthey stand at the absolute pinnacle of our craft.

    Hellfire and Brimstone, I¡¯ve named them, though sometimes I wonder what my father called them. They belonged to him, originally, but they''re in good hands with Ember for the time being. She¡¯s the only one with the sword skills to wield them properly. Besides, they¡¯re sentimental for her, since she knew my parents better than I did, and I can¡¯t bear the thought of asking her to part with them yet.

    No one seems to know the real name of the fabled [Master Artisan] who made them, although some of the [Gaffers] claim he may have been my father¡¯s secret teacher in years gone by. One day, I vow to myself, I¡¯ll improve enough to find the artist and impress him with my powerful Skills. He¡¯ll take me in and train me, and I¡¯ll take up the mantle my father prematurely set down. One day.

    =+=

    Silaraon and the surrounding townships are on high alert for the next few days. Guards patrol in teams of ten, and non-essential travel is forbidden until all the jaguars are accounted for, or the pack is driven away. Unlike their mundane cousins, the Shadow Jaguars hunt in pairs, and are part of a larger social structure. They aren¡¯t solitary hunters as I had originally assumed, but strikingly canny, coordinated soldiers who prey on anything in their path.

    Unfortunately for them, Ember is higher up the food chain.

    She scythes through the predatory population, reaping them like wheat. For each set of claws or bloody scalp she brings back, the city pays her a bounty. She leaves Melina in charge of the studio while she pursues the offered rewards with a thoroughness and vicious joy bordering on obsession. Thankfully, she clears out the migratory population by raining down vengeance like some avatar of heavenly wrath, and the way is clear to return to my commission work in Peliharaon.

    I bring the image of my father that I received for my birthday with me. When I arrive in Peliharaon and show it around, the [Gaffer] takes me aside to look at it fondly. His body shakes once with silent tears, and then he smiles.

    ¡°Might wanna hang this poster on the wall. Nice to see myself in the morning! Your father doesn¡¯t look too bad, either,¡± he says with a wink.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    I give him my blessing, knowing that I¡¯ll see the picture when I visit the shop. As much as I¡¯d like to display it in my own cabin, the studio is only an hour from home. I¡¯ll enjoy it while I¡¯m working, and it means the world to the old [Gaffer] that I¡¯m willing to share with him. We install it on the wall in a place of honor, since the image was captured during a celebration to commemorate the class of [Assistant Glassworkers] when they graduated from my father¡¯s glass-making lessons here in the Peliharaon Glass Works.

    The poster is the best surprise I¡¯ve ever gotten. I want to stare at the image reverently every morning when I arrive for work. Belatedly, I realize that I¡¯ve shifted my stance to copy my father¡¯s posture and composure. In fact, I¡¯m planning to revamp my entire outfit soon to match the picture, just so I can feel closer to him.

    After I finish tallying up the sales numbers and balancing the accounts, I mosey back into the hot shop to continue Ifran¡¯s education. He¡¯s assisting the [Gaffer] with a series of wine glasses, cradling each finished product and depositing them in the kiln like he¡¯s handling robin eggs. I can¡¯t help but smile at his caution and dedication.

    I wait until he completes the order to make sure I don¡¯t startle him and break his fierce concentration. Once his hands are free, I hold out a sheaf of papers with important information for glass-workers to know. ¡°I want you to study these directions. You¡¯re going to learn how to make the standard batch for the team, which means you need to memorize the ratios. What are the three major components of glass?¡±

    Surprise ripples across Ifran¡¯s face. He stands up straight and salutes, as though I¡¯m his commanding officer and he¡¯s a raw recruit, which sets the other workers coughing as they try to hold in their snorts of laughter. He clears his throat and answers. ¡°We always need silica, which comes from sand. That¡¯s the first one. Add in flux, and then a stabilizer. Sir.¡±

    ¡°Nicely done. But you don¡¯t have to call me sir,¡± I say, shifting uncomfortably at his term of respect. ¡°I¡¯m not old enough to deserve it yet.¡±

    ¡°Well, I sure am!¡± the affable [Gaffer] says, his eyes crinkling in merriment. ¡°So, young Master Nuri. What¡¯s on the docket for today?¡±

    ¡°For you? Anything you want to make. You¡¯ve earned that right.¡± I pause and lock eyes with Calix, the younger and more affable of the two [Glass Workers], who has stopped working to watch the show. He groans preemptively at my steely expression. I raise my voice, barely holding back a laugh, but trying to look stern. ¡°For everyone else? Cups and bowls, gents, cups and bowls!¡±

    Calix groans again, but it¡¯s only then that I realize Bijan isn¡¯t here yet. The [Gaffer] swats him lightly on the shoulder and shrugs. ¡°Boring, but you know it pays the bills. Ain¡¯t too much room for creative expression, but I guess I don''t mind much as long as I''ve got a bed to sleep in and hot food at the end of the day.¡±

    Calix forces a smile, but he still seems miffed at me for making him do grunt work. ¡°How about you, Nuri? Gonna hit our customers with the old razzle dazzle again?¡±

    ¡°Always do,¡± I drawl. Then I squint and look around the shop. ¡°Anyone seen Bijan? He¡¯s usually reliable. Is his family all right?¡±

    ¡°They made it out fine,¡± Ifran says. ¡°I don¡¯t think the same is true of his sister¡¯s family, though. He might be taking care of them still.¡±

    I draw my apprentice into a one-armed side hug, then tousle his curly hair. ¡°Glad you¡¯re still alive, Ifran. Your parents are well? I heard their neighbors lost a prize cow to the attack. My condolences.¡±

    ¡°Ha. That ornery old thing was on his last legs. He used to terrify me when I was little. No sad feelings here,¡± Ifran says, scowling up at me. ¡°That dumb bull used to chase me away from their fig tree. They probably let him die so they wouldn¡¯t have to put up with him anymore, and good riddance!¡±

    I chuckle at his earnest dislike. ¡°That¡¯s one way to win sympathy, I suppose. Think they have any figs for sale? I¡¯m hungry now.¡±

    He scowls. ¡°Lunch break is hours away. We have to get working. Isn¡¯t that what you always say? ¡®Idle hands are poor hands¡¯ or something?¡±

    ¡°Good point. Go on, then. Fetch our errant [Glass Worker]. When you return, I have something for you,¡± I say.

    Watching him jog out the door brings a smile to my face, but my gut clenches in sour concern. I¡¯m not always friendly with Bijan, since he believes that I usurped his rightful position and seems to hold my authority against me, but I certainly don¡¯t want any harm to come to his family. I hope they¡¯re all right.

    I don¡¯t relax until Ifran returns with mixed news. On the one hand, I¡¯m relieved to hear that Bijan is fine, but on the other, I¡¯m heartbroken to hear that he¡¯s been busy all week taking care of his nieces and nephews because their parents died in the attack. I¡¯ll have to talk with Ember about increasing his pay.

    Then, like a lightning bolt from a blue sky, a thought strikes me. Or maybe I should give up my position so that he can have the promotion. He needs it more than I do. My body freezes, transfixed, but I know immediately that it¡¯s the right thing to do. So why do I feel so despondent about it?

    Shaking off my mood, I dig through my bag, pull out the glass mold, and hand it to my young helper, intent on developing his skills further. ¡°Here. I made you something. Try it out.¡±

    Ifran scrunches up his face, staring at the mold I made for him with a quizzical, questioning look in his eyes. He turns the board in his hands to get a better look, running his fingers over the rows of ridges and grooves. He lifts it up and looks at it in profile. ¡°Kinda looks like a mountain range. What''s it for?¡±

    ¡°Get a little glob of glass, maybe as big as your thumb,¡± I instruct him, steering him toward the furnace. ¡°Put on your apron first, just in case. You don¡¯t want to burn yourself in your excitement to work at the bench.¡±

    Practically twitching in anticipation, Ifran scurries over to the rack of leather work aprons. He shimmies into the smallest one, snatches up a punty, and marches over to the furnace with satisfaction writ large on his face. Every step is brimming with determination. I know that he won¡¯t let me down.

    After a batch or two of misshapen glass pieces, he starts to get the hang of it. I¡¯m proud of his progress, but time waits for no man. The sun is setting soon, and I don¡¯t feel like traveling in the dark after my brush with death. I send him home and depart for Silaraon, but I drag my feet as I walk. I¡¯m leaving with a heavy heart, knowing that my time here will soon come to an end. I¡¯ve always wanted a crown, but it¡¯s not time yet to take the throne.

    =+=

    Ember accompanies me the next day to finally conduct the promised audit, which makes me worry about what she might find. Numbers aren''t my forte. Although I know she already cleared out the Shadow Jaguar population, I still walk easier with her by my side. In deference to my aches and pains, she walks at a more measured pace than before, not forcing me to keep up with her demanding, Royal-army-trained standards.

    Bookkeeping seems at odds with the fierce warrior, but when I watch how she handles the audit with ruthless efficiency, I see the overlap. In a way, she''s better suited for administrative work because of her combat experience. The two disciplines never went together in my mind previously, but seeing how she applies her mind for strategy and tactics to paperwork and the logistics of running a business makes it all fit together.

    At long last, Ember closes the books with a sigh and stands up, stretching out her hand after all the writing and cross-checking. ¡°Only a few minor errors with your arithmetic, Nuri.¡±

    My face starts to heat up at the perceived scolding, but she shakes her head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look like that. I¡¯m impressed! Better job than I did my first year managing the finances. You have a good head for business. Normally, if I make a mistake, I take the loss out of my next pay day, since the boss should always bear the brunt before the workers. In your case, since it''s your first time, and you did an admirable job overall, I will take care of the difference. You¡¯ve done well turning the shop around and pulling a profit again.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, blushing. I¡¯m caught off guard by her praise.

    When we''re done running the numbers, she heads down to the hot shop floor and beckons for me to take up my familiar spot as her assistant. In my younger years, I might have found it insulting to be expected to do the work of an apprentice, but now I take great pride in standing at the foot of her workbench and knowing that she trusts me to get the job done right.

    ¡°Ifran, come watch. You have a chance to learn from one of the best in the business,¡± I call.

    Bijan scoffs. ¡°He can watch me anytime.¡±

    Ember¡¯s withering stare puts him in his place far more effectively than I ever could. For a brief, uncharitable moment, I consider keeping my mouth shut and not telling Ember about my recent decision to pass the control of the studio over to Bijan. For all I know, he won''t even appreciate my offer, or will find it insulting and patronizing. That makes the potential sacrifice sting all the more, but if it''s the right thing to do, then it''s the right thing to do. Whether or not we get along shouldn''t factor into the equation.

    Despite his skepticism, Bijan does watch the proceedings with interest. Even the old [Gaffer] puts aside his work to watch Ember. He and Calix are better natured than Bijan at least, and they know that they can learn from a master at work. They''re not too proud to listen.

    Inwardly, I vow to do better when it comes to taking corrections. I don''t want to be pompous and set in my ways before I''m even old enough to earn that distinction¡ªthough the old [Gaffer] certainly has avoided the prickly path of presumption that many elders adopt.

    Ember turns a metal rod in the furnace, collecting a gather of molten glass. She carries it to the workbench with calm, measured steps, not hurrying like I usually do. Without a word, she holds out an open hand, and I place a water-soaked wooden block into her waiting grasp, since I know how she prefers to smooth out the imperfections and odd shapes in the gather. Using a block allows her to uniformly mold the molten glass into a spherical shape.

    Steam rises in the air in curlicues. Hissing and simmering, the glass takes on the contours of the hollowed out wooden block, ensuring that it will retain a proper shape while it inflates. Before long, Ember reaches her desired size, and she takes up the jacks to shape the glass.

    Pinching the base of the bulb with a pair of tweezers causes the glass to narrow as it spins on the end of the blow pipe. Ember activates a Skill to accelerate the process, and the glass compresses down into an hourglass figure in the blink of an eye. Privately, I¡¯ve always thought her abilities mirror her personality: direct, powerful, and straight to the point. No time to waste!

    She claps her hands, and the glass glows, burning with the light of the sun. I squint against the sudden glare, but my attention never wavers. I want to remind myself of every little movement and nuance of technique. She spins the rod, expanding the glass now that it¡¯s hot enough to be malleable again, and presses the end of the glass flat with a graphite paddle to create a half-dome of glass, the curved portion stuck to the end of the blow pipe.

    ¡°Fetch me another gather, Nuri. I¡¯m ready to build this out.¡±

    Scurrying to obey, I rush to the furnace and return with a small punty. A glob of glowing glass clings to the end of the rod. She takes it and prescribes a circle around the flat edge of the half-dome. She picks up a smaller pair of tweezers and pinches the soft circle of new glass as she turns the rod, much like making little gathered ridges around the edge of a pie crust.

    With deft, practiced strokes, she dots the hot glass onto the sides of the piece, cutting the excess off with a small pair of shears. She turns the rod until she has a dozen evenly-spaced teardrops on the outside of the original piece of glass. She examines it, muttering to herself, and nods in apparent satisfaction. The last portion of the small gather of glass she sticks to the center of the flattened base of the dome, creating a stem, which she smooths out with the flat part of the jacks, while spinning the blow pipe to maintain evenness as she tapers the end and adds a knob.

    Another of her Skills ignites, rapidly hardening and cooling the glass stem without cracking it. Anticipating her needs, I¡¯ve pulled out a few additional rods, which I keep hot with my Skill [Heat Manipulation]¡ªignoring the twinge of discomfort thanks to the cracks¡ªand sure enough, she beckons for the next one, drawing a thick, gloopy circle around the stem she created. As soon as it¡¯s in place, she flattens it with the broad side of her jacks.

    Working off the stem, she runs the glass in a slow spiral while the rod spins, building up a circular foundation. She pinches with square jacks, twisting and pulling out sections of the glass to make five spikes. A new application of glass connects each of the spikes, and with careful finagling, she manipulates the glass to make little openings, then switches over to tweezers to tug open each gap, creating a five-pointed glass star made of looping lines.

    The pattern repeats several times over. Each new layer expands and grows as she adds new sections to the stem of the goblet to create a lattice-work base. Once she¡¯s happy with the shape, she activates her acceleration Skill again, forcibly annealing the glass yet maintaining its structural integrity. I still have no idea how she gets around the coefficient of thermal expansion, but that¡¯s magic for you.

    Switching her attention to the dome, she heats up the glass via another Skill, pulling the goblet away from the rod. The pressure causes the glass to stretch out into a soft neck, which she squeezes with the tweezers until a sharp tap breaks the glass and detaches the goblet from the blow pipe.

    I hand her my final prepared rod, still hot thanks to the application of my solitary Skill, and she meticulously drizzles the hot, liquid glass gathered at the end of the rod onto the middle of the goblet, creating a circular neck about two fingers below the rim of the goblet.

    She reheats the curved top of the dome until it glows cherry-red, then wedges in a pair of alchemically-treated wooden tongs and forces the curved glass apart, opening the mouth of the goblet and creating walls that flare out gently from the neck upward, inverting the dome shape.

    ¡°There. Pop that in the kiln, Nuri. I don¡¯t want to waste mana to finish the annealing right away. No sense in it, since we won¡¯t sell it until tomorrow, anyway; shop¡¯s about to close.¡±

    ¡°Fancy cup,¡± Bijan says, frowning thoughtfully at the finished glass piece, which is fading from the translucent gold of superheated glass to a pleasant green. ¡°I¡¯ll take it to the kiln. I¡¯d like to get a feel for how it was created, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    The admission that he has something to learn from the casual display of mastery seems to take something out of Bijan, but Ember graciously nods in permission. As he shuffles off, turning the goblet and examining it from all angles, I clear my throat to catch my master¡¯s attention.

    ¡°You¡¯ve seen the books,¡± I murmur in response to her raised eyebrow. ¡°He barely makes enough to support his family as it is. Now that he¡¯s taking on more mouths to feed, he needs a raise.¡±

    Ember narrows her eyes, taking in my solemn tone and the set of my jaw. ¡°You want him to take over for you?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t really want it, if I¡¯m being honest,¡± I whisper. ¡°This place makes me think of my father. Every time I work here, I feel like a king. But it seems like the right thing to do.¡±

    ¡°Not every king ascended to the throne at an early age,¡± Ember replies, her lips twitching into an amused smile. ¡°Live a little before you settle down, Nuri. You¡¯ll get your chance before you know it.¡±

    I nod, accepting her wisdom, but it still stings. I was looking forward to running the Peliharaon Glass Works and making my name here. Swallowing my disappointment, I square my shoulders and walk over to give Bijan the good news. He deserves to hear it from me. I clap my hand on Ifran¡¯s upper back and gesture for him to follow. I may not be able to teach him directly, but I¡¯ll make sure he¡¯s well trained in my absence, starting with the first lesson that Reijo and Ember taught me: like each other or not, we¡¯re family here in the hot shop. We always take care of our own.

 Chapter Eight: Through a Glass, Darkly

    ¡°A little bigger to match the scale,¡± I mutter to myself, putting the carved mouthpiece back between my lips and forcing air through the tube to expand the gather of glass. The sheer size of this commission leaps right past ambitious and lands squarely in hubris. The finished piece will look a good deal more gaudy than I find attractive, but money is money, and I don''t feel like offending my wealthiest patron.

    When I finally delivered the finished Grotto of the [Guardians] to Lord Garman after weeks of hard labor and teamwork with Ember and Mikko, he was so enthusiastic about the moving pieces and tribute to Densmore¡¯s natural beauty that he decided to commission a companion piece for every room. I''m up to my eyeballs in sketches and proposals for waterfalls, canyons, and even the Royal gardens, all made of glass with a base of moving gears to animate the entire scene. Saying that I¡¯m starting to regret my ambitious upsell is an understatement. At least it''s good practice for when I one day enter the All-Densmore glass competition.

    The pay is staggering, but the work never ends. At least now Mikko and I can afford to move ahead with his passion project: The Iron Lunk. I only hope the combat routines he¡¯s come up with for the automaton will prove worth the hefty investment of time, money, and energy.

    And bruises. Can¡¯t forget the bruises if we¡¯re sparring against a metallic martial master.

    Completing the work for Lord Garman is bittersweet. I¡¯m back in Silaraon on what''s likely to be a semi-permanent basis, and I keep wondering how my friends back in Peliharaon are doing. Bijan needed the promotion more than I did, and Ember was proud of my decision, but I still miss my time there. Maybe I can steal away for a day or two and help Calix finish the fanciful glass menagerie we were working on before the wealthy Lord dazzled us with his offer for commission work. Plus, someone needs to make sure Ifran is learning the basics. He¡¯s a good kid.

    Melina sashays over to the bench where I¡¯m working, trying to move in an elegant, dignified manner, but she¡¯s practically skipping in excitement as she waves a small piece of paper in the air. ¡°Nuri! I think I have a lead on the swords. My friend at the Silaraon City Academy, the same [Researcher] in training who found the picture of your father? He¡¯s helping me track down some details for us.¡±

    ¡°Ah, Rakesh, right?¡± I reply, pleased that I remembered his name. I set the rod on the top of the bench, turning it slowly while we speak and keeping it at working temperature via [Heat Manipulation]. No sense spoiling this work because I feel like chatting.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got it. He works with Ezio, one of the premier scholars at the SCA,¡± she says.

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°And he¡¯s taking the time to look at glass?¡±

    Melina tuts at me. ¡°Masterworks, Nuri. Not any old bit of glass. They¡¯re worth his time.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see. The swords are worth his time. That sounds discriminatory, Mel. What does he have against cups and bowls and little trinkets?¡± I ask, feigning innocence.

    ¡°Unbelievable,¡± Melina says, laughing at my expression of faux-outrage. ¡°A minute ago you were surprised he¡¯s looking at glass at all, and now you¡¯re incensed he¡¯s only looking at the fancy stuff. Are you arguing both sides again? No, don¡¯t deny it! You are.¡±

    ¡°I definitely am,¡± I echo, checking on my project, still rotating the glass as we speak.

    Melina sighs wearily. ¡°I don''t know why I¡¯m surprised. You always were a rapscallion.¡±

    ¡°Glass really is underrated, though,¡± I say, completely in earnest this time. ¡°Maybe your friend could write a dissertation about pursuing glass work as a hidden path to power. Whatever he¡¯s found on the swords can go right into his research pile.¡±

    Melina¡¯s melodic laughter washes over me again. ¡°There¡¯s nothing hidden about glass, Nuri. Stop trying to sound so mysterious! Working in this shop is my favorite thing in the world, but it''s not exactly profound. Arcane powers aren¡¯t ours for the taking.¡±

    ¡°Peh, just because no one has reached the pinnacle yet by working with glass doesn''t mean it can''t be done. Go back far enough, and every noble profession or greater Class had a trailblazer once upon a time. Someone had to be first by definition. Same with glass; it''s just a more difficult path. So why not us, Mel?¡±

    ¡°You honestly think we''ll succeed where all other giants of glass have failed?¡± Melina asks, her brow furrowing in concentration.

    ¡°You¡¯re as talented as they come. What''s stopping you?¡± I cross my arms and level a stare at her, matching her question with a question of my own.

    ¡°Don''t dodge like that, Nuri. What''s your plan to make history? I''m curious; I''m not teasing you.¡±

    ¡°Uncover my father''s secrets, for starters. I want to know where he got those swords. How did he progress through the ranks so quickly?¡±

    ¡°Ember might know. But she falls back on her army training when it comes to a fight. Glass only takes her so far.¡± Melina gives me a half shrug, lifting one shoulder eloquently. ¡°I don''t mean to doubt you, but how will you succeed where she hasn''t?¡±

    ¡°Because she hasn¡¯t tried. Not truly,¡± I answer after a moment of deliberation. ¡°She¡¯s content to oversee the shop. She¡¯s an administrator¡ªand a good one¡ªbut she¡¯s not suffering from the urge to storm the heights of magic. She doesn¡¯t push the limits of what¡¯s possible like her life depends upon it.¡±

    Melina scrunches her nose, tilts her head to the side, and lapses into contemplative silence. I¡¯d like to imagine that if I squint, I can see the gears turning in her mind, to borrow from Mikko¡¯s favorite phrase about thinking hard. That muscle-head would compare everything to his metalworking. Not like I would ever do the same about glass!

    ¡°You may have a point, Nuri,¡± she concedes, prompting a huge grin from me. From anyone else, her statement would be a bit of nothingness, a boring and non-committal answer to placate me. From her? The admission is tantamount to a declaration of victory. I¡¯ve rarely received such high praise from her.

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    Beaming at her tacit approval, I rock back on my heels and clasp my hands behind me; the glass won¡¯t spoil if I take a quick break for a dramatic pose. ¡°So, are you coming along for the journey?¡±

    ¡°My goals are my own,¡± she replies carefully, likely because she doesn¡¯t want to make me feel bad or alienated. She folds the paper in her deft hands, tucking the creased, square lines of the note into her leather shop apron¡¯s side pocket.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I reply, shrugging. I shift my attention back to the glass, picking it up and shaping it as I continue with my commission work. I know a letdown when I see it coming.

    Unexpected fire fills her voice, however. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll meet you at the peak, anyway. I¡¯m not content to sit idly by as the world rushes past me. I desire to learn, to know, to explore every concealed crack and forgotten crevice in this grand old world. I will never stop growing, Nuri.¡± Her normally gentle, kind features harden as she expresses the truth of her existence with unshakeable resolve.

    I take a moment to blow into the mouthpiece at the back of the flexible tubing, inflating the glass a little larger to buy myself time before I reply. ¡°I¡¯m impressed, Melina. I didn¡¯t realize you were that committed.¡± I pull the glass closer, pick up a wooden block with a concave curve cut into it, and turn the ball of glass in the scooped-out bowl of wet wood to make sure it¡¯s perfectly spherical. ¡°Tell me. What¡¯s driving you?¡±

    ¡°Nuri! Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s too personal?¡± Melina says. Her protest lacks much heat, however, so I keep up the pressure, meeting her gaze while I work and not breaking eye contact. She starts to speak, sputters, and snaps her mouth shut with a click of teeth. A wistful expression crosses over her face as she stares out the nearby window. ¡°I do have an answer to your question, Nuri. I just don¡¯t know if I feel like sharing.¡±

    ¡°Take your time. Some of us have work to do,¡± I reply lightly, but if she hears my quip, it doesn¡¯t seem to register. She¡¯s lost in her own mind. In the meantime, I turn back to the glass.

    An awkward few minutes pass by. Only the sound of my tools twisting and tapping on the hot glass intrudes on the silence between us. Just when I¡¯m about to apologize for putting her on the spot, Melina sighs and slips into the seat next to my workbench. ¡°I have a confession. But you have to keep it to yourself.¡±

    ¡°Promise,¡± I reply instantly, oddly touched that she¡¯s willing to trust me. Melina is by far the most professional and focused person I know, even surpassing Ember, so I¡¯m both surprised and deeply flattered that she¡¯s willing to bare her soul. Whatever she has to say, I¡¯m taking her seriously enough to put the glass back down and listen, though I still keep the rod turning and use my Skill again to maintain the proper heat.

    Melina shifts in her seat to face me. She arranges her leather apron across her lap and smooths out the wrinkles, preparing herself outwardly as she orders her thoughts inwardly. ¡°I want to learn magic. Real magic, not just helpful Skills for working around the shop¡ªsomething grand and glorious. And as much as I love Silaraon, and my friends and family here, well, I want to travel, to see every region of Densmore, and then to go abroad. Naftali is the closest country, but my real dream is visiting Osaria someday.¡±

    I scratch my chin thoughtfully. ¡°The island? I didn¡¯t know you like sailing.¡±

    ¡°Ha. There¡¯s plenty you don¡¯t know, Nuri,¡± Melina says, a soft smile on her face. ¡°There¡¯s something wild and majestic about the ocean that calls to me. It¡¯s vast and untamed. Despite all our studies, [Cartographers] and [Scholars] still don¡¯t know its boundaries. Some people find it terrifying, but not me. The sea is undefined and endless, which means there¡¯s still splendor and sublimity in the mysterious unknown. Once the edges are defined, it¡¯s limited, somehow.¡±

    She shivers suddenly, although it¡¯s warm in the hot shop. ¡°I hate the sense of finality that comes with limits. That¡¯s not how I want my life to go. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. I¡¯m always the responsible one! That¡¯s what people expect of me. But you know what, Nuri? Sometimes I want to leave all of this behind me, just walk out of the studio, hitch a ride to the coast on one of the passing trade caravans, and then set sail for uncharted shores.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t sound crazy to me,¡± I assure her. ¡°You want more out of life. I do, too. Glass is my passion, but the medium isn¡¯t as important as the urge to explore. Here¡¯s to discovery and mastery, Mel! We¡¯ll get there.¡±

    ¡°You really believe that,¡± she murmurs, squinting at me strangely, as though she doesn¡¯t quite believe it herself. ¡°I appreciate that about you. You dream big, but you¡¯re convinced that it¡¯s not out of reach. I want that confidence for myself.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°I guess I never thought of my goals as all that special. Who doesn¡¯t want to make it to the top? I¡¯m not dreaming big; other people just dream small. Promise me that you won¡¯t settle for lesser things, either.¡±

    Melina laughs at that. ¡°Fine! I¡¯ll take that deal. No small dreams for either of us. Then let me keep dreaming. I want to fall in love, get married, raise half a dozen children. We¡¯ll all travel together on a great big boat, sailing along the coastal provinces searching for treasure. They¡¯ll be ocean babies, swimming about and diving deep like fish. I will flat-out refuse to let them take land-lubber Classes. We''ll unlock the secrets of magic together, like [Mages] of yore. One day, from the gently-rocking deck of my ship, I¡¯ll watch them claim the skies as their new domain to go along with the sea.

    ¡°As the years go by, I¡¯ll watch them fall in love and start families of their own. And when I grow old, I¡¯ll take up glass again, making trinkets and toys for my grandchildren to cherish and inevitably break¡ªand then I''ll make them better toys to replace the first ones.¡± She breaks off, blushing furiously. ¡°If you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, Nuri Shahi, I swear that I¡¯ll seal your lips together with hot glass.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t tell a soul, Mel. I swear!¡± I hasten to promise. I grin at the picture of her future she¡¯s painting, and wink. ¡°Although, I¡¯ll bet your sister would find it extremely interesting.¡±

    Melina groans, putting her head in her hands. ¡°Stop it! You especially can¡¯t tell Avelina. What a mortifying thought. I think I¡¯d die of shame.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Your secret¡¯s safe with me. Why did you come find me, anyway? I¡¯m sure it wasn¡¯t so I could tease you about sailing the seas. Which I won¡¯t do, because I said I wouldn¡¯t make fun of you.¡±

    ¡°Technically, you only promised not to tell anyone. Teasing is still an option, since I didn¡¯t remember to make ¡®no teasing¡¯ part of the requirements to hear my silly ideas,¡± Melina says, shaking her head and chuckling in self-deprecation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll only tease you a little bit,¡± I say, my grin widening. Melina is a good sort, but she takes herself too seriously sometimes.

    ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible, Nuri,¡± Melina says, rolling her eyes at me. She withdraws the folded paper from her well-worn apron. Her long, delicate fingers close about the note, twisting the fresh, crisp parchment as she glances at me shyly. ¡°Still, I suppose you deserve a bit of good news. I came to give you an update on Rakesh¡¯s progress.¡±

    Exhilaration and longing ripple through me, so electric that my fingertips tingle. I brighten and reach for the note, but she pulls it away at the last second. I raise my eyebrows in question, and she nods toward the glass. I¡¯ve let it go still. With a muttered curse about shattered glass, I keep turning the metal rod, reheating the glass and restoring its intended shape.

    Melina unfolds the note, pressing it flat on the bench next to her, and clears her throat. ¡°Keep working. I¡¯ll read it to you. Don¡¯t get your hopes up just yet, Nuri. Rakesh said he¡¯s got a long way to go. We don¡¯t have actionable information yet, but it looks like he¡¯s found a lead.¡±

    I redouble my efforts with the glass while I listen to Melina read Rakesh¡¯s note aloud. Her voice grows feverish with excitement, and I hurry to finish up my work so that we can shift our attention to the mystery of the Master who crafted my father¡¯s glass swords. We¡¯ll put our heads together and plan for the pursuit of greatness.

    Adventure calls, and one day, we¡¯ll answer. We might be glass-makers by trade, but right now we¡¯re forging dreams.

 Chapter Nine: A Fighting Chance

    As the months since the monster attack fly by, I spend more and more time submerged within the confines of my soul space, working on my battered Class Skill as though my life depends on it. And who knows? Maybe it does. I¡¯m no soul expert; I don¡¯t want to risk unknown side effects. Despite the upgrade in title, my [Heat Manipulation] Skill is still afflicted with small cracks from the abuse I put it through, looking like a glass chandelier that didn¡¯t survive the annealing process intact. Despite all that, it works.

    I make a mental note to check with Lionel¡¯s Aunt Althea later. Maybe she¡¯ll know how to treat the tiny cracks, assuming they won¡¯t fade over time.

    Gentle mana use seems to help with recovery. Pushing too hard strains the Skill again, causing the cracks to spider web across the crystalline structure. It¡¯s the most terrifying balancing act I¡¯ve ever done: just enough to heal, not enough to harm.

    My mana moves through my channels more slowly than I¡¯d like, but it chafes less now than it did in the first few weeks after the overstrain. The good news is that my mana pool is deepening consistently with each day of practice.

    Sweat beads across my forehead, dripping into my eyes and stinging, but I refuse to let it shake my concentration. I visualize crisscrossing, red-orange bands of the heat above me, and intricate blue-white circles of cold beneath me. My haggard breathing remains steady, no longer impaired by the injuries to my ribs and lungs, which have finally healed.

    I draw the energy from the lower patterns into my body, guiding the Skill so that only the lines I¡¯ve drawn on the floor of my room are affected. The ambient heat doesn¡¯t change¡ªmuch, at any rate¡ªalthough minor fluctuations show that I still haven¡¯t attained complete mastery over the ability. The heat leeches from the circles and into my mana channels directly, transforming into a purer form of energy, before I send it into the fiery swirls overhead. Pull too much, and I scorch myself from the inside out, but I haven¡¯t found a more efficient method for manipulation than allowing my body to serve as a conduit between the opposing patterns.

    Without innate resistances granted by the Skill, I can¡¯t survive such intense temperature extremes. Previously, I always flexed my Skill in tiny, inexpert ways to deal with the heat from the furnaces. All that ever accomplished was cheating myself from gaining any level of mastery over true hot and cold, although it was certainly far more comfortable.

    I grit my teeth, pushing the Skill a little further before the burn in my channels signals the end of today¡¯s session. I release my grip on [Heat Manipulation] with a slight smile, satisfied with the day¡¯s progress. I¡¯m close to completing the full energy transfer between the two patterns.

    That makes my spirit sing. I can practically taste the glazed honey on the sweet roll I promised myself as a reward for mastering the complex process. Training is hard work, but I finally feel like I have a clear path forward.

    I squat down and catch my breath, not as concerned with regulating my air intake now that I don¡¯t need to concentrate as hard. Not for the first time, I¡¯m glad for Ember¡¯s challenge to run the studio in Peliharaon. Even though it didn¡¯t turn out the way I expected, I¡¯m growing again. Exploring the world and the mysteries of magic is invigorating, and I¡¯m flourishing if I do say so myself.

    ¡°Thanks, boss,¡± I whisper. It doesn¡¯t matter that she¡¯s not here to hear me. Gratitude is still worth cultivating.

    It¡¯s tough to temper my enthusiasm, but I suspect that I¡¯ll gain a new Skill soon. Thanks to my intensive methods of training, I¡¯m touching on mysteries I¡¯ve never considered before. I¡¯ve been observing the senior [Artisans] and [Gaffers] around the studio while they work, trying to get a sense of how they use mana. So far, this hasn¡¯t produced any fruit, but I have a plan.

    Whenever they¡¯re at work, I sink into the strange void of my inner space to see if I can catch a glimpse of the movement of mana. Observing without sight is slow-going, but I¡¯m certain I¡¯ll get somewhere if I keep circulating mana while they engage their glassmaking Skills.

    Watching isn¡¯t enough on its own. I¡¯m convinced of that. I¡¯ll have to make as many new glass objects as I can¡ªtools and basins and jewelry and animal sculptures; all sorts of things, from the mundane to the utterly fantastical¡ªwhile I try to coax the mana within to assist the process.

    It will work. It has to.

    Mana exercises complete for the day, I turn my attention to the basic combat forms book Ember loaned me. Unlike my younger days, when Ember only taught me self-defense, she¡¯s been putting me through the ringer lately. Ever since the jaguar fight, she¡¯s realized she can¡¯t baby me anymore. No longer do I have to complain, cajole, and cut deals to put in extra work hours just for some basics; she¡¯s finally ready to teach me how to fight properly, like a trained [Soldier].

    I let out a soft laugh as I thumb through the dog-eared pages until I find my bookmark, marveling at how much I still have to learn. No matter how much I insist on jumping ahead to the fun parts, Ember is unbending. She insists on laying a strong foundation, and I¡¯d be a fool not to follow her methods. Instead, I have to study a dozen different manuals and prove my competency before she¡¯ll even let me touch a weapon again.

    Steady, slow progress is better than no progress, I tell myself as a shield against disappointment. It may take a few years at this rate, but that doesn¡¯t really matter compared with a lifetime of ability. Besides, I won¡¯t take a secondary Class until after my First Threshold, even if I have the option. Trying to gain another Class and rank up combat Skills before I upgrade my current Class seems foolish. My goals should include improving as an artist first and trying to earn another Skill second, now that I think about it.

    Without any other recourse, I dig into the reading for the evening. Might as well study with a good attitude. I commit as much theory and tactics to memory as I can. Stances, spacing, how to take initiative and understand tempo¡ªwhich kind of footwork to use against which types of opponents. The problem is that it¡¯s all targeted toward soldiers: marching drills, shield work with overlapping tower shields, how to communicate via trumpet patterns on a large battlefield, and so on. None of it seems applicable to fighting off the mana-empowered monsters in the surrounding regions. If a Rift disgorges a horde of monsters nearby, I won¡¯t be able to stop them. Yet.

    Inevitably, my mind wanders. I need a target, or a sparring partner, if I¡¯m ever going to inculcate the martial treatise. That¡¯s why I¡¯m so excited about Mikko¡¯s automaton project. Visualization is only going to take me so far.

    Maybe I can dream about fighting, I joke to myself as I transition to getting ready for bed. All I need to do is hold the ideas in my mind from now until I pass out. In the washroom, I jab my toothbrush in the air like a spear thrust, accidentally spraying flecks of foam and water droplets from the toothpaste onto my mirror.

    Wincing, I wipe off the mirror and let out a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle. At this rate, I think to myself sheepishly, the only monsters that need to fear me are bad breath and tooth decay.

    Bedtime preparations complete, I shrug on a clean shirt and tuck myself under thin covers, shivering mournfully. I cross my arms and rub my hands across my opposite biceps, hoping to create enough friction to warm up. ¡°I¡¯d love a good, thick pelt from a Shadow Jaguar about now,¡± I murmur into the darkness.

    Several moments later, tired of the cold and misery, I pull in heat from the corners of the small room and redirect it into my body, cursing my stupidity for forgetting¡ªagain¡ªto practice my foundational Skill. How am I going to progress if my mindset never adapts? I can warm myself at any time. My default behavior needs to update. Instead of fear, I need to reach for my Skill before anything else. Neglecting magic is like trying to walk without limbs. Equal parts warm and annoyed, I drift off for the night.

    Alas, I do not dream of fighting.

    =+=

    Mikko comes to visit me in the hot shop the next morning. My childhood best friend, self-proclaimed expert pot-stirrer, and adopted brother, he always brings an enormous amount of energy¡ªand chaos. He and Lionel are definitely made from the same batch of glass. How I ended up with two friends who tease me constantly is a mystery, but surely I¡¯ve done nothing to deserve the persecution.

    Strangers to Silaraon have no trouble identifying Mikko¡¯s profession. Few things in life are as obvious. He works in the blacksmith forge nearby, and he looks the part: all bulging muscles and fiery hair, with permanent semi-circular soot stains on his face where the eye pieces don¡¯t protect him. His father is one of the [Gaffers] who took me in after my father died, so we¡¯re more like blood brothers than mere acquaintances.

    Mikko elbows me in the ribs as I try to scooch past him to get a fresh batch of glass, chuckling when I grimace at him.

    I bump him back. ¡°Oho! Ko, you¡¯re in the way, you great lummox. Some of us have things to do around here.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, Nuri, Nuri. Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?¡± He snickers at my sour expression and follows me back to the workbench I¡¯ve commandeered for the day. ¡°Heard you¡¯re popular with the local wildlife.¡±

    ¡°Old news, Ko, but you¡¯ve got it wrong. Those cats couldn¡¯t stand the taste of me. Too tough for those monsters! That¡¯s why they spit me back out.¡±

    Mikko rolls his eyes. ¡°Not the Jaguars. I know that was ages ago. You really think my head is made of iron ingots?¡±

    I simply spread my hands wide, shrug, and give him a smarmy grin.

    He sighs dramatically and tries to gently punch my shoulder, but the impact is hard enough to bruise muscle and make me stagger. I groan, although it probably doesn¡¯t register to him that he hurt me. Mikko has [Strength of the Forged Gods], [Iron Skin], and [Greater Endurance]. He can bend an iron bar in half with his bare hands¡ªI¡¯ve seen him do it as a trick to impress girls at the tavern. He has to expend mana to activate the burst of power. Over time, however, the constant process of soaking his muscles and bones and ligaments and tendons in mana seems like it¡¯s passively strengthened his already massive frame.

    I rub my tender shoulder, hissing a sharp intake of air through clenched teeth to keep from crying. ¡°Wanna walk that one back, Ko? You¡¯re making it even easier than usual for me to point out your advanced stupidity.¡±

    ¡°Listen, flux-brain,¡± Mikko responds with a laugh, falling back on an old favorite insult, ¡°I¡¯m talking about the birds roosting on top of your cabin all night, not you running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Imagine running from those shadow furballs! Nah, I¡¯m concerned about the wildlife in the surrounding countryside. Do you even realize you¡¯re throwing off the local ecosystem because birds aren¡¯t migrating during winter any more?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re making that up,¡± I scoff, but the look on Mikko¡¯s face is too sincere to be a joke. All at once, it clicks into place for me. ¡°The heat transfer drills! My rooftop must be cozy. Why leave the area if they can enjoy the lap of luxury here?¡±

    ¡°See? I¡¯m a caring person. You¡¯re ruining a delicate balance.¡° Mikki leans in, his brow furrowed. ¡°I hate to admit it, but I think I envy the birds. Dad keeps the house too cold. That¡¯s why I spend extra time at the forge lately.¡±

    ¡°Is this your way of saying you miss me and you want me to move back home? I¡¯m touched.¡±

    Mikko makes a face. ¡°Only for the winter. I finally got my old room back to myself.¡±

    I laugh. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll drop by and say hi to Mom. But what do I get out of it?¡±

    ¡°The satisfaction of knowing your best friend is safe from freezing to death. Or do I truly matter so little to you?¡± He staggers back, a hand clutched to his heart dramatically.

    I roll my eyes. ¡°You know my Skill isn¡¯t [Heat Generation], right? It¡¯s [Heat Manipulation]. The energy has to come from somewhere. If I heat up one part of the house, it means freezing the rest of it. Guess whose room will become the new icebox.¡±

    Ember walks by just then, fixing me with a stare that promises she¡¯s going to start docking my pay if I loaf around for much longer. I wave back impishly, but she doesn¡¯t dignify me with a response.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Of course I know about the cold,¡± Mikko says, returning to our conversation as though Ember never stopped by. ¡°Dad says he¡¯ll butcher one of the cows and freeze a side of beef with the side effects of your totally awesome, not lonely at all, only child of a Skill.¡±

    Somehow, when Mikko makes fun of me, having only one Skill to my name doesn¡¯t sting at all. The joke isn¡¯t quite as funny as he thinks it is, but it still makes me laugh. My brother¡¯s infectious that way, always spreading mirth while I brood but put on a brave face.

    Well, that¡¯s not entirely true. I¡¯ve just been a bit dour lately compared with my regular self. I like teasing and laughter as much as the next guy. Meditating on my future has made me more contemplative than usual.

    Apparently sensing my mood shift, Mikko pulls out a rolled-up sheet of paper and unfolds it, flattening it out. Holding it with both hands, he presents it to me with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

    ¡°Heard through the grapevine that you need a weapon and a training dummy sooner rather than later, so I accelerated our plans for the Iron Lunk. Look over my sketches and diagrams and let me know if you like the proposal. I still think you¡¯re crazy to try to pick up a combat Class after your advancement, but I wouldn¡¯t be much of a brother if I didn¡¯t try to help you.¡±

    ¡°Iron is a little tougher than glass at my level,¡± I admit, somewhat grudgingly. My throat is too tight with sudden emotion to say much else.

    Mikko snickers, knowing how much it costs my pride to make that kind of admission. I¡¯ve been rambling for years about how much I wish I could develop a mana-imbuing Skill someday so I can transform glass to my liking. Metal already does the job better for this purpose.

    ¡°Love you, too, bro.¡± He claps me on the shoulder again¡ªthankfully, not hard enough to send me flying into the furnaces or nearly break my bones this time. Mikko salutes Ember before stomping away on his huge booted feet on his way back to his own workshop, a jaunty whistle on his lips.

    I tuck the paper into my pants pocket, safely hiding it behind the sturdy leather apron I always wear when I¡¯m in the glassworks studio. I¡¯ll never hear the end of it if I burn up Mikko¡¯s designs in a moment of inattention, although I try to actively use [Heat Manipulation] all around the clock these days to keep the fires from affecting me. Speaking of the clock, I glance over at the tyrannical time-keeper, gauging how much longer I have until I can dash home and go over the schematics. Mikko might lack some delicacy, but that doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s not inventive. The big musclehead is highly competent at metal. We¡¯ve planned for years to make this iron automaton, and it could be exactly what I need to push my abilities to the next level.

    Lionel waves a hand in front of my face a moment later. ¡°Daydreaming will get you killed, buddy. Come give me a hand with the spiral water clock order. You¡¯ve got the steadiest hand in the studio for applying a secondary color.¡±

    I grunt in acknowledgement and follow Lionel to his workbench. My own orders are backed up, and now I have other plans for the day, but flattery is nice. What are friends for, anyway? I¡¯ll help Lionel when he asks. He¡¯s always had my back when I need help.

    The approach to his workbench is littered with cracked, cast-off shards of blue and green glass, in greater volumes than I regularly see. I arch an eyebrow at Lionel. ¡°Cleaning crew off for the day? Or are you just making more of a mess than usual?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t seem to get this to work right,¡± Lionel sighs. ¡°Compatibility should be fine, but as soon as I enable [Quick Cool], the artwork cracks. I think I need your temperature control to fix a problem with the coefficient of expansion.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s not going to work,¡± I reply instantly, killing Lionel¡¯s hope. ¡°I can¡¯t break all the rules of glassmaking by manipulating heat, not like Ember does. Merging our Skills isn¡¯t going to get around the fundamental problem. You need someone with expansion or compression Skills to get around the difference in elasticity¡ªor a glass creator. Good luck finding a living legend.¡±

    ¡°Shatter that,¡± he grumbles, falling back on the most popular invective in the glassworks studio. Ember doesn¡¯t like swearing around the shop, so we swap out the coarse language for glass-related expletives. ¡°You¡¯re sure there¡¯s no way around it?¡±

    ¡°Seriously, Lio? How did you graduate before me?¡± I ask, laughing. ¡°You have to use different glass. Check in the back storage room for additives to change the melting point; that¡¯s the easiest way around the problem. You¡¯re just being lazy.¡±

    He grimaces like he bit into a sour lemon. ¡°Ugh. Help me prep a suitable batch and colorize it, at least? Please, Nuri?¡±

    I snort. ¡°Fine. What are friends for?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. I only manipulate chumps into helping me,¡± Lionel shoots back, grinning as we set off to find ingredients.

    The teasing doesn¡¯t stop, but we get to work sorting through soluble salts and various glass types to find a suitable match for the base. I pull a few bags of ingredients from the back of the storehouse, relying on the charts we have posted on the walls to give me a general idea of material compatibility. Ingredients suited for the work are more expensive than the glass Lionel wanted to match, but he should still make a tidy profit on the finished order.

    I flare my [Heat Manipulation] to speed things along while Lionel fetches the brightly-colored chips to dip the hot glass into once we recolor the new batch of glass. When Lionel is ready with his desired color, I keep the temperature consistent so he can turn the rod and pick up the chips off the marver. Slowly but surely, the mixture deepens into a royal plum. I always find this process hypnotic.

    I have to stay focused on my own personal task at hand, however: practicing mana manipulation every second of the day with the goal of unlocking a new Skill. No longer feeling down about my single Skill, I¡¯m nonetheless determined to acquire more. They will be proof of my dedication to the craft, not just a badge of honor.

    While we work, I gaze inward at my Skill, trying to follow the flow of energy, but nothing appears visible no matter how much I burst or restrain my mana. I simply lack the mana senses to follow what¡¯s happening.

    Lionel frowns at me whenever the temperature in the area fluctuates, but I explain what I¡¯m doing, and he grudgingly nods along with a bit more sympathy. My motivations are shifting, deepening. I¡¯m serious about self-improvement. I want to master magic and glass in the pursuit of beauty. I¡¯m still driven to work hard, but not by some need for an impressive-sounding list of new Skills. The end result might look the same, but the process and purpose are radically different.

    ¡°I suppose this is what it means to become an adult,¡± I muse, straining to see the mana as it swirls around within my soul, imprinting my will upon the world around me.

    ¡°I¡¯m tempted to make a joke right now about your maturity, Nuri, but I¡¯ll let that one slide. You¡¯re welcome,¡± Lionel says with a flourish and a bow. ¡°I am a gracious taskmaster.¡±

    One of the assistants comes by with a punty when Lionel is done with his project, and I slip away while they¡¯re busy detaching the abstract glass art. I¡¯m way behind now on my own orders for the day, but Lio¡¯s in good spirits, so it¡¯s worth the time. We''ve always been thick as thieves.

    I reach for mana as I pick up my tools from the workbench, trying to pull it up into my eyes by sheer force of will. In order to manipulate mana, I first have to learn to sense different types of energies and Skill structures. The hours grind by in an uncomfortable, unfruitful rhythm. Melt the glass, check for energy flows. Shape a blob of nothing into an elegant horse with wings, check for energy flows. Watch a [Lampworker] draw glass into a fine spiral and [Quick Set] it into a fancy chandelier, check for energy flows. Blow through the rod and meticulously expand a bubble of glass? Of course. Check for energy flows.

    Sweat builds up on my forehead throughout the day, despite [Heat Manipulation], but I don¡¯t see anything. My eyes burn by the time I finish helping Lionel, and I barely have the energy to wrap up my own specialty project: two perfectly round globes, one red and one blue, made with a temperature-resistant variant of glass that requires three times the heat to melt. They¡¯ve taken all week to craft in my spare time, since we only get to requisition materials for one free custom piece per season. I¡¯m pushing the limits by creating two objects, but Ember will probably let it go since they¡¯re training aids to help with my [Heat Manipulation].

    Lionel stops by my workstation on his way home to congratulate me for my success, and for once his praise is completely sincere. Not ruining the notoriously difficult-to-work-with glass type is a sign my fine control is improving. He looks them over, making appropriately impressed noises of approval. He¡¯s my only friend still working past dinner time, so he¡¯s the first to get a short demonstration of the massively increased challenge I¡¯ve created. Moving heat and cold between them is exhausting.

    He claps sarcastically at the end of the show, since nothing terribly impressive happens visually, and calls goodnight over his shoulder as he bolts for the door.

    Utterly spent, I finally bid farewell to the glassworks studio and stumble home. I haven¡¯t succeeded in unlocking mana sight yet, but my eyes still itch with a weird form of mana-burn. I take it as a sign that I¡¯m definitely on the right path.

    ¡°Mana,¡± I grumble, kicking off my boots and flopping down on my bedroll with a scowl. Whose bright idea was it, anyway, to try to grasp hold of that strange and boundless energy? The power that binds the whole world together is as mysterious and intractable as ever. An entire day of hard work, and I have nothing to show for it.

    My internal flow of mana when I engage my Skill is all I can ever see, and even then it¡¯s inconsistent. Most often, the Skill simply takes over, and I do nothing more than provide a nudge. Manually activating and guiding heat transfer and temperature exchanges from start to finish is borderline impossible below the First Threshold, although my fine control is slowly improving. But anything more? Forget it. External mana feels as far away as the moon itself.

    After a few more extravagant minutes of allowing myself to indulge in complaints, I roll back to my feet and scrounge up some dried bread crusts for a plain dinner. I have no room in my schedule to cook anymore, since I need all the time I can get when it comes to studying and fighting. I mentally kick myself for moving out from Mikko¡¯s place last year, even if it shortened the trip to Peliharaon. It wasn¡¯t some desperate attempt to prove my independence.

    I sigh. I could be sinking my teeth into a juicy steak right now if I¡¯d stayed. Ah well. Sacrifices had to be made. Now I¡¯ve grown used to life on my own. Moving back home seems awkward. I appreciated that Ember opened the way for me to gain experience and become a better artisan, but now I¡¯m paying the culinary price.

    Mikko¡¯s schematics pop back into my mind right then. I¡¯m ashamed to admit that I momentarily forgot about his new design, too caught up in annoyance at my failure to lay hold of the secrets of the universe. I slip out the piece of paper, thread a little heat into a slim steel stylus I keep handy, and smooth out the folds and crimps like a [Laundry Worker] ironing a shirt.

    ¡°What crazy scheme have you gotten yourself into this time,¡± I mutter, poring over the surprisingly dense and sophisticated sets of circuitry and ideas for enchantments. As the puzzle pieces slowly fit together, I let out a long, low whistle. When did he get so good! The level of sophistication in the servo design looks like it will grant the automaton flexible movements and explosive power, while the weapon slots promise a world of pain if I misstep while training with the moderately-sized metal murdering machine.

    ¡°Now we just need to sell more to earn the money for an [Enchanter],¡± I say while tapping my finger on the schematic.

    The longer I read the second page of notes, the more the idea takes root. I want it. I need it! This training partner will help me bridge the gap between my current capabilities and the limitless potential I want to unlock. Painstakingly, I decode the technical jargon, trying to separate Mikko¡¯s functional devices from Mikko¡¯s flights of fancy. It seems solid, to my surprise. The full scope of Miko¡¯s plan hits me, and I can¡¯t help but grin. Maybe my brother is the more talented craftsman, after all.

    Doubt creeps in when I look at the estimated costs of the plan. Mikko may have hit the First Threshold earlier this year, but did advancement really make such a huge difference in his earnings? I tap my chin with the end of the steel stylus¡ªwhich I reset to its regular temperature to avoid burning myself¡ªand ponder where Mikko gained the skills to pull off this masterpiece of design. I''ll have to work harder if I want to keep up with him. That¡¯s what brothers are for, anyway, spurring each other on to greatness and helping each other along the way.

    ¡°This seems like patterns for enchantments, but at a higher level than I¡¯ve ever seen. Has Mikko secured a sponsor? That might explain all the talk about how it¡¯s a gift to me.¡± I pace while I continue thinking aloud.

    ¡°Good thing he and I are making excellent money from Lord Garman, or else I don¡¯t know how we would pay for the advanced enchantments, let alone all the parts, labor, and forge time. The only way we can afford this is if a benefactor is footing the bill. How do we get on a permanent payroll!¡±

    I walk back to my table and tap the note with my stylus. ¡°Or perhaps I''ll keep picking up extra commissions in the shop. No sense making my brother do everything by himself. Mikko has always been there for me, so it¡¯s time for me to return the support.¡±

    I¡¯ll have to visit my foster family on my next day off. In the meantime, I have to try to complete the entire sequence of energy transfers tonight before running and conditioning. I¡¯m growing so close to a breakthrough in mastery with my [Heat Manipulation] Skill, but I¡¯m still flubbing the sequence. Something is going wrong.

    Maybe I should just swallow my pride and ask Ember for advice. She could put me on the right track in seconds, I¡¯ll wager. I can already hear her scolding me in my imagination; I never pay enough attention to the finer details of the Skill. I need to practice with precision and consistency, not brute-force my way to a favorable outcome. Be creative!

    I flip the schematics over, pick up a grease pen, and start scribbling out ideas the old fashioned way. If I do gain enough strength, then I can brute-force whatever I want. Until then, I need to get clever about how I utilize glass. Surely there¡¯s a way to advance in combat power through glass-making Classes and Skills. A few moments later, my furiously writing grinds to a halt. I review what I have so far:

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Surround enemies in giant ball of molten glass to burn, crush, and suffocate them to death</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Transmute trace alchemical elements within target¡¯s bloodstream into glass, bleeding them from within</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Master mana-imbuing, create my own versions of Hellfire and Brimstone (but spears for reach?) and become a famous fighter</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Flash-freeze an entire battlefield with a snap of my fingers, then channel the heat transfer into a ball of glass and fling it at my enemies so it explodes</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Create an army of glass golems to do my dirty work for me</li>

    </ol>

    None of these seem like viable options in the next couple decades. I sigh, put away the big dreams, and pull out the two glass orbs I made earlier at the studio. It¡¯s time to push my Skill to the next level, no matter how hard it is. I grit my teeth and activate [Heat Manipulation]. As usual, the mana burns through my channels. My eyes feel like someone took sandpaper to the surface of my eyeballs. Undaunted, I push against the natural heat resistance of the shimmering glass globes. What¡¯s a little pain compared with a lifetime of power?

    The more I grow, the more I can help my friends. I¡¯m sure Ember will approve of that sentiment.

 Chapter Ten: A Fragile Bestiary

    A week later, Mikko and I are seated at his kitchen table, devouring freshly baked oat muffins that Kirsi prepared for us. I slather on a thick slab of apple butter and hum in satisfaction as I bite into the warm, savory treat.

    ¡°Mm. Might move back for the food.¡±

    Mikko shudders. ¡°Ugh! My worst nightmare. Mom¡¯s been making just as much food as she did when you were still living here, but I get to eat double without you. It¡¯s awesome.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t rat you out as long as you share the goods now and then,¡± I tease. ¡°Least you can do for your poor, starving brother.¡±

    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll bring you a gift basket,¡± Mikko promises. ¡°Now, stop thinking with your stomach and start thinking with your wallet. Prices have gone way up since we finished working for ole Garman. Let¡¯s hear your best schemes. How we gonna get rich?¡±

    I open my scuffed leather satchel, pull out my notebook, and rip out a page. I slide the paper over to my brother, hand him a pen, and gesture toward the blank page. ¡°Five minutes. Jot down everything you got. We¡¯ll see whose ideas bring in the most money. Loser buys the winner drinks at the pub.¡±

    ¡°Deal! I want a flagon of mead.¡±

    I flip over a tiny hourglass filled with sand to signal the start of the five-minute challenge, and we bend our heads over our sheets and scratch out our plans. Every few bites, I pause to furiously write down new ideas for how we can afford a top-tier [Enchanter] to enable the Iron Lunk to move. We thought we had the funds covered, but the last quote Mikko got back from the capital was almost twice what we¡¯d budgeted.

    The longer my list grows, the less and less likely the proposals become, but I don¡¯t have time to wait for inspiration to strike. Five minutes goes by in a flash, and the last grains of sand trickle out before I¡¯m ready to give up. Conceding isn¡¯t in my nature, but a bet is a bet. I sigh, set down the pen on the table, and push the paper away from me.

    ¡°Time! Here ya go.¡±

    ¡°You look glum, Nuri,¡± Mikko says. ¡°Guess I¡¯m gonna win again.¡±

    Rereading my ideas, I laugh quietly at my flights of fancy, but the mirth dies on my lips as I realize how ridiculous they sound. We need sound investments. Options look bleak now that I¡¯ve finished the Grotto and follow-up projects. Other than the occasional bespoke piece for Lord Garman, the work I¡¯ve done lately is too basic to be highly profitable.

    I need to find a new way to build income. My salary from the glassworks is plenty for my room and board, but not for special projects like the Iron Lunk. Who knows what else will catch my interest in the future? Better to be prepared, just in case.

    At least Lionel¡¯s Aunt, Althea, cleared me for further mana work. She¡¯s not technically an arcane healer, but she assures me that gentle, persistent mana use is known to reinforce Skills.

    If we see another attack like the Shadow Jaguars, or a disaster like a Rift opening, then I might need to outfit myself with weapons. I could technically carry around Hellfire and Brimstone if necessary, but the glass swords my father left me are far too sharp to risk a training accident. I¡¯m not well trained with swordplay, and Ember loves them. The way they glitter with their own internal fire reminds me of her name.

    Besides, I want to make my own weapons someday. I¡¯ll never reach the pinnacle if I rely on other people¡¯s work to get me there.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see what we¡¯ve got.¡± Mikko picks up my paper. He coughs to clear his throat, and reads the list aloud in his most sophisticated voice.

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Do window work for Silaraon</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Convince Lord Garman to buy a commission for each room in his summer house</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Host a competition between the two glass sister studios; raise funds from the community to reward the winners</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Sell off my father¡¯s glass swords (never happening! Stop it, Nuri)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Delve a Rift and find rare monster parts to sell to the Silaraon City Academy</li>

    </ol>

    I¡¯m back to laughing by the end. ¡°All right, fine. You¡¯ve probably got this one wrapped up. Guess I better make good on our deal and get you an entire flagon of mead next time we¡¯re at the pub.¡±

    He¡¯s never going to let me hear the end of this one. Let¡¯s hope he wins fair and square, though. That would mean his ideas are useful. I tap the table to get my brother¡¯s attention, since he¡¯s staring out the window with a dreamy expression. Probably daydreaming about his mead already.

    Mikko looks up, smirking at me, which means he¡¯s feeling confident. ¡°You ready for this? Sure you can handle my level of genius?¡±

    I nod. ¡°Whatcha got, Ko?¡±

    ¡°Take a look,¡± he says, spinning his own sheet of paper to show me his short list, written in his trademark bold handwriting. He¡¯s underlined the final entry. ¡°Pretty much nailed it.¡±

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Make awesome armor</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Advertise it to the Royal Army</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">????</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Profit</li>

    </ol>

    ¡°No doubt we¡¯ll be rich,¡± I deadpan.

    ¡°No doubt,¡± Mikko chuckles.

    ¡°Guess my money¡¯s safe. You¡¯ll have to buy me a mug, not the other way around. That¡¯s what I get for trusting you to come up with an actual plan. It¡¯s debatable who has a better head for business, you or the training dummy we¡¯re designing.¡±

    Mikko laughs at the affectionate insults and shakes his head. ¡°Nah, mine¡¯s the best for sure. Yeah, fine, you¡¯ve got more fleshed out ideas, but just watch. I¡¯ll pull it off.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we can come up with a combination of the two lists,¡± I say with a grin. ¡°I¡¯ll admit the first line has promise. What kind of armor do you have in mind?¡±

    ¡°Honestly? Not sure. I¡¯ve never made actual plate before. Maybe I¡¯ll start with a helmet or a shield. Something simple.¡±

    ¡°Will that sell?¡±

    Mikko shrugs his big shoulders. ¡°Not for the kind of money we¡¯ll need, based on the way prices are shooting up. If I use mana-infused metal, then it will be stronger than anything short of an enchanted set of armor, though. Not many [Blacksmiths] can work it, unless they have a strength-enhancing Skill.¡±

    ¡°Mana-infused? Sounds expensive.¡±

    Mikko winces. ¡°Very.¡±

    I scratch the back of my head, mulling over the problem. ¡°Ko, your boss is pretty relaxed, right? Will Aatos front the investment costs in exchange for a cut of the profits?¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Maybe. Master Aatos is pretty picky about that sort of thing,¡± Mikko says, tapping his big, sausage-like fingers on the table. ¡°Gotta prove myself first. That means prototyping the armor, which means buying a small amount of mana-infused steel. Worth the gamble?¡±

    I finish my last bite of muffin, chewing slowly while I consider the risks involved. ¡°If you¡¯re not able to pull it off, then we¡¯ve cut into a big chunk of our savings. But I think you should do it, anyway. If you succeed, then you can start taking more expensive orders.¡±

    ¡°All right. Then get to it.¡±

    I push the platter of food toward my brother, whose eyes light up at the prospect of more muffins. ¡°Hey, I know you don¡¯t like fiddling with detail work, but maybe filigree on the edges, or a custom crest, will appeal to a nobleman.¡±

    Mikko stuffs an entire muffin into his mouth, chews three or four times, and swallows the whole thing. He washes it down with a mug of cider, then lets out a loud burp. ¡°Uh, maybe. Lord Garman¡¯s our only noble client, though. He doesn¡¯t seem like much of a fighter.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he can talk with a friend of his. His [Chamberlain] seems pretty well connected. I¡¯ll bet he knows someone. He¡¯s always sniffing around town for exotic decorations and deals.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you volunteered yourself to go talk with him,¡± Mikko says, grinning. ¡°You¡¯ve always been better at that sort of thing than I am.¡±

    ¡°I wonder why,¡± I reply flatly.

    ¡°Silver-tongued, y¡¯know?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just too lazy to go to Lord Garman¡¯s estates,¡± I grumble, but we both know that I prefer to do the talking. Mikko¡¯s more of a hit things hard kind of guy. Smooth talking and going over numbers isn¡¯t exactly his forte, although he can do it if he has to.

    Mikko picks up another muffin. ¡°Thanks, bro. Let me know how it turns out. I¡¯ll stay here and take care of the baked goods. I don¡¯t want Ma to think we¡¯re neglecting her.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Truly, a noble sacrifice.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for noticing!¡± Mikko replies brightly, another muffin already in his mouth.

    =+=

    As we agreed, I wrap up my orders at the studio just after lunch the next afternoon, and take the rest of the day off with Ember¡¯s blessing. A little over an hour later, after trudging halfway across the city, I approach Garman¡¯s estates with a plan¡ªand a desperate backup idea, just in case my original fails. I don¡¯t have great confidence in my secondary course of action, though, so I¡¯m counting on convincing the venerable Lord Garman to commission a bestiary.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure which room he¡¯ll put it in, though,¡± I mutter to myself as I come to a halt outside his gates. The rest of his house is full of natural wonders from around Densmore: the Grotto was only the beginning, as we soon piled on with designs for waterfalls, canyons, and other crystal formations left over from the Rifts the [Mage]¡¯s guild had closed.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Lord Garman had only drawn the line when his wife suggested we create a life size statue of Araon, saying it was a bit too large and didn¡¯t fit the theme, not to mention that it was far too expensive.

    A wry grin twitches at the edge of my lips. I think his real objection is that he doesn¡¯t like the reminder that he lives out here in Silaraon, one of the many Borderlands towns that adopted Araon¡¯s name as a suffix. Desperate to prove their loyalty after Araon the [Conqueror] rampaged across half the continent, expanding the country of Densmore to its current borders, the citizens changed their longstanding town and city names in his honor. Cities in the Central region have more traditional Densmoran titles¡ªexcept for the capital, Modilaraon, which kicked off the trend.

    Even if people don¡¯t know where to find Silaraon on a map, the name itself is a dead giveaway that we¡¯re a late addition to the empire, although four-hundred-something years hardly seems like a short time to me. Nonetheless, Lord Garman probably tries to avoid any reminders of his lowly station living so far from the capital.

    ¡°All right, Nuri. Enough stalling. Let¡¯s do this,¡± I tell myself. I slap my cheeks lightly three times, working up my courage, and pull the rope attached to the gate bell.

    Moments later, a [Servant] in the Garman livery slides open a narrow metal plate at head height. He peeks out from behind the mesh covering the opening. ¡°Name and business?¡±

    ¡°Nuri, the glassworker Lord Garman hired a few months back for the Grotto. I¡¯m here to see the [Chamberlain] about a follow-up commission.¡±

    ¡°Very good. Wait here, please.¡±

    The rectangular steel plate slams shut. Faintly, I hear the patter of feet on the other side of the gate as the servant trots off to find the [Chamberlain], and I nod in relief. They didn¡¯t reject me out of hand, even though I showed up without an appointment. That¡¯s a good start.

    Nearly half an hour goes by before I hear footsteps again, and soon I¡¯m invited inside the grounds to meet with Garman¡¯s right-hand man. Knowing how busy the [Chamberlain] can be in discharging his duties for Lord Garman, I¡¯m actually flattered that I wasn¡¯t told to come back the next day. To amuse myself, I practiced my mana manipulation with my glass training orbs, so it wasn¡¯t a total waste of time waiting around.

    ¡®Understated opulence¡¯ is the term Lord Garman once used to describe his vision for his estates. Towering statues and gold-plated works of art line the walkway to the house, making me doubt that he truly knows the meaning of understated. As I¡¯m ushered through the front door and into a drawing room, it dawns on me that I could probably triple my fees and Lord Garman would never notice the difference.

    The door attendant seats me on a divan with the most elaborate textile pattern I¡¯ve ever seen on the upholstery. He¡¯s gone a moment later, slipping out so unobtrusively that it has to be a Skill at work. Idly, I wonder if [Servants] would make good spies or thieves, since they¡¯re good at sneaking by unnoticed.

    Moments later, the door opens soundlessly, and the [Chamberlain] sweeps through the doorway, gathering his cloak around himself to ward off an imaginary chill, even though Garman Estates is enchanted for temperature moderation all year. ¡°Ah, the brilliant young [Assistant Glassworker], returned to oversee his domain! Here to propose your follow up works?¡±

    I stand and offer a small bow in greeting, taking the friendliness as a good omen. ¡°You saw right through me. I must be as transparent as glass.¡±

    A faint smile ghosts across his face, there and gone again as quickly as it came. ¡°Wit is a sign of excellent breeding, so I¡¯m told.¡±

    Unsure whether or not I should feel insulted¡ªmy glass jokes are hardly clever¡ªI nod curtly in response. ¡°Any chance Lord Garman might have follow up commissions? Designing a masterwork worthy of his collection has become something of an obsession for me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s to your credit,¡± the [Chamberlain] replies. ¡°We have no openings at this moment, however. What do you have in mind? Perhaps we¡¯ll consider it in the future.¡±

    Prepared for this question, I reach into my satchel and withdraw a stack of sketches for his perusal. I hand them over and explain how they¡¯ll all connect. ¡°I was thinking of putting glass animals on display. Imagine an entire bestiary powered by mana crystals, moving around thanks to more of my brother¡¯s gears.¡±

    The [Chamberlain] frowns. ¡°Hm. Not likely. We have neither young children to amuse nor visiting [Hunters] to impress. I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s entirely the wrong tone for the dignified yet convivial atmosphere that the esteemed Lord Garman is working to foster.¡±

    I bow slightly to cover up my disappointment; the corners of my mouth are tugging down, and I barely stop myself from groaning. Instead, I manage to squeak out, ¡°Thank you for your time.¡±

    ¡°I live to serve.¡± He smiles tightly and turns to go.

    Before he can leave the room, I raise my hand to catch his attention. ¡°Please forgive me for being so forward. If I may impose further, would you be so kind as to provide me with a referral to someone who may be more inclined to display the bestiary? Perhaps someone with rustic and vigorous pursuits¡ªa [Hunter], as you mentioned earlier.¡±

    He hesitates for an uncomfortable moment before nodding. ¡°My cousin might have work for you. She¡¯s a [Scribe] at Fort Amyntas, working in the Densmore Royal Army offices out here in the borderlands. The current [Commander] of the Irregulars stationed in Amyntas is a noted sportsman. He¡¯s an expert in forest craft and tracking, or so I¡¯m told, and likes to show off his kills. I¡¯ll draft a letter of introduction, but anything more falls outside the bounds of propriety. The rest is up to you. I am quite certain you¡¯ll manage something. You¡¯re an enterprising fellow.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m grateful for your assistance. Please, let me know if you need my services again, and I¡¯ll ensure that you receive priority.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure,¡± the [Chamberlain] says, a glint in his eyes. By the time he gives me the letter and sends me on my way, I wonder if he¡¯s gotten the better of me after all.

    =+=

    ¡°Nuri! You¡¯re back!¡± Ifran jumps up and down in his spot by the furnace, where he¡¯s stoking the fire. The wood-burning furnace is enhanced with an enchantment to burn hotter than usual, but it still requires careful attention.

    I grin at my former assistant¡¯s excitement. ¡°I told you that I¡¯d check in on you! You still practicing what I showed you?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s working hard,¡± Bijan says.

    ¡°Glad to hear it!¡± I say, although I direct my words toward Ifran, who runs over to slap my outstretched hand before scurrying back to his work.

    Bijan hands off his blowpipe to a new assistant I don¡¯t recognize. He must be expanding. With a heavy sigh, the studio master wipes the sweat off his palms and fingers and comes over to shake my hand. We¡¯ll never be friends, but I appreciate that he¡¯s at least trying to act cordial today. ¡°Looking for something? Busy season for us, so.¡±

    His sentence trails off, but the meaning is clear. Perhaps he¡¯s not as cordial as I thought. I force myself to smile. ¡°Calix around?¡±

    A sour expression flashes across Bijan¡¯s face. ¡°Come to steal one of my workers? Never content, are you?¡±

    ¡°Got an offer for you, actually. Commission work. I¡¯ll share profits with Calix, and pay for a workbench. Ten percent more than usual studio fees, since it¡¯s last minute.¡±

    ¡°Twenty-five,¡± Bijan grunts.

    ¡°Fifteen,¡± I counter, meeting his glare.

    ¡°Skip ahead to where you agree to do it for twenty,¡± the old [Gaffer] calls out. ¡°Good to see you around again! Beard¡¯s growing out nicely.¡±

    ¡°Twenty is fine,¡± I say as agreeably as I can. Considering I¡¯m talking with Bijan, it¡¯s not an award-winning bit of manners, but it will have to do.

    ¡°Thief,¡± Bijan mutters. He gestures toward an unoccupied workbench in the corner. ¡°You can use that one. Calix won¡¯t be free for another two days, though. Finishing up some windows before the cold snap hits.¡±

    ¡°Perfect. Ember¡¯s got more for me to do this week, anyway,¡± I say, grinning widely when Bijan scowls at my news. He was clearly counting on delaying my plans. His pettiness knows no bounds.

    ¡°Whatcha making, anyway?¡±

    ¡°More animals, I hope!¡± Ifran pipes up from his station at the furnace. ¡°I still have the little hedgehog you gave me. Sits on my nightstand and keeps me company at night if I get scared.¡±

    I hide a smile, not wanting Ifran to feel bad about still being afraid of the dark. He¡¯s about to enter his teen years, and he¡¯s liable to get embarrassed easily if I draw attention to anything that makes him look younger than his age.

    ¡°More animals is right! Sure you didn¡¯t take [Seer] as your new class?¡± I tease Ifran, who still hasn¡¯t become an [Assistant] like we planned. I don¡¯t think he lacks the Potential for magic, but he does seem like a late bloomer. That¡¯s why I have such a soft spot in my heart for him. He reminds me of me when I was younger and more insecure.

    ¡°You actually sold someone on that idea?¡± Bijan says, surprise coloring his tone. He still hasn¡¯t gone back to his work, much to my annoyance. I think I preferred when he antagonized me relentlessly.

    ¡°Yep. [Commander] Ryu over at Fort Amyntas wants to display miniature replicas of his biggest catches. He¡¯s agreed to fill an entire spare room in the barracks. I¡¯ll need gears to make the creatures move around a track. Predators chasing prey, with a figurine of the [Commander] in hot pursuit.¡±

    ¡°Heroic,¡± Bijan says, rolling his eyes.

    I shrug. ¡°That¡¯s the Royal Army for you.¡±

    ¡°Better them than me,¡± Bijan admits, which is as close as he¡¯ll come to praising them. I¡¯m not sure if he has personal history with the army, or if his eternal bad mood is congenital.

    ¡°Ifran!¡± Bijan bellows. ¡°Go fetch Calix from the storeroom, lad. He should be done with combining his batch by now, anyway. Tell him to get back to work so that he doesn¡¯t keep the Royal army waiting. Crossing them¡¯s a bad idea.¡±

    ¡°Change your mind on those windows?¡± I ask, not able to resist needling Bijan.

    Bijan looks like he¡¯s swallowed a lemon. ¡°Nope. You¡¯re gonna help us finish. Tell Ember I pressed you into service. She can take it up with me if she doesn¡¯t like it.¡±

    ¡°In that case, I¡¯ll borrow the carriage to deliver the pieces when I finish, in lieu of pay for the window work. And I¡¯m sleeping in the loft for the week. Only fair.¡±

    ¡°Do as you please. You always do anyway. Just don¡¯t get underfoot,¡± Bijan says. His last barb delivered, he stalks back to his bench and takes the blowpipe from his assistant, turning his back to me and ending the conversation.

    I grin and get to work with the windows. I¡¯m faster than any of his workers at making the planes of glass perfectly flat, except for the old [Gaffer]. Most of the time, I¡¯m slower since I only have [Heat Manipulation] in my arsenal, but it¡¯s the perfect fit for this job. Since I don¡¯t need to go back to the glory hole to reheat my glass, I can skip traditional methods like using rondelles or rolling the glass flat with a press.

    Instead, I grab a blowpipe, collect a gather of glowing glass from the furnace, and blow to create an air pocket. As I spin the glass and continue blowing, it swells up like a giant balloon. Once I¡¯ve reached a sufficient working size for the order¡ªthese windows are all fairly standard, thankfully¡ªI bring the pipe over to a long, narrow hole in the floor and turn it to let the glass flow down away from me. I swing the pipe back and forth through the deep groove, stretching out the bulb until it¡¯s a cylinder instead of a globe.

    Deft, non-stop applications of [Heat Manipulation] keeps the glass at the perfect working temperature until I¡¯m ready for the next step. Satisfied with my progress, I lift up the long tube of glass, which resembles a clear, empty sausage, and rest it on the marver. The curved end of the glass I position over a small metal bucket set aside for waste. I apply a ring of absolute cold just to the end of the glass, as well as a line of intent along the side of the window-in-progress.

    Meticulously controlling the thermal shock functions just like a glass cutter. The bulbous cap at the end of the inflated glass drops into the bucket, and a perfectly straight line slices the length of the glass from stem to stern. I carry the blowpipe over to the annealer, place a second ring to cut off the gather from the pipe, and turn my attention to the cylinder of glass.

    Increasing my heat, I use a set of treated wooden paddles to slowly unfold the tube until it¡¯s a flat rectangle lying on top of the enchanted ceramic surface inside the annealer. When it¡¯s done cooling, the window pane will be the most uniform of any in the shop. I¡¯ve always taken a lot of pride in my control and consistency, and though it¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve made a pane, my hard-won skills haven¡¯t faded.

    I rush back to the furnace and pick up another gather. No time for pride in the middle of the work day. We¡¯ve got an order to fill, and the sooner I finish, the sooner I can get started on the flying horse I want to make. My body flows through practiced motions, and the hours pass by in a pleasant blur while my mind soars ahead to the craft to come.

    Strictly speaking, the flying horse isn¡¯t part of the commission, since the [Commander] is lacking imagination and only wants to include creatures he¡¯s personally hunted. This one¡¯s not for him, though. No, this fantastical beast is a present for my fine young friend Ifran, but I won¡¯t tell him until the very end of my time in Peliharaon.

    An irrepressible smile spreads across my face as I imagine his excited reaction. The gift will be all the more fun for the surprise. I¡¯ll make a new glass animal for him each time I visit. In time, Ifran will boast of an even more impressive fragile bestiary than the [Commander] himself. If nothing else, it will be good practice for when I enter the glass competition one day.

    Maybe I¡¯ll even be magnanimous and make extra animals for Bijan¡¯s children. That draws a laugh from me, and I shake my head. Nah, let him make his children their own toys. I refocus on the window order, working while the furnace is hot. Glass waits for no man, and I have dreams to chase.

 Chapter Eleven: The Iron Lunk

    Between our combined efforts over the last few months, Mikko and I finally scrape together enough money to commission the enchantments for the automaton we¡¯ve designed. The iron itself is cheap and plentiful at his forge, but enchanting is a rare profession in these parts. Small cities like ours simply can¡¯t compete with the demand or high prices that a larger city provides for skilled [Enchanters], so we had to send off an order and wait for someone to reply.

    Despite my civic pride, I know that Silaraon barely qualifies as a big town rather than a true city. If I¡¯m being cynical, a single district of the vast cities in the capital region would swallow up my hometown and not notice the difference. The population increase would be nothing more than a rounding error. It¡¯s no wonder why, either: people tend to flock to safety. Rifts don¡¯t open up in the center of Densmore, not after decades of work from the [Mage] guild¡ªwhich is the primary reason behind their rise to prominence. Out here, in the borderlands, we¡¯re still at risk, but we¡¯ve learned to fend for ourselves.

    Still, the thought makes me gulp as I glance out the window of my little cabin, craning my neck to look over my shoulder. Azure skies meet my gaze. A few soft, fluffy clouds float high above. Winter is here in earnest, but today is bright and clear¡ªalmost blinding, since the white snow is such a good reflector. No storms of interdimensional chaos loom over our little slice of the world.

    Thankfully, it¡¯s been a few years since the last wild Rift opened spontaneously, and that was a half-day¡¯s journey away from Silaraon. Ember helped the city guards quell the monster horde, but she¡¯s never talked about it. Maybe she¡¯ll be more open to sharing what happened now, since I held my own when we fought together against the jaguars. Maybe she¡¯ll even let me join her for a future delve if a new Rift threatens the region.

    ¡°Focus, Nuri,¡± I remind myself. ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself. Training first, daydreaming of future glory another time.¡±

    Containing my excitement is hard. Mikko said the enchantments arrived yesterday, but I was busy with work and couldn¡¯t help him assemble the pieces. Today, now that I¡¯m off from the work week, I¡¯ll have a chance to test out the automaton. I haven¡¯t received word yet that each of the custom pieces are fully integrated into the Iron Lunk that he built. Waiting is getting on my nerves, so I throw on my winter gear and trek over to his house.

    While I walk through the light, ankle-high snow, I wonder if Mikko can tap into a recurring revenue stream based on his mana-infused armor. He still hasn¡¯t told me who bought it, though; For now, I assume it¡¯s an acquaintance of Lord Garman¡¯s, since that¡¯s how I got the referral for the huge, room-sized, color-glass bestiary. Of course, I refuse to insult my brother¡¯s generosity by prying into his secrets, so I¡¯ll accept his half of the gift without further comment.

    Still. Part of me itches to ask how to get on that sweet, sweet money caravan. For purely scientific reasons, naturally. It has nothing to do with completing Lord Garman¡¯s commission for the Grotto, finishing the fantastical menagerie that paid for most of the enchantment work, and running out of other high-paying jobs. Nope. Definitely not.

    Mikko is already in the backyard warming up when I arrive at their house. Despite the cold, he¡¯s stripped down to just his black pants and boots, swinging around a metal rod twice as tall as I am. Unless I miss my mark, the pole weighs as much as I do, if not more. His muscles are covered in a sheen of sweat that¡¯s half-frozen in the winter chill, and he¡¯s breathing out a warm fog in the frosty air.

    ¡°Hail, my frail brother. Good timing. I just hooked it all up and was about to send off a message to summon you. Come, witness your inferiority before the might of my machine!¡± Mikko calls, waving at me.

    Today, after weeks of waiting, we¡¯re ready to put the training dummy through its paces. The deepening chill of winter proved an effective motivator as we prepped, and Reijo joined the project with zeal, eager for me to come by more often. How much of it is because he misses me, and how much is because I keep the house comfortably warm is left up for debate, I think with a fond smile.

    ¡°Hey! Where¡¯s Dad?¡±

    Mikko scowls. ¡°Ember called him in to work on a custom order. I was hoping he could join us, but we¡¯ll have to show him later.¡±

    ¡°Better him than me,¡± I say. ¡°Too bad. If I¡¯d known, I would¡¯ve gone into the shop and helped him finish faster so he could be here to see the unveiling.¡± I¡¯m fond of spending time with Reijo, since he always acts suitably impressed by my [Heat Manipulation] applications.

    What can I say? I¡¯m easy to flatter.

    Mikko nods. ¡°Ready? I wanna show you what I¡¯ve practiced so far. I¡¯m getting the hang of this. Pretty sure I¡¯m fighting on a Silver level by now.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s see it!¡±

    He grins, activating the enchantments that power the Iron Lunk. In front of Mikko, a big, roughly humanoid iron statue rotates on a blocky pedestal, and at random projects a beam of red light onto the snow-encrusted ground. As soon as the colorful light hits the ground, Mikko surges into action, heaving his massive pillar and burning mana to fuel his impressive, preternatural strength. On impact, a patch of dirt explodes in front of him, sending ice and bits of rock and sand in all directions.

    Before the cloud of debris falls back to the earth, the automaton pulses out two more lights in a precise sequence of alternating colors: first a blue rectangle, and then a red circle. Mikko turns the pillar into an oversized spear, thrusting into the center of the rectangle. Swiftly resetting his stance, he grunts and swings another two-handed strike at the circle.

    ¡°I¡¯m very glad that I¡¯m not a geometric shape,¡± I call out, warning him of my presence before I advance any further into the backyard and inadvertently get flattened by a wayward backswing of the absurd weapon Mikko is wielding.

    He halts in the middle of another attack and twists a bracelet on his wrist that I hadn¡¯t seen previously. With a whirr, the automaton powers down.

    Linked control. It works! Neat.

    Mikko casually tosses the pole down next to the automaton, and it clangs against the icy ground with enough force to leave a three-inch-deep divot. His weapon of choice today looks far more like a lamppost he¡¯s ripped up than a spear or a staff. I can only imagine how a [Weapons Master] might blanche at the thought of a beginner practicing combat forms with such a ridiculous implement. There¡¯s no denying its sheer destructive power, however. Mikko could probably bash down the walls of his house with that thing.

    ¡°Try to beat my score,¡± Mikko taunts.

    I simply yawn in exaggerated fashion and drain the heat energy from the area with a pulse of my mana. The glistening sweat on his muscular torso flash-freezes in an instant, and he yelps as the film of ice shatters in the intense cold. I¡¯m not too worried for him, since his [Iron Skin] is more than up to the task of warding off any damage I could inflict, but it gets my point across. Magic always beats muscle, at least at a distance.

    If an enemy catches me, I¡¯m a dead man, but it¡¯s hard to move when your world turns into a block of ice. All I have to do is keep an opponent or monster at bay, and I¡¯ll be able to whittle down a threat without putting myself in danger. Or, at least, that¡¯s the plan. Violence is unpredictable, however. Fights rarely go to plan. Hence, martial training.

    ¡°Do I look like a side of beef to you?¡± Mikko says, pretending to be offended. Then he snickers softly. ¡°Don¡¯t answer that, Nuri!¡±

    I snicker back. ¡°Walked into that one.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Listen, our agreement is that you keep the meat frozen and all the people warm. Me people. Not meat. Nuri understand?¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s a very simple arrangement. I won¡¯t get the details switched up. But it¡¯s not my fault if you¡¯re as dumb as an ox.¡±

    ¡°Strong as an ox,¡± Mikko corrects.

    ¡°I know what I said.¡±

    We clasp hands in greeting, grinning at each other like idiots. Mikko gestures toward the automaton. ¡°Want it to put you through your paces?¡±

    I snort. ¡°Isn¡¯t that backward?¡±

    ¡°Nope! You think you¡¯re in control, but it¡¯s got a mind of its own,¡± he says with an air of mystery, crossing his arms over his burly chest and wagging his eyebrows. His right forearm twists at an odd angle as he surreptitiously tries to activate the control ring to drive his point home, but he¡¯s never been one for stealth since I can still see the bracelet. Plus, he already used it to start up the sequence I watched earlier, which I¡¯m only too happy to point out.

    He misses the activation rune with his sausage-fingers, fumbles around for a few awkward moments before admitting defeat, and sheepishly slips off the bracelet to hand it over to me. ¡°You¡¯ll probably have better luck than I do, anyway. I¡¯m more of a big, power-move kind of guy. You¡¯re better at fiddly stuff.¡±

    ¡°Surprisingly smart move for a man who struggles with thinking,¡± I commend him.

    ¡°I hope you trip during training,¡± he rejoins cheerfully. ¡°Just don¡¯t dent my beautiful little automaton with your hard head.¡±

    I slip on the control bracelet and salute the automaton. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± I say, my voice growing thick with emotion as gratitude for Mikko and his gift wells up. Sure, he¡¯ll train with it, too, but we both know that constructing the Iron Lunk was primarily for my benefit.

    Mikko briefly squeezes my shoulder in acknowledgement of my thanks, then steps away to give me room to train. He¡¯s the best brother I could ever ask for. Teasing is just how we show our affection.

    Taking a deep breath to center myself, I touch the activation rune. Mana siphons out of me into the bracelet in a rush, more than I¡¯d like to give up in a single go, but that¡¯s the trade-off we had to make. Self-powered enchantments were simply too expensive.

    In my mind¡¯s eye, an interface flickers to life, with clear instructions for attack, defense, or color sequences. I pick up one of the wooden staves next to the automaton¡ªa normal sized one for normal sized people, like me¡ªand mentally select the color sequence that Mikko has already demonstrated. The Iron Lunk whirs and clicks, projecting circles and rectangles at a far slower pace than it did moments earlier.

    I slash or stab each color and shape with ease, since I have the benefit of watching how Mikko completed the pattern. Sequence complete, I touch the activation rune again and select a higher level of difficulty.

    Fifteen minutes later, the flashing lights are giving me a tension headache. I deactivate the iron automaton, sprawl out on the ground, and gasp for air, fluttering weakly like a fish out of water. Mikko can¡¯t stop laughing at me and my ¡°frail little frame,¡± although I can¡¯t help but notice that he doesn¡¯t volunteer to take another turn.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I groan. ¡°I¡¯ll increase my endurance training like Ember wants. Guess my morning jog to the studio isn¡¯t enough.¡±

    Mikko hauls me to my feet with one hand, and offers me a knapsack. ¡°Come by the forge on your off days. We¡¯ll put you to work pumping the bellows and swinging a hammer the size of your head. Boom! Instant muscles.¡±

    I ignore him, tearing open the bag once I realize it¡¯s a snack. In short order, I devour the scones slathered with jam that his mom packed for us. ¡°Every time I¡¯m over I remember how good you eat around here. Only thing I miss, although moving away from your snoring is worth the lack of quality cuisine.¡±

    ¡°Figured since your head is already stuffed with sand, you wouldn¡¯t even hear anyone snoring. I should have realized you were delicate like that.¡±

    I ignore the needling; strawberry preserves cover a multitude of sins, after all.

    ¡°Sausages for dinner,¡± Mikko reminds me. ¡°You staying? Ma always loves having you around, probably because you compliment her cooking.¡±

    ¡°Would it hurt you to tell her thanks once in a while?¡±

    He scoffs. ¡°I eat three plates! What better compliment to a chef than to go back for not only seconds, but thirds?¡±

    I don¡¯t answer, too busy scarfing down the final scone, so he rubs his palms together and nods. ¡°I¡¯ll let her know it¡¯s a yes. Ready to go again?¡±

    After I wipe off any crumbs of scone that are too small to eat¡ªthe larger pieces I¡¯m not ashamed to admit that I pick off my shirt and stuff into my mouth¡ªand slake my thirst from a barrel of water Mikko dragged over, I work up the nerve to do something difficult. It feels good to stretch my body, but I need to improve my mana control, too.

    I pull out the two glass orbs that I¡¯ve been training with before bed. I¡¯ve made small strides at overcoming their inherent heat resistance, but I have a long way to go if I ever want to upgrade my [Heat Manipulation] Skill again. Gaining a ¡°Greater¡± title would prove that I¡¯m on the right track.

    ¡°All right, I¡¯m going to try its defensive routine while I practice heat transfer. Training my body is good, but I need to push myself mentally.¡±

    ¡°That would be a first!¡±

    ¡°Har har. Now watch out. My control isn¡¯t perfect, and you¡¯re in the line of fire,¡± I say as ominously as I can.

    Mikko snaps his fingers like he just got a great idea. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Ma that she can toast the sausages out here in the excessive heat.¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Nice try. If anything, it¡¯s going to get freezing cold, since I¡¯ll pull the ambient energy out of the air. Make sure your important bits don¡¯t freeze right off, dearest brother.¡±

    A look of pure horror crosses Mikko¡¯s face, and he scuttles away from me, making a great show of wrapping his body in a thick fur cloak. Only once he¡¯s several dozen paces away does he holler for me to begin.

    ¡°That¡¯s not enough to save you!¡± I cackle maniacally, lifting my hands and pointing in his direction with wide, crazy eyes. He yelps when the temperature plummets. The strain on my channels from forcing my Skill to operate at such a distance is totally worth the discomfort. I¡¯m forced to drop the long range heat transfer a split second later as the burning sensation in my mana channels spikes, but I¡¯ve already sent a message since Mikko¡¯s scrambling backward.

    I resist the urge to look inward and make sure that my precious Skill isn¡¯t developing any hairline cracks again. I¡¯ve gotten stronger, and I¡¯ve checked with Lionel¡¯s Aunt, who doesn¡¯t think I¡¯m at risk any longer. No need to worry compulsively.

    Once I¡¯ve caught my breath again, I thumb the activation rune on the control bracelet, scan the magical mental control interface, and select the automaton¡¯s defensive routine. I keep the difficulty at level one for now, not sure how robust the later levels may be. I don¡¯t want to embarrass myself with my first try.

    ¡°I¡¯ll bet you¡¯re gonna chicken out and only try level one,¡± Mikko yells, taunting me from his new perch on the back porch, almost fifty strides away. Sadly, he¡¯s out of my current range to freeze him, so the banter goes unanswered. I¡¯ll drop an ice cube down his back or something later to get revenge.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who¡¯s afraid to get too close!¡± I shout back. ¡°So, tell me, which one of us is the chicken?¡±

    Mikko pulls himself up with a haughty look that I can just make out at the distance. He puts on his most aggrieved expression. ¡°Prudence in the face of losing my valuables is a far cry from not testing an iron dummy and its first-level defensive routine.¡±

    I yawn. ¡°Huh. I¡¯ll be sure to let the creator know that he made level one useless. What an embarrassing oversight.¡±

    Mercifully, that shuts Mikko up for a few minutes, and I turn my full attention toward the Iron Lunk as I take my combat stance. At level one, the training dummy doesn¡¯t do much more than basic blocks. No counters, no weapon traps, no disarm techniques. Even so, it¡¯s smooth and quick, belying its somewhat clunky exterior, and it¡¯s just what I need to test myself after relying on book learning for so long.

    If I want to ¡°beat¡± the level, then I have to score at least a dozen hits within the time limit, according to the information in the training interface. I dart forward, slip my blunt training spear through its exaggerated block, and jab the end of the wooden staff into the automaton¡¯s head. A soft chime announces the successful strike, but I¡¯m not interested in scoring a few easy hits.

    Dominance. That¡¯s what I¡¯m after. Not for my own sake, but so I can keep my friends and family safe.

    My staff twirls in my hands as I flow through practiced forms, switching from jab feints to sweeping blows and back again as quickly as I can manage, maneuvering around the stubby but surprisingly effective ¡°arms¡± of the training dummy.

    Thirty seconds flashes in my mind briefly, warning me that I need to pick up the pace if I¡¯m going to make the remaining five strikes required to win. All the while, I¡¯m trying to transfer heat between the glass orbs. Nervous energy floods my body. I put more effort into my practiced offensive combat sequence of strikes. Inspiration flashes through my mind, inspired by Mikko¡¯s body-strengthening techniques, and I divert a thread of mana from the heat-resistant transfer orbs to warm up my muscles. Perhaps the flow of mana will also speed me up, or put more power behind my blows to break through the defenses.

    Time runs out, and I¡¯ve only landed eleven strikes¡ªone away from victory¡ªbut I grin in excitement despite my ¡°defeat¡± at the hands of the Iron Lunk. Incidentally, that¡¯s also my new favorite nickname for Mikko. Applying [Heat Manipulation] in an entirely new, unorthodox way to fuel my performance has me dizzy with all the imagined possibilities. I only got off a single hit using the mana-empowerment, and it¡¯s far from energy-efficient, but it felt about a tenth faster than my usual movement.

    I don¡¯t think I¡¯m any faster, but the sudden uptick in speed might be just enough to score a surprise hit in an evenly-matched fight.

    Mikko sidles back over next to me, snickering at the automaton¡¯s goofy victory dance. ¡°Programmed that one myself. The [Enchanter] was very impressed, let me tell you. Need me to show you how it¡¯s done?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please. I¡¯m testing a theory.¡±

    Mikko scrunches up his forehead, clearly skeptical of my claim. ¡°The answer to your question is that yes, I¡¯m better than you are. No need to thank me for saving you time and energy researching your theory.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± I say sagely, nodding along with Mikko.

    ¡°Well, huh. You must¡¯ve concussed yourself against the defensive routine if you¡¯re willing to agree with me. That takes talent, my friend!¡±

    ¡°I understand how surprised you feel,¡± I reply, patting his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s quite rare that you¡¯re right, after all. Try not to get used to it, though. Probably not gonna happen often. But, you are correct about one thing: you¡¯re better than I am at all physical activities. And I think I know why.¡±

    The playfulness vanishes from Mikko¡¯s face. ¡°Intriguing. You say that like you uncovered a secret. What do you have in mind?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to bring mana up to my eyes and watch you activate your strength Skill until I understand the role of mana in body-tempering. Maybe I can mimic your empowering free-form, without a Skill.¡±

    ¡°You have [Manasight]?¡± Mikko asks, his voice betraying his lack of enthusiasm for the project. ¡°Since when?¡±

    ¡°No, but I want that one, too.¡±

    He cackles at me. ¡°You¡¯re always a bit crazy, but sometimes you¡¯re as mad as cracked glass. You honestly think you can figure out how it works and copy my peak quality Skill by just watching?¡±

    I shrug with one shoulder. ¡°It may take a few times, I¡¯ll admit.¡±

    ¡°Only a few times!¡± Mikko laughs until he falls over backward, flopping down onto the rime-covered earth. He slaps the ground in his merriment, making the ground tremble faintly beneath my feet. Eventually he slows down, choking from a lack of air, and he coughs for a few moments as he recovers his composure.

    ¡°All right, show¡¯s over. You gonna try to pay attention for real, or just gawk?¡± Mikko asks, his amusement still evident. ¡°If you want the challenge to be worth anything, I need you to crank the difficulty level.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m already trying,¡± I say. Then I lean closer, squinting. ¡°Oh, wow! I see your mana right now.¡±

    ¡°Wait, really?¡± Mikko says, squeaking in excitement. ¡°You figured it out that fast?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I think it¡¯s working. Huh. Never knew that there was such a thing as idiot-aspect mana, but I¡¯m picking up an unmistakable signature from you.¡±

    Mikko hefts his iron pillar menacingly. ¡°We all know an idiot-aspect can only have one source. You must be influencing me, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°You do need a positive influence in your life. It may as well be me. All right, I¡¯m going to max out the defensive routine levels, and you¡¯re going to show me how to cheat on my quest to become stronger.¡±

    Let no one ever claim that Mikko shies away from trying hard things. He flings himself into the training with exemplary energy, smashing his terrifying weapon into the barrier shields his automaton summons. He fights without flagging, showing off his inexhaustible energy. The training dummy twitches, sputtering as the small mana shields wink in and out of existence in a rapid, rainbow shimmer. With a sad click and abrupt droop of its metal arms, it finally runs out of mana before he does and shuts down.

    Even though I¡¯ve seen Mikko exercise before, I¡¯ve never watched him fight. Not like this. When we were kids, we liked to run through the woods with sticks and pretend to swordfight, but that was just for fun. Today¡¯s exploits looked like a [Warrior] toying with a new recruit.

    ¡°You . . . Wow. You¡¯re a monster. I¡¯m glad we¡¯re on the same side, Ko.¡±

    He pounds his chest, grinning. ¡°Tell more so I can bask in my hard-won glory! But, uh, did it work? Could you see the mana flows?¡±

    ¡°. . . No,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Then why are you so chipper?¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I be? This is only step one of a new idea. The world is a lot bigger than you or I ever imagined. Let¡¯s keep working. I¡¯m sure we can come up with ideas. Knowing you, they won¡¯t be all that clever, but it should be good entertainment nonetheless.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s this for clever?¡± Mikko says, giving me a rude hand gesture, which makes me chortle. It¡¯s just like the old days. I gotta say, I miss my family.

    ¡°Boys! Dinner!¡±

    The familiar old refrain fills the air, and by unspoken agreement, we turn and race to the house, sprinting without cheating or influence from Skills. Mikko wins, but I¡¯m only two steps behind him¡ªa lot closer than I¡¯ve ever been before. All my training is paying off, I note with satisfaction.

    =+=

    ¡°Stay a few days,¡± Mikko says around a bite of food. ¡°Right now, Ma¡¯s only got a little wounded chipmunk and an old cat to feed, so you would really round out her collection. She always did have a soft spot for strays.¡±

    Kirsi lightly smacks his arm with her serving spoon, but her smile shows her pride. She doesn¡¯t deny any of her son¡¯s accusations, either, only turns to her husband and raises an eyebrow in question. ¡°Look at how starving he is, Reijo. His poor little heart needs nourishment just as much as his body.¡±

    Reijo nods, stroking his short goatee. ¡°Kirsi¡¯s right, Nuri. We¡¯d love to have you around again. I¡¯ve seen you languishing around the glassworks lately. You¡¯re doing fine work, but no one ought to be alone. Besides, it¡¯s been far too quiet without you to keep things lively. Why, Mikko¡¯s so bored he almost behaves himself these days!¡±

    ¡°Take that back, Dad!¡± Mikko growls in mock anger, glaring at Reijo. Laughter dances in his eyes, belying his tone.

    ¡°Make me, ya muscle-head!¡± Reijo takes Kirsi¡¯s serving spoon, brandishing it at his son as though they¡¯re about to go to war. He shakes his head, laughs, and spins the spoon around to bang it on the table like a judge¡¯s gavel. In an instant, order is restored in his court, although the mischievous gleam in his brown eyes is a sure sign that we should dive for cover if things get lively.

    Kirsi clicks her tongue. ¡°Thank you, dear. No fighting in my kitchen. Next trouble-maker is scrubbing pots solo. Don¡¯t even think about trying to get out of it! I¡¯ll bop heads until you¡¯re so bruised that you keep the [Healers] in business for the next year. Are we clear?¡±

    Mikko leans over and kisses Kirsi on the cheek. ¡°As clear as glass, Ma.¡±

    Kirsi throws up her hands in exasperation. ¡°You know very well that glass takes on any form the artisan desires. Can¡¯t fool me with that line anymore. Reijo ruined that once he showed me the little red glass heart he made for me on our anniversary a few years back. Windows might be clear, but the glass you make can be as opaque as mud.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t pull a fast one on you, Mom.¡±

    She grins at me. ¡°The whole lot of you are dreamers, especially when you¡¯re crafting things. You aren¡¯t content to make windows, even though I bet it pays the bills.¡±

    ¡°Not as well as the animals I made,¡± I protest. ¡°How do you think we could afford to enchant that iron training dummy out back?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the principle of the thing,¡± Kirsi replies briskly. ¡°Windows are safe. What¡¯s the worst that can happen? A few burns or cuts? But I¡¯ve seen how my boys look. You¡¯re gearing up to hunt monsters. Let me worry over you. It¡¯s part of my job description.¡±

    Mikko shrugs his big shoulders. ¡°Nuri handled those Bronze-ranked jaguars well enough. I could probably take on Silvers. Besides, I gotta see the world, Ma. You can¡¯t keep me tied to your apron forever, or however that saying goes.¡±

    ¡°Good luck getting away from me!¡± Kirsi laughs, shaking her apron straps at Mikko. ¡°I can hogtie a bull faster than you can blink. No escaping.¡±

    ¡°And you,¡± Kirsi continues in a softer tone, turning toward me. ¡°Are you going to run off to see the world, too?¡±

    I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed, and look around frantically for a sweet roll to stuff into my mouth. Nothing like not being able to answer because I¡¯m busy chewing. My search comes up empty, however, and her eyes narrow as she takes in my distress.

    ¡°Uh huh. I¡¯ve seen that look before. What aren¡¯t you telling us, Nuri? Hiding some big plans?¡± Kirsi asks. She won¡¯t press me for an answer if I refuse, but she always manages to look so disappointed that I want to answer, anyway.

    ¡°Ma, leave him alone. He¡¯s just going through a phase. Nuri ain¡¯t a fighter. He¡¯s got the soul of an artist, you know,¡± Mikko says, coming to my aid with his particular way of speaking.

    I scoff at my brother. ¡°I can¡¯t tell whether you¡¯re insulting me or praising me. But I can be both a glass-maker and a monster-hunter. I know it. And you do, too, or else you wouldn¡¯t have bothered to spend so much time on your iron automaton. I mean, your training dummy; it takes after you, after all.

    Mikko smirks and throws me a wink. ¡°Yep. Y¡¯now, truth be told, I wouldn¡¯t wish your pieces of artwork on my worst enemy.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll be collector¡¯s pieces one day when I¡¯m the most famous [Artisanal Assassin] in the land,¡± I protest.

    Reijo bursts into raucous laughter. He leans over and slaps me on the back. ¡°You may even get lucky and consolidate your classes into the fearsome [Glassassin].¡±

    Mikko joins his father, guffawing until the two of them are in tears. ¡°A [Glassassin]. That¡¯s genius, Dad! Why didn¡¯t I think of that?¡±

    ¡°Because it takes a genius, like you said,¡± I offer innocently, smiling as wide as I can. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunately not a trait that got passed down in the family.¡±

    Kirsi goes to smack me with her wooden serving spoon, realizes that Reijo has it, and settles for leaning over and tousling my hair like I¡¯m half my age. ¡°Be nice, boys. Or else I¡¯ll show you how a real [Scrapper] handles herself.¡± She giggles at her own joke, since her father pulled double time as a [Farmer] as well as running the local scrapyard when she was growing up. Mikko probably got his strength from her; that¡¯s one trait that did translate.

    ¡°I see we¡¯re all jokesters tonight. All that wit. Good looks, too. Must be why I married you, huh?¡± Reijo chuckles, nudging his wife. She catches his eye, and they kiss right in front of us in an exaggerated display of affection that has Mikko blanching under his bronzed skin.

    When he comes up for air, Reijo gangs up on me with his wife, hounding me about my plans for the future. I suppose everything has a price. If the cost of a loving and happy family is taking sides with your wife, then I guess I can¡¯t blame Reijo too much.

    I glance over at Mikko for support, but he¡¯s giving me a huge grin and leaving me up to my own devices. I¡¯ll pay him back later.

    I lick my suddenly-dry lips. ¡°I don¡¯t really have a plan other than to track down who made my father¡¯s swords, to be honest. I have a few related goals, but they¡¯re pretty straightforward. I want to improve my glasswork skills and become a Master someday. I want to earn more Skills. I want to learn how to fight so that I¡¯m not useless if we get hit by another monster invasion or if a Rift opens. I want to earn renown for my creativity and talent.¡±

    ¡°Fame and fortune! How original, Nuri. Sounds like everyone else I know. Is that really all you have brewing in that noggin of yours?¡± Mikko heckles me, despite the glare from his mother. I appreciate the teasing, though. It¡¯s how we¡¯ve always shown each other we care.

    ¡°Uh, I guess fame is somewhat accurate, but only because it means that I¡¯ve excelled at my craft. Not gonna lie: it would be nice to have money. Beyond that? I have no idea how or if I¡¯ll make it to the top. I¡¯ll just see where life takes me.¡±

    ¡°Plenty of time to figure it out,¡± Kirsi says in an attempt to mollify me. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to stay over anytime if you want to talk about it. You¡¯re young. Don¡¯t stress. You¡¯ll go far with your talent.¡±

    ¡°A man has to make something of himself,¡± Reijo counters, his voice abruptly shifting. He gives me a solemn, level stare. ¡°Big dreams, small dreams¡ªthat doesn¡¯t matter¡ªbut don¡¯t let life pass you by. It¡¯s about your character, Nuri, not the cleverness or ambition of your plans. All that we want is for you to carve a path for yourself that you can live with when you¡¯re at the end of it all. Don¡¯t settle for anything less than you¡¯re capable of achieving, just because it¡¯s hard. At the same time, don¡¯t chase after praise from other people. That¡¯s sure to lead you wrong. And it¡¯s a poor substitute for true self-respect.¡±

    My face heats up with sudden warmth, and I surreptitiously activate my Skill to draw the blood away. Words build up in my throat like a logjam. I duck my head to escape the scrutiny, but his words resonate with me, deep in my soul. I do know what I want, at least in vague terms.

    Exploration. Creativity. The strength to protect those I hold dear. But what about how I feel about myself?

    I rub the back of my neck to release the sudden knot of tension. The details are so hard to piece together. What does it actually look like to earn my own respect? How do I get there? Just by being talented? That¡¯s not enough to satisfy the craving deep within my soul. But there¡¯s one more question that lurks, and it¡¯s the one I¡¯m most afraid to answer.

    What price will I have to pay along the way?

 Chapter Twelve: Scholarship

    Spring arrives in a flash, bringing with it new developments and challenges. I¡¯ve made excellent progress understanding how mana works. Thanks to discussing theory with Melina, and trying all winter to observe what¡¯s happening with energy flows when people activate Skills, I¡¯m on the verge of a breakthrough. I¡¯ve grown more skilled at both fighting and glassblowing. While I boast no new Skills despite the glimmer of other people¡¯s mana I see while cycling my own mana to my eyes, I¡¯m more confident than ever that it will work out in my favor soon.

    Still, I have nothing to complain about. Work at the studio is going well, and I¡¯m in a good rhythm as my confidence and determination improve by leaps and bounds. Training with the Iron Lunk has done wonders for my strength and stamina, and I¡¯m filling out my slender frame.

    My routine doesn¡¯t last long.

    Ember calls me into her overseer¡¯s office early one morning, before the start of the work week. A tightly-controlled smile brightens her usually impassive face, as she struggles and fails to appear stern. She lifts her hand, gesturing toward an elegant man in expensive-looking black silks. ¡°Nuri, this is Ezio, Rakesh¡¯s mentor. I don¡¯t have the skills to teach you magic properly, and you¡¯re liable to hurt yourself if you keep playing with mana, so I hired an expert to intervene. If he can¡¯t help you, then no one can.¡±

    Ezio inclines his head. Magical energy glimmers, swirling around him in a mesmerizing spiral, visible even without circulating my mana. His olive skin is smooth and his hair lacks any hint of gray, but his dark amber eyes look far older than the rest of him.

    I bow deeply, my hands clasped in greeting. ¡°Rakesh speaks highly of you. I¡¯m honored to meet you.¡±

    ¡°The pleasure is all mine,¡± Ezio says, his face crinkling into a kindly smile. ¡°I¡¯ve received a good report from Rakesh; he said you and Melina are scholars at heart, even if you haven¡¯t pursued the path of the academic. I look forward to tutoring you.¡±

    A tutor. Hired with Ember¡¯s own money? I¡¯m short of breath as I realize just what she¡¯s done for my sake. Ember seems like a solved puzzle to the uninitiated: an ex-soldier, a strict businesswoman. I consider myself a leading expert on her behaviors after so many years of close proximity, so I know she¡¯s full of surprises. Even so, this one catches me entirely off guard. She hides her generosity under a steely exterior, but this is extraordinary even for her.

    In a daze, I incline my head to Ember, fumbling for words. ¡°Thank you. I owe you more than I could ever repay.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get all mushy on me. Taking care of my crew is part of the job.¡± Ember jerks her thumb at the door. ¡°All right. I got work to do. Get out of my office.¡±

    ¡°What about my work orders?¡± I squeak out, still baffled by the turn of events.

    ¡°Lionel and the Linas already split them up between them. You can thank them later¡ªor not, if the clients complain. Now get,¡± Ember says with a chuckle, shooing us out with a flourish of her hands.

    Ezio falls into step beside me as we vacate the office, his silks rustling in an impressive, scholarly manner. A look of wry amusement momentarily creases his brow, but he smooths out his features, offers an easy smile, and manages to look downright dignified as we walk past the grinning co-conspirators outside.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget to tell Mikko who helped you fulfill your orders,¡± Avelina calls from her spot at the flameworking station, fluttering her eyelashes in the most exaggerated fashion I¡¯ve ever seen. Her sister elbows her in the ribs, but they both smirk when I simply roll my eyes and walk away, following my new teacher toward the front door.

    ¡°Is this typical around here?¡± Ezio asks softly once we¡¯re outside. ¡°Seems like a rather, ah, spirited operation.¡±

    I shrug one shoulder. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯d say so. Beats not having any fun. We work hard, we play hard.¡±

    He rubs his chin as he thinks over my response. ¡°My colleagues could learn from your example. They tend to be stuck up. I hope you apply yourself to your studies with equal vigor.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try, Master Ezio, but I¡¯ve never been good at school,¡± I admit. ¡°I wanna learn anything you¡¯re willing to teach me, but I hope you won¡¯t hold me to unrealistic expectations.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Please just call me Ezio. Master is such a stuffy term for someone who only studies books,¡± Ezio says, flushing slightly. He¡¯s far from the aloof and judgmental mental image I¡¯ve built up of a premier scholar from the Silaraon City Academy.

    We stroll in silence for a moment before Ezio clears his throat and speaks in a more professorial tone. ¡°I have no expectations other than hard work. What you get out of this arrangement is entirely up to you. That said, I do expect you to make the acclaimed Master Ember¡¯s investment worthwhile. Don¡¯t let her down.¡±

    I fiddle with the clasp on my collar, suddenly feeling too hot at the mention of investment. Ember¡¯s gift is overwhelming. I know she thinks of me as family, but this is overly generous. ¡°I¡ªI have funds. If I pay you directly, will you refund her?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ezio says immediately.

    When I open my mouth to argue, he cuts me off with a raised hand.

    ¡°That¡¯s not because of any policy, Nuri. It¡¯s simply the right course of action. Refusing a gift is hardly polite. Besides, when you get to my age, you start to think about legacy. Ember has no family other than you. Pouring her time and care into you is likely the most meaningful thing she can do with her resources. Accept it for the honor it is.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good way of putting it. Thank you for your wisdom, Ezio,¡± I say, wincing slightly at my awkwardness. I don¡¯t know how to talk with an important scholar, so I¡¯m defaulting to the obsequious tone I take with Lord Garman¡¯s [Chamberlain]. I don¡¯t like how insincere it feels.

    Ezio¡®s eyes spark with amusement. ¡°Relax, Nuri. I¡¯ll push you hard to learn, just like with any of my other students, but I don¡¯t bite. Much.¡±

    ¡°Look at that! You¡¯re teaching me already,¡± I reply, an impish smile on my face now that I know he has a sense of humor. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m so nervous. If Ezio is a friend of Ember''s, then he can''t be too bad. And we already owe Rakesh for all his help, so I¡¯m inclined to listen to his master.

    ¡°Ah, well, learning is hardly confined to an institution,¡± Ezio says, deflecting my praise. He seems strangely humble for such an important figure in the Silaraon City Academy. ¡°Now, we¡¯ve got a busy schedule, so let¡¯s get moving.¡±

    He picks up the pace, his long legs striding along with more spryness than I expect from a bigshot [Scholar]. For some reason, I have a hard time shaking my preconceptions about a birdlike frame and bags under the eyes¡ªa malnourished, perpetually-peevish look that comes from lack of sunshine, food, and friends.

    You¡¯re being unfair, Nuri. Try to get to know him, I chide myself. This is your opportunity to step onto the path of the [Mage]. Don¡¯t drop the glass before you get to the annealer. It¡¯s not a perfect analogy, but my mind always defaults to glass. I don¡¯t want to bungle this up.

    ¡°Academics don¡¯t often venture into the Crafters Quarters,¡± I observe after we¡¯ve left the glassworks and blacksmith shops behind, watching for any signs of a bad reaction. To his credit, Ezio doesn¡¯t so much as twitch a muscle.

    ¡°We¡¯re a rather insular group,¡± he replies, surprisingly agreeable for a man with such an exalted position. ¡°Perhaps it would do us all some good to get out more. Hm. New experiences naturally give rise to new thought processes and modes of adaptation, after all. That reminds me! We¡¯ll have to discuss encoded experiences later.¡±

    I slow down as we pass by a broad street, noting the immaculately manicured lawns and stately wrought-iron gates. Though lacking the luxury of Lord Garman¡¯s estates, this is still an upscale neighborhood, far removed from the smell and hustle of crafters. A few servants are sweeping the streets in front of the houses, ensuring that the minor nobles in residence never have to deal with anything as mundane as dirt or debris.

    ¡°Is that why you agreed to take me on? Dealing with a working-man rube will provide just the insight you need to progress to the next Threshold,¡± I tease.

    ¡°Exactly! Great instincts,¡± Ezio says, his voice rising as he gets excited. I didn¡¯t expect him to take me seriously, but it sounds like I¡¯ve inspired him.

    ¡°Wait, really?¡± I ask, incredulous. ¡°This partnership is actually beneficial to you? You¡¯ll have to explain that one.¡±

    ¡°You already summed it up nicely,¡± Ezio replies. ¡°Our words overflow from our particular groupings of beliefs about the nature of the world, which in turn are derived from experiences that are uniquely ours. If I only ever attend lectures and read the writings of other academics, then I¡¯m missing out on new ways of communicating, new ways of thinking. Taking on a student from a different paradigm propels me forward. I jumped at the chance to work with you.¡±

    ¡°Oh. No wonder Ember could afford it.¡±

    Ezio shrugs, but doesn¡¯t turn to face me. He keeps walking, forcing me to keep up if I want to continue the conversation. ¡°There¡¯s nothing inherently wrong with making choices that benefit yourself. Or do you think altruism is the only virtue in life?¡±

    I shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t mind ulterior motives; I just like to be aware of them. People are more predictable with clear motivations and goals.¡±

    ¡°Pragmatic. I appreciate that attitude in a new student,¡± Ezio says, and his tone sounds genuinely approving. ¡°Speaking with you has already been profitable, and I suspect that you¡¯ll come up with many questions my more classically-trained students never think to ask. Please, continue!¡±

    ¡°All right, but tell me if I¡¯m prying too much,¡± I say, still not sure how to speak with Ezio. He talks to me just like the old [Gaffer] does¡ªlike he¡¯s everyone¡¯s favorite uncle, whether you¡¯re related or not¡ªbut he looks like he¡¯s only a few years older than I am.

    That gives me an idea. At first it sounds rude, but I won¡¯t get the measure of the man by asking safe questions. Seeing how he reacts to potential conflict will give me a lot of insight into how we¡¯re supposed to work together going forward. I stop walking for a moment and turn to face the [Scholar], taking a deep breath. ¡°Ezio, mind if I ask a personal question?¡±

    ¡°Counting on it!¡± he replies, smiling warmly.

    ¡°All right. How old are you, anyway? You don¡¯t look like you have your own students, but Rakesh is my age and has been studying with you for half a decade. Hiding secrets?¡±

    ¡°Always,¡± he replies, striding away again.

    I roll my eyes. Smooth, Nuri. Dunno what you expected. I asked him the question half in jest, but I thought he might give me a better answer. His reply sounded straightforward on the surface, but it didn¡¯t actually tell me anything at all. Huh. Maybe that¡¯s just how academics communicate. Hiding the truth by answering a different question. With a start, I realize he¡¯s halfway down the street, and I¡¯m forced to run to catch up.

    His long, measured strides cover entirely too much ground to be natural, and it takes me almost half a minute of running before I rejoin him. As soon as I step into line next to him, I find that I can walk at a normal pace again. Strangely enough, we¡¯re still passing by the houses in the Burgher district far more quickly than we should. Perhaps he has a hidden movement Skill with an area effect?

    I scratch my jaw. What an odd thing for a [Scholar] or [Tutor] to pick up. If Ember hired him, though, then there¡¯s definitely more to him than first impressions might suggest. I snap my fingers as a thought occurs to me. ¡°That¡¯s it! I¡¯ll bet you¡¯re bending time, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Why do you say that? Something tip you off?¡± Ezio asks, matching my question with two of his own¡ªall the while still avoiding the original discussion about his age. I¡¯ll have to take notes on his impressive ability to dodge questions.

    ¡°Hm. My guess is that we¡¯re moving faster than usual not because of a spatial anomaly, but because you have Skills related to time. Research takes a long while, right? So, it stands to reason that you¡¯ll have some sort of workaround.¡±

    ¡°Clever,¡± Ezio replies, nodding at me. ¡°Rakesh was right. You¡¯re observant and quick to make connections. Lacking foundational mana theory, perhaps, but the raw potential is there.¡±

    I shrug off the praise. ¡°Eh, I¡¯m just trying to think like Mel. She really should be here, too. Did Ember talk with you about her? I¡¯ve never seen anyone so meticulous at reading, testing her theories, and notetaking.¡±

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    Ezio scratches his nose. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to bring her on as another student, but isn¡¯t she one of your coworkers? I thought that they¡¯re handling your work orders this week. I¡¯m not sure how that will work if you¡¯re going to join me for private studies.¡±

    ¡°What if we attend your lectures, instead of private lessons?¡± I blurt out. ¡°I¡¯ll split my time between the glass studio and the Academy. Melina can come along and study. She already meets with Rakesh, so she has a better working knowledge than I do, honestly.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a bad idea,¡± Ezio says, nodding along. ¡°I¡¯ll have to discuss that with Ember, however, and we¡¯d have to talk about tuition fees. An entire semester of study for two students at the SCA is more than what your master paid for a few private study sessions with me for this week. But, perhaps I can let you audit the courses. We¡¯ll see.¡±

    I don¡¯t push the issue, sensing some hesitation. Enrollment at the SCA is probably a more complicated affair than I initially assumed. I ponder his words as we walk through the grounds of the Academy, lost in thought until we arrive at his office. I¡¯m fixated on my new goal of bringing Melina along to study with Ezio. I¡¯m not sure if Ember will allow it, though; a surprise week off unasked-for is already extremely generous.

    Paying for not one, but two of her most talented glassworkers to miss a full semester of work? Unconscionable! She¡¯s encouraged me to practice, but this expensive investment in my future almost makes me tear up. I owe her more than I¡¯ll ever be able to repay, and I don¡¯t want to take advantage of Ember¡¯s good fortune by asking her to let Melina out of work, too.

    Then again. If we only attend two lectures a week, and make up our orders outside of work hours, then maybe it will be fine. Maybe I can¡ª

    Ezio waves his hand in front of my face, breaking me out of my daydream. ¡°Nuri? Ah! I¡¯d like to welcome you to my humble office.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I stammer in embarrassment as he ushers me inside his office. I manage to recover my composure and avoid gawking at all the books he¡¯s stuffed into his bookshelves. The shelves line the room wall to wall, other than a gap for a painting of a field of wildflowers.

    Ezio motions for me to seat myself on a plush red chair near a mahogany table polished to a shine. He looks far more animated than the reserved persona he presented back at the glass studio. He rifles through the drawers in his desk and pulls out two metal orbs, each the size of his fist. Attached by slender wires to a strange, oblong metal tool with a spike at the end, they form a simple apparatus that looks more like a weapon than anything else.

    Humming to himself, Ezio arrays everything on the table in front of me. Underneath his cheerful tune, I can hear another sound, like strange dissonance, buzzing from the object. In his own element, he¡¯s far more personable than I ever thought a [Scholar] could be, but something about the device seems sinister.

    ¡°This is a mana gauge, Nuri. It¡¯s one of the staples of our research here in the SCA. I¡¯m in the synthetic aspects department¡ªand I¡¯ll explain what that means later, never fear. Back to this little artifact, though: have you ever seen a mana gauge before?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I reply, squinting at the little contraption as though extra scrutiny will reveal secrets of its construction and purpose. I decide to bluff. ¡°Seems straightforward enough, though.¡±

    Ezio nods, apparently pleased with my assessment. ¡°Precisely. It does more or less what you¡¯d expect from the name. Tell me, Nuri, have you ever tried a mana control test? Ember said your foundation is lacking, and she hopes our time together will help you improve, but she was too busy with work to give more than scant details.¡±

    I shake my head, then second-guess myself. ¡°Not officially, no, but I have a set of glass orbs I made in the hot shop. They¡¯re both mana- and heat-resistant, so they make good training tools as I try to develop my control over [Heat Manipulation] by warming and cooling the pair in a set sequence. I have to precisely adjust how much mana I use, or else the glass lights up with the wrong color, since I used temperature-responsive elements to make the batch. Is that good practice for mana control?¡±

    Ezio tilts his head to the side, as though examining me in a new light. ¡°Innovative! I am extremely impressed. Practical drills like that are essential for young minds, yet are too often skipped because they¡¯re hard and¡ªwell, let¡¯s be realistic¡ªrather boring. Your glass orbs will operate in a similar fashion to this test, if I understand their function correctly, although this is significantly more painful.¡±

    I chuckle nervously, and shift my feet on the floor so I can jump up and run more easily if I have to make a quick getaway, but he¡¯s piqued my interest. ¡°Painful? I thought we would just go over some paperwork and subjects. You know, school stuff. What exactly do you mean?¡±

    Ezio¡¯s sudden grin takes on a predatorial cast. ¡°It¡¯s up to you. I won¡¯t force a temporary student to take the test, but the benefits are well worth the trouble. Just like with your glass orbs, you¡¯ll pull out the stored mana through one node of the test apparatus, and inject the flow back into the other node, which houses a mana sensor. Simple, but not easy. Outside mana intrusion itches like a nasty rash all throughout your mana channels, and overcoming the initial resistance to taking in foreign energy will feel like getting stabbed. Repeatedly.¡±

    I¡¯m halfway to standing when Ezio waves me back down, and the force of his attention is not what I expect from an academic. He¡¯s the other side of Ember¡¯s coin, then. More verbose, but just as ruthless. Maybe we¡¯ll get along just fine after all. I sit back down in the seat and pay closer attention to his words. This is a valuable opportunity, and I¡¯d be a fool to pass it up.

    ¡°The advantage of taking an actual test like this,¡± Ezio continues, warming to his subject, ¡°is that despite the significant discomfort, a mana control test produces a standard, repeatable result. When the pain is over, we¡¯ll have a measurable way of establishing your baseline, as well as tracking future progress, assuming you come back for additional weeks of training. I am not in the business of taking on students lightly. So, tell me, Nuri. Are you in this for the long haul? Do you have what it takes?¡±

    I sit up straight and eye the gleaming metal test apparatus with sudden longing. Future opportunities to learn? A chance to train my mana control under the auspices of a Silaraon City Academy instructor? I¡¯m not stupid; there¡¯s no way I¡¯ll pass up a double blessing like that. I nod firmly, but my attention never leaves the mana gauge. ¡°Let¡¯s do it. I¡¯m ready when you are.¡±

    Ezio marks down a note on a pad of paper at his desk. He leans forward, and I glance up and meet his gaze. He taps his fingers on the top of the desk for a long moment. ¡°You¡¯re absolutely certain you want to go forward with this? I promise you that I¡¯m not underselling the pain. You see this spike? We have to pierce your flesh to extract blood while the test runs. Trust me, I¡¯m not as sheltered or as weak as I look; I¡¯ve done field research, not simply sequestered myself in an ivory tower, and this is as nasty as it comes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be a fool not to take the mana test,¡± I declare more confidently than I feel. I want the results, but I¡¯m sick to my stomach just thinking about it. The spike isn¡¯t even the worst part. If I accept foreign mana into my channels, then it¡¯s going to burn like spilling hot glass on myself. Even if the test mana is truly unaspected, and the test is administered by a skilled official, the risk isn¡¯t light. Some fighters specialize in intrusive mana attacks, and I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s terrifying to face in battle. What if my insides explode from the test?

    I swallow a lump in my throat and nod again. ¡°Let¡¯s do it. I can¡¯t pass up an opportunity to learn from an expert.¡±

    Ezio leans back in his chair and grins. ¡°Whew! You¡¯ve got grit. Excellent. Fret not, Nuri, I wouldn¡¯t dream of making you take this kind of test unprepared. I merely wanted to ensure that you¡¯ve got the right stuff to succeed here. You¡¯d be surprised how many prospective students of mine want the prestige of learning about magic, but aren¡¯t willing to put up with any of the hard work and consequences along the way.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m determined to do whatever it takes.¡±

    Ezio arches an eyebrow. ¡°Determination is admirable. But don¡¯t leap before you look. It¡¯s good to also cultivate a healthy sense of skepticism and self-preservation. If you¡¯re interested in the test, I¡¯m administering it to the entire class of incoming students this semester. Assuming we work things out for you and Melina, then you¡¯ll get a chance to participate.¡±

    I shift in my seat, licking my lips as I try to think of a suitable response. I¡¯m torn between the excitement of learning about magic and the worry that I won¡¯t measure up. What if I¡¯m not able to keep up with the other students? They¡¯ve had years of training, and I¡¯m fumbling along in the dark, trying to figure out things on my own. I settle for a brisk nod.

    ¡°Looking forward to it, Sir.¡±

    His eyes crinkle up again as he smiles. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that, either. Ezio will do fine. Let¡¯s turn our attention to what you want. I¡¯ve been less than forthcoming with you today, for which I apologize. No more tricks or tests for the moment. What¡¯s on your mind, Nuri?¡±

    An answer springs to my lips immediately. I¡¯ve been thinking about magic for far too long to hesitate now. ¡°Mana senses, mana manipulation, and ensuring that my [Heat Manipulation] Skill isn¡¯t going to break while I use it. I overstrained myself helping fight off the Shadow Jaguar irruption in Peliharaon last year, and there are still a few faint cracks. I¡¯m worried I might hurt myself if I push too hard.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Have the cracks lessened over time?¡± Ezio asks, shifting forward and fixing me with a serious stare. When I nod, the tension in his face relaxes, and he offers me a warm smile. ¡°No problem. Consistent mana use over time will continue to heal the Skill if it¡¯s not getting worse.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have to see an arcane [Healer]?¡± I ask, still nervous about crippling myself for life if something goes wrong.

    He shakes his head. ¡°Rumors always abound about promising young [Mages] burning out in spectacular fashion¡ªbonus points if the subject of the rumor is a beautiful young woman recently rescued from a life of crime, or a rich nobleman who will tragically no longer inherit his family estates¡ªbut no, you don¡¯t require a specialist. As long as your Skill works, you¡¯re not in significant pain, and the minor cracks are improving over time with careful mana practice, then you¡¯re fine. I¡¯ve seen exactly one contrary example.¡±

    ¡°Oh, someone you knew?¡±

    ¡°Many years ago, one of my students did something incredibly stupid,¡± Ezio says with a sigh. ¡°I regret not giving him more oversight. He was always pushing ahead, regardless of the risks involved.¡±

    ¡°Sounds gruesome. What happened to him?¡± As soon as the glib words slip out of my mouth, I regret the question. I wince at my insensitivity, digging into his past. I¡¯m not sure I need to know the details of someone¡¯s horrific accident. Plus, now I¡¯m going to worry that it might happen to me, too. Why do I stress myself out like that?

    ¡°He thought that he could forcibly rank up a rare Skill by channeling the full power of an industrial-strength mana crystal through it. Not pretty. I¡¯ll spare you the particulars, but know that it took an enormous amount of resources for him to live a semi-normal life afterward. I¡¯m not just saying this as a cautionary tale, Nuri. Do not mess with forces outside of your comprehension. Slow and steady is your guiding truth. Got it?¡±

    I nod seriously, a bit queasy as I imagine what it would feel like to handle that much raw power all at once. Living through a raging storm inside my soul sounds terrifying. What if it had worked? a small voice whispers in the back of my head. Wouldn¡¯t that have been worth it?

    Ezio claps his hands together. I flinch in guilt, worried that he can sense my thoughts somehow. ¡°Now! If we¡¯re going to update the deal and focus on getting the two of you into Foundations of Magical Theory and Mana Manipulation, then you¡¯ll need your own textbook. In addition, I¡¯m assigning you a supplementary reading about one of my clients, Tem Cytekin.¡±

    ¡°You know Tem?¡± I fairly squeak, leaping up out of my chair before I can stop myself. My inner critic is yelling at me that I¡¯m acting a fool, but I don¡¯t care. ¡°Tem is my biggest hero. I¡¯ve read his biography so many times that the pages are falling out.¡±

    Ezio chuckles and rummages through the pile of books stacked up on his desk to find a specific text, which is bound in a simple, hard backed green cover with brass-colored text for the title. ¡°You¡¯re hardly alone there, Nuri! Half the young [Mages] in Densmore dream of growing up to become the next Tem, I¡¯ll wager. Here, read this book.¡±

    I accept the slim volume he slides across the desk, noting with amusement that Ezio is the author. ¡°Never seen this one before, and I¡¯m always asking for new books about Tem and his brigade of [Scouts]. The Mage-Killers are legends!¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± he replies, laughing. Ezio hesitates, and a brief flicker of something that looks like worry crosses his face. ¡°Ah, Nuri? I should mention that I¡¯ve written this one for personal instruction. For multiple reasons, which we lack time to discuss at present, I haven¡¯t published this manuscript. Not officially. Within, you¡¯ll find a rundown of the various [Mage] factions: their histories, notable members, major goals, and preferred methods of magic.

    ¡°In addition, it more fully explains the commonly-accepted system of assessing power: Copper, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Iridium, Palladium and Mercury¡ªmore commonly known in colloquial speech as Quicksilver. As you likely know, based on your enthusiasm for Tem¡¯s crazy adventures, this scale applies to both heroes like Tem, and serves as a general threat ranking for monsters and dangerous areas.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve fought Bronze-ranked jaguars. Almost killed me,¡± I say, shuddering.

    ¡°Good job surviving. Most people start with Coppers. Oh! Speaking of dangerous areas, this text will also touch on the phenomena of Rifts, beast irruptions, mana-empowered monster incursions, and, of course, the mysterious wraiths who sometimes launch full-scale invasions.¡±

    Ezio sighs dramatically. ¡°I can see from your starry-eyed expression that you¡¯ll spend as much time and energy thinking about this tiny book as you will studying the much longer, more ordinary, and information-dense textbook for the course. Ha! As long as you apply yourself, I won¡¯t chide you for daydreaming.¡±

    ¡°Magnanimous,¡± I reply wryly. ¡°Do you have that book on hand, or will I need to purchase it for the Foundations of Magical Theory and Mana Manipulation?¡±

    ¡°Neither,¡± Ezio says. He scribbles down a note with a pen of pure mana that materializes in his fingers, writing on a sheet of paper. A letterhead featuring his crest adorns the top of the page. ¡°Here, take this to the library on your way out and they¡¯ll loan you a copy. Please note that they¡¯ll scan your mana signature, bond it temporarily to the book, and keep a record on file, so don¡¯t even think about trying to sell the textbook for a pile of quick gold.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it!¡± I say, clenching my fists at the insinuation that I¡¯m a petty thief. ¡°This is more important to me than money. I¡¯m here to learn, and I¡¯m not afraid of hard work.¡±

    ¡°Excellent!¡± Ezio says, standing abruptly and striding over to the door. He opens it for me to leave, signaling the all-too-sudden conclusion of our first meeting. ¡°I¡¯ll notify my Dean that I¡¯m expecting two new students. Don¡¯t worry about arranging something with Ember; I¡¯ll take care of it. I will see you and Melina in class in two days. Ask around for directions to the South Lecture Hall, basement level. We start at the tenth bell. Punctual is late.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be there early,¡± I assure him.

    ¡°Counting on it,¡± Ezio says drily. He extends his hand, and we shake, sealing the pact to study together more long-term.

    I stop halfway through the door and turn around. ¡°You still didn¡¯t tell me about your age,¡± I point out. ¡°Give me a hint?¡±

    ¡°Appearances are deceiving,¡± Ezio says grandly. ¡°My age is reserved for my friends, but perhaps you can figure it out for yourself during our studies together this week. Bonus points if you get it without asking my colleagues.¡±

    I nod, shoving away my disappointment. I¡¯m about to head to the library, anyway, so I¡¯ll look up information there.

    Ezio smirks and leans forward. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a single hint, however: aging tends to slow as you approach the second Threshold. I¡¯ve been hovering there for at least as long as you¡¯ve been alive.¡±

    He winks as my jaw drops in shock. I was teasing him about the Second Threshold, but it seems like he wasn¡¯t kidding. Just how advanced a [Scholar] did Ember find for me? If Ezio is hobnobbing with Tem and on the verge of achieving the Second Threshold, then how does he have time for a lowly crafter?

    My mind whirling, I bid Ezio farewell and make my way to the SCA library, determined to find the answers. Two days. That¡¯s all the time I have before class. All I have to do is figure out how old Ezio actually is, convince Ember and Melina that attending the SCA is a good idea, and read an entire textbook in an attempt to cram years of study into my brain all at once.

    How hard could it be?

 Chapter Thirteen: Book Binding

    Books are books. What¡¯s the big deal?

    I¡¯m ashamed to admit that foolish thought was rattling around in my evidently-empty skull before I visited the library. Extensive book collections, like the one Lord Garman maintains, are no stranger to me. I regularly patronize Camdyn, the local [Book Seller], and I fancy myself an expert compared with the other crafters. They only crack open a book when they have to work the ledgers or order new colors of fritz for glass, but I read for pleasure.

    I genuinely thought that I was ready for the school library. I thought it was simply a larger version of what I¡¯d seen before: shelves lining the walls, a dusty back corner, some boxes full of books not yet sorted. So, I approached the stately towers and delicate flying buttresses of the SCA library without high expectations.

    That was before I pushed open the library¡¯s massive double doors, tiptoed past a pair of all-too-aware mana-steel golems, and beheld space itself twisting into a singularity.

    Nothing I¡¯ve ever seen remotely prepares me for the massive, magical, mind-bending maze that seems to extend out into infinity. ¡°Library¡± is too tame a term for such a vast work of beauty and impossible shapes and contradictions.

    My feet stutter to a stop. Words fail me. Deep inside my chest, my heart shudders, then beats faster than before, thudding in anticipation. My vision latches on to a bright point far down the line, stretching on into hyperfocal¡ª

    ¡°First time?¡±

    An amused voice booms next to me, cutting through the static in my mind. ¡°Here, hold onto this. It will ground you, young man.¡±

    A cold chunk of coarse rock, heavier than its size suggests it should be, is thrust into my hand. I fumble for a grip, almost dropping it, and feel my fractured consciousness come back to me by slow degrees. The library takes on a more normal appearance: still large, but geometric and within the bonds of reality.

    ¡°Resilient! Good. How can I help?¡±

    I glance up at the speaker, then up again. Towering over me, bulkier than my brother, looms a granite golem. Unlike the mana-steel varieties that stand guard in perpetual war-like readiness, this golem is capable of speech and, apparently, humor.

    ¡°Did . . . you just make a pun about rocks coming from the ground?¡±

    More rumbles of amusement. ¡°You like it?¡±

    Personality from a construct? Since when did a borderland city like Silaraon boast such advanced magic? I stare at the golem, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, overwhelmed by the power and wealth on display.

    Then I catch a glimpse of a [Librarian] speaking into a small control stone a few dozen feet away, and I realize the projected voice is all theater.

    Sure enough, after closer examination, I realize that the statue is fastened to a marble base. In practice, this granite automaton is not all much different from our own Iron Lunk. The enchantments may be more refined, but it¡¯s not capable of independent thought or action. The lack of mobility is somehow comforting. I need a taste of the familiar after beholding the way the library twists space and messes with my mind.

    I square my shoulders and walk up to the polished, slate-gray desk, where the librarian is now smirking at me. Wielding the paper from Ezio like a shield against my ignorance, I hand over the note. ¡°New student this semester. Could you please help me with this textbook?¡±

    ¡°No problem, let me grab it. Oh, gotta get a good reading of your mana signature for the imprint. Your teacher go over that process with you already?¡± His voice is nasally and quick, a far cry from the basso rumble it possessed when transformed by the speaking stone linked to his construct.

    When I nod in confirmation, he gives me a pinched, practiced smile. His thin face and black hair give his unusually pale face a deathly pallor, turning his smile into something ghastly. ¡°Great! Saves time. Feel free to wait on the couch over there while I get the analyzer.¡±

    I clear my throat. ¡°Sorry if this is rude, but do you mind if I ask an awkward question?¡±

    He snorts. ¡°You already did.¡±

    ¡°I see. Uh, are you an actual [Librarian] by Class, or do you just work here as a student? Can you explain what kind of Skills a [Librarian] has?¡± I blurt out.

    He chuckles nervously. ¡°Oh. Most people want to know if I¡¯m allergic to sunlight or if I¡¯ve ever seen the outside world before. The answer is definitely no. To the allergy! Of course I¡¯ve been out doors. Who hasn¡¯t?¡±

    Starting to regret my question, I nod along, although his compulsive tittering is a little off putting. ¡°Right, uh, nevermind. I¡¯m just curious to see how Skills look in action. I¡¯ve been trying to earn some sort of mana sense.¡±

    He blinks rapidly. ¡°By watching Skills?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Is that not the right path?¡±

    ¡°Never say never, right?¡± the young librarian says, giving me a pained smile. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s absolutely, one-hundred-percent, totally not impossible.¡±

    I groan. ¡°Sounds like a dead end.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s better than nothing!¡± he says in a sing-song, oddly cheerful voice. ¡°I¡¯m not a true [Librarian], or else I could summon the books you¡¯ll need directly¡ªto answer your question from earlier about Skills. The guy who runs this place doesn¡¯t even have to leave the desk to get the books he needs. He doesn¡¯t even need to read anymore, from what I¡¯ve heard. Rumor has it that he can mentally cross-check any fact as long as the answer¡¯s here in the library.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s amazing,¡± I breathe, instantly captivated by the idea of endless knowledge in my mind, instantly available with no more than a single thought. ¡°Is [Librarian] hard to earn? Does it have any benefits outside the building, too?¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°You¡¯d have to ask him. I¡¯m not gonna pry into someone¡¯s Class! Now, listen, I¡¯ve got an idea where to check for books on mana senses after I fetch your textbook. We¡¯ll get you sorted. Seeing mana is essential if you¡¯re going to make progress.¡±

    Without further fanfare, he scurries off into the depths of the library. I try to watch, but as soon as he crosses over the threshold of the lobby, he disappears from view. Explains why I don¡¯t see any other students or teachers, I guess. Maybe no one wants to let people see what they¡¯re researching.

    Uncertain how long the Librarian might take to fetch the mana analyzer and the course textbook, I take his advice to sit. I step past a small potted plant that seems strangely out of place amidst the soaring columns and intricate stained glass high overhead, and sink down into a cushioned seat. I crack open the only book in Silaraon that¡¯s not likely in the library: my gift from Ezio. My excitement at reading about Tem soon fades, however. Instead of rousing scenes of adventure and derring-do, the text is brisk and analytical, covering the three most prominent [Mage] factions and their theories of magic.

    Still, if I¡¯m here to learn, then I¡¯m not going to do it halfway. Enthusiasm for a project isn¡¯t what carries me through to the end, anyway. I¡¯ve made plenty of custom glass orders that didn¡¯t tickle my fancy, and learning to discipline myself to do the work will help me here, too. I slip out my notebook and jot down my thoughts as I read, summarizing the breakdown of the factions.

    Convergence: the smallest subset of [Mages]. They strive to explain all of reality via a single, unified theory of energy and being. Regardless of whether mana or alternate sources of power are in play, they believe that if they fully understand the secrets underpinning the world, then it will unlock easily transmuting matter or energy between any of their states.

    Dissonance: a counter-movement to the convergents. Not much is known about the dissonants¡¯ goals. Appears to be a pun on ¡°dissidents.¡± Agitators.

    Utility: the largest group, by far. They are traditionalists, who don¡¯t care about magic for magic¡¯s sake, but only about political power. Their interest in developing strong [Mages] is utilitarian, as the name says. To them, magic is a means to wield strength in service to Densmore. The current advisor to the [King], the powerful [Viceroy] Tapirs, is their head [Mage].

    By the time the Librarian returns with my textbook, my head is spinning. When will I ever need to know this? Politics are so far out of my day to day life that it seems easier to reach up and touch the moon than it is to imagine myself a player on the world stage. Shouldn¡¯t I focus on something simple and tangible, like basic mana manipulation, instead?

    The [Librarian] haphazardly drops a large box on the desk with a loud thunk that seems at odds with the quiet nature of libraries. He waves me over to his slate gray desk. ¡°Ready? Shouldn¡¯t hurt, just a quick prick to confirm your blood. It gives us a more exact signature for the book binding.¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    I join him at the front desk, studiously ignoring my curiosity to peek into the box. Magical tools are fascinating, but I¡¯m not here to dissect them. ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s get it done.¡±

    His shoulders slump. ¡°Well, you¡¯re no fun. Gotta keep things interesting, since I¡¯ve only got books and stuffy academicians to keep me company. You could at least pretend to laugh at my joke, kid.¡±

    ¡°Kid? I¡¯m probably as old as you are,¡± I reply, staring at the smooth-cheeked young man. ¡°And I didn¡¯t hear a joke.¡±

    If possible, his cheeks seem to grow even more hollow as he bites them. ¡°Aw, man. You don¡¯t get it? Book binding?¡±

    When I shake my head, he scowls fiercely. ¡°As in, the physical construction of a book? But! It¡¯s also a play on words, since you¡¯re about to bind yourself to the book so it¡¯s attuned to only your mana signature for the rest of the semester. See?¡±

    I keep staring. ¡°Hilarious.¡±

    His cheeks flush, and I snicker. ¡°Ha, I got you! Serves you right for scaring me with that big old rock earlier.¡±

    ¡°Oh, well played,¡± he says, chuckling. ¡°I thought you were just another moron without a sense of humor. I¡¯ll be on guard next time I see you around. Name¡¯s Marko, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Nuri. I¡¯m a glassmaker, not a student. Auditing a class for this semester, so don¡¯t expect to see much of me otherwise. I work full time.¡±

    ¡°Oh, which class?¡± Marko asks.

    ¡°Foundations of Magical Theory and Mana Manipulation. Didn¡¯t you have to check to see if you got the right textbook?¡±

    ¡°Nah. It¡¯s all tied to the inscription on the note. That¡¯s a good introduction to the basics if you¡¯re interested in magic, particularly as a crafter.¡± Marko nods, then claps his hands together as if remembering something. He stands upright and rigid. ¡°Wait. Who¡¯s your teacher?¡±

    ¡°Ezio,¡± I reply, crossing my arms. ¡°Why?¡±

    Marko¡¯s already bone-white face goes completely ashen. ¡°Well, nice knowing ya.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Not gonna fall for that. Can¡¯t fool me again today.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not kidding. He¡¯s scary,¡± Marko says, swallowing hard. ¡°Just be careful, all right? It¡¯s not the first time he¡¯s taken on a surprise student. Not all of them make it.¡±

    ¡°You mean, they don¡¯t all pass?¡± I clarify, although I suspect the answer is more sinister than that. My mind darts back to Ezio¡¯s earlier conversation about a student who burned himself out trying to rank up his Skills. Did he say that the student did it on his own? Or did Ezio just say that he wished he¡¯d given him more oversight?

    ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t get into it,¡± Marko says, chuckling nervously. ¡°Be careful, all right? That¡¯s all I¡¯m saying. So! Let¡¯s get you sorted with your mana signature.¡±

    The analyzer turns out to be a simple crystalline machine. It almost looks like glass, but I suspect it¡¯s actually a natural crystal, with more cohesive internal minerals. Glass is amorphous and chaotic, not fixed, according to what Ember taught me. Melina seems to agree, based on her compositional analysis Skill.

    Lost in my ruminations, I barely feel the pinch for the blood draw. The machine thrums once afterward, flashing with an azure light as it analyzes my unique mana signature, or so Marko explains. A ghostly array of hazy runic formations washes over me and the textbook, which he placed on the desk in front of me, and it¡¯s done. I¡¯m officially bound to the book for the rest of the semester.

    And what a book, I think in wonder. Easily four or five times the size of the small book I got from Ezio, this textbook looks like it was designed to sit permanently on a stand somewhere for people to admire its gilt title and elaborate artwork. Carrying the book around with me hardly seems comfortable. Or practical.

    ¡°Thanks. Guess I¡¯ll need a bag.¡±

    A mischievous glint sparks in Marko¡¯s eyes. ¡°Fun fact! We just so happen to sell book bags. Normally, there¡¯s a student discount for our bags, but since you¡¯re only auditing a class, and you already admitted that you¡¯re gainfully employed, you get to pay full price.¡±

    I snort. ¡°Fun fact, huh?¡±

    Marko just grins at me even wider and holds out his hand until I relent and pay him the exorbitant cost. It beats trying to grapple with the book while I walk back to my cabin. He counts out my change and gives me a travel pack with shoulder straps. ¡°Anything else I can help you with today, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I mentioned that Ezio is my instructor. Could I get a list of everything he¡¯s ever published during his tenure? I¡¯m not going to check them out right now, but I just want to see what¡¯s available. Could you also list the years they were entered into the library archive?¡±

    ¡°Sure. You probably can¡¯t check them out, though. A lot of the works are only available to other professors or to our graduate students. Even if you were full-time, you¡¯re starting out with undergrad coursework.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± I ask, scrunching up my brow and leaning against the desk. ¡°I¡¯m not familiar.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Well. They really didn''t tell you much of anything did they?¡± Marko says, laughing with a nervous little hitch. ¡°Ahem. All right. Most students start at about sixteen, or maybe fifteen if they are gifted and have family tutors. They study anywhere from three to five years before becoming provisional graduates of the SCA. After that, if they show promise, then they can apply for sponsorship. That usually lasts about a decade, give or take. Graduate students are extremely specialized, and the longer they''ve been here, the more impressive the resume, as a general rule.¡±

    ¡°Is Rakesh a grad student?¡±

    ¡°You know him? Of course you do! Explains why you got a chance to audit. Yeah he was one of the youngest scholars ever accepted into the SCA. It raised quite a kerfuffle with some of the old-timers when Ezio snatched him up as his first sponsored student. Imagine turning away all candidates for years and then boom! You swoop in and take the only student the assistant headmaster earmarked for himself. Ha!¡±

    My eyebrows inch up my forehead. ¡°Is that going to cause me problems? I don''t want to run afoul of the assistant headmaster.¡±

    ¡°Nah. He won¡¯t even know who you are,¡± Marco assures me while scribbling down the last title in an impressively long list. ¡°Here. All set. Every book published since Ezio completed his graduate work three decades ago.¡±

    I pump my fist in the air. ¡°I knew it! He¡¯s got to be at least fifty-five, then. Maybe older. Thanks, Marko. You¡¯ve been a huge help.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Live to serve and all that.¡± Marko says sarcastically. He starts to wave farewell, then stops midway through the motion as though completely frozen in place. He raises a single bony finger, staring into space while his lips twitch. ¡°Wait, wait, just thought of something. You¡¯re probably way behind the other students, even in a class like Fundamentals. Let me get you a primer that should help you with circulating mana. Even if you already know how to move mana around, my guess is that no one¡¯s taught you how to do it more efficiently.¡±

    ¡°That sounds awesome! Are you sure I can check the primer out of the library without an instructor¡¯s note?¡± I ask. ¡°Thought that was only for actual students.¡±

    Marko waves away my concerns. ¡°Nah, you can¡¯t, but I¡¯ll get it out under my name, same as the mana senses book I promised earlier. They¡¯re basic books, so even if you lose them, it¡¯s not a big deal. I mean. Try not to lose them, yeah? But still! Least I can do, if you¡¯re stuck with Ezio. I¡¯m telling you, watch yourself.¡±

    I nod awkwardly. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. Thanks.¡±

    Marko shrugs. ¡°Suit yourself. Back in a jiffy with those books. Don¡¯t lose them, or you owe me!¡±

    ¡°I thought you said it wasn¡¯t a big deal!¡± I call at Marko¡¯s retreating back, but he doesn¡¯t seem to hear me before he crosses the threshold into the library proper again and disappears. Ah well. I¡¯m sure it will all work out. Marko seems nice. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s going to hold this over me or anything if they go missing. Right?

    =+=

    Reflecting on the day when I¡¯m back in my cabin that night, I¡¯m still fighting off disbelief. How did I get here? I¡¯m a little confused at how my fortunes have shifted so drastically. Yesterday, all I wanted to do was make glass, try to see mana, and improve my martial skills so that I¡¯m not useless if there¡¯s another beast irruption like the one in Peliharaon.

    Today, I¡¯m a student at the SCA¡ªalbeit temporarily¡ªand I have access to an actual mana circulation primer in addition to a massive textbook. This is a huge step forward for me, and I¡¯m excited to think about how the knowledge will push me to new heights. One day, I¡¯ll enter the All-Densmore glass competition. I might actually have a chance now with my improved understanding of the world.

    ¡°Thanks, Ember. You¡¯re the best.¡±

    I know she can¡¯t hear my outburst of gratitude, but as I sit at my small desk, looking out the window at the velvet backdrop of the night sky, I¡¯m overwhelmed with gratitude. ¡°I should lead with that when I talk to her about Mel joining me. Soften her up first. Flattery always goes over well.¡±

    With great effort, I tear my gaze away from the stars overhead and focus on the book in front of me. I¡¯m trying to read through the mana circulation primer before bed, but I keep getting distracted. My hope was that I could find a parallel between the suggestions in the book and the mana practice I¡¯ve been doing with the glass orbs, but they¡¯re nothing alike.

    Doubt nibbles at me. Have I been doing it wrong all along? Or are there simply different methods to accomplish the same task? ¡°If only I could see what I¡¯m doing,¡± I lament for the third time in the last hour.

    Initially, I wanted to jump straight into the book about how to expand my mana senses first. A quiet voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like Ezio told me it¡¯s more prudent to develop proper techniques for circulating my mana. I¡¯m wasting energy right now by constantly leaking excess mana when I try to move it into my eyes, and most of the time I don¡¯t even get a result, anyway. So why not go slow and steady, and start from the bottom?

    ¡°No one shapes glass while it¡¯s cold,¡± I murmur, thinking back to some of my earliest memories of working with my father, before he succumbed to the mana plague. He taught me how to get a feel for the glass while we brought it up to temperature in the furnace. Even without my heat-related Skill, I developed an excellent sense for testing its readiness just by how elastic the glass seemed when I used the blowpipe to pick up a gather.

    Whenever I had trouble blowing a larger bubble, or couldn¡¯t get the glass to look the way I wanted, my father always made me go back to the glory hole and reheat the project. Invariably, the results improved. I couldn¡¯t cheat the process and expect a good result. Regardless of the medium¡ªglass or mana¡ªthe basics matter. Don¡¯t overlook laying a foundation, Nuri.

    I crack open the book again, reviewing the loops representing ideal mana flow, and try to visualize how I can copy it in my own body. It¡¯s slow going, and the overlapping swirls that look like infinity figures make my head hurt, but I push forward. It¡¯s all right if my way of doing things isn¡¯t as good as I thought it was at first. All I can do is keep an open mind and try again. That¡¯s the entire point of having an instructional manual and a teacher. If I already had a perfect plan, then I wouldn¡¯t need any of that.

    Two hours later, I drag myself to bed. My mind is tied in knots and my mana channels are slightly raw and tender, but I¡¯ve made a little progress. The mana within me is feeling less sluggish in this new pattern, a bit less stubborn. I¡¯ll keep improving with practice. And if I get stuck, I¡¯ve got a teacher to help me. How awesome is that!

    As I fall asleep, I resolve to buy Ember a whole basket of sweet rolls. It¡¯s the least I can do for her, since she¡¯s done so much for me.

 Chapter Fourteen: Classroom Rivals

    ¡°Nuri! Why are you here? Thought we were finally free of you this week,¡± Lionel teases me when I show up at the Silaraon Glassworks studio. Sunrise is still a few minutes away; it¡¯s early in the morning on the day of my first class with Ezio.

    I pull Lionel into a one-armed hug and lightly jab him in the ribs with my free hand while he tries to squirm away from my aggressive affection. ¡°Love ya too, buddy. Don¡¯t look so worried about my presence. I¡¯m not staying long. Trust me, I don¡¯t want you to rub off on me before my first class.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon! I actually graduated from my school, unlike someone I know,¡± Lionel replies, laughing as he twists free and smacks me over the head with his heat-resistant gloves. ¡°Good luck today, Nuri. We¡¯re rooting for you.¡±

    ¡°Appreciate it, Lio. I¡¯m just stopping by for a minute before heading down to the SCA. Is Melina here yet? Class starts in three and a half hours, and I don¡¯t want to be late.¡±

    Melina walks over from her station by her sister, Avelina, who¡¯s getting an early start on her flamework for the day. She yawns and pats my shoulder. ¡°Good luck!¡±

    ¡°Hey, why don¡¯t you join me, Mel?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sweet, Nuri. Can¡¯t afford the time off, or the tuition fee,¡± Melina says. She clasps her hands together in front of her. ¡°Besides, we did this for you since you¡¯ve been working so hard at mana manipulation. This is your gift. No need to feel guilty.¡±

    ¡°Seems unfair. You¡¯re a natural scholar. Why don¡¯t you at least look over notes with me afterward and help me study? I¡¯ll bet you¡¯ll pick it up way faster than I will,¡± I suggest, barely suppressing a grin at the surprise to come.

    Melina¡¯s smile reflects her genuine joy for my good fortune. ¡°Nuri, that sounds lovely! Sometimes Rakesh loans me his old books. I¡¯m learning at my own pace.¡±

    ¡°Not today,¡± I announce grandly, and right on cue her twin skips over to hand her a new notebook and pen. ¡°Today, you¡¯re coming with me. Ember already approved it. So let¡¯s get moving before we¡¯re late.¡±

    ¡°What! How?¡± Melina demands. Her expression twists into a strange mix of confusion and barely controlled longing. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to cover you, not the other way around. I¡¯ve got orders to fill. And besides, who¡¯s going to watch Ava if I¡¯m gone? What if my sister burns down the entire place?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll snuff out the flames myself,¡± Ember promises Melina, striding down the stairs from her apartment to join the group. ¡°You know Nuri can¡¯t possibly just accept a gift without making things complicated, so here we are.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re really letting us both go?¡± Melina squeaks. ¡°We won¡¯t be able to keep up with the request from the [Governor] for updating the streetlights! You know we¡¯re running nearly five percent behind schedule, Ember.¡±

    Ember frowns. ¡°We are? I thought we were on track. Hm. That is a problem. I guess if the street lamps hang in the balance, we¡¯ll have to cancel the school trip.¡±

    At Melina¡¯s stricken look, Ember snorts in laughter. ¡°If you¡¯re really worried, make it up to me on your off day. The deal we worked out is that instead of a week of private lessons, you¡¯ll go to a general lecture twice a week for a few hours. The studio survived long before you were born. I think we can handle a few hours without you now.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to share a textbook,¡± I say, ¡°but it shouldn¡¯t be too bad. You read quickly. I thought about catching you up on what I read while we walk today, but it¡¯s probably a better idea to get to class early and then let you loose on the text.¡±

    ¡°My temporal acceleration should work in my favor,¡± Melina says, tucking the notebook into her satchel and setting aside her safety goggles. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s go. What are we studying, by the way? Who¡¯s the teacher? Oh! Is it Ezio? Will we get to review with Rakesh? Are you sure we¡¯ll be early enough? I don¡¯t want to make a bad impression. And what about¡ª¡±

    Ember ushers her out the door and gives her a gentle push toward town before Melina can ask any further questions. She grabs my arm, pulling me aside, and whispers, ¡°Don¡¯t let her enroll full time. One class is great, but we can¡¯t actually afford to lose her.¡±

    ¡°Glass will always be first in our hearts,¡± I assure Ember. She rolls her eyes at that and heaves a dramatic sigh. Grinning impishly, I trot over to join Melina for the long walk into the city. The Academy is almost an hour away by foot. We¡¯ve got plenty of time, but neither of us dare to show up late. Today¡¯s class is too important to mess up.

    =+=

    Ezio paces across a low stage in the front of a wedge-shaped classroom slightly larger than the full glass studio. Chairs and desks fan out in an angle from the middle of the room in rows of eight, separated on either side of the central aisle. The basement lecture hall floor slopes down, placing the Silaraon City Academy students above the lecturer, which seems like a reversal of positions to me. Hands clasped behind his back, Ezio looks like an ancient [Sage], except for the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

    ¡°Welcome to the Spring semester! We have nearly thirty new students, so we¡¯ll break off for smaller study groups later; you can introduce yourselves during that time. For now, I expect notebooks out and eyes up front. This is the last time I¡¯ll give this advice. You¡¯re adults now, or near enough, so your success in this course is entirely up to your own efforts.¡±

    I grip my pen tighter, glad I already have my notes arranged in front of me. At Melina¡¯s insistence, we¡¯re in the front row. I don¡¯t like how exposed it makes me feel, since everyone¡¯s staring at us, but at least it gives me a good view of the board on the wall. It¡¯s massive, twice as tall as I am and probably three times as long. Instead of a rough bit of slate, like we had in my primary school, it looks more like smooth enamel. I can¡¯t even imagine how much the SCA paid for it.

    Focus, Nuri! I reprimand myself. Wonder about material costs on your own time; don¡¯t miss the lecture.

    ¡°Many of you know that I am in the synthetic aspects research division,¡± Ezio says, his voice booming throughout the auditorium. He smiles slightly, straightening his long black robes, and rubs his chin. ¡°Yet I suspect that the majority of you don¡¯t know what that means. It¡¯s quite all right to admit you don¡¯t know something; that¡¯s why we¡¯re here today. If you do know what an aspect is¡ªor think you know¡ªnow¡¯s your chance to impress the class.¡±

    In that ominous pause, the tenth bell rings. Seconds later, a door at the top of the lecture room bangs open. I spin around to watch a straggler rush inside, slamming the door behind him. He flings his bag down and flops into a seat, panting from a run.

    ¡°Glad you could join us,¡± Ezio says, his voice loud but still mild. ¡°No demerits for the first day of class, but don¡¯t let it happen again. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Y-yes, Master Ezio!¡±

    Unlike our private conversation, wherein Ezio invited me to simply call him by his name, this time he has no problem accepting the honorific. I wonder if he¡¯s trying to reinforce expected behavior so that people show up on time. ¡°Good. See to it that you take punctuality seriously. This class is called Foundations for a reason: it will be the solid base upon which you build your entire career here at the Silaraon City Academy.¡±

    Next to me, Melina writes down every single word, her hands blurring thanks to a small temporal field she¡¯s running. Admittedly, it¡¯s good training for her Skill, but part of me can¡¯t help but think she¡¯s cheating. The rest of us have to take notes in real time!

    ¡°Share notes later?¡± I whisper.

    Amusement curves her lips up into a smile. ¡°So far, my notes cover the welcome to class and a student coming in late. Still want them?¡±

    ¡°Of course. You¡¯re the best.¡±

    ¡°You just don¡¯t want to do extra work,¡± she teases quietly. Uh oh. She¡¯s seen through me instantly. Still, she nods in agreement, so I¡¯ll take the win.

    Ezio returns to the center of the room, where he taps a mana-condensed pen against the board on the wall. The word ASPECT appears in large, bold, capitalized letters. ¡°I¡¯ll repeat my question for the benefit of all the students here: what is an aspect?¡±

    I glance around surreptitiously, curious if anyone¡¯s going to rise to the occasion. My two days of laborious reading in the assigned textbook for the course didn¡¯t get me very far. I¡¯m still not sure what mana is, let alone its various aspects. Sure, we all use it for Skills, but that doesn¡¯t mean I understand the energy very well.

    ¡°Three brave souls!¡± Ezio announces, nodding at the students who raised their hands. ¡°I¡¯ll start with the young man in the front and work backward to the blue-haired young woman in the back row. Name, age, and answer?¡±

    A smiling young man with light brown curls waves at the classroom. ¡°Hi! I¡¯m Jahn. I¡¯m eighteen, and I¡¯m delighted to finally join the SCA this semester! An aspect is just a fancy word for type. It¡¯s an affinity for certain magics.¡±

    Ezio nods along, right up until the end. ¡°Welcome, Jahn. You¡¯re halfway there, but affinity is not quite the same thing as an aspect. Rather, affinity measures your unique compatibility with certain types of magic. Thank you for going first, however. Next?¡±

    ¡°Zviad. Fifteen,¡± an elegantly-dressed student replies. If not for the perpetual sneer on his face, he¡¯d be the perfect picture of a handsome young noble. Aristocratic features, stylishly swept hair, an assortment of expensive jewelry. His eyes slide over to Jahn, and he grimaces in distaste. ¡°How is it that you¡¯re one of the oldest students enrolled in a first-year class?¡±

    ¡°Stay on topic,¡± Ezio says sternly.

    ¡°Why?¡± Zviad fires back. ¡°If you didn¡¯t want us talking about how old students are, then you wouldn¡¯t have asked our ages. I¡¯m onto that game. I don¡¯t know what scandalizes me more: that you¡¯re asking us such basic questions, or that the first answer is so sloppy. I¡¯m stuck out here for the next year before my father returns to the capital, so I thought I¡¯d make the best of it. I don¡¯t know why I expected anything more in the borderlands.¡±

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°We¡¯re here to learn, not insult one another. Your reply wasn¡¯t salient; we¡¯re still waiting for an actual answer. I hope your coursework is more satisfactory, or you¡¯ll soon find that all the connections in the world can¡¯t save you from failing my class,¡± Ezio says.

    Zviad sits upright. His jaw clenches, but he seems to respond to Ezio¡¯s strictness, a sign of his practiced discipline. ¡°An aspect is a shift in mana alignment due to exposure to significant and persistent elemental influences. Much like a lodestone applied to steel changes the verticity and results in magnetism, certain energies will impart a new aspect to mana.¡±

    A genuine smile lights up Ezio¡¯s face at that answer. ¡°Ah, a devotee of the great [Mana Analyst] Brekhna, I see. Excellent choice. I commend your tutor¡ªand you, for memorizing the passage. All the same, not everyone in Foundations will understand her terminology quite yet. Permeability and alignment are topics we¡¯ll get to later, but learning how to summarize simply in your own words is when I know you truly understand the subject.¡±

    No response from Zviad, other than a slight tightness in the muscles around his eyes. A long moment passes, and Ezio calls on the final student who raised a hand.

    We all turn to look at the student Ezio chose last. She¡¯s short, barely visible over the rim of her desk from my perspective, since I¡¯m looking up from the bottom row of the tiered seating, and she¡¯s sitting alone. What I can see is bright blue hair¡ªdefinitely not her natural color¡ªthat perfectly matches her eyes, which seem to spark and dance with inner lightning.

    ¡°I¡¯m Teuira. Thirteen. I was born with lightning-aspected mana, so I know all about it. It basically just means my mana can only be used for lightning. I¡¯m really strong with lightning magic, but I can¡¯t cast any other spells or earn a non-lightning Skill. Oh, and don¡¯t sit near me; I¡¯m not very good at controlling the static discharge or sparks that form, and it¡¯s not my fault if you get hurt.¡±

    ¡°Thirteen and already in an Academy class!¡± I hiss, leaning over to Melina. ¡°She must be some sort of genius.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s probably frightened and lonely. Don¡¯t add pressure by placing unrealistic burdens on her or calling her a prodigy,¡± Melina whispers back. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll say hello after class. I¡¯ve got some ideas of how to mitigate unintentional lightning strikes.¡±

    I shake my head in admiration. ¡°You¡¯re too pure for this world, Mel. Never change.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Teuira,¡± Ezio says. He strides back to the board and sketches two columns on the wall: positives and negatives. Under the first he draws a jagged bolt of lightning that glows with mana, while under the second category he draws a frowning face.

    ¡°As you said, you have an already-naturalized form of mana. It¡¯s both a blessing and a curse: your magic is powerful, but it won¡¯t translate into other aspects. In your case, you also possess a high affinity. I can tell that from here, without the aid of a mana gauge, which means it¡¯s one of the highest affinities I¡¯ve seen in a while.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like I was right,¡± Jahn interjects.

    ¡°Half right,¡± Ezio says with a smile, not missing a beat. ¡°But it was a helpful lead-in to the discussion of affinities. Some people have inborn magical inclinations, while most of us have none at all. That¡¯s another thing to add to our chart.¡±

    On the two-column table, Ezio marks down ¡°more versatile¡± and ¡°weaker,¡± respectively.

    ¡°I¡¯ll continue to ask questions for today¡¯s class, just to get a sense of who knows what. Moving forward, however, we¡¯ll do more practical work. Next week, we¡¯ll test you all with the mana gauge, then we¡¯ll proceed with mana manipulation techniques, and finally, we¡¯ll develop your project for the semester. It will involve both research and demonstration, so please think about your topics now.

    ¡°Moving on! What is the difference between low, middle, and high in the Tier Rankings? When does a monster or mercenary move between divisions versus jumping up an entire tier?¡±

    ¡°Why the easy questions?¡± Zviad scoffs. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me we¡¯re going to waste time with all these children¡¯s questions, such as ¡®what is mana?¡¯ Maybe we¡¯ll go over circulation and simple shaping exercises next. What are we, twelve again and just gaining our Classes?¡±

    ¡°Zviad! You¡¯ve been holding out on us. You¡¯ve already mastered circulation techniques?¡± Ezio asks.

    A wicked grin splits my face at the dangerous brightness in Ezio¡¯s voice. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to recognize a trap. Yet Zviad is so arrogant that he steps right into it without a care in the world.

    ¡°Who hasn¡¯t?¡±

    Ezio arches an eyebrow. ¡°Excellent dedication to your studies, as expected for someone who reads Brekhna. Why don¡¯t you provide us with a demonstration?¡±

    ¡°Right now?¡± Zviad asks. His voice warbles slightly; the first sign of cracks in his armor. It reminds me that he¡¯s only fifteen, for all his big talk.

    ¡°Please,¡± Ezio says, gesturing to the stage next to him. ¡°Observation is an essential part of education. You¡¯d be doing your peers a great service.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but if they don¡¯t have any mana senses developed, then what¡¯s the point?¡± Zviad says, not budging from his seat.

    ¡°Those who do will benefit from the display. Those still working on unlocking those skills will have more motivation to work hard,¡± Ezio counters. ¡°Come on up, please.¡±

    Zviad shrugs. He vaults over his desk, leaping lightly down to the floor and landing in a graceful stance. He closes his eyes in concentration, takes a breath, and steps through an odd, formal-looking series of slow, flowing movements and sudden sharp strikes.

    I can¡¯t quite tell if it¡¯s a dance or a martial exercise. I call on the new, looping circulation techniques that I¡¯ve been studying in my primer, moving as much mana to my eyes as I can to try to follow what he¡¯s doing with his own circulation. For once, my mana cooperates, and I catch a glimpse of Zviad¡¯s mana coursing through him, far faster and more responsive than my own. Whatever he¡¯s doing gives him an incredible advantage when it comes to Skill activation.

    Hm. He¡¯s competent, not simply arrogant. A potent combination.

    ¡°Wow. He¡¯s good. Wonder if he¡¯ll give me pointers if I ask,¡± I comment to Melina, who is frowning at him and not paying any attention to me. Ah. Right. She doesn¡¯t have [Manasight] or a variant, either, so this has to be driving her crazy.

    I pat Melina on the arm. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you about what he¡¯s doing later. I think I¡¯m close to unlocking another Skill, so that should help me see what you¡¯re doing, too. We can improve together. What are the chances I¡¯ll get it before the semester concludes?¡±

    ¡°Almost certain, if you¡¯re seeing the energy flows already,¡± Ezio replies, which makes me jump. I didn¡¯t notice that he¡¯d drifted over to my desk.

    ¡°Pay close attention,¡± Ezio continues in a conspiratorial tone, speaking only to me. ¡°He¡¯s good, if a bit of a hothead. I¡¯m putting you in his study group, along with Teuira. He¡¯ll complain, but it¡¯s a good opportunity for you to learn.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, I think,¡± I say.

    ¡°My pleasure. Now, stop talking to each other in class. It¡¯s rude. Just raise your hand if you have a question.¡±

    I blush, but Ezio just winks at my discomfort. He strides back to the stage just as Zviad completes his movements, and leads the round of applause for the impressive demonstration.

    ¡°Beautifully performed kata, Zviad. Your speed is impressive,¡± Ezio says, nodding at the student in recognition.

    ¡°Better be,¡± Zviad says, leaping back up to his seat with a burst of mana empowering his muscles temporarily. ¡°I¡¯ve been working on that since I was three years old.¡±

    Ezio rubs his chin, appearing deep in thought. ¡°Maintaining control without performing the movements must be difficult by this time, since they¡¯re so interwoven. During my class, you¡¯ll refrain from relying on the kata for circulation or manipulation techniques. Practice sitting still.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my family¡¯s traditional technique,¡± Zviad says hotly. He crosses his arms. ¡°Are you saying they¡¯re substandard?¡±

    ¡°Not at all,¡± Ezio replies smoothly. ¡°I¡¯m saying that you¡¯ve inadvertently been using them as a crutch. You¡¯re skilled, but you can be even better.¡±

    I gulp. If Zviad isn¡¯t good enough for Ezio¡¯s standards, then what hope do I have? I can¡¯t measure up to the expertise I just saw on display. I shake off my feeling of inadequacy and try to sketch out the flows I witnessed. All I can do is keep practicing. I don¡¯t need to compare myself to nobles or [Mages]. I¡¯m here to learn what I can, and that¡¯s enough for me.

    I raise my hand, waiting for Ezio to call on me. When he nods in my direction, I glance at my notes to make sure I¡¯m getting the terms right. ¡°Could we go back to the Tier Rankings? I¡¯m well-acquainted with Bronze monsters, but I don¡¯t know how the scale originated. I also don¡¯t know how they go from low to middle to high. Is there a governing body that decides monster threat rankings? Oh, and who judges adventurers and mercenaries? Do we take a test to get our own rankings?¡±

    ¡°Great question, Nuri. For those of you who are unaware, Nuri fought and killed a pair of Shadow Jaguars during the beast irruption in Peliharaon last year.¡±

    Excited murmurs break out in the class, and Ezio smiles, tolerating the frenzy of whispers until the students settle down. ¡°That¡¯s right, he skipped right past Coppers, straight to low Bronze.¡±

    A hand shoots up, and Ezio nods at an athletic girl with a sharp bob cut in the second row, who¡¯s staring at me with uncomfortable intensity. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯m Zara. Seventeen, since I served a year as an apprentice in the Royal army. Shadow Jaguars are mid-to-upper Bronze threat. How do you figure they¡¯re low? And how did he kill them? He¡¯s not army.¡±

    Ezio claps his hands together. ¡°Ah, delightful! Actual combat experience is fun. Excellent observations, Zara. Usually, the jaguars travel in large packs. Fighting off a group is much harder than fighting a few on their own. As for how Nuri did it¡ªI¡¯ll let him answer, but only if he wants to say.¡± As Ezio says the last line, he gives me a meaningful look.

    ¡°Mostly luck,¡± I say, grinning.

    Polite titters of laughter erupt from the crowd, but the girl narrows her eyes. I suspect she¡¯ll push for answers after class. I¡¯m not sure why it¡¯s a big deal, but if Ezio is on guard, then I¡¯d be a fool not to heed his guidance.

    ¡°Numbers alone are enough to shift a threat within its division, but insufficient to jump tiers,¡± Ezio says, moving on before any further questions arise. ¡°The reason is closely related to our studies of the three keys of mana: Skills, senses, and shaping. Copper threats are mundane. Don¡¯t think that they aren¡¯t dangerous. They can still be deadly. Few people would dare face a stampede of wildebeest, for example.

    ¡°Bronze creatures are awakened to mana. In the low divisions, this manifests most frequently as increased intelligence. As we move higher, we sometimes see a passive ability, such as stealth. Rarely do we see any active mana Skills in Bronze, however, unless it¡¯s an otherwise weak or defenseless creature. Skill usage is most often the deciding factor in shifting a threat up to Silver. This is when a creature gains rudimentary mana channels that connect to a metaphysical core.¡±

    I write down a summary: Copper is mundane. Bronze is smart, no Skills, maybe stealth or poison. Silver is magic.

    ¡°Gold is when a beast core fully forms in the physical realm, but that is a topic for another course of study; we¡¯ll touch on it when we discuss Rifts and the economy of harvesting rare natural resources and monster parts. We¡¯ll skip the rest, since they¡¯re so far above us that it¡¯s never going to be relevant.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t you fight them?¡± Zara interjects. ¡°I was told that you work with a number of [Scouts] and [Hunters].¡±

    ¡°Alas, while I do research for them, I am only a [Scholar], not a [War Mage]. I have joined them on the field at times, but in a non-combat role, unless things went wrong. But that is a story for another time.¡±

    I jot down a reminder to look into my teacher more closely. He¡¯s harboring secrets, and I don¡¯t want to be caught off guard.

    Ezio smirks at us, and a part of me thinks he¡¯s looking directly at me. ¡°Break into groups for the rest of today¡¯s class. Introduce yourself to each other, discuss your specializations, and go over the rest of the syllabus¡ªif you can find it. We¡¯ll reconvene in two days.¡±

    With that, Ezio claps his hands together with percussive force. Four sets of glittering, mana-infused names appear on the board, assigning us to work groups of distinct colors: blood red, bone white, midnight black, and sky-blue. A glow of unique elemental mana accompanies each one, faintly visible even without straining to use my nascent mana sense.

    Above the lists of names is a single sentence in bold lettering: ¡°Class quest: The river of knowledge flows from the spring of mana.¡±

    By the time I glance back down to the stage, Ezio is gone.

    ¡°You. Old guy. I saw the mana glimmering in your eyes when I was demonstrating mana circulation, so you¡¯re our bloodhound. Find the blue syllabus, Jaguar-Slayer,¡± Zviad says, his voice dripping with derisive sarcasm.

    I groan internally. Of course I¡¯m stuck with this guy. No wonder Ezio was smirking at me.

 Chapter Fifteen: Mana Control Test

    SCA, day two. Mana control test.

    As soon as I walk into the lecture room, I regret eating such a large breakfast. The mana gauge rests on a tile-topped, wheeled table in the front of class. I know we¡¯re in for a harrowing few hours; I hope I can keep my food down if it¡¯s as painful as I heard. Gleaming from a recent polish, the spiked implement and steel orbs are even more ominous now than when I first laid eyes on them in Ezio¡¯s office.

    ¡°Sorry in advance, Mel,¡± I say. ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, a mana gauge isn¡¯t very fun. It¡¯s not too late to head back to the studio. Those street lamps aren¡¯t gonna make themselves.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re committed, then I am, too.¡±

    ¡°Good luck!¡± I whisper.

    Ezio calls out my name, interrupting our pledge of solidarity. He beckons for me to join him on stage, and selects a student from each of the other three study groups, supposedly at random.

    I¡¯m certain that it doesn¡¯t escape anyone¡¯s notice that I¡¯ve been included in every activity so far, however. I don¡¯t know if I love being singled out; experience tells me that it¡¯s the surest way to unite people against me. As I survey the narrowed eyes and pursed lips in the rows of students, I let out a tiny sigh.

    This is like when Bijan was forced to work under me all over again. Back then, I was the ¡°favored son.¡± Now I¡¯m destined to be the ¡°teacher¡¯s pet.¡± No one will let me hear the end of it.

    ¡°Congratulations on completing the first class quest,¡± Ezio says, offering us a small clap that¡¯s just on the polite side of mockery. ¡°Everyone found the right syllabus, so that¡¯s a relief. I don¡¯t have to kick anyone out on the first day.¡±

    Ezio is the only one who laughs at his joke. ¡°Anyway! Before we begin with the mana control test today, let¡¯s hear what you discovered about each other and about the course. Zara. Your team will go first.¡±

    Zara salutes at the sound of her name, jerking upright and coming to attention. When her mind seems to catch up with her body¡¯s actions, she blushes, dropping the salute. Ezio isn¡¯t a commanding officer, and she¡¯s out of her apprenticeship until her time at the SCA is up, which elicits a snort from Zviad.

    ¡°My group has all determined that we share basic combat training, Sir,¡± Zara barks. ¡°Our group is still lacking in mana senses in the main, but Filkin has unlocked [Lesser Manasight], so we were able to find our syllabus in the training courtyards. We believe that you put us together to reinforce our martial roots. Sir!¡±

    ¡°I doubt they need reinforcing,¡± Ezio says with a dry laugh. ¡°But well done. Thank you.¡±

    Zara stands stiffly, her hands like blades at her sides, even though her report is finished. She stares straight ahead and doesn¡¯t move until Ezio hides a smile and tells her, ¡°Dismissed!¡±

    Once she returns to her seat, Ezio leads another round of applause. ¡°Thank you for your observations, Zara. Next up is Lenoire. Tell us about your group.¡±

    Lenoire, a girl I haven¡¯t met yet, gives us an extremely boring rundown of everyone¡¯s age that provides zero insight into her team. She finishes in a quiet voice that¡¯s more whimper than conversation, and slips back to her seat with her head down.

    ¡°Thank you, Lenoire. Jahn?¡±

    Boisterous and affable as always, Jahn waves at everyone in the class before giving his report. ¡°We¡¯re probably the oldest group of students in the class, which I¡¯m proud of, personally! That means that we have the most maturity and the most persistence. Nothing was given to us for free. We have no family backing, no special talents, and no rare Classes. Yet here we are! Hard work and mutual support will see us through to the end. And, of course, excellent teaching from the renowned [Scholar], Ezio. Thank you for the opportunity!¡±

    Watching Zviad¡¯s face go blank while Jahn talks brings a conflicted rush of joy and pity. I know it¡¯s rude to enjoy other people¡¯s misfortune, but Zviad isn¡¯t exactly winning any friends with his behavior. Who cares if Jahn is chatty and loud? That¡¯s no reason to throw a silent tantrum. As I think it over more, I realize Jahn¡¯s words aren¡¯t as innocent as I first thought. He¡¯s directly taunting my teammate; I should stick up for Zviad, even if I don¡¯t really want to get involved.

    Ezio coughs into his fist politely. ¡°Anything to say, Nuri? Feel free to share anything you want with the class.¡±

    I come back to myself in a rush, realizing that I¡¯ve been standing there silently instead of delivering a report. I nod my head. ¡°Our group is probably the most diverse. For example, both Melina and I are auditing the class, Teuira and Zviad won early-entry scholarships, and Kuuper and Eliakim both got in through the standard application process. We¡¯re from all over Densmore, from the capital to the borderlands. Our skill sets don¡¯t have a lot of overlap, so working together is a fantastic opportunity to learn. I¡¯m trying to keep track of what my classmates have to offer, since our different backgrounds mean we¡¯ve got a lot to teach each other. I have the most to learn of anyone, so I need their help. I¡¯ve already noted down some ideas for future study.¡±

    ¡°Enterprising! What would you ask each student to teach you? Let¡¯s hear your analysis,¡± Ezio says. Once again he¡¯s singling me out, instead of dismissing me like the others.

    I studiously avoid looking at Zviad. If I make fun of him, I¡¯m likely to win the rest of the class over to my side. For a brief moment, I almost give in to the temptation, but I bite my tongue at the last second. We¡¯re teammates. Instead, I pivot to a new tactic. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but notice that they¡¯re all much younger than I am, which means they¡¯ve learned more solid theory than I have. I am a late bloomer, and that¡¯s being kind.¡±

    I lick my lips while I think, trying to buy time. ¡°Teuira is incredibly gifted with lightning. It¡¯s not something I¡¯m able to Skill into, but maybe I can borrow from her technique. She gave us a brief demonstration yesterday, and I noticed that she¡¯s able to activate her Skills instantly. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen mana move so quickly before. I¡¯m sure dealing with a potentially dangerous aspect takes a lot of discipline and work.

    ¡°Zviad seems advanced due to his tutoring in the Capital and his sharp mind. He¡¯s my first choice for teaching me about how to circulate more efficiently, as we all saw last class. My guess is that he can also help me refine how I view mana, even without [Manasight] yet. I¡¯ll bet he¡¯s got excellent mana senses, or at least knows the theory inside and out.

    ¡°Melina is my colleague. She¡¯s got precise control of her Skills and can shrink or expand their area of influence. I¡¯m sure we can learn from her regarding shaping exercises,¡± I finish. I¡¯ve left out Kuuper and Eliakim in our study group, but I¡¯ve already talked long enough.

    ¡°Thank you, Nuri. Any observations you¡¯d like to share regarding students not on your team? So far, you¡¯ve got a keen eye for people,¡± Ezio says, his voice warm with approval.

    I rack my mind for something that¡¯s both a compliment and critique. I don¡¯t want to let the slight against my teammate go unaddressed. ¡°Uh, Jahn seems friendly and willing to talk¡ªnot something I take for granted. He¡¯s also got a broken pocket watch, likely due to carelessness. I¡¯ve noticed he¡¯s sat on it a couple times during class already. He needs to work on awareness. Not one for reading the room. I could repair the glass in exchange for studying together. I¡¯m a glassblower, and he¡¯s clearly had to take a few tests in his day to get in here.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a crafter?¡± Zviad bursts out. ¡°What are you even doing here?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m an [Assistant Glassworker],¡± I say, gritting my teeth. Why is Zviad so stubborn and dense? I¡¯m trying to stick up for him, and he¡¯s treating me like the dirt beneath his feet. ¡°My shop is the Silaraon Glass Works. My father was a [Glassworker] before me, as well as an adventurer. I¡¯m following his path.¡±

    ¡°Whatever. If you¡¯re in my group, learn to pull your own weight. Don¡¯t expect me to help if you fall behind.¡± Zviad scowls, but he¡¯s smart enough to see that everyone¡¯s watching him, so he leaves it at that. He catches his breath and straightens his jacket. Fixing an imperious and bored look on his face, he rolls his wrist, gesturing for Ezio to get on with things.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Ezio wheels the small table forward and picks up the mana gauge. Light reflects off the polished surface. ¡°Since you¡¯re so eager to participate, Zviad, why don¡¯t you go first?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already taken a mana control test before,¡± Zviad says. ¡°Why not let the crafter do it? He probably couldn¡¯t afford such an expensive test before.¡±

    ¡°Magnanimous of you, but you¡¯re not getting off so easily,¡± Ezio replies. ¡°Do you have the previous scores available? I¡¯ll see how far you¡¯ve progressed since your first test.¡±

    ¡°My tutor refused to show me,¡± Zviad admits.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s not pass up an opportunity. Nuri, you can go afterward. Watch closely.¡±

    Zviad shudders, but to his credit, he vaults down and stalks up to stand on the other side of the ornately-inlaid table. I shift over, giving him space. He holds out his hand, placing it palm up on the tile surface of the table, and a ward springs to life.

    Ezio lowers the spike until it breaks the skin. A single drop of blood wells up, siphoned away by the gauge, and a spiral of silvery-white light envelops the artifact.

    ¡°Place your hands on the orbs,¡± Ezio says, speaking loudly for the sake of the students in the back. ¡°Draw in as much mana as you can from the reservoir, pass it through your own mana channels, and fill the receptor on the other side. Try not to change the mana or let it leak from your channels. Begin when you are ready.¡±

    Zviad takes a deep breath. He turns to face the assembly, lifting his chin and managing to look down his nose at us, despite our elevated seating. He tightens his fingers around the two orbs, and draws the unaspected mana from the reservoir into his body.

    I strain to watch what¡¯s happening, trying in vain to cycle mana to my eyes. Back at our desks, Melina is meticulously noting down everything that¡¯s happening, although her pen slows to a halt when she realizes that there¡¯s no outward component. Other than a few beads of sweat on our classmate¡¯s brow, his struggle is purely internal.

    Less than a minute later, Zviad doubles over and throws up on the floor. He steps back to avoid any splatter, coughs, and accepts a towel from Ezio. Wiping his mouth in silence, Zviad projects great dignity, as if daring anyone to laugh at his misfortune.

    A pair of Silaraon City Academy assistants stand up from where they were waiting in the corner of the room. I didn¡¯t notice them earlier, but Ezio clearly anticipated that students would be sick. The two work in tandem, one mopping up the mess and the other spraying a cleanser on the floor. Together, they scrub the vomit off the floor faster than I thought possible. They must have cleaning Skills. Wish I could see what they¡¯re doing with their mana.

    Even so, I can¡¯t scrub the image out of my mind. The clumps that were on the floor are evidence of the difficulty of the test. Zviad lost his breakfast when his stomach couldn¡¯t take the roiling mana anymore, and my own stomach is tying itself in knots in anticipation of the torture I¡¯m about to heap on my body. Why did I agree to this again?

    ¡°Nuri, you¡¯re next,¡± Zviad commands on his way back to his desk. He¡¯s not actually in charge, even if he¡¯s the de facto leader of our study group, but there¡¯s no room for debate in his tone, so I step forward and lift my hands toward the crowd like an entertainer. I¡¯m no coward.

    ¡°You sure there¡¯s not an easier way?¡± I ask Ezio in jest. It¡¯s a good thing Mikko isn¡¯t here to make fun of me, although the thought of forcing my brother to take this stupid test alongside me finally brings a wan smile to my face. I focus on convincing myself not to hyperventilate.

    Ezio gives me a measured look, then slowly shakes his head. ¡°Technically, yes, but that requires more expensive equipment. A borderlands city like Silaraon can¡¯t afford the fancier, non-intrusive tests. Perhaps if you go to the capital someday to sit in on the mage exams, but that¡¯s not likely. Don¡¯t take offense. I didn¡¯t qualify either, despite top-notch scores when I was a student. I was top of the regional circuits, but I didn¡¯t have any noble backing. I¡¯m quite capable; I just lacked pedigree.¡±

    That earns a soft snort from Zviad, but he doesn¡¯t speak up. Regardless of his annoying attitude, I¡¯m impressed by his self-possessed bearing. He acts like his father is grooming him for command one day, which probably isn¡¯t far off the mark. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d appreciate that kind of pressure, but I guess it¡¯s not that different from my own father teaching me glass.

    I nod along like I have any idea what Ezio means, although I¡¯m impressed by his claim. Top regional scores? He¡¯s gotta be smart. The borderlands aren¡¯t devoid of talent.

    He chuckles. ¡°You have no clue what I¡¯m talking about, do you? We haven¡¯t talked about the politics behind Densmore¡¯s guilds, although the details are in that book I loaned you.¡±

    ¡°Uh, all I really got out of your explanation is that pain is inevitable, but it won¡¯t get me anywhere in life. Great encouragement,¡± I joke.

    Ezio¡¯s laughter overflows now. A good number of the students join him, apparently just as anxious as I am for something to break the rising tension in the room. ¡°Not a bad lesson. Unintended, and a touch cynical, but it¡¯s better to be practical about your prospects. No sense fostering false hope. Well, go on then. You¡¯ve seen how it¡¯s done. Your turn now.¡±

    ¡°Can I see Zviad¡¯s scores before I try the test, so I know what to shoot for?¡± I ask Ezio as he hands me the gleaming metal apparatus.

    ¡°No.¡± Ezio says immediately. ¡°Stop stalling.¡± He smiles at me, all sharp edges and mirth. ¡°It¡¯s profoundly unprofessional of me to say so, but after my own teachers forced me to take the test, I¡¯m going to enjoy watching all of you take your turns.¡±

    ¡°Truly, a teacher among teachers,¡± I reply, which earns me another round of laughter.

    I examine the mana gauge again, amazed that it¡¯s capable of causing such agony. The gauge is essentially a simple metal rod that splits in the middle into two prongs. Each of the rods lead to a metal ball the size of my fist: the transmitter on one side, and the receiver on the other. A set of cables ties it all together, but I¡¯m not sure what their purpose might be.

    All I have to do is to take in the unaspected mana through one node, circulate the energy through my channels, and deposit the remaining mana. Whatever I manage not to lose through leakage or mismanagement goes into the other node. The difference between the initial and final mana capacities is my raw score, which is then converted into a curve based on previous readings throughout history, if I understood Ezio¡¯s previous explanation correctly. I¡¯m not sure how the relative scores update in real time, but Ezio insists it¡¯s a modern marvel of magic.

    I take a deep breath, grasp the testing tool in each hand, and grind my teeth as I try to work up some courage. ¡°What if I don¡¯t score very well? Will you still teach me? Are we sure this is worth it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about where you start,¡± he intones in a tired voice. ¡°Every good [Instructor] will tell you that it¡¯s about how you apply yourself and where you end up. Long term goals, Nuri. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be terrible at first. Most people are. And then we¡¯ll get to work fixing you. By the time we¡¯re done with you, I¡¯ll take an alarming amount of pride in seeing how far we¡¯ve come.¡±

    I close my eyes, squeeze my hands around the testing nodes, and heave at the mana in the reservoir. White-hot pain erupts across my palm, eating away at each fingertip, invading the skin and bones of my wrists and elbows. I bellow in agony, twisting and fighting against the flood of corrosive torment, but I discover that I can¡¯t let go of the testing apparatus even if I want to.

    Fear flashes through me. Why can¡¯t I let go? Is this really just an elaborate prank? The flow of mana holds me in a vice grip, bound in place by some additional element of magic that Ezio never told me about. I groan in primal terror, like an animal caught in a trap, and I almost forget that this is a test of control.

    The thought flashes through my mind in a thunderclap of clarity, bringing me back to the task at hand. Control. It¡¯s just like my glass training orbs. Trembling like lighting has struck my limbs, I nonetheless force my tortured mana channels to absorb as much of the energy as I can. I circulate it throughout my metaphysical body, greedy now not to allow a single drop to spill, and it courses through me in a torrid flood of power.

    My reaction is far worse than Zviad¡¯s, a distant part of my mind notes¡ªthe part that isn¡¯t screaming in terror. My muscles seize and spasm, and drool starts to dribble down my chin, but I grind my teeth together and keep working the energy from one side of the testing apparatus to the other, forcing the receptor to fill until I can¡¯t hang on anymore.

    My teeth grind together in torment. I¡¯ve never felt anything like this, not even when I was eleven and Lionel and Mikko talked me into stomping on an ant hive. The angry swarm of fire ants poured out of their nest and stung me all over in their zeal to defend the hive. Mad insect patriotism. I would gladly live through that a thousand times over rather than wrestle with this mana torture device any longer.

    And yet.

    I¡¯m determined to last longer than Zviad. He might have the edge in training, in backing, and in talent, but I¡¯m stubborn to the bone.

    I hang on for another minute, shaking so hard my teeth are rattling, before my strength is completely spent. With a cry of defeat, I release the mana and collapse to my knee. My fingers are frozen in place on the testing nodes, too fried to let go, but the pain finally stops. I let out a whimper like a dog that¡¯s been kicked by a cruel owner, and sag down until my forehead bumps into the cold, tiled floor.

    I don¡¯t know how I drift in a void before Melina¡¯s voice breaks into my consciousness, as though through a thick fog. ¡°Steady, Nuri. I¡¯ve got you. Let¡¯s get back to our seats.¡±

    Hands hold me under my shoulders and behind my head, lifting me back upright. Vision returns by degrees, and I see Melina and Ezio peering down at me in concern. They assist me to my feet, and I hobble back to my desk in a daze.

    I¡¯m proud to say that I didn¡¯t throw up. Not many people can make that claim; by the time all the students are done¡ªother than a handful who refuse the test¡ªonly three of us have kept our breakfasts inside our bodies. It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s a start. Pain and danger are in my future if I refuse to content myself with making cups and bowls and window panes for the rest of my life. So be it. I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to walk this path.

 Chapter Sixteen: Continuing Education

    After class, I bid farewell to Melina, who¡¯s anxious to return to her orders in the glass works. At first, she doesn¡¯t want to leave me alone, but I assure her that the worst of the side effects from the mana control test have passed. I¡¯m worried that I won¡¯t catch Ezio before he¡¯s tied up with other projects, so I rush past the students in my study group, ignoring Zviad¡¯s stare.

    ¡°Ezio! Could we meet in your office?¡± I call out, lengthening my stride to keep up with his ground-eating pace.

    ¡°I have half an hour. Keep up, Nuri,¡± my teacher replies, not pausing. His hands are still clasped behind his back, holding up the hem of his long black robes so that he can walk free from obstruction.

    He¡¯s as fast as I remember, so I run to join him in his small temporal field. It seems like a different Skill compared with the one Melina has, but the function is similar. Even so, it takes me longer than usual to catch him in my current state. When we finally walk together side by side, the campus goes by in a blur, and we soon reach his office.

    Once inside, Ezio settles into his chair with a satisfied groan. He nods at me. ¡°Well, you went through with it. Nicely done. Not every student was willing to proceed. What do you think, Nuri? Worth it?¡±

    ¡°Not sure yet. Those numbers better be important,¡± I say, laughing weakly. I¡¯m trying to come up with a funnier joke, but I still don¡¯t feel well. ¡°You know, I almost changed my mind. I didn¡¯t want to take the test after watching Zviad spew all over the floor. But I couldn¡¯t pass up a chance to know where I should focus on improving.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. We¡¯ll put together a comprehensive plan for your continuing education. If I do my job, then you¡¯ll be proud to boast one day that you trained under Ezio, the [Scholar Nonpareil].¡±

    I can¡¯t help myself. ¡°Is that really your Class?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t spread it around,¡± Ezio says, chuckling at my skepticism. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s really the name of my Class. No, it¡¯s not strictly true. Some [Scholars] are better than I am. Probably. But it is flattering, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    I nod. ¡°Extremely impressive.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re slurring. Here. Let me get something for you,¡± Ezio says. He rustles around in his closest, and surprises me a moment later by tossing a blanket over me and awkwardly patting my shoulder with his hand. His voice is kind when he speaks. ¡°That may have been the worst reaction I¡¯ve ever seen someone go through in a mana test. Forgive me; I didn¡¯t think it would be that bad. I called for a mug of hot mulled cider and a sweet roll for you while you recover.¡±

    ¡°Zviad threw up,¡± I mumble through my still-numb lips, lifting my head to make sure he could hear me. Talking to the floor seems counterproductive. ¡°Didn¡¯t think my try would be all sunshine.¡±

    ¡°I threw up, too, my first time,¡± Ezio says. ¡°In fact, I threw up last time. All these years later, and it still catches me off guard.¡±

    ¡°Oh, speaking of years, I figured out you¡¯re fifty-nine,¡± I say. My head still feels like a slurry of rocks and glass shards, but that fact glitters in perfect clarity.

    ¡°Well done. Where¡¯d you start looking?¡±

    ¡°Library. Got a list of everything you published,¡± I answer. I pause to rub my temples, as if that will help. The dull throb of pain has shifted down to the base of my neck. ¡°The town hall confirmed the rest.¡±

    ¡°Resourceful. That¡¯s what I like about you and Melina. When Ember first reached out to me, I was intrigued. Rakesh¡¯s glowing review solidified for me that it was worth following up on the opportunity. Seeing your determination in action validates the choice. We both stand to gain considerably from this arrangement.¡±

    ¡°Wait. Back up,¡± I say. My mind is moving like molasses, but I finally process his earlier comment. ¡°Why was the test so bad when you took it again?¡±

    ¡°That was only my hubris writ large. I wanted a perfect Retention score,¡± Ezio admits sheepishly, standing up and pacing over to his desk. He rummages through his endless stacks of books and papers, picks up a note, puts on a stylish monocle, and frowns as he reads it to himself. ¡°Right! Three percent off. I have yet to log a perfect run in all my decades.¡±

    ¡°Was anyone today perfect? Zviad aside. Ha. What¡¯s a good score, anyway? I feel like I did fairly well, all things considered.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Ezio says, his voice surprisingly warm. ¡°There are several raw scores before the ratio is calculated and the curve applied. Shall I explain them to you now, or do you need more time to recover from your trauma?¡±

    ¡°Learning is its own reward,¡± I say weakly.

    Ezio scratches the back of his head. ¡°What a load of rubbish. But, absent pain killing medicine, a distraction will probably do the trick. Very well, let¡¯s run through the basics. Don¡¯t tell anyone, but I intended to put this into a pop quiz, since your required textbook reading goes over all of these categories. I feel bad for you, and you don¡¯t need credit since you¡¯re auditing, so here we go.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll sell that information to Zviad,¡± I mutter before I think it through. Then I bury my face in my hands. Did I just tell my teacher that I¡¯m breaking the rules? Ugh.

    Ezio snickers at my horrified expression. ¡°Headache-induced honesty! Love it. Listen, if you do tip him off, make sure he compensates you well. His family is filthy rich. Don¡¯t let him take advantage of you.¡±

    Face burning in shame at my brazen admission of helping another student cheat so that I can make some money, I settle for a mute nod. Privately, I also vow to never try to pull one over on Ezio if money is involved. He seems shrewd.

    ¡°We measure in six main categories¡ªthere¡¯s technically a seventh, but it¡¯s for crazies only, mages who repeat the test three times in a row,¡± Ezio says.

    ¡°Like you?¡± I ask innocently.

    Ezio chuckles. ¡°Yes. Like me. I struggle with Consistency, and I¡¯ve been doing this for a long time. Don¡¯t even think about a triplicate test."

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± I mumble, and he laughs softly in acknowledgement of my misery.

    ¡°First: Resistance is a measure of how difficult it is to allow mana within. This has little to nothing to do with defensive capabilities against mana intrusion, however. Contrary to popular expectations, high mana control correlates with low levels of resistance; the harder you have to work to overcome a high resistance score, the less likely you are to actually manipulate mana around you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have a good resistance rating. That burned like drinking etching acid.¡±

    ¡°Is that the voice of experience speaking?¡±

    I nod solemnly. ¡°Don¡¯t make bets in the glassworks while drunk¡ªor at least don¡¯t lose the bets.¡±

    Ezio snickers again, then clicks his tongue. ¡°Congratulations. My expectations for your intellectual capacity are now dashed to pieces. Ahem! Moving on, we have Retention: the mana control test takes the starting and ending quantities of mana and provides the percentage loss while passing through a foreign system. That is, through your mana channels.¡±

    I whistle in newfound appreciation for Ezio¡¯s test results. ¡°You only lost three percent? That seems extremely good, based on everything I¡¯ve ever learned about how the body handles non-native mana.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for noticing.¡± A smile breaks out on Ezio¡¯s face. ¡°Although, I ought to mention that it¡¯s more properly a function of the soul, rather than the body. Most people reject unknown aspects, which makes even transferring the mana from one node to the other a spectacular challenge. Scoring over sixty percent retention means you¡¯re likely qualified for magical studies. Anything over eighty percent puts you in a potential genius category, contingent on your other scores.

    ¡°As you may discern from my posting here in the borderlands, I am not close to a genius at magic. Alas! Thankfully, I¡¯m good at what I do. As I mentioned in class, I specialize in studying artificial mana aspecting, thanks to my ability to handle any aspect equally well. I spend most of my time researching. I¡¯m an ideal academic, but I have next to no capabilities in combat. Why, you may ask?¡±

    Dutifully, I ask why.

    ¡°The answer is in the next category: Speed,¡± Ezio continues. ¡°Look, calling me slow is an insult to slugs and sloths the world over. l¡¯m downright glacial, unfortunately. By the time I could free-form wield, say, fire mana into anything resembling a fireball attack, an enemy could cut me to pieces with a dull spoon.¡±

    ¡°Slow and steady is a virtue, according to my ma,¡± I say innocently.

    Ezio glances down at his notes and frowns. ¡°Ember claimed you were an orphan. Was she simply tugging at my heart strings to get a better deal?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m referring to my adopted mother, Kirsi. Her husband, Reijo, is one of the senior [Gaffers] at the studio. He took me in after my father passed on. I¡¯m still close with them, and consider them family.¡±

    ¡°A good man, no doubt, and a wise woman,¡± Ezio says, amending his notes with a pen of condensed mana. ¡°Now, I don¡¯t know about slowness counting as a virtue, but I appreciate the sentiment. Poor speed can be mitigated by high Capacity, at least in a laboratory setting. I might take all night to test an odd form of mana, for example. If I never run dry, however, then the end result is roughly as fast as having extraordinary Speed, but average Capacity. If another [Scholar] or [Researcher] performs the same test, a smaller mana pool becomes a bottleneck. This theoretical [Researcher] will have to take breaks to refill mana, so by morning, it all evens out. In practice, any obstacle can be overcome with hard work.¡±

    I frown, mentally chewing on the concept. ¡°Couldn¡¯t people get around that by boosting mana regen? Even in the studio we have an infusion station.¡±

    Ezio regards me with a pleased look. ¡°Good lad. We¡¯ll make a [Scholar] of you yet. When your regeneration is so paltry to begin with, then yes, adding a few extra mana per minute may seem like a game changer. In the realms we work in, however, that¡¯s barely a rounding error. No one regenerates fast enough to keep up with the quantities we require.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    I laugh. ¡°My regeneration is trash-tier. Got it. So, when do I get to see my score?¡±

    ¡°Ah, sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to sound smug,¡± Ezio says, and he has the good grace to look embarrassed. ¡°Patience. We still have one last measurement to cover.¡±

    ¡°[Teachers] talk too much. That¡¯s why I quit school,¡± I mumble.

    Ezio moves on to the next category as though I haven¡¯t said a single word, which I take as a good sign for our working relationship. He seems unfazed by my heckling, which makes me like him more. Maybe he¡¯s just taking pity on my current state. I¡¯m not exactly at my best, and embarrassing words keep slipping out before I can stop them.

    ¡°Fidelity is essential,¡± Ezio says. ¡°I saved it for second to last so we can dig in the most. Even if you show some talent at control, your suitability for more advanced concepts of mana manipulation rely heavily on Fidelity: that is, the ability to engage with mana without changing its signature. Adding anything to the mana is muddying the water. The closer the output mana is to the input mana, the better your Fidelity.¡±

    I nod, my interest piqued now. ¡°So, if the test mana changes its aspect, or shows signs of significant deviation, then I likely have low control. I¡¯d like to think all the years of practice with glass will help me with building consistency.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Ezio says, drumming his fingers on the table. ¡°The mana signatures must match as closely as possible between the two nodes. You can certainly improve over time, but I¡¯m not sure how much unrelated practice will correlate. Handling mana directly is key. High scores in the other categories, but poor Fidelity, will sink your final results. It¡¯s an interesting theory, though.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s next?¡±

    ¡°Control. Your ability to redirect and manipulate mana. It¡¯s exceptional. You¡¯ve been training hard, and it shows.

    ¡°Incidentally, you mentioned the final term, the one that caused me to lose my lunch: Consistency. That¡¯s for repeat test-takers to see how much sheer volume of testing they can manage back to back to back without their scores plummeting. You don¡¯t need to worry about that result, however. Academies require special permissions to even obtain a mana test that¡¯s capable of measuring Consistency. Even then, testing is usually restricted to graduates. I can¡¯t test you for Consistency in good conscience. Perhaps in a half a decade of study, you might be ready. Maybe.¡±

    ¡°Pass! I¡¯ll happily skip that one. Besides, Fidelity is the one I¡¯m curious about. Adding the wrong elements, or too much flux, or perhaps leaving out an alchemical bit when I¡¯m making a batch of glass can ruin the entire thing. Fidelity sounds like the most important of the scores.¡±

    ¡°And, I think, it will prove doubly important for you as an artisan,¡± Ezio agrees. ¡°The most prized [Enchanters] in the nation all share an extreme Fidelity score. If you harbor any hopes of imbuing glass with mana, then you absolutely must learn how to work with it without warping the aspect or weakening the final result¡ªalthough, come to think of it, imbuing curiously involves an arcane transmuting of the mana, fundamentally altering the result. I haven¡¯t had a good chance to study it in depth. Perhaps Fidelity is less important than I assumed.¡±

    My entire being lights up at the mention of mana-imbuing. If I learn nothing else from this arrangement besides the basics of improving my Fidelity, then my training with Ezio will be well worth Ember¡¯s investment. I scan Ezio¡¯s desk for an unused piece of paper, swipe one of his pens, and start scribbling notes. ¡°Tell me how to train Fidelity.¡±

    Ezio chuckles. ¡°It seems Ember was correct that you¡¯re keen to learn more about how to combine craftsmanship with scholarly magic. A fine career path, and certainly safer than hunting monsters without training. You¡¯re lucky I found you; Ember wants you to become stronger before she takes you hunting again.¡±

    Ember¡¯s planning to take me hunting? A shock like cold water to the face hits me at his words, bringing with it both clarity and another rush of gratitude. No wonder Ember set me to train with Ezio. She¡¯s been teaching me how to fight, and now Ezio will teach me how to use magic. The delays aren¡¯t because she doesn¡¯t think I¡¯m not good enough; she¡¯s just worried I¡¯ll get injured, or worse, if I don¡¯t get good counsel.

    If I keep training without supervision, and get in over my head because I¡¯m taking crazy risks, then not only does she lose a valuable worker¡ªand the potential money-maker of a mana imbuer on her staff¡ªbut she¡¯ll fail in her promise to my father to keep me safe. Now, I can make real progress, under expert supervision. She¡¯s always looking out for me.

    Emotions whirling, my surprise transforms into resolute determination. I won¡¯t let Ember down. I¡¯ll study hard.

    ¡°Adventure burns in my blood,¡± I say earnestly. ¡°I want to do my part for Silaraon. If I¡¯m needed, I want to fight. Maybe I''ve been going about it too recklessly, but I¡¯m not interested in ending up as a [Scholar]. No offense. Or a lifelong cup-maker, for that matter! I want to see the world. If Ember says to do it your way, I trust you have my best in mind.¡±

    ¡°Good lad. Let¡¯s stick to your scores for now,¡± Ezio says blandly, pulling a sheet of paper out from his drawer. Precise, printed lines show each category and score, as well as the final tabulations of the ratio that will become our final rankings.

    My fingers flex and open at the thought of the long road ahead of me, but I¡¯m committed. I let out a weary sigh, and nod my assent. ¡°I want to sleep, but I¡¯m listening, as long as you don¡¯t stray too far into the weeds of academics.¡±

    He blushes. ¡°You drive a hard bargain, Nuri. Deal. Any preference on which category we review first?¡±

    ¡°Fidelity,¡± I answer immediately. ¡°I need to know if I have any chance at seriously training with a master.¡± My gut clenches, twisting into a knot in anticipation. ¡°I hope it¡¯s good enough.¡±

    ¡°You aren¡¯t even past the first Threshold, so don''t rush things. You have plenty of time to grow. But as requested, your score." He spins the page around and shows me the text. ¡°Fidelity is at seventy-three percent.¡±

    ¡°I need eighty to become a master?¡± I ask quietly.

    Ezio tuts at me. ¡°No, that¡¯s generally when people consider you something of a prodigy. This is your first test, Nuri. You¡¯re establishing your baseline. That¡¯s all for now. Your score is an exemplary starting position, I promise you that. We¡¯ll make good progress as long as you read the textbooks I assign and pay attention in class.¡±

    ¡°My baseline. That¡¯s helpful to remember.¡± I tap my chin as something he said earlier comes back to mind. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re at ninety-seven and you complained! Don¡¯t feed me a load of broken glass and try to pass it off as exquisite art. You said Fidelity is essential to imbuing. How am I supposed to overcome that?¡±

    Ezio pinches the bridge of his nose. ¡°Remarkable! You really have no idea how good that is for a first test, yet you¡¯re up in arms over a number you didn¡¯t know existed an hour ago. Let¡¯s moderate our reactions, eh?¡±

    ¡°No batch of glass that¡¯s nearly thirty percent off would ever be remotely acceptable,¡± I counter. ¡°Even if I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop comparing everything to glass, Nuri," Ezio orders, and this time he sounds less like a kindly grandfather and more like a [Scholar] at a prestigious institute. His demeanor shifts into something sterner, and I shut up and listen. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t presume to tell you how to make a vase, so don¡¯t try to tell me how to do my job.¡±

    Ezio sighs and smooths his black silk robes, calming himself. ¡°You achieved an excellent score. You¡¯ll see everyone else¡¯s scores next week, so that should help with perspective. Under my guidance, you have a chance at surpassing the eighty-percent mark within a couple years, if you¡¯re willing to work harder than you ever dreamed possible.¡±

    A wave of excitement rocks me, and I grin so hard my face hurts. ¡°Two years? That¡¯s it?¡±

    ¡°Maybe three,¡± Ezio says, waggling his open hand back and forth as he estimates. ¡°Let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves. You¡¯re still a full-time glassmaker, not a dedicated student. And don¡¯t you want to do more combat training with Ember? That takes time.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. Still. I thought you¡¯d tell me it would take a decade, like with your graduate students. This is great!¡± I¡¯m so happy that I¡¯m almost shouting by the end, which makes my head spin again.

    Ezio chuckles. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit, Nuri. I¡¯ll be charitable and chalk your loud voice up to the headache of mana-drain, but let¡¯s keep our composure, shall we?¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I say, although it¡¯s hard to feel bad about such good news. I sit up as a thought occurs to me. ¡°Do you think I have a shot at the First Threshold soon?¡±

    ¡°Hm. Tough to say without a more thorough evaluation. Combine an eighty-plus rank with a decent first Threshold, though, and we could walk into any shop in the Capital and get you an apprenticeship. You¡¯re in a good spot.¡±

    The pounding in my head seems less intense after that. I grin again, wondering if this helps my chances when I finally enter the All-Densmore Glassmaking Competition. ¡°That¡¯s better than I realized. Sorry for my overaction.¡±

    He winks. ¡°Wait until you hear how abysmal your Capacity is. Then you¡¯ll really be upset at how far you have to go.¡±

    ¡°At least I¡¯ve got a good teacher,¡± I say, nodding at Ezio. Flattery never hurts, eh? ¡°Keep going through the categories. I¡¯m curious.¡±

    Ezio clears his throat. ¡°Capacity first. The reason you feel so woozy is the method of testing. To fill you to capacity, the gauge first has to forcibly eject your naturalized mana. This allows it to get a read on your signature, which it will use to measure how much you contaminated the unaspected mana, and empties you for the next stage. You were likely too distressed to notice, but you can¡¯t deposit mana into the receptor until the reservoir fills up your core first. However much mana you ingest is the basis for your Capacity score.¡±

    I frown. That explains why I feel like garbage, but not how two dozen of us took the test. ¡°How does the gauge get refilled?¡±

    Ezio chuckles and says, ¡°I charged the reservoir as we went. More expensive versions purify and recycle the mana, but I can easily keep pace with a room of first years.¡±

    I bolt upright out of my chair in shock, swaying as a wave of dizziness hits me. ¡°No way! You have as much Capacity as all of us put together?¡±

    ¡°More.¡± Smug as a bug, Ezio props up his elbows on the desk and reads the test results without further commentary. ¡°Capacity: twenty-two. Retention: sixty-eight. Speed: forty-four. Resistance: nineteen. And you already know Fidelity: Seventy-three. Overall control is not an average ranking, but a composite, and you¡¯ve done very well there with a seventy-five. Congratulations!¡±

    Capacity: 22

    Retention: 68

    Speed: 44

    Resistance: 19

    Fidelity: 73

    Control: 75

    Consistency: NA

    ¡°Well, throw me a party,¡± I say with a faint chuckle. ¡°At least I don¡¯t put up much of a fight against foreign mana. Easy pickings over here!¡±

    Ezio shakes his head. ¡°Not so. That Resistance score is your best of the bunch, actually. Remember, lower is better. It¡¯s valuable if you want to use a variety of mana aspects. Enchanted items respond more readily to your touch since you won¡¯t have to struggle to overcome high natural Resistance. You might even be able to work with artifacts. Don¡¯t despise a good score simply because it¡¯s not the one you want.¡±

    My eyes widen at the implications. ¡°Do you have any artifacts? enchanted items? I¡¯d be extremely interested in practicing with them.¡±

    ¡°The academy does, but their use is restricted to graduates. You''d have to pay entrance fees and put in years of work first. Sorry," Ezio says. He spreads his arms wide and shrugs, as if to underscore how powerless he is to help at the moment.

    I sigh ostentatiously. ¡°Sounds like a money grab.¡±

    Genuine laughter bubbles out of him. ¡°Well, yes. But what¡¯s the alternative, Nuri? Should we allow untrained people to get their grubby hands on objects of unparalleled power? That hardly sounds promising for my long-term health!¡±

    I laugh along with him. ¡°Fine, fine, I get your point. But just because something¡¯s smart doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s not also self-serving.¡±

    ¡°Are you still convinced altruism is the only virtue?¡± Ezio says, a note of astonishment in his voice. ¡°I thought we settled that so-called dilemma earlier. As long as we''re both profiting from the arrangement, and we go in with our eyes open, then what¡¯s the harm?¡±

    I give Ezio a nod of thanks. ¡°Another good point. You might be the best teacher I¡¯ve ever had, although the primary schools in Silaraon¡¯s crafting quarters aren¡¯t exactly high-class. Sorry for making things difficult. Now that we¡¯ve got that stupid test out of the way, when do we begin learning mana manipulation?¡±

    Ezio tilts his chin up and adopts a haughty tone. ¡°Nuri, Nuri, Nuri. I¡¯m hurt! There is no question about it. I¡¯m definitely the best teacher you¡¯ve ever had.¡±

    ¡°I bow to your wisdom, master,¡± I reply, sketching a mock bow in my seat that makes my head woozy again. We both chuckle.

    ¡°Now, time¡¯s running out. I have another class to get to, but we¡¯ll discuss the testing and its implications in more detail in class next week. We still have to see your aggregate score and your ranking on a curve versus the other [Mage] and [Scholar] aspirants,¡± Ezio says.

    I rub my temples with my fingers to stave off my headache. ¡°I am curious to see how I stack up. But perhaps a nap is in order first.¡±

    Ezio cracks a slight smile and shakes my hand. ¡°Don¡¯t forget to enjoy your mulled cider and sweet rolls. They should be here any minute, if the staff¡¯s not delayed. See you next week, Nuri. And remember: the fun¡¯s just beginning.¡±

 Chapter Seventeen: The Shape of Mana

    ¡°Today¡¯s class is primarily about shaping.¡±

    Ezio pauses for effect, then gestures grandly with both arms. A flutter of mana accompanies the soft pop! of illusions breaking, and a sheet of paper appears in front of each student. ¡°First, a reminder to always be ready! On your desks, please find a short quiz; if you¡¯ve read today¡¯s assigned chapter on the mana control test, then you should find it simple. If not, then let it serve as a warning for the future to be more responsible. We¡¯ll discuss the results from your mana control tests, which you¡¯ll find posted in the back, after you finish.¡±

    I glance back at my study team and wink. They all return appreciative looks for my tip, except for Zviad, who appears just as unimpressed as always. I ignore him and turn back to my desk, pick up a pen, and start on the quiz. As promised, it¡¯s short and fairly straightforward, going over the details of mana control terminology and methodology. I¡¯m not the best student, but I find it fair and easy, since I read the chapter.

    Once he collects the completed quizzes from the now subdued class, Ezio resumes his lecture. ¡°Remember: this is a class, not a competition. Comparison is helpful insofar as it provides context, but take care not to water the root of bitterness or you may find that it grows into an ugly tree indeed. Over the years, your numbers will surge forward at times, only to reach an unanticipated plateau. Conversely, they may lag behind compared with your peers, only to flourish later on. Where you start this race matters far less than what you do on the way to the finish line.¡±

    I find myself nodding along. Although I¡¯ve already met with Ezio to go over my results, I still lack information about the other students. Seeing where they score will help me figure out how I stack up, and where to focus my efforts so I keep improving.

    Ezio waits for the whispers to die down. He smiles in a grandfatherly sort of way, with a proud look that¡¯s fonder than I expected. ¡°I understand that at least one student here today has already practiced modifying the weave of her Skills, so I¡¯d like to invite her to show us how to shape mana. Melina, you¡¯re a full-fledged [Gaffer] already in your First Threshold, correct?¡±

    An excited susurrus breaks out. Achieving the first Threshold is impossible in your teens. Melina is my age, so just into her twenties, but it¡¯s still impressive. She¡¯s a clear step above many of the students in the class, who likely won¡¯t reach such heights until they¡¯re closer to twenty-five. No one knows precisely how to predict when someone will reach that distinction, but condensing a large enough mana core and fortifying your soul space seem to be prerequisites for advancement.

    Melina meets Ezio¡¯s eyes and nods firmly. ¡°Yes. I achieved my First Threshold almost two years ago.¡±

    That sets off gasps of shock and envy.

    Melina continues as though she didn¡¯t just stomp on the egos of an entire class. ¡°Since then, I¡¯ve been working on compressing and expanding my temporal Skill [In the Blink of an Eye]. Generally, it¡¯s a localized effect, but with significant effort I can increase its area of influence. I¡¯d like to cast it from afar, but that¡¯s proven harder than I thought.¡±

    ¡°Temporal Skills are incredibly rare apart from time-aspected mana,¡± Ezio says. ¡°For you to have developed one without any clear affinities or aspected mana is fortunate in the extreme. You should be proud of your work ranking up the Skill; they¡¯re notoriously difficult to modify or advance. Please come up front. I¡¯d like you to give us a demonstration on changing the intended purpose of a Skill.¡±

    While Melina makes her way down, Ezio glances up to the back of the class. ¡°Nadeem, nice to see you¡¯ve recovered from the mana control test. Question?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sir. What¡¯s the difference between modifying a Skill, and using a free-form spell? I haven¡¯t had much success changing my Skills. They seem inflexible compared with real magic,¡± Nadeem says, a tinge of frustration in his voice.

    I find myself nodding along in curiosity. I¡¯ve been wondering the same thing. It¡¯s a relief to know even the nobles don¡¯t know the answer. Based on the information I¡¯ve uncovered so far, Nadeem and Zviad are the highest-ranking students in the course. Nadeem¡¯s great-uncle is a dignitary of some sort, and his entire family has relocated to the borderlands for the tenure of his great-uncle¡¯s service.

    ¡°That¡¯s a common obstacle,¡± Ezio says, nodding in sympathy. ¡°Don¡¯t let it get you down if your Skills are resistant to modifications. That¡¯s not actually a bad thing, since it often correlates to a more powerful effect. Let me explain. Skills are codified spells, essentially. They¡¯re usually good at one thing, not multiple things.¡±

    Ezio turns to the board, condensing his mana pen and sketching out a large ball of fire in the blink of an eye. ¡°Imagine, if you will, that I want to manually create a fireball. I can adjust its size, intensity, heat, coherence, and so on.¡± Each time he mentions a component of the fireball spell shape, the drawing on the board shifts to more closely match his explanation.

    ¡°Unless I have extraordinary mana control, I¡¯ll lose probably half of the potential power to mana leakage and inefficiencies in manipulating the fire directly. Now, compare this to a [War Mage] with fire-aspected mana,¡± Ezio says, flourishing his wrists and transforming his mana pen into a large stamp. He walks down the stage, pressing the stamp against the sleek surface of the board and leaving behind three identical fireballs.

    ¡°While these fireballs are less creative, which may limit tactical options¡ªyou don¡¯t want to set off a massive explosion in an enclosed space, for example¡ªthey are quick and easy to make. The best part is that they¡¯re highly efficient.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the clear explanation. My tutors always scolded me and said that I think too much,¡± Nadeem replies. ¡°That makes more sense.¡±

    Jahn laughs, slapping his desk. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying there¡¯s a chance that I¡¯m not really failing, I¡¯m just too strong for my own good? It sounds like we¡¯re in the same boat, Nadeem!¡±

    Ezio waits for the chuckles to fade away before he throws cold water on that theory. ¡°No, unfortunately. Strength isn¡¯t the same as efficiency. There¡¯s always a tradeoff. In the case of the fireball example, lack of flexibility doesn¡¯t matter on a wide open battlefield if you¡¯re a hammer and your enemies are nails. If your Skills aren¡¯t malleable, it may be that you¡¯ve already used them in the same basic pattern over and over for so long that they¡¯ve calcified.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s possible that there¡¯s nothing I can do?¡± Nadeem asks. ¡°That¡¯s so unfair!¡±

    Ezio shrugs one shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s life. Or, you may simply lack practice in shaping. Don¡¯t jump at the first explanation you hear. That¡¯s life advice, not just for magic: keep an open mind, dig into details, discover the truth.¡±

    ¡°But what can I do right now?¡± Nadeem pleads.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting to that,¡± Ezio says. He continues to smile, but there¡¯s a tightness around his eyes that I didn¡¯t notice before. ¡°You can almost always improve with practice. We measure our progress by years and decades, not months and weeks. Take a long view.¡±

    ¡°Years!¡± Nadeem bursts out in despair. He seems to notice the other students watching him, and he hunkers down in his seat.

    Ezio gestures toward Melina. ¡°Thank you for waiting patiently. Let¡¯s move on from theory to seeing what mana shaping looks like in reality. Could you please show the class how you go about shaping your mana Skills? Walk us through your temporal Skill. What does it do normally? What modifications have you experimented with implementing? My graduate student Rakesh says you¡¯ve got excellent control¡ªand he doesn¡¯t hand out many compliments, I assure you.¡±

    That gets a reaction. I twist in my seat, a grin splitting my face, to watch the way the kids whisper in excitement or frown in envy. I shouldn¡¯t think of them as children, but some of them act so young that it¡¯s hard for me to remember that I¡¯m only five years older. I guess I forget just how much I¡¯ve grown up since I was their age.

    Melina activates her [Lesser Object Manipulation] skill, levitating her notebook over from where she left it on her desk. ¡°My Skill usually speeds up something locally, so that a few hours might transpire inside the bubble, while only minutes pass outside. Like this.¡±

    She turns over her notebook in the air, setting it spinning lazily, then uses [In the Blink of an Eye] to trap it in a temporal field. Her Skill hits, and the book accelerates, moving so rapidly that soon it looks like it¡¯s spinning backward. It reminds me of watching the spokes on a wagon that¡¯s moving at high speed.

    ¡°What is your use case for this Skill?¡± Ezio asks, sidling closer and prodding at the small temporal bubble with his mana pen. Somehow, he manages to interact with the field without any disruption.

    ¡°I combine it with [Flawless Annealing], which helps me avoid cracking or discoloration while glass cools, so that I can finish commission work in minutes instead of waiting overnight to deliver the piece. It¡¯s one of my primary responsibilities at the glass works.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the explanation,¡± Ezio says, beaming at Melina. ¡°Fascinating Skill. Now, what have you experimented with in terms of modifications?¡±

    ¡°Right now, all I can manage reliably is reversing the time field,¡± Melina admits, her pale cheeks turning pink. She lifts her hand, concentrating, and the book seems to freeze in place.

    If I squint, I can just make out a slight shift in its position. The temporal field now slows down the rotation so that the book flips end over end in majestic, mesmerizing slow motion.

    ¡°How large can your field go?¡± Ezio asks.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to make it change shape. The best I¡¯ve done is activating the field a few paces away from me. Oh! Any volunteers? This is fun.¡±

    Ezio points to a student behind me. ¡°Aditi, your hand went up first. Come on down! Let¡¯s see what Melina has for us.¡±

    A tall, black-haired girl I don¡¯t know yet shifts over to the central aisle and walks down to the front stage with stately steps. Her lustrous red-brown skin reminds me of the iron oxide we mix into glass batches sometimes¡ªthough, oddly, iron turns the glass green, not red.

    ¡°What do you need me to do?¡± Aditi asks. ¡°I will do my best to assist.¡±

    Something about her helpful attitude makes me irritable. Why couldn¡¯t Aditi be on our team instead of Zviad? A kind word and graceful smile would be a welcome change from the bluster and arrogance I¡¯ve been subjected to so far. Aditi wouldn¡¯t even need to bring anything helpful to the team project to be an upgrade. She¡¯s at least not Zviad. Ember calls it addition by subtraction, and I¡¯ve never understood that sentiment as well as I do now.

    ¡°Thank you for volunteering. Please run from one end of the stage to the other. I¡¯ll catch you in a bubble to demonstrate how far away I can still control the Skill,¡± Melina asks, smiling back at Aditi.

    ¡°I do not run,¡± Aditi says smoothly. Her charming smile never slips, but she simply nods back to the young [Gaffer] and glides back up the stairs to her seat.

    ¡°Spoiled brat,¡± Zviad mutters behind me.

    For once I find myself agreeing with him. Would it really have been so hard for Aditi to just trot across the stage?

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± I say, feeling bad for Melina.

    But before I can stand up, Zviad vaults down to the floor with a loud thud. He shoots me an imperious glare, walks to one end of the stage, and drops into a sprinter¡¯s stance. ¡°On your signal.¡±

    ¡°Go!¡± Melina calls, throwing out her hands and casting her Skill two or three paces from where she stands. Her brow creases in concentration, and her fingers tremble, but the Skill is a success, popping into existence just before Zviad barrels across the stage like a hound chasing a hare.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    He¡¯s faster than I thought, moving with the power and agility of a trained warrior. All the same, when he hits the temporal field, he moves so slowly that Melina has time to yawn, stretch out her arms, and walk over to brace herself in front of the field. ¡°I¡¯ll need a few more volunteers to catch Zviad. Come on down! He¡¯s moving quickly.¡±

    Most of the front row empties out as students run down to the stage and crowd around Melina. They¡¯re just in time; they line up and hold out their arms a split-second before the field fails, and Zviad charges right into a sea of hands.

    Shrieks of surprise ring out as Zviad bulls over the first few students. One of them glows briefly with a surge of mana, activating some sort of body-enhancing Skill, and stops Zviad in his tracks.

    ¡°Creepy,¡± he mutters, jerking free from his classmate¡¯s grip. ¡°One second, the stage was clear; the next, you all zipped into place before I could react. Your Skill¡¯s wasted as a crafter. If I could do that in a duel I wouldn¡¯t have lost in the prelims¡ª¡±

    Zviad snaps his mouth shut. He storms off back to his seat, ignoring the comments and questions following at his heels like nipping dogs.

    ¡°Marvelous demonstration,¡± Ezio says, drawing attention back to himself. ¡°That level of manipulation usually takes years of dedicated practice. Show of hands, how many of you could follow the mana flows?¡±

    Surreptitiously, I glance over my shoulder to see how many people raise their hands. Fewer than half a dozen appear to already have some version of [Manasight]. Maybe I¡¯m not as far behind as I always think I am.

    ¡°Thank you. Do any of you feel capable of describing what you saw? No need to feel bad if you aren¡¯t certain you can do it. Melina used advanced techniques that aren¡¯t easy to unravel. I do believe in challenging students to rise to the occasion, however.¡±

    ¡°Observing complex phenomena is more fitting for my talents than running across the stage like a [Berserker]. I will explain to everyone what happened,¡± Aditi says. She makes her proclamation sound magnanimous.

    I wonder if Aditi is another noble born classmate. They all seem to have an inflated view of their own contributions to the course, so that tracks. I scratch my chin as I think. My only confusion is trying to figure out where she''s from; her complexion makes her seem like she¡¯s from Naftali, like the Linas¡¯ grandparents, but that doesn''t explain why she would study in an academy located in Densmore. Perhaps some sort of exchange program?

    Maybe I¡¯m overthinking it.

    Out here in the borderlands, it¡¯s not always easy to determine where someone is from originally. Silaraon, along with the surrounding regions, is technically part of Densmore now, but our territory has changed hands many times over its history. The population now is a confluence of the people who stayed behind. From what I¡¯ve heard, in the capital there¡¯s more linguistic and ethnic homogeneity, but out here, we run the gamut of colors, customs, and culture.

    Aditi stands up to address the students. ¡°Changing the effect of time dilation is a matter of reversing the mana flows. That¡¯s the simple part¡ªanyone with sufficient mana manipulation should be able to do the same. Moving it farther away from her is more complex, however. She first had to shift the foci of the spell forms so that they¡¯re not right in front of her. Yes, plural. It¡¯s not simply a temporal skill; there¡¯s a spatial element to separate the bubble from the usual time and space fabric, if I¡¯m not mistaken.¡±

    Despite her behavior, I have to admit that Aditi knows her stuff. I jot down her comments in my notebook, considering whether or not I can get tips from her later about how to finally earn [Manasight]. I¡¯m not sure if she¡¯s amenable to sharing that kind of information, but no one else in the class seems as advanced. If she says no, then I¡¯ll ask Ezio during office hours.

    ¡°Well done!¡± Ezio says, his eyes lighting up as he addresses Aditi. ¡°You are correct. It¡¯s a dual-layered spell structure. Forcing both foci to move in precise tandem doesn¡¯t just double the difficulty of the modification; it¡¯s closer to four times as intense, since they both have to move in coordination throughout multiple axes in space-time. Additionally, from what I can measure with my mana-analysis Skill, it looks like for each body length away Melina moves the temporal field, the mana cost for each component of the Skill goes up exponentially. If you¡¯ve all been paying attention, you¡¯ll notice this is a recurring theme.¡±

    ¡°That explains why I can¡¯t shift it any farther away,¡± Melina says. Her shoulders slump a little. ¡°I was hoping you could help me get around that limitation, but it seems like I¡¯m stuck.¡±

    ¡°Not for long,¡± Ezio says, smiling at Melina in encouragement. ¡°That leads us to our next point for today: covering the results of your mana control tests. Melina, your Capacity is actually the highest in the class, likely because you practice with mana-intensive Skills on a daily basis for work. You¡¯re at seventeen, but keep in mind that¡¯s normalized for the First Threshold. It¡¯s a good deal higher than even a ninety-nine in the pre-Threshold paradigm. Remember, you can find your scores on the poster in the back. I¡¯ll send you all a copy.¡±

    Ezio flourishes his hand, and a stream of silver-white mana visible without mana senses swirls into the air. The energy shoots to the back of the room, envelops the poster, and peels off a shimmering, spectral copy. One, five, then twenty¡ªthey zip around the room like swallows or hummingbirds, before landing on our desks for review.

    I scan through the list of names to find my results, even though Ezio already told me the other day during his office hours. The class average is listed to the side, so I mark a little symbol next to each category: greater than, less than, equal, or a star for the best, so that I can quickly see how far I have to progress to catch up with the [Scholars] and [Mage] aspirants.

    Capacity: 22 <

    Retention: 68 <

    Speed: 44 <

    Resistance: 19 *

    Fidelity: 73 >

    Control: 75 *

    Consistency: NA

    After a moment for us to absorb the information, Ezio claps to get everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Break into your groups to discuss. I¡¯ve written the highest score for each category in gold ink. Congratulations. You all earn a prize. Report to the student mess hall and let them know you get a cookie.¡±

    Something about Ezio¡¯s sarcastic tone and twinkling eyes makes me doubt that the prize is actually worth anything, if it exists at all. I can¡¯t imagine the [Bakers] on campus keep extra cookies around for Ezio¡¯s students. Nonetheless, it comes as a total shock to see Nuri Shahi in gold lettering next to both Resistance and Control.

    ¡°How?¡± Zviad demands a moment later, speaking to no one in particular. I turn around to look, and he¡¯s glaring straight at me while he fumes. ¡°Is this some sort of trick? There¡¯s no way these crafters outscored me. I¡¯ve been training with some of the finest [Magical Tutors] in the capital since I was a child. This is absurd!¡±

    I smile apologetically and shrug, not wanting to further antagonize Zviad, but Ezio seems to take exception to the idea that only a privileged few can learn mana manipulation. He frowns at Zviad, then taps his fingers together.

    ¡°Remember, they¡¯re years older. Nuri, do you have your glass orbs? Please bring them up here if you do,¡± Ezio says. ¡°I¡¯m sure we can clear up this mystery by showing how you train.¡±

    I carry my satchel down to the stage. ¡°Always prepared. I never know when I¡¯ll have a chance to practice¡ªor make a sale.¡±

    My quip doesn¡¯t land as well as I hoped. Half the students simply roll their eyes or let out polite laughter, but Zviad glares at me with open hostility. ¡°What, is that your plan? Mess with the numbers so that you can have your wonder boy sell us some little trinkets?¡±

    ¡°Watch and learn,¡± I shoot back.

    I unpack my training gear, hold an orb in either hand, and begin moving mana between them. Surprise flickers across a few faces when the globes light up in accordance with the heat transfer. I concentrate on making the display as bright as possible, flaring my mana and pushing more energy through the patterns than usual. I take it slowly, enjoying the alternating looks of envy, admiration, and irritation as I show the fruits of my labors.

    Control over mana manipulation hasn¡¯t come naturally, but I¡¯m ahead compared with the students several years younger than I am. To them, what I¡¯m doing probably looks advanced, if they can even see it with [Manasight] yet.

    Even Aditi looks grudgingly impressed.

    When the heat transfer completes, I take a jaunty little bow. I can¡¯t help myself. As much as I claim I don¡¯t want to be singled out, I enjoy accolades. I¡¯ve worked hard to get to where I am today, and it¡¯s nice to receive validation.

    ¡°Does that explain things?¡± Ezio says. ¡°I realize not all of you can see what¡¯s happening, but Nuri made those glass orbs himself. Each layer inside contains a small pattern or puzzle for the mana to flow through. He has to gather heat and transfer the energy from one to the other, using only mana. It¡¯s difficult for anyone under the First Threshold, although I expect that you¡¯d all have no problems with it after that. He¡¯s earned his first place ranking.¡±

    I scratch the back of my head, shuffling awkwardly in place. Ezio just painted me as a target by talking up my first-place control score and giving me a sales platform. Finally, I shrug. Who cares what the other students think? I won¡¯t see most of them again.

    ¡°Thanks, Ezio. I appreciate the vote of confidence,¡± I say, squaring up my shoulders and trying not to look so shy. ¡°While I¡¯m up here, would you mind answering a question that¡¯s on my mind? I¡¯m trying to think of the next step for my glass orbs.¡±

    ¡°Glass-making isn¡¯t my specialty. Isn¡¯t that your area?¡± Ezio teases. ¡°But I¡¯d be happy to talk further about mana shaping. Thanks to you and Melina, we¡¯ve seen good demonstrations today of manual manipulation of Skills and clever training resources. What do you think you can do to improve your regime?¡±

    ¡°Er, my question¡¯s not exactly about shaping. Sorry. This is about a different topic. Is that all right?¡± I ask, my skin suddenly hot and prickly with embarrassment. So much for not caring what the others think.

    Ezio¡¯s eyes crinkle as he smiles. ¡°All questions are allowed, as long as they pertain to magic. This does pertain, yes?¡±

    I nod vigorously. ¡°Yes. Could you explain the difference between enchantments, runes, and wards? When do we use one versus another?¡±

    ¡°Hmm. That¡¯s a complex question. I¡¯ll give you a surface-level answer, but if you want to discuss it further, come find me during my office time. That¡¯s well beyond the scope of an intro course like Foundations.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We don¡¯t have to talk about it now,¡± I say quickly, not wanting to draw more attention to myself. I¡¯m starting to wish I¡¯d just returned to my seat quietly.

    Ezio waves away my worries. ¡°No, it¡¯s a good question. Enchantments are essentially a Skill, or a fragment of a Skill, inscribed on an object that can withstand the mana required to imprint the spell structure. Truly skilled [Enchanters] can overcome material limitations, but it¡¯s easier to choose a compatible surface. Hardwoods and most metals are popular for that reason, although certain rare, expensive fabrics with threads of mana-infused steel woven into them are also capable of holding an enchantment. The major caveat with enchanting is that it requires mana to activate.¡±

    Warming to his subject, Ezio returns to the board. His mana pen scrawls out three quick columns, labeled Enchantment, Runes, and Wards. He taps on Enchantment, and the words he spoke transcribe themselves in golden ink.

    ¡°Runes are less well understood,¡± Ezio intones. ¡°They seem to form the language of our Skills themselves, although efforts to catalogue them haven¡¯t been particularly successful. Other than the most common runes shared between most Skills, the more arcane runic words, for lack of a better term, elude our grasp.

    ¡°Keep in mind that runes appear to be symbols rather than strict language. They unleash raw energy directly, without any need for a spell structure, which means they theoretically have higher potency than enchanting. It¡¯s a double-edged sword, however: initializing runes is difficult and requires intent as much as technique. Esoteric in shape and function, they¡¯re little known, and the basic runes are largely used for simple tasks, such as wards.¡±

    Another tap of the mana pen, and the next explanation writes itself down on the board. I can¡¯t help but smile while I watch the magic in action. It¡¯s not very advanced, and Ezio admitted it¡¯s basically just a parlor trick, but his use of mana is so flashy that it feels magical in a way that my own [Heat Manipulation] Skill simply doesn¡¯t. Mine is more practical and has more powerful applications, but it doesn¡¯t fill me with childlike wonder.

    ¡°Wards are what result when a simple, well-understood rune is combined with a structure borrowed from enchanting, so that they don¡¯t require a living being to provide intent. Surely this is the best of both worlds, yes? Well, not quite. Does anyone know why [Ward Masters] aren¡¯t more sought after across the land?¡± Ezio asks.

    No one speaks up right away, so Ezio paces back and forth in front of the class, meeting the eyes of students. ¡°No takers? Very well. Let me explain. First, while it¡¯s handy not to need to power the enchantment after the fact, they still require paying mana costs upfront. Everyone in class today has sufficient Capacity to engrave a single-rune ward, although some of you might cut it close. Any guesses what happens when you add another rune?¡±

    Melina raises her hand. ¡°Exponential cost increase again? Not to mention the potential for two runes to conflict¡ªsometimes violently. ¡±

    ¡°Correct! Mana costs due at the creation of complex wards double for each additional layer of functionality. No one here¡ªnot even me¡ªcould manage six or more runes engraved into a ward. Dedicated [Mages] in the Second Threshold might hit seven. I only know of one Third Threshold [Scholar Mage] who has the Capacity required to combine nine. This still does not address the bigger problem.¡±

    Catching an inkling of where things are going, I raise my hand again. Ezio calls on me, and I lay out my theory. ¡°I¡¯m guessing that no one knows which combination of nine runes would be useful. I suspect that¡¯s why it¡¯s better to just use enchantments most of the time. They¡¯re more mana efficient and can copy pre-existing Skills.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Ezio says, tapping the board again and adding a summary of my words to his list. ¡°Since most people object to having others view their internal worlds, rune combinations are not well documented. While the [Scholar] in me would love to research runes further, I¡¯m afraid I would prefer to have a chance at actually finishing the project before my mortal body gives out. Selfish, eh?¡±

    Ezio laughs. ¡°Wait! Don¡¯t answer that. We¡¯re running out of time today, so let me remind you that you¡¯ll soon need to settle on a research subject. While you can look into anything you find interesting, it must be related to the Foundations we¡¯re discussing in class. Run your idea past either me or Rakesh, my assistant. And if you want to push yourself to the next level, don¡¯t forget to talk with Nuri. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be happy to make more training orbs.¡±

    With a wink, he walks off stage, leaving me up front on my own. I gulp, staring down the few dozen sets of eyes locked on me. Melina gives me an encouraging smile, and I straighten up, no longer feeling like I¡¯m at the mercy of classmates who want to get every edge they can.

    I should be happy to have customers, but it¡¯s hard not to feel overwhelmed and isolated sometimes. I¡¯m no longer a peer; I¡¯m a target to chase. I just wanted to keep my head down and learn in peace, not become the subject of every conversation. Ah well. Nothing I can do about it now.

    ¡°I can take orders, but a rush job will cost you,¡± I find myself saying. Melina smirks at me, but I ignore her and continue my sales pitch. If Ezio¡¯s giving me a chance to sell my glass orbs, then I might as well make it count. Besides, who knows what uses I might find for the money in the future?

 Chapter Eighteen: A Lifetime of Growth

    Twenty-two. I set my jaw in determination every time I think about the abysmal Capacity result from my mana control test. I¡¯ve been working hard to improve lately, but the score shows me just how far I have to go. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know the fault is my own. I avoided my Skill for various reasons: fear I¡¯d end up with the plague like my parents, my embarrassment over the Skill¡¯s ¡°lesser¡± title, envy of my friends who had glass-specific Skills, worry that I wouldn¡¯t be good enough to earn entry into the All-Densmore Glass Making Competition.

    All I succeeded in doing was cutting my own hamstrings by not developing the Skill I already had. Now that I¡¯ve ¡°healed¡± my mindset and learned to walk again, I¡¯m dragging myself up from the bottom of the list. At least I have company along the way. Melina¡¯s been extremely encouraging throughout the process, and studying with her has yielded fresh insights into mana manipulation.

    On the day before another class, I wrap up work early and make my way to the SCA as quickly as I can. Once on the grounds, a short set of turns and stairs leads me to my goal, and I knock on the door to Ezio¡¯s office. I¡¯m not sure if he¡¯s still in for his afternoon office hours, since they¡¯re scheduled to end a few minutes before I arrive, but I figure that if all else fails I¡¯ll drop by the library and ask Marko. Regardless, my trip won¡¯t be a waste.

    The door creaks open, revealing Ezio¡¯s frowning face. He squints at me, looking more disheveled than usual, and opens the door further with a weary groan. ¡°Nuri. Good to see you, even if you can¡¯t read a clock.¡±

    ¡°And here I thought my timing was impeccable,¡± I say, testing the waters to see how tired my teacher truly is. If he scowls or sighs, then I¡¯ll apologize for bothering him and go see what Marko can tell me, instead.

    ¡°It is, actually,¡± Ezio says. He hums quietly to himself. ¡°I needed a break. Sometimes, I get lost in my own mind. As much as I enjoy shepherding young minds, my own work calls, and balancing my time isn¡¯t always simple.¡±

    I nod. ¡°That¡¯s how I feel every time I go between glass-making and studying for class. It¡¯s not at the same level as what you¡¯re doing, but I get the feeling. You wish your days were twice as long.¡±

    ¡°Thrice even!¡± Ezio replies, some good cheer seeping back into his tone. ¡°Now, that¡¯s enough of my complaining. How may I help you today?¡±

    ¡°Any suggestions for how to improve?¡± I ask Ezio. ¡°I¡¯m looking to branch out from my homemade training methods.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Your progress is slowing down with the orbs?¡± Ezio guesses. ¡°You may be getting too proficient since it¡¯s the same pattern over and over again.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m in danger of that,¡± I admit with a laugh. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re right that it¡¯s the same pattern. I don¡¯t have to work as hard to get it done. But I¡¯m not getting faster or anything. I think I¡¯m just bored.¡±

    Ezio nods, his lips pursed in a sympathetic frown. ¡°I know that feeling. That¡¯s a struggle everyone faces. Work is work, in the end.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I guess.¡± I pause, staring at the paintings on the wall in his office while I arrange my thoughts. ¡°I don¡¯t want to sound like I¡¯m complaining. You¡¯ve helped me so much already. My problem is that I¡¯m afraid my glass orbs are only helping me with finer mana control. They¡¯re not doing anything for my low Capacity. I want to shore up that weakness.¡±

    ¡°Not unachievable. Are you sure that¡¯s the best approach, however?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean? I reviewed the charts, and my Capacity is the lowest in the entire class, even though I¡¯m the second-oldest after Mel. I gotta do something about that.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Ezio presses.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask, scrunching up my brow. ¡°Isn¡¯t it self-explanatory? I mean, my Capacity, it¡¯s bad. That¡¯s not self-pity or whining. It¡¯s objectively the worst score. Why would I be content to let it lag behind?¡±

    ¡°That sounds smart, on the face of it,¡± Ezio allows. He drums his fingers on the top of his desk. ¡°Yet recall that you already complained you don¡¯t have time to do everything you want. If you consider the time sink of bringing up your Capacity, then you may find that it¡¯s a lost chance to improve your unique gifts.¡±

    ¡°Focus on what I¡¯m good at, you mean?¡± I say, trying to wrap my mind around the idea. If I follow Ezio¡¯s advice¡ªand he¡¯s far more qualified in these matters than I am, so I really should listen to him¡ªthen I¡¯ll always run into the hard limits of my Capacity.

    ¡°I¡¯m saying that there are opportunity costs,¡± Ezio says more pointedly. ¡°Keep your goals firmly in mind. If you want to learn to imbue, then you¡¯ll need exceptional control. The only mana costs associated, as far as I know, are initiating the process. The mana of the world itself fuels the working. So. Will greater Capacity help you achieve that goal?¡±

    ¡°That . . . makes a lot of sense. I¡¯m glad I came to see you,¡± I say. I stare at the painting on the wall again, chewing on the new information, and I swear I can see the flowers waving in a gentle breeze. There¡¯s something oddly soothing about it.

    ¡°It¡¯s my duty to teach, after all. But don¡¯t lose heart about your Capacity,¡± Ezio says. ¡°We can improve it as a byproduct of your other training. Using mana consistently will grow your core over time.¡±

    ¡°Is that the only method for building Capacity? Seems like someone would have come up with drills or exercises. I¡¯ll follow your suggestions, but now you¡¯ve got me thinking,¡± I say, curiosity burning within me.

    ¡°We¡¯ll make a [Scholar] of you yet,¡± Ezio says with a chuckle. ¡°Asking the right questions. I¡¯ll tell you what¡ªinstead of giving you a free answer, why don¡¯t I point you toward resources? If you can tell me the other main method by class time, then I¡¯ll give you a reward.¡±

    ¡°Another cookie?¡± I tease.

    ¡°Ha! You¡¯d be surprised how hard students will work for a cookie,¡± Ezio says, grinning at me. ¡°No. I¡¯ve got bigger plans in mind, but you¡¯ll have to earn them. Up for the challenge?¡±

    ¡°Always!¡±

    ¡°Excellent. Now, take a look at these in the meantime. We¡¯ll continue to fine-tune your mana control.¡±

    Ezio hands me a sheaf of papers. Each one has a maze on it that¡¯s full of dead ends and strange twists, printed in some sort of glossy, midnight-black ink that¡¯s hard for me to look at for long. My brain refuses to process what I¡¯m seeing for some reason.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it. What do they do?¡± I ask after studying them without comprehension.

    ¡°They¡¯re mana puzzles, similar to your glass orbs. They require significantly more power to solve, however. I would say that they¡¯re less demanding in terms of finesse, since you¡¯re used to the concept already, but they also will force you to maintain more specific control over mana. You tend to cheat, just a little, with your heat-related Skill. These are pure mana puzzles.¡±

    I nod as understanding dawns. ¡°Sounds useful. Thank you! May I take these home?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. Perhaps by the end of class, you¡¯ll have gained the requisite control. For now, however, I¡¯d be concerned that you might hurt yourself. Best if you use them here in my office, under supervision.¡±

    ¡°Do you have time for me to use them now? Or should I come back during your office hours? Sorry to show up unannounced.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s no trouble,¡± Ezio says. He taps on the papers. ¡°Let¡¯s begin, if you think you can handle it. I must warn you, though. It¡¯s an unusual sensation.¡±

    I find myself chewing on the inside of my cheek. ¡°Are they as painful as the mana control test?¡±

    ¡°Not at all! But they are highly addicting. You may lose track of time. Are you sure you want to try it? Make sure your schedule is clear. You have work in the morning, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes. But I¡¯m willing to make sacrifices. I don¡¯t want to let Ember down. If I return to my quiet, simple life as an [Assistant Glassworker] at the studio, without anything to show for our time of study, then I¡¯ll be disappointed in myself. Sure, I can go back to my previous life: I¡¯ll melt some glass, make some trinkets, and go out with the boys for a round of drinks before doing the same thing all over again the next day. No ambitions, no big dreams.¡±

    ¡°No scorching pain all over your tender insides,¡± Ezio says, and we share a chuckle at that one. Using the mana gauge was like nothing else I¡¯ve tried before.

    ¡°What¡¯s my focus with these papers? I¡¯m a hair above average in Fidelity, Resistance, and Control. Or, rather, I¡¯m lower than average in resistance, which is better. Because . . . of course it is.¡± I laugh ruefully, shaking my head as I recall the Foundations textbook¡¯s claims that the scores are standardized. ¡°Why not invert the score, then, so that everything is still out of one hundred?¡±

    ¡°Nuri, don¡¯t overthink it,¡± Ezio cautions, but the twinkle in his eye tells me that he¡¯s had the same thoughts.

    My Speed is nothing special, which also makes sense to me. Other than my big fight in town when the cats attacked, I¡¯ve never tried to push or pull on heat all in one big go. Glass is too delicate for that kind of brute force; slow and steady is preferable to starting over because I shattered my project. Since that fight, though, I¡¯ve made a point of increasing my heat and cold combat potential, but I still require several seconds to kindle a flame, or to sap the energy from an area and freeze a potential opponent. Maybe if I¡ª

    ¡°Ready?¡± Ezio asks, breaking my daydream.

    I hide my face in my hands, embarrassed that he caught me completely zoned out. ¡°Yes. Am I still working on my Control?¡±

    Ezio paces, his hands clasped behind his back, his brow drawn in a furrow. ¡°Yes. Let¡¯s see how you do. Draw the mana out of your channels slowly. With the heat-resistant orbs, you have to overcome their inherent inertia. That leads you to tug at the energy like a child worrying at a loose thread in his jacket. Keep pulling like that, and you¡¯re liable to unravel the entire thing with this test.¡±

    ¡°Got it. Avoid the temptation to work on my Speed, and make sure I¡¯m locked in with my Control training?¡± I ask, connecting the dots.

    ¡°Precisely,¡± Ezio says, smiling in encouragement. ¡°You pick up things quickly, Nuri. You are doing well. I know it¡¯s tempting to want to move faster, but just make sure you do it right.¡±

    I simply nod and start, gently feeding mana into the paper. It fizzles before I establish a connection. I try again, with the same result. Fighting off the temptation to get upset, I take a deep breath and start over. It takes me five tries until I finally get the balance right and maintain a flow of mana for more than a couple seconds.

    ¡°Better, Nuri. Don¡¯t lose your command out of fear of overdoing it. Feebleness isn¡¯t the answer, either. Keep it steady and even. You are improving, believe it or not. Progress is never easy,¡± Ezio reminds me.

    Forty-five minutes later, my fingers tremble slightly at the raw, drained feeling of my inner being. I shut out the minor irritation. What¡¯s a little pain? The phrase has become my unofficial motto lately. I¡¯ll never ascend the heights if I¡¯m afraid of the foothills. I refocus and thread a little mana into the black ink pattern that Ezio has inscribed on the paper before me.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°Yes! That¡¯s it, Nuri. Well done,¡± Ezio says when I finish the first stroke on the paper. He rubs his hands together. ¡°Almost ready for the second step!¡±

    I¡¯m grateful for Ezio¡¯s enthusiastic praise, but his words are enough to break my fragile concentration. I put up a cursory struggle, trying to keep the connection strong, but the mana sputters and dies out.

    I rub my eyes, which are starting to feel dry and strained. ¡°Are you sure this is going to lead to me developing a mana-related Skill? I¡¯ve been at this sort of mana training for dozens of hours already this year, not including the work in your class, but I still don¡¯t see mana reliably. Once the mana leaves my body, unless it¡¯s a direct application of my Skill, I lose all connection to the energy flows.¡±

    ¡°Dozens of hours?¡± Ezio says, gently chiding me with a wag of his finger. ¡°Come talk to me when you¡¯ve labored and bled for years without fruition. These things take time.¡±

    ¡°Do you tell that to all your students who pay you for a decade of study?¡± I ask, laughing. ¡°Funny how you are the only one who can gauge progress. We just have to trust that we¡¯re on the right path, as long as we keep your coffers full.¡±

    ¡°Cynicism is a tired look on a young man,¡± Ezio replies smoothly. ¡°I suppose if you want proof, you could try the mana control test again.¡±

    I wrinkle my nose at the suggestion, and he enjoys a dry chuckle at my expense. ¡°No, I thought not. But you have worked hard without seeing any tangible results yet, and I don¡¯t want to lose a student to discouragement. Perhaps a bit of motivation is in order?¡±

    I pause midway through drumming my fingers on the top of his desk. ¡°I think I¡¯ve had my fill of your particular brand of motivation.¡±

    ¡°You are improving. Promise.¡±

    ¡°All right. I¡¯ll try again.¡±

    ¡°Take your time. Why don¡¯t you relax and replenish your reserves first? Stand up. Stretch out. Renew your focus. Everything is new and different, so you¡¯re all kinds of excited, and that¡¯s likely to translate into poor control.¡±

    Five minutes later, I¡¯m feeling more clear-headed. ¡°Maybe I should eat something first, or look for a mana-infusion station.¡±

    ¡°Smart. You appear to be learning,¡± Ezio says in approval. He unstoppers a decanter of mana-refreshing wine and pours a small glass for me. ¡°Here, this will help. Not too much, now. You¡¯re not used to this caliber of mana infusion, and I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t pass out in my office.¡±

    The first sip hits me like a runaway bull. I cough and sputter, but I refuse to give Ezio the satisfaction of seeing me beaten by a drink, so I drain the glass and set it down on the desk with an authoritative clink and a wide grin. ¡°Watch me fly through this on my first try now. I¡¯m feeling fresh!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather save you the embarrassment and leave you to it. You¡¯ll need more than an hour before you¡¯ve cracked this case,¡± Ezio replies, tidying his desk and shutting the drawer that he¡¯d left open in his haste to hand me the stack of papers. ¡°In the meantime, I¡¯m heading to the archives¡ªI¡¯m chasing down a promising lead about glass [Artisans] of antiquity. Rakesh will catch you up to speed on that later. It¡¯s prime material for your research project.¡±

    That stops me in my tracks. I scoot my chair back, stand up, and bow to my teacher with as much sincerity as I can muster. ¡°Thank you, Ezio. You¡¯ve been incredibly helpful. I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯ve overlooked just how much work you¡¯ve put into helping me. If you can provide me with a path forward as I explore the mysteries of glass, then I¡¯ll be eternally grateful for your insight.¡±

    Ezio rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. ¡°Young man, I¡¯m just doing my job. You¡¯re not the first reluctant scholar I¡¯ve taught, and you won¡¯t be the last. It¡¯s a privilege to watch my charges flourish.¡±

    With that, he coughs awkwardly, removes his hand, and scurries out of the room in the least dignified manner I¡¯ve seen from him in our brief time together. ¡°Don¡¯t forget your homework for tomorrow morning, Nuri!¡± he calls before he slams the door behind him.

    I chuckle, lace my fingers together, and crack my knuckles, then sit back down to tackle the mana puzzle. I¡¯ll make Ezio proud of me yet.

    =+=

    A hand shaking my shoulder rouses me awake. I try to talk, but my mouth is drier than a kiln, and I can¡¯t seem to open my lips. My head is pounding, as though all the blood in my body is rushing through my temples, and my eyeballs feel like I¡¯ve got glass chips in them.

    ¡°Steady, now, Nuri. Drink this.¡± Ezio¡¯s voice echoes far too loudly in my ears, which are still ringing from the backlash of cramming too much mana into that blasted paper. He presses a brackish, foul-smelling concoction against my parched lips and forces the cold liquid down my throat before I can protest.

    Ezio breathes out a long-suffering sigh. ¡°Didn¡¯t I warn you that you can get lost in time? I¡¯m more than ready to go home, but you broke my one rule: you passed out in my office!¡±

    I gag while trying to drink the awful medicine, but fighting back isn¡¯t working very well in my current state. I can barely manage a coherent thought, let alone complex movement, but the liquid abomination coursing through my body snaps me out of my stupor. I gasp and sit upright, blinking.

    Ezio picks up the paper and examines the pattern. His eyes glow briefly with the golden sheen of mana, and for a moment I think I¡¯m starting to crack the code. I can see what¡¯s going on! Before I can latch onto the phenomenon, his eyes glimmer and return to normal. Like most mana users, I can tell if someone in the immediate vicinity channels magic, but actually seeing the flows and colors of the various mana aspects remains beyond me.

    He clicks his tongue and drops the paper back to the desk, shaking his head at me. ¡°Not quite reached the end yet. Impressive! You have a ways to go, but I wouldn¡¯t call your efforts a failure.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± I say, the words slurring like I¡¯m drunk out of my mind.

    ¡°You¡¯ve put yourself into a mana coma. It¡¯s stupid, but I pulled you back in time to save you from the worst of it. You should avoid lingering effects.¡±

    I groan and lower my forehead to the desk. ¡°Sounds like a failure to me.¡±

    ¡°The dedication required to get to this point is impressive. That¡¯s what I applaud. You¡¯ve been draining yourself regularly, despite the headaches, and this afternoon you kept trying to draw on more than you could hold. It¡¯s not wise, but it takes guts.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. I think. Nothing like celebrating pigheadedness.¡± I sit up, but that sets the room to spinning again. I grimace, holding my head in my hands.

    Ezio gives me a thin smile. ¡°Self-reflection. You love to see it in youth! You have to lean into your strengths, and stubbornness is definitely one of yours. Don¡¯t knock it.¡±

    ¡°Careful, honorable professor. You¡¯re in grave danger of developing a sense of humor.¡±

    ¡°Oh, ho! He¡¯s making a full recovery, it would seem,¡± Ezio says dryly.

    I glance out the window at the blue shadows of twilight, and massage my sore muscles before replying. The simple act of speaking is tiresome work right now. ¡°Where did the time go? The last thing I remember is a stray thought about what I should do for dinner tonight. Looks like I missed dinner by a few hours.¡±

    ¡°I ordered extra food from the SCA mess hall. Take it home with you. Oh, and come by my office tomorrow if you want to try the puzzle again. You¡¯re close, Nuri, but I won¡¯t force you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± I promise. ¡°I¡¯ll keep working on my Control and Fidelity, even if it¡¯s tough not to worry about my Capacity.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t misunderstand me,¡± Ezio says. ¡°I do want you to improve your Capacity. My point is only that you have limited time to practice this semester. Don¡¯t neglect your strengths simply because you¡¯re fixated on areas that aren¡¯t as strong yet. Taking advantage of this opportunity costs you that one, but only for the time being. You have years to improve. Patience!¡±

    I nod eagerly. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. Thanks for all your help and advice. I appreciate it.¡±

    After our discussion wraps up, I trudge home to my cabin, exhausted from practicing the intricate puzzles. My mana will fully regenerate by morning, and I¡¯ll regain my energy after a good night¡¯s rest, but for now I¡¯m spent. My mind is still a whirlwind of questions and theories, so I reach into the book bag that I bought from Marko and withdraw the enormous textbook. The little training manuals are easier to read, but I¡¯m trying to improve my scholarly discipline.

    ¡°[Scholars],¡± I sigh. ¡°Crazy as loons, the lot of ¡®em.¡±

    I crack open the textbook that Ezio requires for the course. Aromas of must and old ink wash over me in a blast of nostalgia. Unexpectedly, the scent reminds me of my father. I clutch at the new memory, trying to hold it close before it evaporates into the ether and I lose a part of him that I never knew existed.

    I inhale deeply, filling my nostrils with the tannic scent of old leather and the acrid stink of the gum-like glue used in the book binding. Mm, scholarly neglect for the outside world. Did my father like to read? Or perhaps that was my mother? I can¡¯t recall either of them with as much clarity as I¡¯d like most days. Thankfully, I still have the enduring image of my stalwart father in the hot shop, preparing molten glass in order to make a masterpiece.

    Wiping away tears wasn¡¯t in my plans tonight, but the emotional release feels good in a way I didn¡¯t know I needed. I scrub at my eyes with the back of my sleeve, take a shuddering breath to steady myself, and stake out a comfortable spot on my bed to commence reading. My study desk feels too sterile all of a sudden. I wasn¡¯t prepared for an encounter with my past just because I opened a textbook. Strange how the most unexpected memories blindside me out of nowhere.

    Then the moment fades. Sorrow never truly goes away, but the sting of their loss gives way to more pleasant recollections of good days together.

    I open the book to the well-worn table of contents, skimming through the previous entries I¡¯ve already read for class. At last, I find what I¡¯m looking for: a chapter all about mana Capacity and how to increase the amount of mana a person can hold. Eagerness at the thought of improving my terrible score gives me a burst of energy. I¡¯ll follow Ezio¡¯s advice and work on my Fidelity and Control, but looking into future plans while I have the textbook seems prudent.

    I turn the pages with equal parts determination and dread as a new thought occurs to me suddenly. What if the recommended methods don¡¯t work for me? What if I¡¯m already capped out with abysmal Capacity?

    What if I¡¯m just bad?

    ¡°Capacity,¡± I read aloud, tracing the words with my finger to stave off the hysteria of getting lost in my own thoughts, ¡°is not, as many mistakenly believe, an absolute number that reflects mana pool size. Rather, it¡¯s a measurement of mana held in reserve versus a theoretical total maximum¡ªone hundred¡ªon a per-Threshold basis. That is, a middle of the pack score of fifty is different in size pre-Threshold compared with the First Threshold, the Second Threshold, and so on.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± I ask no one in particular, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. ¡°That¡¯s so needlessly complicated.¡± I sigh and get back to reading, only to find that the answer is even more convoluted than I expected.

    ¡°Due to exponential growth at each Threshold, measuring Capacity in raw units of mana creates a lopsided mana-control result that offends this author¡¯s sense of symmetry. Thus, to maintain the same one-hundred-point scale that fits so neatly with as the other traditional mana categories, the Capacity score is instead a function that¡¯s calculated as a percentage of the highest recorded results run through a linear regression model; from that result, we extrapolate the maximum.¡±

    Yep. [Scholars] really are the worst. Why not just measure what exists?

    I thumb through the rest of the dense chapter, dutifully ingesting as much as I can of the theory, until I locate the practical exercises for increasing mana Capacity in budding young [Mages]. The predominant idea is a time honored classic: constantly use your mana, drain your current pool, and refill your core with new energy. Over the years, you¡¯ll expand your available mana pool like a child inflating a balloon, little by little.

    ¡°I hope it¡¯s impossible to pop like a balloon if I overfill myself with mana,¡± I mutter, not sure if the mental image is hilarious or horrifying.

    I guess a little bit of both.

    The dissertation continues in the same dry tones, and I almost give up reading until I see a footnote near the end of the chapter. Paradoxically, it¡¯s the small print that catches my eye, although it looks like the author only included it begrudgingly.

    Some [Sages] recommend holding mana at all times¡ªnot using it wastefully, they claim, but nurturing it and infusing every sliver of their life with the energy of the universe. How this avoids excessive waste is something of an opaque discussion, but this humble author is willing to overlook such obstacles to the theory and include it for the sake of completeness; scholarship rarely advances due to a singular voice, after all.

    Advocates of this mana-enhancement method claim that soaking your body and soul in mana all throughout the day apparently strengthens you so that your reservoir can grow in a safe, gentle way, rather than straining yourself by draining your pool over and over again and risking a mana coma¡ªor, worse, burnout. While emotionally appealing, more research into the subject is required before this [Researcher] will provide his imprimatur.

    I¡¯m skeptical, but intrigued. What have I got to lose if I try this method out? Worst case scenario, it doesn¡¯t work. In that case, I¡¯ll simply revert to the drain-fill, drain-fill cycle to forcibly deepen and expand my mana pool.

    Self-serving curiosity sated for the moment, I flip to the next chapter on the variety of mana aspects and how to interpret their unique signatures. If I¡¯m going to work with Ezio for the semester, then I¡¯ve got to give study my best shot despite not possessing a mana sensing Skill. It¡¯s dry reading, and I never liked school that much in the past. Nonetheless, I¡¯m determined to press on. School was hard, but I was young and easily bored.

    Now I¡¯m older and . . . well, I¡¯m still easily bored, but I¡¯ve learned the value of discipline. Besides, Ezio is brilliant. He''ll steer me in the right direction.

    Two hours later, my confidence is building, but my eyes glaze over after pages of dense reading. My head feels heavy with the soporific effects of cramming too much info into my mind all at once about the compositions and effects of various mana types. How do students at the Silaraon City Academy put up with this kind of torture?

    ¡°Twenty-two isn¡¯t my forever Capacity,¡± I mumble to myself as a promise as I prepare for an early bedtime. When I finally close my eyes, I release a little mana throughout my body, attempting to gently soak my muscles and bones¡ªand my Skill¡ªin mana overnight. Might as well grind out some progress while I¡¯m asleep. I¡¯ve got my first taste of numbers, and now I¡¯m obsessed with watching them grow.

    Twenty-five is my Capacity goal by the end of the semester. Maybe I can hit Thirty by the end of the year if I¡¯m diligent. Even that will only be the beginning, I tell myself with a smile. Making glass and learning magic share a key characteristic: patience. Ezio was right. If I keep practicing, then I¡¯ll grow for a lifetime.

 Chapter Nineteen: Teamwork

    Practicing saturating my body with mana throughout the day is harder than I expected. If I lose focus, the mana dissipates into the air. Undaunted, I vow to keep trying when I have free time. For now, my main focus is on a new commission. Quite a few students want to buy glass orbs from me after the demonstration in class, but I¡¯ve given my study group priority.

    Manipulating mana is tough, but the glass orbs aren¡¯t as dangerous for solo practice as the complex scripts Ezio uses. Melina and I offered to make mana variants of my heat-resistant glass orbs, using simpler versions of Ezio¡¯s puzzles. Everyone is enthusiastic about it, even Zviad¡ªin his own prickly way, of course. He grumbles about joining us at the hot shop for the day, but I want to make sure we create the training tools to everyone¡¯s exact specifications. Not everyone might want an orb, although that¡¯s certainly the easiest shape to create.

    With Ezio¡¯s help, we should even be able to create a pair of glass orbs keyed to unique lightning puzzles for Teuria. I didn¡¯t know how to get around the compatibility issues at first, but Ezio is a genius at using synthetic aspects. He assures me that the patterns he provided will work with her magic.

    Since I don¡¯t know how all of their Skills function, only Melina, Teuria, and I will have custom fit pieces. For the rest, generic mana-manipulation training aids will have to do. I think I¡¯m ready to go. All that¡¯s left is to wait for the team to show up.

    Right on cue, the doorbell chimes.

    ¡°Welcome to the Silaraon Glass Works!¡± I say, waving at the study group as they march into the shop, a mix of skepticism and curiosity plain on their faces.

    Zviad looks around more critically than the others. He sniffs. ¡°This is where you work?¡±

    I push down a flash of irritation at Zviad¡¯s entitled attitude. ¡°Yes. Been here for the last decade and a half, since my father passed. He was a [Glassworker], too.¡±

    His assessing gaze continues to rove the workshop. ¡°It¡¯s clean. Brighter than I expected. Someone runs a tight operation.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Ember¡¯s ex-Army,¡± I brag.

    Zviad draws himself up. His face grows cold, like someone activated a switch and turned off his friendliness enchantment. ¡°Oh. A short-timer, huh?¡±

    ¡°Honorably discharged. She and I do commission work for Fort Amyntas. She gives the [Soldiers] a big discount and always gives them priority. Don¡¯t make it sound like she betrayed the Royal Army or something,¡± I say hotly.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about Army life,¡± Zviad scoffs. ¡°She probably got a rare Class in the line of duty and then ran off as soon as her term was up.¡±

    Ember glides up just then. She regards Zviad distastefully, like a [Cleaner] who just saw a cockroach run across his pristine floors. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what happened. Every day, I find yet another reason to reinforce the wisdom of that decision.¡±

    ¡°Typical Northerner,¡± Zviad says, cutting her down to size with an imperious glare. ¡°You all act like you¡¯re justified. Ungrateful is all it is. You¡¯ll talk big to a young Army brat, but I¡¯ll bet if my father walked through the door, you¡¯d drop to your knees and beg.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, I think I liked it better when you were in class,¡± Ember says evenly. ¡°Whatever you came here to do, get it done quickly. Best that you¡¯re on your way.¡±

    I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to get involved in a spat between Ember and¡ªwell, Ember and anyone. She¡¯s the most terrifying person I know. Watching her butcher the Shadow Jaguars with ease last year left a big impression on me.

    ¡°Right this way,¡± I announce with confidence. ¡°I¡¯m at workbench number one today. We¡¯ll get you sorted as quickly as we can. Here, wear these in the hot shop.¡±

    I pass out sturdy leather aprons and goggles from the lampworking stations. While they likely aren¡¯t in danger from sodium flares, I don¡¯t want to risk anyone getting injured because I was careless. My study group takes them without complaint. Even Zviad puts them on with an air of unexpected gravity when I explain the potential risk to the eyes. If he¡¯s learned anything from the Army, I suppose it¡¯s how to take armor seriously.

    ¡°Everyone, say hello to my buddy Lionel. He¡¯s going to assist me today to speed things up. Teamwork is always the way to go in the hot shop. Working with Melina is her twin sister, Avelina. Don¡¯t get too close; she¡¯s liable to burn you to a crisp if you look at her the wrong way.¡±

    Avelina shoots me a glare, her eyes half-lidded by her painted eyelids. A menacing red flame dances across the back of her knuckles, but she flips her hand over and opens her fist, transforming the sinister fires into a soft white, welcoming glow. ¡°Hi! I¡¯m Ava! Don¡¯t mind Nuri. He likes to be dramatic.¡±

    ¡°That makes two of us,¡± I say.

    ¡°You¡¯re sisters?¡± Kuuper asks, staring between Avelina and Melina. ¡°You don¡¯t look much alike. I had no idea that two crafters in the same shop could have such different Skills, too. Time and fire don¡¯t seem related at all.¡±

    ¡°Naftalan, unless I miss my mark,¡± Zviad interjects. ¡°Or descendants from someone who hopped borders. The fire-sister bears their telltale look. I¡¯ve never seen albinism in them before, but that explains why they look different and Melina is so pale, while her twin is more typical.¡±

    Something about Zviad¡¯s superior tone rubs me the wrong way, but I can¡¯t put my finger on why it bothers me. Technically, he¡¯s correct. So why does his analysis sound so incredibly insulting coming from him?

    Maybe it¡¯s because he called both Avelina and Ember ¡°typical,¡± as though they aren¡¯t individuals. They¡¯re just the worst of their people; he¡¯s weighed them and found them wanting. At least he didn¡¯t call them gutter-rats, like some people who hate Naftali.

    Neighboring us to the Southeast, Naftali¡¯s influence here in the borderlands is far more pronounced than it is in the capital. Some people think they¡¯re too meddlesome, getting involved in Densmore politics, but I tend to stay out of those discussions. I don¡¯t know enough to offer a perspective that¡¯s useful.

    I clap twice. ¡°Let¡¯s get started with our work for the day. Zviad and Kuuper, you¡¯ll be with me. Teuira and Eliakim, go to workbench two with Mel. Show of hands: who wants an orb?¡±

    Everyone but Zviad raises a hand. Of course he wants something unique and special. It seems inevitable at this point that he¡¯s the problem in every situation.

    ¡°Zviad! Which shape do you want?¡± I ask, pasting a warm smile on my face. He¡¯s paying for the study aid, after all, so technically he¡¯s a customer, although I¡¯m starting to dislike his type of technicality.

    ¡°The golden eagle is our family¡¯s crest.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I love making glass animals,¡± I blurt out before I can stop myself. I groan internally, since I already quoted the price of today¡¯s creation. A simple orb that copies the paper patterns is not too difficult, but making a bird is more time-consuming. I should really charge more.

    ¡°What¡¯s the benefit of using these instead of the pattern on the paper?¡± Kuuper asks. He prods the papers I got from Ezio. ¡°Seems like a lot of work. Not cheap, either.¡±

    ¡°Cost is no object if they work,¡± Zviad snaps. He crosses his arms and stares at Kuuper with a skeptical expression. ¡°Of course, their efficiency is still up for debate.¡±

    At least he¡¯s equally unpleasant to everyone, I remind myself. I pick up the papers and give Kuuper a strained smile. ¡°The problem is that these papers are one-time use. Once you¡¯ve saturated them with mana, they won¡¯t help you continue training. My orbs are bi-directional, so you can practice moving the mana from one to the other, and then back the other way. They¡¯ll need refilling eventually, if you leak a lot of excess energy, but you can use them for a long time compared with the paper varieties.¡±

    ¡°Oh. That does sound useful,¡± Kuuper says. He steps back, shy again now that he¡¯s worked up the courage to ask his single question for the morning. It didn¡¯t help that Zviad made fun of him for questioning the price.

    ¡°Glad you think so. The orb is the cheapest variety, but it shouldn¡¯t be less performative. Creating a non-standard shape requires more time and effort, which is why they¡¯re more costly. I trust my discerning client will appreciate the increased quality.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± Zviad says, nodding fractionally at me. He doesn¡¯t mention the extra money. That¡¯s probably considered uncultured. Only peasants like me would care about that.

    I grin. Works for me.

    ¡°First step, we visit the furnace,¡± I say, leading my little group over as I narrate what I¡¯m doing. ¡°Don¡¯t touch anything. I¡¯ll use the blowpipe to pick up a gather of glass. See how it¡¯s got good elasticity? I can tell by touch that it¡¯s hot and ready to work, although my heat-related Skill also confirms that it¡¯s up to temperature.¡±

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Does the tour also cost extra?¡± Lionel quips. ¡°C¡¯mon, Nuri. I don¡¯t think any of them are here to become [Glassworkers]. Except for maybe this one. He looks like he¡¯s got the exacting nature necessary to make a dozen identical bowls.¡±

    Zviad looks scandalized that Lionel is pointing at him, which makes me grin at my friend. Lionel always knows how to stir the pot. He¡¯s got a real talent for sniffing out trouble.

    I bring the glass back to my workbench and rest the blowpipe across the marver. I spin it a bit more slowly than usual so that they can see what I¡¯m doing, and I continue explaining how shaping glass works. I blow through the hose attached to the blowpipe to inflate the ball of glass at the end of the pipe, turning as the bubble of air within the glass expands.

    Lionel brings over a water-drenched block of wood with a bowl scooped out of it. Holding it by the handle, he cups the glass as I turn the pipe. ¡°This ensures a perfect sphere. We can do it via Skill, but that¡¯s a waste if you ask me. Why spend all that mana ranking up a Skill that you can replicate with a little bit of practice? Better to do it by hand and find other ways to improve with magic.¡±

    ¡°Now who¡¯s the tour-guide?¡± I tease Lionel. ¡°But you bring up a good point. Ranking up a Skill takes a lot of time. Theoretically, the mana control you develop through customizations and Skill modification will transfer, but as Ezio mentioned the other day: at what cost? There¡¯s no point trying to earn a Skill that you can replicate on your own if the alternative is something that you can only do with a Skill.¡±

    ¡°How do you get the paper into the glass? The ball looks solid. Plus it¡¯s so hot! Won¡¯t it burn up?¡± Kuuper asks, leaning forward from his spot in the background to watch with interest. Maybe I was uncharitable when I assumed that he was too shy to speak up again today.

    ¡°Great questions, Kuuper. We¡¯ll eventually open up the ball so that we can work on the hollow interior. We¡¯ll use a blob of hot glass to attach a punty to the other end when the shape is complete. Then we break the connection to the blow pipe and use the punty to transfer it to the kiln to anneal. Well, with Melina¡¯s help, we¡¯ll bypass the kiln entirely. She has amazing Skills for annealing. We¡¯ll weaken the connection at the punty and break the glass free again, then I¡¯ll use my [Heat Manipulation] to re-melt the rough glass and smooth it out with a wet cloth.¡±

    Kuuper frowns, concentrating on my words. ¡°Sounds complicated. Why do you need so many transfers?¡±

    I retrieve a pair of jacks and shears with a sharp point, preparing to cut open the glass to demonstrate how to get to the inside. ¡°We have to close the hole through which we¡¯re blowing air, not to mention reshape each side to smooth the globe. To your other question: you¡¯re correct, the paper will burn if I simply try to affix it to the glass. But patterns can be transferred even if the paper burns away. Watch this!¡±

    I pierce a hole in the globe on the opposite side of the blow pipe, wedge the sharp end of my jacks into the hole, and pry it open. With a bit of turning and pulling, I widen the hole, giving me access to the hollow glass.

    ¡°If I were creating a paperweight, or trying to show off intricate shapes inside the ball, then I would have started with lampworking. That¡¯s what Avelina specializes in, although she calls it flameworking, because she¡¯s, uhh, special.¡±

    ¡°I heard that!¡±

    I wink at my audience. ¡°I¡¯m only teasing her because I envy her talent. Working with the small torches and sculpting glass into tiny, delicate shapes is difficult for me. I¡¯m better at larger, more geometric work.¡±

    ¡°Basically, Nuri is just a worker drone. I¡¯m an amazing artist,¡± Avelina says in a singsong voice.

    I ignore my friend¡¯s teasing and continue with the demonstration. ¡°For today¡¯s project, though, I¡¯m going to insert the practice paper directly into the center of the glass globe. With some mana manipulation, I can imprint the pattern before the paper itself burns away. We can use the same technique to put text or images on glass. Paint or ink will leave a mark that gets covered up with a thin layer of glass.¡±

    Using my [Heat Manipulation] to avoid burns, I tuck the first piece of paper into the glass, then bring it back to the glory hole to reheat the glass. Normally, I¡¯d just use my Skill to change the temperature, but I don¡¯t want to run out of mana before I¡¯m done with everyone¡¯s pieces. We still have a date with the Iron Lunk after this, so I need to conserve my mana.

    The hot, molten glass burns away the paper in an instant, leaving behind the far more resilient traces of mana-conductive ink. They¡¯re surprisingly sturdy; during my test run when I was preparing for today¡¯s commission work, I found that it took hours of prolonged exposure to melt away the mana-treated ink itself.

    I gesture for Lionel to bring me a new gather of glass, and I pour the glowing, viscous glass into the center of the ball I¡¯m working on currently. The molten glass flows into the gaps, filling in the shape. It seeps into the crevices, surrounding the mana traces, and reinforces the structure far better than paper can.

    ¡°This is harder to use than the paper, from what I understand, but it¡¯s stronger and can withstand multiple attempts. Technically, you could use a single orb by itself, but I asked Ezio for paired puzzles so that you can seamlessly go backward or forward between matched orbs.¡±

    I raise my voice a little so that the other workers can hear me over the din of the fire and carts rattling around. ¡°Mel, I¡¯m putting these in the kiln until you¡¯re done with your batch. Could you anneal all of them in one go?¡±

    ¡°Got it, Nuri,¡± Melina calls back.

    ¡°Excellent. Now, who wants to try gathering some glass? Any volunteers?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try if you don¡¯t mind,¡± Kuuper says. His initial timidity is fading, replaced by genuine fascination for the crafting process. He takes the blow pipe from me and holds it in front of him like a quarterstaff, earning a snort from Zviad.

    ¡°All right, jab the end to your right into the glass. Stir it a little bit and try to get a glob to stick to it. Scoop some extra and keep it turning so that it doesn¡¯t all fall off the side in a blob. You¡¯ve gotta find the right balance between gloopy and useful.¡±

    Kuuper does his best to follow my directions. His first gather is lopsided and too small for my purposes, so I ask him to dunk the whole thing back into the furnace full of glass and collect a new gather. This time, he comes out with too much, and it¡¯s dripping on the floor.

    ¡°Bucket!¡± I yell, but Lionel is a step ahead of me. He slides a bucket of water underneath the excess glass falling to the ground.

    ¡°Keep turning it, Kuuper. Nice! A little slower; don¡¯t splatter us with hot glass. Lift up the pipe a bit and let the gather flatten out. You were holding it down, pointing it at the floor, so it elongated more than we needed.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Kuuper says, flushing. He lifts up the blow pipe and keeps turning it, getting the hang of keeping the glass from drooping or dripping on the floor.

    ¡°No worries. You¡¯re doing great! Bring that over to the workbench and take a seat. You can rest the blow pipe across the marver. Roll it back and forth while I get you a new, clean mouthpiece. Don¡¯t want you to choke on my spit.¡±

    ¡°Ew!¡± Lionel says, snickering. ¡°New mouthpieces and flex hoses are on the wall by the storage room, Nuri. We just got a carved set delivered yesterday.¡±

    ¡°What a relief,¡± Kuuper mutters under his breath, and I can¡¯t help but agree. I don¡¯t mind sharing punties or pipes, but a mouthpiece is a little more personal.

    I walk Kuuper through the process to inflate the glass and shape the orb, taking over for the essential parts, like breaking off the neck when we transfer to the punty, or when it¡¯s time to insert the matching mana puzzle. Before long, we¡¯re finished, and his face glows with the pride of a job well done.

    I bring the orb over to the annealer, then come back to slap hands with Kuuper. ¡°What do you think? Wanna try again sometime? You did great!¡±

    ¡°Thanks for teaching me. I¡¯ll stick with scholarship for now, but that was more interesting than I ever expected. I always thought crafters did boring and dirty jobs, but that was awesome!¡±

    ¡°Oh, trust me, there are plenty of boring parts,¡± Lionel mutters.

    I chuckle. ¡°Dirty, too, like when Lionel trips and spills soda ash all over the studio. Let me tell you, that was not fun to clean up afterward!¡±

    ¡°Hey! What happened to keeping it in the family?¡± Lionel protests. ¡°What happens in the glass studio stays in the glass studio.¡±

    I clear my throat. ¡°Kuuper, Zviad? Where would you say that we are right now?¡±

    ¡°Duh. In the glass¡ªoh, I see. Very clever,¡± Lionel says. He glares at me. ¡°Fine. Next time they visit, I¡¯m telling them all your embarrassing stories.¡±

    ¡°Why not right now?¡± Zviad says, perking up for the first time. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back. We have all day, if need be.¡±

    Great. Zviad and Lionel are bonding over making fun of me. Something about it bothers me. When Lionel teases me, it¡¯s all fun and games. He¡¯s my friend. Zviad? He¡¯s just mean.

    ¡°All right, the demonstration is over,¡± I announce. ¡°Making a golden eagle for Zviad with the scripts inside is going to be difficult. I¡¯ll need to swap partners and recruit Avelina for help at the flameworking station. I don¡¯t want to mess it up, so give me some space. You can watch Mel at work; she¡¯s more interesting, anyway, since she actually has glass-related Skills.¡±

    From the corner of my eye, I see Zviad regard me more critically. His head tilts, and his eyes narrow. He sneers at me as he seems to come to a conclusion. ¡°You only have your first Class Skill, don¡¯t you? Not enough Potential to keep adding more to your core space?¡±

    ¡°Never tried,¡± I reply lightly.

    Melina glances over, giving me a significant look, but when I keep working with a whistle and a cheerful smile, she lets it go.

    Good. I¡¯m not in the mood for sympathy today. I¡¯ve got a plan to earn more Skills. I¡¯m happy with my progress so far. There¡¯s always room to grow, but I¡¯m taking a long term view, just like Ezio says.

    ¡°Will it take long?¡± Zviad asks stiffly. ¡°I believe I¡¯m better suited for the next step in our engagement, provided that you weren¡¯t lying about that, crafter.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll enjoy the Iron Lunk,¡± I promise. ¡°Maybe you have better training tools in the capital, but out here, this is unique. My brother and I spent years dreaming it up. Drafting the plans, earning enough money for the enchantments, and testing it out has been our passion project for a long time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not much of a fighter,¡± Kuuper says nervously. ¡°I think Zviad and Eliakim are better suited to that part of our training day.¡±

    ¡°No worries. It¡¯s just for added difficulty. If you don¡¯t get the hang of the orbs yet, then you don¡¯t have to try fighting the automaton,¡± I reply, still preoccupied with my work.

    That seems to satisfy Kuuper, who wanders off to look through the gift shop out front. Zviad joins him, admiring my father¡¯s swords, and they strike up an awkward conversation as I team up with Avelina to shape the sculpture.

    It takes almost an hour for us to finish the golden eagle, due to its complexity, and another hour slips by as we wait for Melina¡¯s temporal acceleration and [Flawless Annealing] to work in conjunction. It¡¯s such a commonplace experience for me that I don¡¯t think about it anymore, but its wonder is likewise lost on our guests. They simply don¡¯t realize how impressive it is to take their pieces home with them after a hot shop visit, instead of coming back the next day.

    The golden eagle is one of my finest efforts, I think with a rush of joy as I examine the sharp beak and detailed feathers. If I can consistently craft something with this kind of quality, then I¡¯ll definitely have a fighting chance at the glass competition one day.

    Nevertheless, we¡¯re on our way before things devolve into complaints and disparaging comments from Zviad, and we soon reach my parent¡¯s farmstead with everyone still intact and in relatively good spirits. For this group, I count that as a victory.

 Chapter Twenty: Golden Eagle Martial Style

    What a ragtag band we are.

    I glance around the clearing in my family¡¯s workyard, still amazed that my study group all agreed to meet here after the hot shop. Teuira still looks nervous to be in an unfamiliar place with so many people older than she is, constantly pulling her cloak tighter around her hunched shoulders, but Melina is helping her adjust by asking her questions about her home. Eliakim looks guarded, standing with crossed arms and bored expressions, although his eyes dart about curiously. I don¡¯t know much about him, but he¡¯s happy to work quietly. After the hot shop, Kuuper is in great spirits, grinning at his glass orbs that he helped create.

    Only Zviad is openly antagonistic. I don¡¯t know what else I expected, but it¡¯s wearing on me. All he has to do is put up with us for a few months, and we¡¯ll never see each other again. It seems even that level of tolerance is a step too far for him, however.

    I set my two glass orbs on the ground on either side of the training dummy. ¡°Your goal today is to move mana from one globe to the other while dealing with distractions. Depending on how quickly you pick things up, we¡¯ll move on to fighting the Iron Lunk.¡±

    Teuira bites her lip. She starts to raise her hand, then shuffles behind Melina. I meet my friend¡¯s gaze and lift an eyebrow. She seems to get the message, turning to whisper with Teuira for a moment.

    ¡°To confirm, we won¡¯t need to use our magic on the automaton, right?¡± Melina asks on behalf of Teuira. ¡°Lightning tends to wreak havoc on enchantments inscribed in metal due to conductive properties.¡±

    I smile brightly. ¡°Nope! You only need to dodge or step back out of the way. We won¡¯t do the full combat routine. Level one is pretty easy. Even if you¡¯ve never fought anyone before, you should be able to handle it.¡±

    ¡°I doubt that hunk of metal could pose any threat, anyway,¡± Zviad scoffs. ¡°I¡¯ll go first and show you all how it¡¯s done.¡±

    ¡°Be my guest,¡± I say innocently, while pushing the activation script up to the fifth level. If Zviad wants to act the fool, then let him reap the rewards.

    He picks up the two glass eagles that I made for him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. ¡°Do I have to hold them the entire time? This isn¡¯t how a [Warrior] trains.¡±

    ¡°Nope. Mine are on the ground. You just have to be able to thread mana into them. How far away they are depends on your range and control.¡±

    Zviad puts them down on the ground next to mine. He assumes a low stance, too deep to be comfortable, and lifts his hands like blades in front of him. Mana surges as he manipulates the energy of the world to move mana from one eagle to the next.

    ¡°Starting the attack sequence,¡± I call out, stepping back from the Iron Lunk. I motion the rest of the team to spread out and give them space.

    Enchantments wink merrily to life all over the Iron Lunk, barely visible to my emerging mana senses. I topped off the mana last night, and the scripts empower the automaton to move faster than I can. Blurring into action, the Iron Lunk whips around its staff in a vicious downward strike.

    Zviad barely reacts. His foot glides in a half arc ahead of him, and he shifts his weight to the side, evading the blow. All the while, his mana manipulation continues at a steady rate. Slow compared with me, but he never stops. He drops into a split, avoiding a horizontal slash, then rolls down and spins on his back, kicking his legs around like the rotating vanes of a windmill. He twists himself back up to his feet just in time to leap into the air when the Iron Lunk whips around and drags its metal staff across the ground at knee-height.

    Breathing in a controlled pattern, Zviad quick-steps to the side, swiveling at the hips to dodge a thrust. Each attack misses by a hair¡¯s breadth, yet his mana control never falters. Roll right, leap into the air, contort to the left¡ªit doesn¡¯t seem to matter where the blows come from. Not a single attack lands, despite my petty vengeance of cranking up the difficulty.

    He finishes the mana control pattern, unlocking a cheap script that Ezio gave me for the student training aid: faintly glowing letters around the outside of the glass proclaim ¡°Victory!¡±

    True to my word, I turn off the Iron Lunk, stopping its programming. We all stare at Zviad in stunned silence.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna die,¡± Tueira whimpers, shattering the mood. She squeaks when I laugh, and claps both of her hands over her face to hide in embarrassment. ¡°Please don¡¯t make me do that! I¡¯ll do all your homework for the rest of the semester. Just don¡¯t make me fight!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all right, Nuri was just being mean,¡± Melina says, soothing the girl while throwing me a dirty look. ¡°That is not level one. In fact, I¡¯ll wager that Nuri¡¯s never even attempted that level, not even once, because it¡¯s way too hard for him.¡±

    ¡°Busted,¡± I admit, laughing off the guilt awkwardly. ¡°I wanted to see what the trained son of an actual military officer could do, so I set it at level five. That was even more impressive than I expected. I¡¯ll turn down the difficulty for us normal folk.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I should have known it was too good to be true,¡± Zviad mutters in a surly tone of voice. ¡°I was hoping it went higher than that. About time I found a challenge.¡±

    ¡°It does go higher. Up to level ten. But if you really want a challenge? Spar my brother Mikko,¡± I offer. ¡°He designed and built the Iron Lunk. He¡¯s also got [Iron Skin] and [Strength of the Forge Gods]. He juggles anvils for fun.¡±

    ¡°I just might,¡± Zviad says, to my surprise. He picks up his glass training eagles, cradling them with surprising tenderness, and gives me a single, sharp nod. ¡°Not bad. Make another set of eagles, along with an automaton, and I¡¯ll ship it to my kid brother. A proper [Enchanter] could push it to a higher level of difficulty.¡±

    ¡°You sure? It didn¡¯t come cheap.¡±

    ¡°Are you calling my family poor?¡± Zviad snarls at me. ¡°I give you a chance to advertise your work in the capital, and you spit in my face!¡±

    I scratch my chin, looking over at Melina for help. ¡°That cost nearly half a year¡¯s salary for me. All I meant is that I can¡¯t front the project. I would need some payment up front.¡±

    ¡°The Silaraon Glass Works will gladly hold the funds in escrow until the completion and delivery of the Iron Lunk mark II,¡± Melina interjects smoothly, offering a pleasant smile to the hothead. ¡°Perhaps we could look into duplicating my temporal Skill as an enchantment on your weapon while we¡¯re at it. I¡¯m sure a brief disruption of your opponent¡¯s localized sense of time would be deadly in hands as skilled as yours.¡±

    That gets Zviad¡¯s attention. He finally calms down enough for us to move on without any further complaints. I run Kuuper and Melina through the real level one sequence, though we still can¡¯t convince Teuria to try it.

    We work out a compromise after further discussion. Melina will try to interrupt her focus by making funny faces and spinning flowers in front of her face. She uses her temporal field and [Lesser Object Manipulation] to make silly shapes.

    Three times in a row, Tueira has to start over because Melina makes her giggle, but she finally completes the mana puzzle, earning her own ¡°Victory!¡± display.

    The look of sheer joy on her face when she successfully completes the mana transfer is heartwarming enough that even Zviad cracks a small, tight smile.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anyone move like you,¡± I say to Zviad, although I hate complimenting the brat. ¡°Could you show me how to do that?¡±

    ¡°Of course you haven¡¯t,¡± he preens. ¡°That is the Golden Eagle Martial Style. Remember, My family¡¯s crest is the golden eagle. We perch on the heights, aloof, watching for an opening. We strike when the time is right.¡±

    Melina dutifully writes down everything that Zviad said, earning her a funny look from the Army brat. ¡°Golden Eagles sometimes work in pairs, right? I¡¯ve read that one will flush out the prey, and the second bird will swoop in to capture anything that gets away.¡±

    ¡°You have some odd hobbies, crafter,¡± Zviad says. He tilts his head toward her. ¡°But you are correct. Working with a partner is a core tenant of our [Warriors]. My family has served the Army for generations, but we tend to join the irregulars so we can hunt down high-value targets. Plenty of common [Soldiers] out there for fodder.¡±

    Ignoring my burst of irritation at Zviad¡¯s casual disregard for anyone other than himself, I ask if he¡¯s willing to teach me. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen footwork like that before. I just shuffle forward and back in a low stance, and sometimes step through half-circles to strike at angles. You look like you¡¯re flying through the air and ready to move anywhere instantly.¡±

    ¡°Soaring, not flapping our arms about,¡± Zviad corrects me. Still, he clears his throat and gestures to my practice staff. He grabs a dead branch off the ground, as if to drive home the vast difference between our skill levels. ¡°Pick it up. We¡¯ll go through the forms. Consider yourself fortunate, crafter; our teaching is much sought-after in the Capital.¡±

    Happy to discover that flattery is, indeed, the way to get through to Zviad, I do as I¡¯m bid and pick up the staff. I settle into my usual stance, which only provokes a sneer from my newest instructor.

    ¡°Too heavy on your heels,¡± Zviad says, swishing a stick at my leg before I can step out of the way. He lunges forward, too quickly for me to follow, pushing on my chest with both hands, and plants me on my behind. ¡°No stability in your trunk. Strong stomach, light feet. Again!¡±

    I lean up on the balls of my feet, trying to strike a balance between strength and agility. I copy Zviad¡¯s loose, smooth movement, flowing until it¡¯s time to react with explosive speed. He moves slowly, perhaps at a quarter speed, tracing a shape in the air with the point of his staff as he glides forward diagonally, and I do my best to follow along.

    ¡°Passable, for a five year old. Now, strike me. See what you can do.¡±

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    I start to my right, then step left and forward, spinning my staff toward Zviad¡¯s shoulder. It doesn¡¯t hit; he rotates on the balls of his feet, not even moving from his location, and leans out of the way. Before I can recover my balance, his stick flicks out and cracks across my ribs.

    ¡°Stop telling me where you¡¯re going to hit, crafter. The eagle locates its prey, but doesn¡¯t dive straight down in plain sight. It gracefully swoops, curving around to find a cunning angle, and flies low to the ground so that it¡¯s undetected. Do you understand? You strike from the last place you¡¯re expected! Again.¡±

    As if to underscore his words, Zviad spins the stick he¡¯s holding, smacking me across the wrist and making me drop the staff.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    I pick up the staff and concentrate, slowing my breathing and stepping with light feet and a strong core. The first seven or eight times he swings the stick toward me, I overreact, getting my feet tangled in my haste to knock it aside.

    Glide, I remind myself. I¡¯m supposed to soar like an eagle, unbothered by the beasts far below me. My domain spreads across the entire expanse of the sky. I have no limits, no rivals, no equals. I¡¯m free and serene, moving effortlessly out of the way of danger.

    Swish, swish. Swish!

    Three quick strikes miss me by a hair¡¯s breadth, although the third glances off the edge of my shoulder. I twist as little as possible, letting my feet slide just enough to take me out of harm¡¯s way. Following the momentum of my pivot through to the end, I lash out, sweeping from low to high and driving the back end of the staff into Zviad¡¯s gut.

    With an oof! of expelled air, he crumples to the ground, clutching his stomach. He¡¯s back up on his feet in the blink of an eye, snarling at me and brandishing his stick, moving faster than I can follow. Three quick blows rain down on my face, drawing hot blood as the thin skin over my eye breaks open. A fourth blow knocks the staff out of my hand.

    Zviad glares at me like he¡¯s going to hit me again, before he plants the pointy end of the stick into the ground and huffs. ¡°Never hit me again, crafter. But I guess you were listening after all. I am a glorious teacher, am I not?¡±

    I force myself to nod.

    Zviad might be the most abrasive, annoying person I¡¯ve ever met, but his methods are undeniably effective. I didn¡¯t think my footwork was poor, but I¡¯ve also never seen anyone move like Zviad. Ember is more utilitarian: every step serves a lethal function. She doesn¡¯t hide her intentions or waste time blocking or dodging, because she doesn¡¯t have to. She¡¯s strong enough to simply kill without regard for retaliation. That¡¯s a level of martial might that I¡¯ll never reach, however. My path is closer to that of a [Mage], even though I do want to shore up some of my weaknesses.

    Is that worth it, though? Ezio made it clear that I should focus on my strengths for now. I have plenty of time to deal with my weaknesses down the road. For now, do what I do best.

    ¡°Let the others test themselves against your iron lump. I¡¯ll see you in class,¡± Zviad says. He tenderly collects the golden eagles I made for him, gives me a fractional nod that from him is probably considered quite benevolent, and stomps away. All his grace is gone, replaced by angry steps and quick strides.

    ¡°It¡¯s the Iron Lunk,¡± I mumble.

    ¡°Lump is funnier,¡± Melina says, her lips twitching into a traitorous grin. ¡°Way to make a new friend, Nuri.¡±

    I wipe off a thin streak of blood from my forehead, brush off the dirt from where I landed on my rear, and shrug. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Let¡¯s see what the rest of you can do. Eliakim! You¡¯re next.¡±

    =+=

    When everyone is finished, Kirsi brings us hot scones, homemade jam, and frothing mugs of goat milk for an afternoon snack. We stuff our faces, and the study group soon heads back to the SCA in high spirits. They¡¯ll arrive just in time for dinner, but after the vigorous exercise and long walk, chances are they¡¯ll be hungry again.

    I stay behind. I have work to do.

    Conviction burning in my heart, I step forward and spin my staff. I will master every level Mikko developed, and I¡¯ll do it while systematically draining and refilling my mana in the middle of the mock battle. My grip tightens on my staff as I stare down my nemesis: the Iron Lunk.

    With a battle cry, I thumb the activation rune on the linked control bracelet, welcoming the now-familiar mental chime as the various routines announce themselves as options. I hover over the offensive sequence, but I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m up to the challenge yet of defending against the Iron Lunk while managing the finicky energy flows of [Heat Manipulation]. Fear of bruises threatens to win out over my ambition, but I force aside that thought.

    If Zviad can handle level five on his first try, then surely I can get there with practice. I move through a warm up routine and begin the mana and heat transfer between my glass training orbs, dodging the slow strikes from the training dummy.

    Once I¡¯m limbered up, I move on to the next stage. I try to incorporate the light, graceful footwork I witnessed from Zviad, but I can¡¯t help but feel clumsy and slow in comparison. My movements are stiff and clunky, lacking the well-oiled smoothness that long years of practice granted him, but I make it through without taking a hit. That has to count for something, I reckon.

    Panting from the first go around, I consider my performance. As much as it pains me to even think about it, I should probably ask Zviad for further critique. I spit in the dirt, annoyed that part of me admires that show off. He¡¯s entitled and arrogant. But a resource is a resource, I tell myself. No other option for now; I just have to keep at it.

    This time, I gladly select the built-in defensive routines, preferring to hit rather than to be hit. Let the dummy defend itself while I take out some frustration.

    The Iron Lunk whirrs back to life, unfolding its collapsible arms. It swats away my cheeky attempt at scoring an early point before it takes up its stance. The level one timer already shows the countdown, and I¡¯m both impressed and annoyed by Mikko¡¯s foresight with the enchantment logic. Flexibility isn¡¯t a quality most automatons are noted to possess.

    Level one presents few difficulties, and I¡¯m able to score hits by changing up my tempo, feinting high and striking low, or by stabbing repeatedly in one spot¡ªthe machine lacks the speed at this setting to keep up with the relentless attack. Keeping my mental focus split between the attacks and the heat-resistant glass orbs is still exhausting, however, and I¡¯m starting to sweat after going through several of the offense routines first. My clenched-jaw determination going into this evening¡¯s training session looks like an overreach now.

    I release my Skill and sit down cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed. Breathing in a slow, steady rhythm, I sense the mana around me and draw it into my body to regain some reserves. My low Capacity is holding me back from longer sessions.

    I harvest from the ambient energy, wishing that I had the stamina to manipulate mana for a longer period. I¡¯m planning to drain my mana pool before the night is over, but that doesn¡¯t mean that I want to blow through the entire sequence of heat transfers in the earlier levels. The whole point is to train them simultaneously, so that my mind is tired by the time the physical challenge truly ratchets up.

    Boredom proves my biggest enemy, and after only four or five minutes, I jump up to my feet, spinning my practice spear over my head. I nudge the indicator for level two, resume my Skill, and try to speed up the heat transfer while attacking the automaton a split-second faster than the last round.

    The Iron Lunk binds my spear more easily this time, but I¡¯m warming up to the fight and I slip through its block just like Ember showed me. The solid thunk of the spear¡¯s impact rings through the crisp, early twilight air, and a vicious smile snakes across my face.

    I slide my left foot forward in a smooth, quick semicircle, plant hard, and lunge forward with my right foot, exploding off the balls of my feet to stab at the automaton¡¯s head before the defensive arms can spin into position. I roar in triumph, resetting my feet and twirling the back end of the spear in a savage strike to the dummy¡¯s torso, powering through the feeble block.

    The spear smashes into the solid iron construction of the training dummy and cracks in a spray of splinters. I stagger forward, braced for an impact that unexpectedly gives way, and I fall face first into the training dummy, smacking my forehead. My Skill falters, sputtering out like a candle at my loss of concentration, and I let out a howl of pain and frustration.

    Mikko was right. I really am a threat to smack his creation with my hard head.

    The ridiculousness of the situation catches up with me, and I flop down to the ground by the automaton, my shoulders shaking as I laugh uproariously. I access the control rune and switch off the machine just to make sure it doesn¡¯t read my movements as another attack and decide to counter attack while I¡¯m defenseless. I reach inward, grasping my [Heat Manipulation], and focus on the energy flows. I¡¯ll finish the fight another time, after I¡¯ve picked up a sturdier cut of wood to make a better practice spear. For now, I still have a third of a mana pool to spend. Time to get to work.

    As the hours go by, the evening air grows cool on my skin, now clammy with sweat as I work, but I refuse to give in and warm myself up. Venting heat into the surrounding temperature instead of focusing solely on red and blue glass globes arrayed nearby is cheating, after all. I push harder on the manipulation than before, no longer caring as much about precision as about raw speed and power, and the mana gushes forth like a geyser as I wrestle with the energy flows.

    Time ceases to mean anything. I fall inward, losing awareness of my surroundings as my only thought is the task at hand. More and more mana surges into the Skill, unspooling almost out of my control. The heat transfer has completed between the two heat-resistant orbs, but I¡¯ve built up a roiling, raging river of power, and it needs to go somewhere. No longer caring about cheating, I send it into the empty skies above with a whoop and holler, and fall back into the mud, totally spent.

    Gasping for breath, I reach for more mana and find only dregs within my emptied core. My Skill gutters and dies out. I blink, disoriented as I drag myself back to reality. Brushing off the dirt, I stagger to my feet. Warm air buffets me as the gusts of heat fluctuate, and then slowly drift away into the twilight, leaving me even more chilled than before.

    I shoot a glare at the training device. I will defeat it soon, I swear. I will. I refuse to lose to something called a ¡°dummy.¡± After all, if I can¡¯t win, then what does that make me? I can already hear Mikko¡¯s voice laughing in my head at his long list of prepared ¡°dummy¡± jokes, and I shake my head in amusement.

    I stamp around the yard and rub my arms for warmth now that I¡¯m out of mana for my Skill. I can¡¯t very well give Mikko the satisfaction of giving up, can I?

    Now that my team is long gone, and I¡¯m no longer dividing my focus between mana manipulation and facing off against the Iron Lunk, I activate the controls again and increase the difficulty to the fourth level. I¡¯m not quite ready to test myself against the fifth level, but it¡¯s time to put my new training to good use. If I can incorporate more economical, agile footwork, then it should help me out when I spar against people more on my own level.

    I won¡¯t ever reach the heights that Ember or Zviad show are possible, but I never want to be a liability again.

    Determination gives me renewed strength. I dodge the first attack, duck under the Iron Lunk¡¯s follow-up swing, and tag a fast hit against its torso while sliding past a jab. My feet move seemingly on their own accord, sliding around the automaton more fluidly than I ever have before. I evade the strongest blows, block and bind lesser strikes, and ignore feints as though I already know what the training program will do.

    A few more seconds, and I¡¯m through! Maybe I should challenge the fifth level after all, I think, excitement building like a fire in my belly. I add a swagger to my steps, barely leaning out of the way of a vertical slice, and completely fail to react to the vicious diagonal upward blow that follows it.

    The thwack of the Iron Lunk¡¯s training staff catching me in the ribs echoes dully through the clearing. Tumbling head over heels, I roll across the ground, bowled over by the force of the blow. I cry out just as my face hits the ground, and I end up with a mouthful of dirt.

    Thankfully, no one¡¯s around to see my spectacular failure. I get to my feet, groaning and holding my tender ribs. My head is ringing from smacking into the hard-packed earth. Yet, for all the pain, I¡¯m glad that I got hit. Better to cut down my arrogance now, against a training dummy that can¡¯t walk over and kill me while I¡¯m disoriented, than make an overconfident mistake in a real fight against a living opponent.

    I¡¯ll do better next time, I vow as I stagger toward my parent¡¯s house. Tomorrow, though. I¡¯m done for today. Time to soak my tired muscles and prepare for work tomorrow. Still, I can¡¯t keep the smile off my face. The way forward has never seemed so clear.

 Chapter Twenty-One: Magic Seashells

    Ten sonorous bells ring out. Before their echo fully fades, Ezio launches into the day¡¯s lecture. ¡°Class, it¡¯s time to submit your proposals for your research project. Because I am a kind and benevolent taskmaster, I will continue to allow you to work in teams¡ªassuming your proposals have merit. Don¡¯t let me down!¡±

    Melina nudges me with her elbow. ¡°Rakesh has some ideas. Let¡¯s meet with him after class to go over them in more detail.¡±

    ¡°Awesome. I¡¯m glad we¡¯re in this together. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d be able to keep up with all the work on my own. You¡¯re a lifesaver, Mel.¡±

    Melina gives me a flat look. ¡°Nuri. Really? Flattery doesn¡¯t work on me. You just want me to do your project for you.¡±

    ¡°Transparent as clear glass, eh?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d make a poor window, Nuri,¡± Melina sighs.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a saying, Mel.¡±

    She rolls her eyes and doesn¡¯t dignify my teasing with a reply. Class goes by in a flash, and I even manage not to derail the discussion when I bring up the mana-soaking technique as an alternative means of expanding Capacity. Apparently, it¡¯s already well-known to most of my classmates.

    When Ezio releases us to our teams, Melina and I shoot to the back of the room, which we¡¯ve designated our meeting spot since Teuria is too shy to sit up front.

    ¡°What do you think? Should we all go in together for this research project? We have a topic already,¡± I offer by way of explanation.

    Zviad sneers. ¡°Do what you want. I have more important things to do than play around with glass trinkets.¡±

    ¡°You seemed to like your eagle. I¡¯m looking forward to what you do on your own. So, just the five of us?¡±

    Kuuper shrugs. ¡°Got nothing better.¡±

    Eliakim surprises me by shifting over to sit next to Zviad. ¡°Count me out. I need to make a name for myself. No one put you in charge last I checked.¡±

    ¡°Respect. Don¡¯t ride coattails,¡± Zviad says, nodding at Eliakim.

    ¡°Wait. Aren¡¯t you two working together?¡± Melina asks. ¡°I could have sworn that I heard you making plans earlier. That¡¯s not making a name for himself.¡±

    Eliakim¡¯s face flushes. ¡°I don¡¯t owe you an explanation. Stop acting like you¡¯re better than everyone just because you¡¯re older and lucked into a rare Skill you don¡¯t deserve. You wouldn¡¯t even be here if that [Researcher] didn¡¯t have a crush on you.¡±

    ¡°Whoa, she¡¯s not here because of Rakesh,¡± I interrupt, stepping in front of the young student and crossing my arms. Up close, it¡¯s obvious that I¡¯m coming into my strength as a man, while he¡¯s still barely out of puberty, and he shrinks back a bit in nervousness.

    ¡°I invited Melina to join me in class, because she¡¯s smarter than I am and keeps better notes. Her connection with Rakesh is helpful, but don¡¯t insult her intelligence or hard work.¡±

    Melina places a hand on my arm to stop me. She slides me out of the way and smiles at Eliakim. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m flattered that you think he¡¯d be interested. I can assure that our affections lie elsewhere. Good luck on your project. Rakesh will assist with ours, but I¡¯m sure yours will be adequate. Goodbye.¡±

    With that, Melina turns and strides away with as much dignity as she can muster. I glare at Eliakim and Zviad and follow Melina back to our desks in the front. To my surprise, Tueira gets up and rushes after us, with Kuuper right beside her. It¡¯s a bold move to cut ties with Zviad and show that they¡¯re allied with us, but I¡¯ll do my best to make sure it pays off for them.

    ¡°That was awesome!¡± Kuuper says when we sit down. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anyone tell off a noble like that before.

    ¡°I hope they aren¡¯t mad at me,¡± Teuria whispers. Sparks dart from eye to eye, as though she¡¯s about to erupt in lightning, and she covers her face with her hands in embarrassment.

    Melina pats her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re just fine, dear. If you¡¯re worried that they¡¯re looking at you, then we can meet at the library. Rakesh often reserves a study room there.¡±

    I stuff my books and training orbs into my back and stand up. ¡°Perfect. Let¡¯s go to the library. I¡¯ve been meaning to return Marko¡¯s books before I lose them, so this way we¡¯ll be able to take care of both tasks at once.¡±

    The four of us make our way to the library, talking about the class and our future plans. I never noticed how little Teuira talks around Zviad. Without his domineering personality looming over our conversation, she lights up and chatters away.

    Prepared this time for the mind-bending presence of the Library, I steel myself against its influence. The others bear up well, too; no surprise, since Melina meets with Rakesh here on a regular basis.

    Marko glances up in surprise when we enter, and his eyes widen even further when I lift up the primers he checked out for me, waving them in the air in greeting.

    ¡°Done with these already?¡±

    ¡°Yep! I won¡¯t claim mastery, but I understand the concepts now. There¡¯s no point reading the same passage over and over again. I know what I was doing wrong, so now it¡¯s just a matter of practice. Thanks again for trusting me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, uh, no problem. Good to see you again, Nuri! Guess I won¡¯t get to make any money off your late fees,¡± Marko says with a small shrug.

    I slide the books across the counter. ¡°Aha! I knew you had a devious plan. No one in the SCA does anything for free.¡±

    ¡°Worth a try,¡± Marko says. He grins at the rest of the students. ¡°Anyone else need a loan while you¡¯re here? I¡¯m always here if you need me!¡±

    ¡°Shameless,¡± Kuuper mutters.

    ¡°That¡¯s me!¡± Marko boasts, puffing out his chest and jabbing both thumbs at himself. ¡°Are you studying with Ezio? Is he as scary as the rumors make him sound?¡±

    ¡°I like him!¡± Tueira declares. ¡°He¡¯s helped me control my lightning so I don¡¯t hurt anyone. And sometimes he puts cookies in my homework when he gives it back.¡±

    ¡°Wait, how come I don¡¯t get cookies?¡± Kuuper complains. ¡°Is this because I don¡¯t have an exciting aspect?¡±

    ¡°Well, I only get a cookie for perfect scores,¡± Teuira says. She chews on her lip, looking at Kuuper for a long moment. ¡°Maybe you just don¡¯t get perfect scores?¡±

    ¡°Ouch,¡± Kuuper says, clapping his hand over his heart and staggering back as though shot. ¡°And here I thought you were the nicest student in our group.¡±

    Tueira giggles at Kuuper¡¯s antics, which makes me smile. I didn¡¯t realize how withdrawn she acted with Zviad around. Maybe it¡¯s really for the best that he and Eliakim are doing their own project without us.

    ¡°Is Rakesh here?¡± Melina asks.

    ¡°Yep. Study room three today.¡±

    We thank Marko and follow Melina to a section of the library I¡¯ve never seen. Unlike the tall shelves stuffed full of esoteric writing, the study rooms are in a separate wing, with windows overlooking the commons. Each room is closed off to afford some privacy, but there¡¯s sunlight streaming through the windows when we enter room three.¡±

    ¡°Melina! You made it,¡± Rakesh says, standing up and bowing when we show up. He¡¯s lanky and earnest, the very picture of a young, easily-distracted [Mage]. I know he¡¯s a scholar of sorts, not a pure magic practitioner, but he fits the absent-minded stereotype.

    ¡°I hope we¡¯re not late. We came as soon as class finished,¡± I say. ¡°Let me introduce the students with us.¡±

    Rakesh rakes his fingers through his flowing hair and smiles awkwardly. ¡°Ah, I already know them. You forget that I am an assistant, in addition to my graduate studies. Master Ezio makes me grade their papers and meet with them for tutoring if he¡¯s otherwise engaged.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Excellent. That speeds things up,¡± I say, suddenly feeling like I¡¯m on the outside; not only do they know each other already, but they actually belong here. I¡¯m just an overly-ambitious crafter.

    Six padded chairs fill out the study space, surrounding a rectangular table in the center of the room. I pull out a chair and take a seat, hoping no one notices my embarrassment.

    ¡°Well. If everyone¡¯s here, then let¡¯s begin,¡± Rakesh announces. He pulls out a packet of papers from within his flowing black robes, looking inordinately happy about the reading in front of us. Going over details is probably exciting for him. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking through the archives for any information I can find on glass. It¡¯s a surprisingly overlooked subject. Versatile medium, but underrepresented in scholarly studies.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t just take your research,¡± Kuuper says, sinking down in his seat. He gulps. ¡°I don¡¯t have as much backing as most students here. I can¡¯t afford to get caught cheating.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯ll have to do your own research. I simply have a lead for you. Besides, Master Ezio came up with the idea. He got waylaid by a colleague a few weeks ago who has been studying and cataloging the differences between saltwater and freshwater crustaceans and shellfish. Fascinating developments, but more in the realm of [Biology] than mana and the Foundations of scholarship.¡±

    Melina raises her eyebrows, mirroring the skepticism I feel. ¡°You want us to look at crustaceans?¡±

    ¡°Did you at least bring us crab legs?¡± I tease.

    ¡°I have something better,¡± Rakesh declares triumphantly. ¡°Read about his findings. I believe the salient portions to us can be found on page thirty-seven.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m struggling to see the connection between crustaceans, glass, and mana. Could you summarize it for us, Mel?¡± I ask, unsure what exactly I¡¯ve gotten myself into.

    Melina dutifully takes the packet. She taps on the top of the document with her forefinger and smiles. ¡°One moment. I¡¯ll speed-read with my temporal field and give you an overview.¡±

    Melina flips through the numbered pages in a blur as her magic takes hold, much to my delight. I¡¯ve never been so grateful to have a teammate.

    ¡°You¡¯re so awesome,¡± Teuria squeals.

    Kuuper raises his hand. He looks back and forth between me and Melina for a moment before I realize that he¡¯s waiting for one of us to call on him, so I ask what¡¯s on his mind. ¡°Well, what am I supposed to bring to this project? It sounds like you have experts already. I¡¯m just a tagalong.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find plenty for everyone,¡± I say, although I¡¯ve never done anything like this before. ¡°If working in the studio is any indication, there¡¯s always more work than people when a big project comes through. Many hands lighten the load.¡±

    ¡°Well said,¡± Rakesh chimes in. ¡°We¡¯ll find a role for everyone. I¡¯m always happy to help, too, if you¡¯re stuck.¡±

    ¡°All right. This is a treatise on nacre, also known as mother of pearl. It¡¯s about how the material is exceptionally strong for its density, and the secret is found in layering, more or less. It¡¯s built with small geometric shapes, almost like a honeycomb.¡±

    I have an inkling where Rakesh is going, but I prefer to get confirmation rather than head in the wrong direction. ¡°Does it apply to mana sensing and manipulation? I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t see the correlation.¡±

    Rakesh shakes his head. ¡°Not precisely, but you¡¯re thinking too narrowly. Foundations is more than mana¡ªit¡¯s about how to think in a scholarly fashion. Sure, mana is a big part of it, but the world is more than Classes and Skills. Tell me, what do you know about composite materials vis-a-vis glass?¡±

    I lift my head, intrigued as I put the pieces together. ¡°Oh, you have an idea how to make better glass?¡±

    ¡°More or less. Melina, what do you think?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s got incredible potential. I¡¯m not sure how we¡¯d gain such fine control over the glass on a fundamental level, however. I have [Compositional Analysis], but nothing for compositional formation. But glass that¡¯s able to withstand kinetic impact? That could make great armor.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll bet you could earn a Skill like that with practice, Mel. Maybe there¡¯s some sort of [Glass Manipulation] line just like my [Heat Manipulation]? I used to think working with glass was useless compared with magic, but it¡¯s the same kind of research and fundamentals. It¡¯s just a different medium. Is that what you were getting at, Rakesh?¡±

    Rakesh¡¯s dark brown eyes light up. ¡°Exactly! Remember: the medium changes, but the core principles do not¡ªeverything¡¯s built on the same foundations. Glass is ancillary, although it is your particular path to power.¡±

    I scratch my jaw, considering his insightful words. ¡°It¡¯s a rare path, but Mel and I will take it as far as it can go. I suppose that¡¯s why a master [Artificer] is usually known for mana-imbuing. Craftsmanship is important, but only insofar as it¡¯s the vehicle to allow magic to flourish.¡±

    Rakesh surprises me by clapping. ¡°Marvelous phrasing, Nuri! I couldn¡¯t have put that better myself. There¡¯s hope for your academic career yet.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯m not wasting a second Class on scholarship. Not a chance.¡±

    Rakesh waves me off. ¡°Not all things in life are Classes and Skills, just as not all magic is fueled by mana. They¡¯re simply predominant, and therefore the subject matter studied first. No sense in trying to fly before you can walk.¡±

    ¡°In my case, maybe you should say before I can even crawl,¡± I say with a laugh. ¡°That¡¯s why we need you, Kuuper. You¡¯ve got fundamentals I don¡¯t. We have access to a glass studio that you don¡¯t. Together, we¡¯re a good team.¡±

    ¡°What about me?¡± Tueira asks. She glances around with her big, bright blue eyes that flash with lightning, as though she¡¯s worried that she¡¯ll be left out.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Did you know glass is an amazing insulator against lightning?¡± I say, leaning forward with my elbows on the table. I cup my chin in my hand and offer my most winning smile. ¡°How would you like to help us design something new? With your lightning, we could test all sorts of applications without having to wait for a storm.¡±

    ¡°Really? That sounds great!¡±

    Melina folds up the papers. ¡°Then it¡¯s settled. We¡¯d love to have you two join us. Let¡¯s head down to the studio and get started.¡±

    Rakesh clasps his hands together in front of him and bows in his seat. ¡°Glad I could be of assistance. Melina, Nuri, I¡¯ll keep you apprised on future findings related to glass. Good luck!¡±

    =+=

    Life in the glassworks bustles around me with a familiar rhythm. Since Melina and I have a project to research, we¡¯re allowed to requisition a workbench. Completing a new mana pattern on my last visit with Ezio was satisfying, and it¡¯s already paying off. Even Ember congratulated me, although she immediately started teasing me by asking how long it will take until I pay her back by learning to mana imbue.

    Lionel gives me a thumbs-up when he saunters in a few minutes after the bell announcing the start of the morning shift. He shrugs off the [Foreman]¡¯s admonishments and joins me at the workbench, whistling and drawing way too much attention. ¡°Look at you, Nuri! A bigshot now, installed at the prestigious workbench number one.¡±

    Several of the more tenured workers scowl at me, and I can¡¯t really blame them. I still haven¡¯t shed my [Assistant] Class prefix, and I¡¯m gone half the day twice a week. Undaunted, I jog over to the crucible to grab a scoop of molten glass. I¡¯m rolling out thin sheets today, so I need a big batch to keep up with the sheer volume of material required.

    ¡°You brought the crew back!¡± Avelina exclaims as she bustles up from our right. She plops down on a stool next to the workbench to greet me as I run back from the crucible.

    ¡°Hi, Aunt Ava!¡± Teuria says, waving at Avelina with a big grin. Her shyness seems to have disappeared entirely now that Zviad is gone.

    ¡°Ezio is even more demanding than Ember, but he¡¯s smart,¡± I say instead of offering a proper greeting. I¡¯m too focused to spare any niceties, since I¡¯m jogging with a massive metal shovel. It looks like an oversized spoon instead of the usual rod that I wield for smaller pieces. As soon as I draw near enough to the workbench, I spin the shovel and slap the glowing orange blob of glass inside onto the metal slab on top of the workbench.

    Another two [Assistants] run up behind me with their own scoops, and soon a mound of molten glass gleams on the workstation.

    ¡°Are you sure we need that much?¡± Kuuper asks. He¡¯s standing to the side in a leather apron, preparing to write down notes. Usually, that¡¯s Melina¡¯s job, but she¡¯s assisting me with the work more directly.

    ¡°We¡¯ll make multiple prototypes,¡± I explain. ¡°Bet you didn¡¯t think you¡¯d end up back here so soon, huh?¡±

    ¡°I admit, it¡¯s growing on me. My family would kill me if I dropped out of the Academy to become a crafter, though.¡±

    Melina nods along, although her eyes linger on the notepad. I wonder if she feels like he replaced her role on the team. If so, she doesn¡¯t show it, smiling graciously at our classmate. ¡°No worries. We won¡¯t kidnap you and force you to make cups. How about a [Researcher], or maybe an [Inventor]?¡±

    Kuuper smiles. ¡°That might work.¡±

    I snatch up a two-pronged fork and turn the clump of glass, marveling at how I¡¯ve grown stronger thanks to exercising with Ember and Mikko. The huge clump of amalgamated glass is heavier than a similar chunk of concrete, thanks to the quasi-magical materials we added as flux. My tools look like a kitchen ladle and serving fork for a giant, but I¡¯m able to swing them around with relative ease now.

    Strong body, strong mind, as Mikko likes to say, although I always make fun of him that it¡¯s clearly not working in his case.

    ¡°Make yourself useful if you¡¯re taking up space,¡± I tease Avelina, nudging her boot with my toe and earning a dirty look in return. ¡°I need to roll the glass out into sheets; this is just the first one of the day.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, can you help us, Aunt Ava?¡±

    Avelina usually doesn¡¯t work with anyone but Melina, but she obliges Tueira. I wonder if it¡¯s because they both have strongly-aspected elemental mana. That reminds me; I should ask Ezio if he has any suggestions for working with fire magic.

    Our [Flameworker] summons forth a flame to keep the glass at the temperature I prefer while I wheel over the heavy assembly of metal rollers. I spin a winch on the side, narrowing the gap between the metal rollers until a single piece of paper will barely fit between them.

    ¡°Kuuper, how thick are we testing first?¡±

    My glassmate refers to his notes. He¡¯s prepped a series of tests and control groups so that we have a baseline for performance. ¡°Eighth of an inch first.¡±

    ¡°Got it.¡± Once the roller is eventually calibrated to specification, I spread out the clumped mound of glowing glass, stretching it almost like dough until I¡¯m satisfied with its dimensions. I feed the edge of the molten glass between the rollers, pressing the red-orange mixture flat onto a waiting metal tray.

    ¡°Can you keep this malleable? I¡¯ve gotta get the next batch,¡± I call over my shoulder as I jog back to the crucible. Avelina scrunches up her nose, but to my surprise, she keeps working the flame, following my request without any complaint. Maybe working with a young apprentice is the key.

    I wave away the heat from in front of my face, reducing the warping effect in the air so I can see the furnace more clearly. Gray metal arches converge into a point, all reaching toward the top of the ceiling. Several crucibles in a row form the metallic structure of the furnace. I grab another of the scoops, which are made from some sort of special alloy designed to resist the extreme heats in this part of the studio, and ferry another load back to my workbench.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take back over with [Heat Manipulation] in a moment. Could you keep this new batch warm while I get more? I appreciate your help.¡±

    ¡°Curious what you¡¯re making. Ember¡¯s eyes bugged out when she saw the order you put in; that¡¯s a lot of glass for a school project. My boring sister won¡¯t tell me.¡±

    I retrieve another two scoops and add them to the mix, stirring up the batch and using my Skill to check the heat and consistency of the glass before judging the mixture ready to roll out. The first sheet I¡¯ve moved to a cooling rack, where it¡¯s annealing quickly thanks to Melina, who¡¯s overseeing the operations while I get more glass.

    I pause for a moment, keeping the heat steady with deft mana manipulation. It¡¯s so much easier now than ever before. Ezio¡¯s puzzles have helped me leap forward with my control. ¡°I¡¯m always happy to have your help, Ava, but don¡¯t you have your own orders to work on? I don¡¯t want Ember to get on my case about distracting you.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re a team. That means Mel doesn¡¯t get to have fun without me,¡± Avelina replies, her face completely impassive.

    ¡°Mel doesn¡¯t look like she¡¯s having fun.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re bad at reading people, Nuri. Clearly, this is her favorite part of the day. She¡¯s having the time of my life. With me. Her twin. And with our friend, who¡¯s clearly got some stories to tell.¡± Avelina coughs, prompting me to speak. Fishing for information isn¡¯t her game. She¡¯s about as subtle as a fireball to the face.

    I meet Melina¡¯s eyes and smirk, not saying anything while I press the next batch of glass flat between the rollers, letting Avelina grow anxious. She remains outwardly cool and collected, but I know from past experience that it¡¯s a brittle facade. Just like glass, she looks impressive, but she will always crack under real pressure.

    ¡°Nuri! Stop being mean,¡± Avelina chides me, kicking me in the shins as though there¡¯s no hypocrisy in her actions.

    ¡°Tueira will tell you all about our project,¡± I promise. ¡°Mel, could you help me anneal the next sheet?¡±

    Melina lifts away the second sheet, holding it firmly in place with her trademark [Lesser Object Manipulation] Skill. She examines the thin glass with a faint frown, then nods and adds it alongside the first sheet for combination treatment later with her Skills [In the Blink of an Eye] and [Flawless Annealing].

    ¡°Thanks. We can cool all the sheets at once.¡± I turn to Kuuper. ¡°Next measurement?¡±

    ¡°Sixteenth inch. Then we try a new batch.¡±

    ¡°Got it! Tueira, can you turn the dials until it reads sixteenth of an inch? Kuuper, grab a couple [Assistants] and have them roll out the next sheets while we work on composition. You don¡¯t need to know any glassmaking to tell them what to do. Linas, come with me. I need your help to figure out which flux we¡¯re adding to the next batch. Ava, did your sister tell you about the mana control test? Worst pain of my life.¡±

    ¡°Intriguing. I always assumed that the worst pain was when I singed your eyebrows off when I first learned [Flametouch],¡± Avelina says, smirking.

    ¡°That¡¯s still second,¡± I hasten to assure her, wincing at the traumatizing memory. ¡°But I¡¯ve never experienced anything that claws and burns at my insides like a mana control test. It¡¯s the most fiendish invention known to mankind. If I ever meet the inventor, why, I¡¯ll shake his hand and thank him for developing such a clever contraption. And then I¡¯ll punch him in the face and call him a blight upon humanity.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a kindred spirit!¡± Avelina says cheerfully as she marches across the shop next to me. ¡°I wanna try it. I¡¯ll bet the students at the academy are all fancy and rich. Melina is always going on about the nobles there. Ohh, and did you meet anyone cute yet?¡±

    ¡°Ava, seriously? They¡¯re all way younger than I am,¡± I say, rolling my eyes.

    ¡°I don¡¯t mean in the intro class! The grad students are older than Mel. Can¡¯t you find someone dreamy?¡±

    I give her a flat stare. ¡°Let¡¯s just stick to the mana control test. Trust me, you don¡¯t want to try it. Taking in foreign mana is like fire ants marching up your arm, holding a parade inside your stomach, and then dancing their way out your other arm while kicking you the entire time. It¡¯s not fun. But I¡¯m learning a lot about how Skills work.¡±

    Avelina leans in conspiratorially, her eyes alight with a spark of fire mana. ¡°Did you learn a new Skill? Tell me you at least got to experience the glorious sensation of burning things with fire mana!¡±

    I laugh at Avelina¡¯s excitement about fire as I drag open the heavy sliding door to the glass storehouse. We keep the storage room well insulated in case of an accidental fire in the hot shop; if the glass reserves melted, we¡¯d all be in big trouble.

    ¡°No new Skills. I¡¯m doomed to an eternity of mediocrity. And I¡¯m unaspected, so no fire mana for me. Besides, Ezio won¡¯t let me play with any exciting mana aspects. It¡¯s all artificial and academic strands right now while we work on control.¡±

    A bloom of white flame appears over her hands. ¡°I¡¯ll bet he listens if I have a little chat with him, if you catch my meaning. Just say the word, Nuri!¡±

    Melina slaps her sister¡¯s hand, dousing the flame. ¡°Door¡¯s open, you idiot! No fire in the glass storeroom. You know better.¡±

    We all glance around, but Ember isn¡¯t in sight. We¡¯re safe from a severe scolding, unless one of the other workers rats us out. Avelina doesn¡¯t have the good graces to appear ashamed, but I know that Ember will let her have it if she finds out.

    Inside the glass storehouse, I shut the door behind us and run my hand over a raised rune enchanted for mana-powered light, so that we can see the various glass chips, chemicals, and flux in the storage room. Only magical illumination is allowed near the glass as a safety measure¡ªa rule that Avelina knows as well as any of us. She¡¯s fortunate we¡¯re not getting kicked out for the day, or docked pay for her thoughtlessness.

    I rummage through the bins, searching for the right ingredients for a flexible acrylic. The first bin holds a smattering of gray and black mottled rocks, but I¡¯m not familiar enough with the material to know if it will suit. ¡°Melina, can you test these with your composition Skill? They don¡¯t seem to have the right properties, but I can¡¯t confirm.¡±

    ¡°What are you looking for? Kuuper wrote out the list, but I don¡¯t recall which batch we¡¯re testing second.¡±

    ¡°I need something soft and flexible, preferably almost like putty after it anneals. I¡¯m going to sandwich it between the other sheets, and then re-heat and compress the entire thing. I might need an actual press for that, unless you¡¯ve gone and gotten the upgraded version of [Object Manipulation] in the last five minutes.¡±

    Avelina glances between us. ¡°Intriguing. What exactly are you planning on doing with that particular combination, Nuri? It¡¯s a lot of work for a flat bit of glass. You¡¯re usually more, um, fanciful with your artwork.¡±

    I snicker at Avelina¡¯s second attempt at subtlety. ¡°Should I feel insulted? I think I should feel insulted.¡±

    ¡°Definitely,¡± Melina chimes in. ¡°Whenever Ava pauses like that before searching for the right word, she¡¯s trying to hide that she thinks you¡¯re weird or stupid.¡±

    ¡°Mel! That¡¯s not true. I don¡¯t look down on Nuri. He¡¯s a bright, talented [Glassworker]. I¡¯d say he¡¯s easily a top-twenty crafter in the studio.¡±

    ¡°Wow. Thanks,¡± I say, wincing.

    ¡°What! I¡¯m giving you a compliment.¡±

    Melina laughs melodiously. ¡°Ava, we only have eighteen full-time workers. The rest are assistants.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Um. You¡¯re top, uh¡ªyou know what? You¡¯re great. Let¡¯s leave it at that.¡±

    I snicker at the distressed look on Avelina¡¯s face. ¡°It¡¯s a good question. I¡¯m not so fragile that I¡¯ll shatter if you bump me. And to address your question, the answer is found in ''the infinite myriad of mysterious possibilities in seashell structures.¡¯¡±

    Avelina looks at me like I¡¯ve sprouted a second head. ¡°I dunno what it means, either. Ask Mel about the ridiculous research paper she read. I only skimmed the introduction, but it was over the top, let me tell you.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you¡¯re studying now?¡±

    I sort through another basket of flux, discarding it like all the rest, and nod. ¡°We¡¯re trying to copy the properties of mother of pearl. We¡¯ll have to show you the research paper sometime. Turns out that Ezio is the most normal of his peers. The rest of the Silaraon City Academy? Downright weird.¡±

    ¡°Sounds pretty! But why?¡± Ava asks.

    ¡°Impact-resistance. Ezio speculates that with only a thin sheet of the right compounds, we can absorb kinetic force with roughly the same efficiency as basic enchanted armor. This way is likely a bit more expensive to prototype, but glassmaking is also far more accessible for non-[Enchanters]. Any of us could theoretically make it once we find the right materials and properties.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s expensive, then why would a noble choose it over an enchanted set?¡± Avelina asks, butting in with a frown.

    Mel purses her lips, humming thoughtfully to herself. ¡°That¡¯s a great question. We¡¯re probably years out from any meaningful production capabilities, but that¡¯s how research goes. Slow, small steps.¡±

    I nod eagerly. ¡°Exactly. Future versions will help us discover more inexpensive materials. Anyone with glass skills will be able to copy us, but enhancements require a specific Class and mana Skills. We could license it out to other studios and eventually streamline the process. We¡¯ll see how it turns out.¡±

    Avelina pokes me in the ribs. ¡°You sold me. I want a suit of armor! I¡¯ll look like a Hero of Densmore when you¡¯re done.¡±

    ¡°Sure, you can commission one after Ezio and I are done experimenting on the ideal glass composition. I¡¯ll even give you a twenty-five percent discount for helping me,¡± I reply, savoring her reproachful glare.

    ¡°You¡¯re as bad as Ember. As tight-fisted as they come,¡± Avelina pouts. ¡°Mel, c¡¯mon, give me a good deal. We¡¯re sisters!¡±

    ¡°Nope. It¡¯s good business practice,¡± her twin retorts. ¡°We¡¯re doing the research, so we¡¯ll hold the rights.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m helping,¡± Avelina points out. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t that be worth a free suit of armor?¡±

    ¡°You can invest in our scheme once we¡¯re closer to actually making something.¡± I scratch the back of my head awkwardly. ¡°This is day one. We don¡¯t have any plans yet. I won¡¯t say no to money, but we¡¯ll need to talk with Ezio about a plan. He¡¯s smart, and he has surprisingly good contacts around the country.¡±

    ¡°Now, we¡¯re wasting time. Let¡¯s just keep looking for the things we need.¡± I fumble with a folded piece of paper in my pocket, and hand it over to Melina. ¡°Forgot about this. Here¡¯s the list of potential materials that Kuuper put together. He¡¯s pretty good at looking up information in the library. This should work for our trial run. Hm. I don¡¯t really see any matches for any of the chips available in the storehouse. Help me check the order lists to see if we have any better options coming in with future shipments..¡±

    ¡°Do you have the budget for this?¡± Avelina asks, scanning the list. ¡°Or does the SCA pay students? Sign me up if that¡¯s the case!¡±

    ¡°Rakesh is sharing a portion of his graduate student stipend,¡± Melina explains. ¡°It¡¯s held in escrow by Ezio¡¯s cousin, who happens to be a [Merchant]. We can fill our orders through him, and he¡¯ll take care of the rest.¡±

    Avelina snorts. ¡°You trust him not to rip you off?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, his cousin has a mana-binding Skill. [Trustworthy Transactions]. Better than using the bank and paying a fee,¡± I say.

    ¡°And you know this because Ezio told you?¡± Avelina asks, wrinkling up her nose as her natural skepticism comes through.

    I shake my head at her, tutting as though I¡¯m disappointed. ¡°So suspicious. Do you really think I¡¯m that dumb?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she shoots back.

    I stick out my tongue at her. ¡°I checked the Silaraon city registries. He¡¯s certified, so I¡¯m all set. Seriously, did you think Melina would get suckered in by a scam?¡±

    Avelina mimes wiping away tears. ¡°It¡¯s like he¡¯s growing up right before our eyes. Our little Nuri! Who¡¯d have thought?¡±

    ¡°Your discount is plummeting by the moment.¡±

    ¡°Twenty percent is fine. I¡¯m rich, since I don¡¯t waste my money on hitting big metal toys in the backyard like you. I can get two suits of armor if I feel like it,¡± Avelina says airily.

    ¡°Oh? In that case, it sounds like you¡¯re gonna pay extra for the privilege of becoming an early adopter.¡±

    ¡°At this rate, there won¡¯t be anything to adopt,¡± Melina points out. ¡°Let¡¯s get that order list finalized, or you won¡¯t have a product to sell.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Friends. Where would I be without you?¡±

    ¡°Probably drunk in a ditch again,¡± Avelina cackles, poking me in the ribs again.

    I strike a pose, my right hand over my heart, and attempt to look affronted. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that I¡¯m moving up in the world, thanks to my overflowing talent and natural charm. I won¡¯t listen to your baseless accusations!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not baseless if it¡¯s already happened,¡± Melina interjects. ¡°In your defense, that was a very potent mulled wine at the lamp lighting festival. I felt tipsy, and you know I barely touched the stuff. Besides, Ava does like to sensationalize one-time events.¡±

    ¡°Like your proclivity for mind-magic-mushrooms?¡± I reply innocently. ¡°Can¡¯t forget that!¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Melina says with a nod. Then her expression darkens like rolling storm clouds on a hot summer day. ¡°Hey, wait a minute! I thought you were on my side!¡±

 Chapter Twenty-Two: Living Legend

    Ezio no longer needs to call us to order by now. He simply launches into his lecture as soon as the tenth bell rings, regardless of whether or not we¡¯re prepared. I sit up, ready to take notes, as he talks about the upcoming research projects.

    ¡°I¡¯ve had the chance to review the research proposals. Most of you have excellent ideas. You¡¯re looking into solid scholarship or new fields of magic, and I applaud your instincts. A few of you will need to meet with me during office hours to discuss more suitable proposals. Never fear, however; I¡¯m committed to seeing you all succeed. I promise that I will help you.¡±

    Melina and I glance at each other at the same time. Neither of us are likely in danger, but it¡¯s still an unsettling thought that our proposal might not be good enough. We¡¯re not even taking the class for credit, I remind myself, which helps me calm down.

    ¡°Early on, three proposals stand out. If yours is not on this list, strive to do better,¡± Ezio says. He¡¯s looking straight at me while he announces the favored projects, and I just know that I¡¯ll be singled out again. He seems to like making me a target so that the younger students have something to shoot for.

    ¡°Aditi, well done with looking into increasing mana density for upgraded infusion stations. If you can bring your theory to fruition, you¡¯ll be hailed all across the city. Top marks! Zviad, your preliminary thoughts on mana-empowerment for physical combat are intriguing and well laid out. Lastly, our crafting duo: Nuri, you and Melina are trailblazing in analyzing organic sources and improving material sciences research. Exceptional promise if you can create glass armor.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmur, but no one else responded to Ezio¡¯s praise, so I immediately feel silly. I keep showing my lack of familiarity with the Academy setting.

    Ezio saves me from feeling too embarrassed by jumping into the next topic. ¡°Today, we have an exciting change in our syllabus. I know, I know: you¡¯re heartbroken that we¡¯ll have to postpone looking over research methods as scheduled. We¡¯ll get there. My graduate assistant, Rakesh, will show you the power of his Class. He¡¯s an absolute genius at correlating information and tracking down obscure facts. Mark down his presentation time on your calendars.¡±

    While the polite laughter dies down, Ezio sketches out a spiraling maze on the slate wall behind him. ¡°This morning, we¡¯ll look at Rifts. Show of hands: how many of you have ever been in a Rift before?¡±

    I snort, expecting more laughter from the students. Instead, there¡¯s a deathly silence that hangs over the class like a gray, sullen pallor. Curious if anyone has been in a Rift, I turn to look over my shoulder. Sitting in the front row is terrible for spying on other students.

    One hand goes up halfway. Zara, the young woman who apprenticed with the military, is uncharacteristically chewing on her lip. Her hand flutters, and she pulls it back down as though she thinks better of making such a bold claim.

    ¡°Ah, let me guess,¡± Ezio says, nodding toward Zara. ¡°As part of your training, you took a few steps into a lesser Rift and then beat a hasty retreat?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sir. That was enough for me.¡±

    ¡°I imagine so!¡± Ezio clasps his hands behind his back. He looks more solemn than usual. There¡¯s no mischievous glint in his eyes or wry smile on his face. ¡°I¡¯ve been in two Rifts, and the second barely counts. I entered just long enough to take a reading with a modified mana gauge as part of my studies into artificial aspects. That¡¯s enough to last me a lifetime.¡±

    I feel a bit of sympathy for Zara. She¡¯s so young, despite her bluster, and I can¡¯t imagine having to deal with a Rift at her age. Or at mine; I¡¯m not that much older. Facing the prospect of monsters pouring forth, ready to devour me, makes me shiver. I liked feeling like a hero after I helped drive off the jaguar, but the fight itself was terrifying.

    ¡°At least our class doesn¡¯t take field trips,¡± Ezio quips. ¡°Our main focus will be methods of magical study, as well as the economy of Rifts. While not many brave their depths, the Rifts have likely contributed more to our way of life and our knowledge of magic than anything else we might look at in this course.¡±

    That surprises me. I¡¯ve always thought of the Rifts as sources of chaos and danger. I know they¡¯re full of resources, and it¡¯s fun to dream of finding some incredible treasure trove, but I never realized that they were important academically. I jot down a reminder to talk with Ezio about it more later. I don¡¯t want to distract the class with my curiosity; people already give me enough looks as it is.

    ¡°On the board behind me, you¡¯ll see a variety of the most typical layouts for Rifts. Since I¡¯m fond of challenging students to rise to the occasion, I¡¯ll offer prizes for anyone who can tell me which one is which.¡±

    ¡°No cookies for me,¡± I whisper to Melina. She giggles, caught off guard, then shoots me a side-eyed glare. I blink back innocently. Interrupting class drives her crazy, but I can¡¯t help but tease her sometimes. She takes studying too seriously, considering that we aren¡¯t getting any credit and aren¡¯t joining the SCA.

    ¡°Zara, which type of Rift were you in for training?¡± Ezio asks when no one volunteers an answer.

    ¡°We weren¡¯t told. I¡ªI arrived in a blindfold,¡± Zara says quietly. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m supposed to talk about it.¡±

    ¡°Very well. For the sake of time, we¡¯ll move on. There are two main categories of Rifts, at least for the purposes of this course: wild and architected.¡±

    My mind spins as I consider the implications of what Ezio¡¯s implying. My hand goes up before I realize what I¡¯ve done, but Ezio¡¯s sharp eyes don¡¯t miss the movement, and he calls on me while my thoughts are still half-formed. I pull my thoughts together as quickly as I can. ¡°If I understand you correctly, are you implying that Rifts can be built as well as occurring naturally?¡±

    ¡°Correct, Nuri.¡±

    I chew on that for a minute. ¡°Then why don¡¯t we build safe Rifts all over the country? We could vastly increase mana density!¡±

    Zviad snorts so derisively the entire class can hear it. I whip around in my seat to stare at him. What¡¯s his problem?

    ¡°Something to add, Zviad?¡± Ezio asks.

    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as a safe Rift. We can add structures to them, try to tame them, and use them for training, but they¡¯re never predictable. Trying to punch open new holes in the fabric of reality sounds like a great way to unravel the whole thing.¡±

    ¡°True enough. If we had a way to predict Rift openings more specifically, other than a general sense of time and place, or if we knew when they¡¯d disgorge a horde of monsters, then life would be much safer. Wild Rifts are inherently unstable, but [Dimensional Mages] can and have created stable versions¡ªthey¡¯re immensely difficult to manage, however.

    ¡°Opening a hole is dangerous, as you said. Fixing one that¡¯s open is much easier. We also build inside Rifts and improve their stability. That is usually what¡¯s meant by an architected Rift; to my knowledge we haven¡¯t seen a fully artificial Rift in Densmore in over a century.¡±

    Ezio taps the slate wall behind him with his pen of pure, crystallized mana, emphasizing the images he sketched of a spiraling maze. ¡°Wild or architected?¡± he asks again in a loud voice amplified by an artifact.

    ¡°Architected,¡± Zviad calls out.

    ¡°Correct,¡± Ezio replies.

    ¡°Always am,¡± Zviad boasts. ¡°But why are we discussing Rifts today? They¡¯re dangerous. That¡¯s all anyone here needs to know. This is an odd topic for a Foundations course. No one in here will ever delve a Rift. No one.¡±

    Ezio frowns. ¡°Zviad, you¡¯re doing a research paper on mana as a means of enhancing physical combat. I thought that you¡¯d be delighted to talk about the greatest proving grounds of our times: Rifts.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re dangerous. You shouldn¡¯t mess with them,¡± Zviad retorts, sticking to his talking point from earlier. He¡¯s made it abundantly clear that he thinks we¡¯re wasting time.

    ¡°Much of our understanding of magic comes from studying Rifts,¡± Ezio reminds us. ¡°We discovered wards due to finding runes etched into Rifts, for example.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s hearsay! We¡¯ve always had wards and enchantments,¡± Zviad says. ¡°Making it sound like we didn¡¯t know anything before stumbling into those death traps is insulting. We¡¯re a nation of [Mages] and [Soldiers]. We don¡¯t need dangerous magic to teach us how to use our own Classes and Skills.¡±

    ¡°Knowledge is never a waste of time,¡± Ezio says, his tone growing more clipped. ¡°Even if you¡¯re the most educated person in the world, you still won¡¯t know everything. Some Rifts are crude, that¡¯s true. But we¡¯ve learned more about mana manipulation from Rifts than anything else. Reviewing them doesn¡¯t hurt.¡±

    ¡°Disagree. This is boring me to tears. That¡¯s a crime in itself,¡± Zviad says, getting bolder and more belligerent the longer the conversation drags on. He¡¯s usually respectful to Ezio, even if he treats the rest of us arrogantly, but today¡¯s lecture seems to have struck a nerve.

    What¡¯s his problem?

    ¡°Perhaps you¡¯d like to lead the discussion on Rifts?¡± Ezio asks. His voice is mild, but there¡¯s a dangerous glint in his eyes. ¡°If it¡¯s boring, then you¡¯ll have only yourself to blame.¡±

    Zviad¡¯s tight-lipped scowl intensifies even further. I didn¡¯t know it was possible for him to look more miserable than he already is, but he proves me wrong. He stalks to the front, picks up an enchanted pen, and steps up to the board. ¡°Could do this in my sleep. What¡¯s the point, old man?¡±

    Next to me, Melina clicks her tongue. Mild-mannered as she is, she still has limits. Now she¡¯s glaring at Zviad for his rudeness, too. Something¡¯s definitely gotten him riled up.

    Ezio nods at Zviad. ¡°Then, please, by all means, show us what a Labyrinth looks like in a recursive circular Rift.¡±

    Zviad hesitates.

    ¡°An architected variety, clearly.¡±

    ¡°L-labyrinths aren¡¯t accepted as architected. Only Rifts we¡¯ve stabilized are architected. You shouldn¡¯t be spreading such nonsense,¡± Zviad says, but his voice wavers. Now that he¡¯s up front, he seems less sure of himself.

    ¡°Why not? The Abyssal Monarchs made them. They¡¯re extraordinarily stable. I can tell you for a fact that their skill with interdimensional construction is more advanced than ours. ¡±

    ¡°Monsters don¡¯t create anything,¡± Zviad sneers, seeming to find his footing again.

    ¡°Not monsters,¡± Ezio corrects. ¡°The truth of the so-called Wraiths is far worse. Our best [Scholars] and [Xenobiologists] have concluded that the creatures we popularly term as Wraiths are beings of extreme order and cold rationality. Far from crazed beasts, they¡¯re clear-minded and singular in their purpose: creating order out of chaos. And seizing control of our realms is key to their grand designs.¡±

    ¡°Then why do they attack people on sight?¡± Zviad demands.

    Ezio stares down Zviad. ¡°Do you leave a venomous snake alive inside your house?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not snakes. That¡¯s not the same thing,¡± Zviad protests, his face growing even stormier .

    ¡°Why not? Are you so certain that you¡¯re the superior life form?¡± Ezio asks, warming to his lecture. ¡°Wraiths likely have a more advanced understanding of energy than we do.¡±

    ¡°According to the [Mage] guild, they¡¯re vicious, antagonistic, and should be considered a high-Silver threat in small packs. If any of their Lords or Captains are around, then it¡¯s Gold ranked or even a high-Gold threat by itself, with an entire squadron rated at low Platinum,¡± Zviad shoots back. ¡°They try to kill us on sight. We return the favor.¡±

    Ezio shakes his head. ¡°Yet they behave differently inside the Rifts, when operating with proper levels of energy. Outside, when exploring, they seem to suffocate in our realm.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please. The [Mages] guild thoroughly debunked that report. Can you list one sanctioned [Researcher] who contributed to that report?¡±

    Ezio¡¯s smile grows brittle. ¡°Verifying sources is wise. I am certainly not infallible or above questioning. You will do well to remember that this is my class, however, not yours.¡±

    Zviad pauses. His brows knit together. ¡°You said I should teach the class. Why, if you¡¯re just going to take over?¡±

    ¡°Intellectual humility is an admirable trait. You should try it sometime,¡± Ezio says.

    That shuts up Zviad.

    ¡°When you spew nonsense, and show no willingness to learn, then you lose the privilege of displaying what you know,¡± Ezio continues. ¡°I agree we should vet information and ensure we are as accurate as possible. This is not one of those times, however. I will freely admit that the study I¡¯ve referenced is still under heavy review, and as yet unpublished, but I assure you that the information contained therein comes from someone of unimpeachable integrity; there is no doubt about the conclusion.¡±

    ¡°Based on what?¡± Zviad demands. ¡°A few fragments of maps from half-crazed survivors of the void¡¯s madness?¡± He snorts. ¡°I¡¯ve heard plenty about it from my father.¡±

    Ezio ignores him. He smiles at the other students. ¡°As a matter of fact, you¡¯re not far off. I¡¯ve got an expert scheduled to join us today who¡¯s surveyed more Rifts than anyone in history. Some of you may have heard of him before. Please join me in welcoming today¡¯s guest lecturer: Tem Cytekin.¡±

    I almost fall out of my chair in shock. Tem¡¯s going to be here? In my class? While I¡¯m still getting my bearings, Ezio begins a round of applause, and the class follows his lead, even if most people look bewildered.

    Ezio turns toward the empty stage and nods. Without so much as a glimmer of mana or a ripple in space and time, Tem simply appears. He inclines his head, and the clapping falters for a moment before redoubling.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Everyone stares, stunned by the casual display of high-level magic. We¡¯ve grown used to Ezio using minor illusions, but hiding a person in plain sight is no small feat. Even now, Tem gives off no mana signature. It¡¯s a masterclass in mana manipulation, although I wish I could see what he¡¯s doing to accomplish that level of control. I really need to learn [Manasight] or a variation thereof.

    ¡°This is preposterous!¡± Zviad¡¯s simmering annoyance finally overflows. Hot indignation transmutes into anger, and he¡¯s found an outlet: Tem Cytekin, modern day hero of Densmore.

    Zviad crosses his arms. ¡°I was warned not to take this class because it would show up on my permanent record, you know. My Uncle assured me that Ezio is a nationally published [Scholar], but my father was worried. I should have listened to the barrack [Quartermaster] when he told me to stay away; there are rumors about this disgrace of a teacher. I thought it was all just sour grapes because we took the [Quartermaster]¡¯s friend¡¯s spot at the fort.¡±

    The young aristocrat raises his voice further, glaring between Ezio and Tem. ¡°Now I have to share a study group with a crafter who¡¯s still an assistant despite being years older than I am. And if that¡¯s not bad enough, we¡¯re about to be lectured to by a known traitor!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± Ezio snaps his fingers when Zviad opens his mouth to argue further. A soap-like bubble appears around the loud young man, cutting off the sound coming from the incensed student. It¡¯s the most overt display of mana manipulation I¡¯ve seen Ezio use in the classroom. Usually, he just makes colorful rows of letters appear on the board. This is far more advanced magic.

    A flash of anger crosses Zviad¡¯s face. Silenced by Ezio¡¯s temporary sound barrier, Zviad can¡¯t do anything other than gesture in impotent rage, however.

    Ezio walks up to Zviad, expanding the bubble of silence around him with a wave of his hand. Even though we can¡¯t hear him, Ezio puts his head close to the student¡¯s ear, murmuring something and covering his own mouth so that no one can try to read his lips.

    By the time he¡¯s done talking, Zviad is calm again. There¡¯s still a tightness in his eyes that betrays his fury, but he masters his emotions in an impressive display of discipline. Now that he¡¯s not sneering or shouting, the bubble recedes, leaving him free to participate again. He leans back in his seat, looking sullen.

    I wonder what they talked about. That thought is almost instantly displaced by the next thought: That¡¯s Tem Cytekin up there! Never once in my life did I ever expect that I¡¯d be in the same room as Tem Cytekin. Not only is he here in Silaraon, but he¡¯s guest-teaching our class.

    ¡°What¡¯s the rule on treasure recovered from a Rift?¡± Tem asks abruptly. If he¡¯s perturbed by Zviad¡¯s outburst, he doesn¡¯t show it. His gaze seems to scan the entire class at once. I don¡¯t sense any mana use from him, but that¡¯s to be expected. He¡¯s a genius at masking his mana use and overall level of power, according to his biographies. I¡¯ve always wondered how much of the stories were made up, but right now I don¡¯t doubt a single word.

    Zara raises her hand and receives a nod. She stands up, straightening her uniform. She swallows twice before she gets the words out¡ªI don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen her look intimidated before. ¡°Anything able to fit in a standard knapsack is generally permissible for private use, with the exception of a Gold-ranked beast core or higher. They must be registered with the state as soon as an explorer returns from a delve.¡±

    ¡°How is private use defined?¡± Tem asks.

    ¡°Uhh, personal display or research. You can¡¯t sell it, I believe,¡± Zara says. She sits down abruptly and busies herself with arranging her notebook on the desk.

    Tem nods slowly. He takes off his hat, tosses it into the corner¡ªwhere it lands perfectly on the wingback of an easy chair¡ªand clasps his hands behind him. ¡°So, non-commercial ventures. That seems like it¡¯s left open for interpretation.¡±

    ¡°Better safe than sorry,¡± Zviad interjects, not waiting to be called on. He shifts in his seat, staring down at Tem like he¡¯s ready to jump down and fight. ¡°Failure to report a resource or core will land you in a world of trouble.¡±

    ¡°Spoken like a true son of the Royal Army,¡± Tem says. His voice is as mild as ever, but his eyes grow sharp as looks at Zviad. ¡°Quoting your father?¡±

    Zviad clenches his fists. ¡°What¡¯s your point? I can make up my own mind. Why are we even studying Rifts? They¡¯re dangerous and unpredictable. The sooner we close the rest of them up, the safer Densmore will be.¡±

    ¡°Ah, is that so?¡± Tem asks. He strokes his smooth jaw, regarding Zviad with a curious gaze. ¡°What do you think that Rifts do, young man?¡±

    Zviad glares back in challenge. ¡°They¡¯re chaotic collections of energy that punch holes in the fabric of our world and disgorge enemies.¡±

    Tem nods. ¡°That¡¯s what you think they are. Granted, it¡¯s a somewhat accurate answer, if incomplete. I know your view of Rifts. But that¡¯s not what I asked. I asked what they do.¡±

    I glance over at Melina, hoping she knows the answer. For all that I used to pretend to fight monsters when I was a kid¡ªwho hasn¡¯t imagined being a hero?¡ªI never stopped to ask what a Rift does. I feel a little bit better about myself when I see a similarly blank look on her face. She¡¯s just as confused as I am.

    ¡°Rifts serve a purpose, young man. They gather latent energy from the ether and turn it into mana. Without them opening up in the world, the mana density of our plane would plummet to dangerous levels. We don¡¯t know how to use other energy sources.¡±

    ¡°Rubbish,¡± Zviad scoffs. ¡°I just came from the capital. There wasn¡¯t too much change in mana density on the way. If the borderlands are full of Rifts, then why is it the same out here?¡±

    ¡°Excellent question. Any speculation?¡±

    Aditi raises her hand, which is no surprise to me. ¡°The Rifts out here are categorized as Lesser Rifts. We would expect less mana from them, accordingly. The ancient Rifts in the capital region are of the Greater variety. Even after sealing them, they leak considerable mana into the ambient environment.¡±

    ¡°That is certainly part of it,¡± Tem says. ¡°But the fact of the matter is that numerous Rifts are maintained on purpose. Closing them would remove valuable natural resources, take away training grounds for elite forces, and slowly starve the capital region of mana.¡±

    Zviad finches in the seat. I probably should be paying closer attention to Tem, but I can''t help but watch the military brat to see his reactions. Something about this topic seems to have him on edge. Instead of his usual abrasive self, he acts almost terrified¡ªand angry.

    He¡¯s hiding something.

    ¡°Densmore''s relationship with Rifts is complicated,¡± Tem continues. ¡°They are both boon and bane. Managing monster incursions and fending off large scale invasions is paramount to our national safety. During my time serving as a forward [Scout] in the irregular brigade, I delved more than one hundred Rifts. I won¡¯t deny the dangers they pose, or the difficulty in keeping our population safe while they remain open. Yet we rely on them for our wealth. It is no accident that nations with fewer Rifts also possess less military might and magical prowess. Densmore is the dominant nation predominantly due to our plentiful Rifts.

    ¡°While I can¡¯t divulge state secrets here, suffice it to say that many of the technological advances of the past century are directly related to discoveries within Rifts. We owe much of our understanding of magic and energy manipulation to the denizens of the Rifts.¡±

    He condenses a mana pen, walks to the wall-sized board behind the stage, and scrawls out a set of names. Each one is a major city in Densmore; even I know that, and geography is far from my strong suit.

    Tem taps on the board. He turns to face the class, lifts his hand, and recalls his hat from its resting spot on the back of his chair. One again, there¡¯s no ripple of mana use at all, despite the clear energy involved. He puts it back on his head, tilting it back and forth twice until it¡¯s at a suitably jaunty angle. ¡°So, who can tell me what these cities have in common?¡±

    I have no idea, so I watch behind me to see if the other students know the answer. Jahn raises his hand, grinning in his easy way. He launches into a speech right away, not waiting to be called on. His confidence is something else. ¡°They¡¯re the ten largest cities in all of Densmore! I remember memorizing that in my histories of the modern empire course back home. Have you visited them? I¡¯ve heard the beaches are excellent on the coast.¡±

    ¡°Correct, but why are they the largest cities? How does this relate?¡±

    In the silence that follows, Tem chuckles. ¡°You have a good starting point. I¡¯m pushing you on this since I want you to learn to ask about the underpinnings of reality. Don¡¯t overthink it. If you don¡¯t know the answer, Ezio will be happy to clear things up.¡±

    A few chuckles ripple through the class, and when Ezio lifts up both hands and gives Tem a look of mock annoyance, the tiny seeds of amusement bloom into a full grown forest of laughter. Our teacher cracks a mischievous smile, joining in on the joke with good humor.

    Ezio strides out to the middle of the room to join his friend. ¡°Thank you for that, Tem. I certainly will be happy to clarify.¡± He clears throat. ¡°Each of those cities were originally Royal Army camp settlements that became permanent. They were founded on top of the largest Rifts ever delved in Densmore¡¯s history. Most of them remain active and heavily guarded, although the official word is that they¡¯re closed.¡±

    ¡°How come I¡¯ve never heard of that before?¡± Aditi demands. She brushes her long hair out of her eyes and tucks several strands behind her left ear, twirling it nervously.

    ¡°I know you¡¯ve had excellent tutors, but depending on their alignment, they may not want to dig into ancient history. It presents some uncomfortable dilemmas for the [Mages] of today.¡±

    Whispers buzz through the class like wind rustling autumn leaves. No one dares speak up at first, but I finally raise my hand. ¡°Could you explain why the Utility faction is pushing so hard to close Rifts, in that case?¡±

    ¡°Politics are probably best left outside of the purview of this class, but safety is the public goal,¡± Ezio says after a long deliberation. His jaw flexes, and for a moment I get the sense that he wants to say something else, but he keeps his mouth shut.

    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to blunder into a sensitive topic. Could you talk about where Rifts come from, instead?¡± I venture to ask.

    Something about that question must be hilarious, because Ezio bursts out laughing.

    ¡°Forgive me! I¡¯m not making fun of you, Nuri. In fact, I appreciate the way you¡¯re thinking about the information. You¡¯re asking good questions to understand things more deeply. Yet the answer is bitterly contested. In fact, it may be the only topic more political than your previous question!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing political about it,¡± Zviad snaps, no longer bothering to raise his hand to speak. He stands up, hands clenched into fists at his sides. ¡°Monsters don¡¯t build. Chaos gives birth to horror. That¡¯s all there is to it.¡±

    ¡°Well, that settles it,¡± Ezio says mildly. ¡°Class dismissed!¡±

    =+=

    A mob of students presses around Ezio and Tem after class finishes. My treacherous feet take me toward the pair, even though my instincts are to give them space. I want to talk with Tem as much as anyone, but I¡¯ll ask Ezio for an introduction later. I¡¯m more likely to make progress if I wait until my next meeting with my mentor.

    Besides, there¡¯s an uncomfortable shock of heat from the crowd. Everyone¡¯s excited, which elevates their heart rates, and I¡¯m tempted to modulate it with my [Heat Manipulation]. I¡¯m sure that would be frowned upon, but I¡¯m not happy with the close quarters.

    To my surprise, Ezio calls my name as Melina and I prepare to return to the studio. ¡°Ah, my provisional trainees! Come, join us in my office. My friend Tem would like to hear more about your research project.¡±

    Envious mutters ripple through the crowd. I studiously ignore them, breaking out into an enormous grin. I can¡¯t help myself. Tem Cytekin himself, the only [Expert Counterspell Scout] in the known world, wants to meet with me. Me.

    Melina nudges me. ¡°Go on, Nuri. You have fun. I¡¯ll finish your orders for the day.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t ask you to do that, Mel. I won¡¯t be long,¡± I say, but she cuts me off.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been dreaming about a moment like this since you were little. Don¡¯t take away my satisfaction at doing you a favor. If you really feel guilty, then you can pay me back when I need help someday.¡±

    I stick out my hand. ¡°Deal.¡±

    Our bargain struck, we part ways. I wave at Melina and dash after Ezio, trying to keep up with his infamous movement Skill. This time, I can¡¯t catch up. No matter how fast I run, they¡¯re always a few steps ahead. Corners are particularly bad; they disappear entirely.

    By the time I reach Ezio¡¯s office, panting from my sprint, I¡¯m positive that Ezio is doing it on purpose. I take a moment in the hallway to catch my breath and collect myself, hoping I don¡¯t smell too bad after working up a sweat on the way over. Before I can overthink things, I knock at Ezio¡¯s door, ready to meet Tem Cytekin.

    ¡°I should warn you,¡± Tem says as soon as I shut the door behind me, ¡°I live up to all of my stories¡ªexcept for the interesting ones.¡±

    I blink rapidly, trying to find something witty to say in response, and settle for shaking his outstretched hand and taking a seat. ¡°Considering I think they¡¯re all interesting, I suppose that I have to start from a blank slate. I¡¯m Nuri, an [Assistant Glassworker] with an interest in magic.¡±

    ¡°Tem. [Scout] and dabbler in more hobbies than is healthy. What¡¯s the story with the glass armor that¡¯s neither enchanted nor imbued? I¡¯m intrigued.¡±

    ¡°Ohh, uh, it¡¯s just a theory,¡± I say, practically tripping over my words. ¡°We think that if we can copy the structure of mother of pearl, we can vastly improve the kinetic properties of glass. I¡¯m not even the one really driving the research. That¡¯s Melina, my classmate, but she¡¯s the responsible one, so she went back to the hot shop. I¡¯m the one slacking off so that I can meet you.¡±

    ¡°Honesty is endearing, but too much can ruin a first impression,¡± Tem says with a soft chuckle. ¡°But I¡¯m pleased to meet you. Ezio says you¡¯re diversifying into mana manipulation and combat skills. I often meet crafters with martial aspirations, but I¡¯ve never met one who built an automaton for training. Usually, I tell people to give up before they get hurt. It¡¯s not as rewarding of a life as you think. Scholars and crafters are far more likely to enjoy a normal lifespan.¡±

    I wet my lips, suddenly finding my mouth dry. I¡¯m too nervous to speak. ¡°I think I¡¯ll trade a quiet retirement for decades of adventure. Besides, I don¡¯t know a single person in the Second Threshold. You¡¯re the first one I¡¯ve met. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll get there by making cups and bowls.¡±

    ¡°Probably not,¡± Tem agrees easily. He strokes his jaw. ¡°But humor me. What will you do with your advancement when you get there?¡±

    The simple question leaves me poleaxed. My mind searches for words, but I come up empty, spluttering at the unexpected turn. ¡°I want to be strong enough to protect my friends,¡± I finally get out, pleased with my altruistic answer.

    ¡°One of my closest friends died in less than a second. About ten years ago, we were on a mission in¡ªwell, that¡¯s not important. I was standing right next to him. Never saw it coming. Me, one of the highest-level [Scouts] in Densmore,¡± Tem says. His voice is quiet, intense as he relates the details. ¡°A natural gas pocket had formed beneath the ground of the Rift we were exploring. He casually blew aside a few Silver monsters with a blast of fire, and the sparks ignited the gas. The explosion blew us apart, leaving me singed since I had a barrier artifact. He didn¡¯t make it. Yet he was further into the Second than I am now.¡±

    I sit very still, processing the story. ¡°Are you saying that it¡¯s pointless? Or are you saying that my motivation isn¡¯t enough?¡±

    Tem shrugs his slim shoulders. ¡°Protecting people is noble. But what are you going to do if you hit the Second Threshold as a crafter? Build stronger windows? Give them barrier artifacts and hope they don¡¯t run into trouble twice in the same day?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you¡¯re getting at,¡± I admit.

    Tem smiles sadly. ¡°Don¡¯t pay me too much mind. The ramblings of a bitter old man. But I suppose I¡¯m saying that you shouldn¡¯t wait until some future milestone to do what you think is right. Don¡¯t get so caught up in numbers that you lose sight of what¡¯s important to you. Some of the best people I know never even had enough Potential to awaken their mana. They still lived full and wonderful lives.¡±

    This is not how I expected my meeting with my hero would go. I¡¯m off balance, unsure that I have enough experience to offer any meaningful response. Sorting through my thoughts, I settle on a question that seems to cut to the heart of the matter. ¡°Would you give up your power in exchange for anything?¡±

    ¡°Peace of mind,¡± Tem replies instantly. ¡°If I had the chance to start my life over again but retain my knowledge, then I¡¯d take a different path. But we¡¯re past that, unfortunately.¡±

    Nodding slowly, I chew on Tem¡¯s words. ¡°That makes sense. But if I can give my friends better chances at surviving by creating glass armor, then don¡¯t you think that leads to peace of mind? I just have to be stronger to do it.¡±

    Ezio pats me on the shoulder. ¡°Rakesh showed me some of your prototypes. They seem promising.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. We¡¯re still missing something, though. They don¡¯t absorb impact the way I was expecting,¡± I say, drumming my fingers on my knee. ¡°Could use some guidance.¡±

    ¡°Maybe a field test,¡± Ezio suggests.

    ¡°Ah, is that what this is about?¡± Tem asks. He chuckles, giving Ezio a sly look. ¡°Sneaky old dog. I know a setup when I see one! Very well, I accept.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you¡¯ll help me test it?¡± I ask, struggling to contain my excitement. ¡°Are you sure that you have time for that?¡±

    Tem shakes his head. ¡°Not exactly. Sounds like you need more iterations before it¡¯s up to my standards. In the meantime, Nuri, how would you like a small sample of my life? Let¡¯s head out into the wilderness. I¡¯ll show you what it¡¯s really like to be a [Scout].¡±

    Ezio claps once, making me jump. ¡°Brilliant idea! Don¡¯t worry about your research, Nuri. Melina can write the paper. This is hands-on experience. Priceless! I¡¯m sure that Ember would agree, since you want to walk the path of both an artisan and an adventurer.¡±

    My enthusiasm for the idea grows. Training with Tem Cytakin will stretch me and push me beyond my limits, but I look forward to the challenge. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. Come what may. I suppose it¡¯s time to reintroduce myself. Nuri Shahi, [Assistant Glassworker] and mage aspirant.¡±

    ¡°Tem Cytakin, [Expert Counterspell Scout], provisional Instructor, at your service. I¡¯d be happy to show you how to survive,¡± Tem re-introduces himself with a precise bow.

    We clasp hands, and the pledge is struck. I¡¯m going on an adventure!

 Chapter Twenty-Three: Scouting Ahead

    Tem clears his throat and readjusts his travel pack. ¡°Ready for our expedition? Packed up as requested, I hope?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± I hasten to assure him, patting my own canvas bag slung across my chest. It¡¯s treated with wax to repel the rain in case we run into any inclement weather, but it¡¯s not very large and holds only a few dried rations and a blanket to wrap up in at night. At my waist my belt knife is strapped in place.

    ¡°Excellent, excellent. Now, I set a brisk pace. Keep up if you can. If not, I¡¯ll meet you here at this cave, where we¡¯ll camp for the night before our big day tomorrow.¡± He hands me a map of the wilds surrounding the city. A small red cross marks the rendezvous spot in case I get lost or fall behind. If the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes is anything to go off, then it appears my first lessons will be in improving my map craft.

    Handoff complete, Tem simply . . . disappears.

    I almost drop the map in shock.

    He flickers back into my sight a hundred yards away, beckons for me to hurry up, and blurs back into stealth. Thankfully, my legs start moving on their own accord, although my mind is still jumping up and down and cheering like a small child watching a street charlatan pull off a scam. Except, with Tem, there¡¯s no trick. He¡¯s just that good. The weirdest part about it is that I don¡¯t even sense any mana resonance, despite Ezio¡¯s stringent training.

    Eight flickers later, I¡¯ve completely lost track of Tem, although I¡¯ve been sprinting as fast as I can toward the old growth forest to try to keep up. My legs and arms swing naturally, and as I inhale through my nose, hold my breath, and then slowly exhale through my mouth several strides later, I find myself fiercely glad for Ember¡¯s strong urging to incorporate more endurance training into my recovery regimen over the last year. My thoughts drift back to my sad showing during the Shadow Jaguar attack¡ªthe huffing and puffing, only to pull up lame on the way to unsuccessfully defend the city. I chuckle at the memory of Ember¡¯s face. I think my out of shape butt embarrassed her more than my lack of fighting prowess or Skills. As usual, it seems she was on to something.

    I run deeper into the woods, scanning back and forth for danger as I pass under thicker and more foreboding foliage. Every ten or fifteen minutes, I stop by the stream for a quick sip of water and a direction check against the map to make sure I¡¯m on the right track. As far as I can tell, I should catch up with Tem in another few hours at this pace.

    While I didn¡¯t expect to read a map and track Tem through the woods, there¡¯s something soothing about listening to bird song and watching the warm light play on the dappled leaves of the tall trees.

    It seems suspiciously simple for training with an expert, regardless that this is only my first real time outside the city proper aside from my trips to Peliharaon. I may not be a [Tracker], [Scout], or [Warrior], but I¡¯m also not completely unaware of proper procedure anymore thanks to Ember¡¯s drills, reading through the combat manuals, and practicing with the Iron Lunk. I should be able to make a good showing of myself.

    I push onward at a steady clip, trying to keep my body relaxed so that I¡¯m ready for action if things go wrong. Inwardly, I¡¯m tenser than a fresh-wound spring. If I¡¯ve learned anything at all reading about Tem Cytekin, [Scout] extraordinaire, it¡¯s that he¡¯s a firm believer in handling the unexpected. He¡¯s probably one of those frighteningly confident and successful people who thinks everyone else should learn through difficult experiences, too.

    Nonetheless, I keep running at the quickest pace that I can maintain without frequent breaks. The path thins from a well-defined game trail to only the occasional hoof- or paw-print to mark the passage of wild creatures. I squint and try to pick up any traces of mana residue in a vain hope that I will find a trace of Tem¡¯s passing, but my magical senses are still woefully underdeveloped. I keep hoping I¡¯ll unlock a mana-related perception or manipulation Skill, but so far I have no such luck. As long as I keep practicing, though, I¡¯m sure it will pay off in the long run.

    The predominant tree type changes the farther I explore. The leafy, broad-leaf trees native to the city of Silaraon give way to tall, prickly pines. Underfoot, instead of pastel flowers and tall grass, or the occasional bed of soft, pale green moss surrounded by ferns, now only thorny brambles stab the thin soles of my light leather boots. I pick my path with more care now, wary of pricking my feet and laming myself.

    My stomach growls, finally announcing the end of my current trek. My legs can keep going, but I want food. I¡¯ll likely do better with sustenance, anyway. Time for dinner. Afterward, I¡¯ll push on for the final stretch on a full stomach, with my energy reserves replenished.

    Or, at least, that¡¯s the plan until an all-too-familiar shape from my nightmares leaps out of the bushes.

    Shadow Jaguar!

    My mind shrieks in incoherent fear at the sudden appearance, but instead of shutting down, my body responds to my rigorous training. I leap back and to the side, drawing my belt knife and copying Zviad¡¯s smooth footwork.

    Grateful that Ember¡¯s hard training didn¡¯t completely fail me, I brandish my knife and reach out with my magic. Heat blossoms right in front of the monster¡¯s eyes, pulling the thermal energy from the surrounding area to fuel the attack. It finches back from the heat, buying me time to make a tactical retreat and come up with a plan.

    Shadow Jaguars are a lot scarier than the training dummy Mikko made for me, but I find myself thrilling to the challenge. Dancing on the razor¡¯s edge between life and death, I glide around the big cat, slashing to keep it at bay. My knife is only a distraction, however, as I gather enough heat to burn it from the inside out¡ª

    The hated cat lunges across the clearing, faster than I anticipated. Snarling a hunter¡¯s cry, it knocks me to the ground and interrupts my casting. Sharp claws rake across my arm, drawing blood. Once again I find myself pinned down by a predator, staring up with wide eyes at sharp-toothed death, but this time I don¡¯t plan on being easy prey.

    My hand clutches the handle of my knife. I scream in defiant anger, unleashing all the heat I¡¯ve gathered from over a dozen yards in every direction. I channel the full force of my upgraded [Heat Manipulation] into the tip of my knife as I stab up into the vile creature¡¯s heart.

    Blood bursts out through the gaping hole in its chest, but the wound cauterizes almost immediately thanks to the intensity of the heat pouring off me in waves. The cuts in the flesh sear shut, cutting off the viscous flow of black ichor. I shove the heavy, gory carcass off me and scramble to my feet, glancing around wildly as I scan the forest for more of the shadow cats and their stupid, sharp claws.

    Vigilance! They travel in packs.

    Knife extended, I turn in circles to survey the surroundings. Relying on my own two eyes makes me nervous; I wish I could see their mana signatures. Wishing I already had a form of [Manasight] does no good at the moment, though. A thought strikes me, and I reach out with my [Heat Manipulation] to see if I can sense any thermal anomalies. Nothing.

    Slow clapping interrupts my line of thought. Tem saunters over as though taking a stroll in the park. He emits no heat at all, perfectly attuned to the ambient temperature. I don¡¯t sense any mana signature, either. ¡°You¡¯re still alive, so that¡¯s step one. Good, good. Hate to lose a student on the first day. Bad for future enrollment, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±

    ¡°Glad I didn¡¯t ruin your recruitment drive,¡± I say, wincing at the pain in my arm.

    Tem chuckles. ¡°Thanks. But what are you going to do about the venom?¡±

    With that, he stretches out next to a squat, flat-topped brown rock that I had intended to use as a table for my own snack. He yawns, pulls out a small wedge of cheese, and cuts off a still-smoking haunch of the jaguar, whose flesh roasted from my attack. ¡°Good eating on these. I¡¯ll save you some for dinner, if you survive.¡±

    Tem tears off a bite with his teeth. He nibbles on the burnt meat along with his cheese, ignoring me entirely now that he¡¯s checked to make sure that I didn¡¯t die right off, and I realize that if I want to keep living, then I have to find a cure by myself.

    I nod to myself, considering my options. If Tem thinks that I can do it, then it should be possible with the skills and knowledge I have already. Precious little comes to mind, though. My heart sinks for a moment, but I shake off that line of thought and start scrounging around for any herbs with healing properties. After a few rather fruitless minutes, I swallow my pride and ask if Tem knows what I need to collect to counteract the venom.

    He gives me a considered look, strokes his short, dark goatee, then nods. ¡°I like a man with initiative. Better to admit what you don¡¯t know. Henbane is your friend here. Look for the flower. Oh, and two parts primrose will help.¡± He pauses, tilts his head to the side as though listening to something I can¡¯t hear, and shrugs. ¡°Probably.¡±

    ¡°Probably¡± is still better odds than any plan I¡¯ve come up with, so I take off running through the woods in a low crouch, examining the ground growth for the plants I need to mix up an antidote. I¡¯ve never been particularly religious, but right now I¡¯ll pray to any and all of the woodland spirits if they¡¯ll help me stay conscious long enough to complete the recipe.

    I chill the area surrounding the scratch on my arm in hopes that it will slow the spread, but it doesn¡¯t seem to do much good. Already, my movements are turning sluggish and painful, and I haven¡¯t seen anything that looks like the sketches of the plants I saw in the survival handbook I skimmed prior to the expedition.

    Focusing on recalling what I studied, I redouble my efforts, skimming through the bushes in search of the primrose. Henbane is less likely to grow in the shaded areas I¡¯m in right now, if my memory serves me correctly. I¡¯ll search for it next, after I locate primrose. Assuming there¡¯s any to find at all, I suspect it will be in one of the clearings I passed moments before the attack.

    I try to stay focused, but I can¡¯t shake an intrusive thought. The Shadow Jaguars hunt in pairs or packs, and seldom by daylight unless they¡¯re roving about in overwhelming force. What are the chances of finding a single, solitary cat? The only answer is that Tem set me up. If I don¡¯t survive, he¡¯s got some explaining to do. Maybe my shade can¡¯t haunt him.

    Stop that! It¡¯s a well-curated survival scenario. He won¡¯t let me die on his watch.

    I think.

    I hope.

    I¡¯ve mostly reconciled myself to the reality of a single Skill, but right now, I¡¯m willing to kill for nothing more than a good [Herbalism] Skill. My jaw clenches. How in the name of the seven skies am I supposed to find what I need in such short order?

    Slow your breathing. Don¡¯t agitate yourself or you¡¯ll speed up blood circulation as your heart rate increases. Focus on the antidote, not on your circumstances. You can do this, Nuri.

    I don¡¯t stop moving. Tem must have deemed me up to the challenge, which means the ingredients I need are nearby. I don¡¯t want to let him down, not on the first day. There¡¯s plenty of time for complaining later, if I survive¡ªwhen I survive, I vow to myself. Failure means death, so I¡¯ve got no other choice but to push myself forward, moving faster, not caring about the spread of the venom anymore.

    A few irregular heartbeats later, I strike paydirt. My hands are shaking badly by now, but I calm myself and harvest the primrose. After a moment¡¯s deliberation, I stuff the plant into my mouth since I lack the dexterity to undo the straps on my carryall at the moment. I turn toward the setting sun and make a mad dash for the clearing I marked earlier as an option for henbane.

    Halfway there, my feet go numb. I stumble, trip over my suddenly too-heavy legs, and smash face-first into the dirt. Groaning in pain and fear, I hunch up my body and wiggle toward the hope of the next plant in the antidote recipe, inching my way forward like a worm until my traitorous muscles give out. Move, you shatter-cursed arms! I bellow internally, but my limp muscles refuse to obey mental commands. The desperate imperatives of survival are no match for poison.

    A clump of flowers hits my face with a soft, wet sound. My eyes struggle to focus on the flowers due to the close proximity, but I vaguely make out the odd, black and white petals of henbane. I strain my mouth toward my unexpected salvation, bite down on the straggly plant, and chew it into a mush along with the primrose. Nothing happens, so I infuse the herbal concoction with heat from my favorite Skill. My mana sputters stubbornly, but I focus on all the mana control drills I learned from Ezio, and the energy finally transfers. I keep pouring heat into the herbs before [Heat Manipulation] gives out, and a strange sensation blossoms in my mouth as the mana mixes in with the flowers.

    A flicker of warm, orange light pulses in my senses along with the churn of mana in the herbal mixture in my mouth, but my Skill dies before I can latch onto the phenomenon. I¡¯m not sure how I can see the light, since it¡¯s directly below my eyeballs, but I know for a certainty that it¡¯s connected to [Heat Manipulation]. The light fades from my perception in a blink, but a spike of excitement hits me. I saw mana! Not for long, but I saw it.

    Gentle warmth floods my mana channels¡ªnot my veins or arteries. The foreign power makes me leery, but I will die without intervention, so I relax and try to deactivate my instinctive resistance to the feeling of invasion. As I let the mana-empowered medicinal brew work its way through my body and soul, pinpricks of hot, itchy pain erupt all over my skin. I can almost see them out of the corner of my eye, unless I¡¯m imagining things.

    ¡°Steady, now! Don¡¯t fight it, Nuri. You¡¯re doing a grand job, but don¡¯t stop fighting.¡± Tem¡¯s voice echoes from what seems like very far away. I latch onto it and listen to his advice. ¡°You¡¯ve got to excrete the poison. No scratching. Just grin and bear it. You¡¯ll make it through, although you¡¯ll never want to repeat the experience again.¡±

    I open my mouth to reply, but only a muffled gurgle comes out. Tem chuckles softly at my misfiring. The worst part is that I can¡¯t scratch myself even if I want relief. While the venom¡¯s danger zone seems to have passed, the paralysis effect isn¡¯t wearing off yet. I¡¯m trapped in my own body, at the mercy of the ravaging war between Shadow Jaguar venom and this intensely uncomfortable, intrusive healing process.

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ll be out for a while, make no mistake. Wake me when it¡¯s over,¡± Tem declares cheerfully. He takes the opportunity to nap, stretching out on a soft patch of moss and covering his face with his hat.

    I scream internally, just raging for a while, until it gets boring. Then, with nothing else to do, I shut out the soft sigh of the wind through the trees, try to ignore the rosy fingers of an early sunset, and turn my sight inward to try to observe the effects of the mana-empowered herbal concoction. I might as well make the best of things and train my non-existent mana sight in hopes of finally unlocking the Skill.

    Excitement drives me. What did I see when the antidote coalesced from random plants to an antitoxin agent? Something odd just happened, and I¡¯m holding out hope that it¡¯s the first solid indication of progress.

    But for now, my body and soul just hurt all over.

    =+=

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    ¡°I hear that last time you took on a big cat, you were out of commission for days. Look at you now! Ready to march on within the hour. Rapid improvement.¡± Tem¡¯s eyes sparkle with barely hidden amusement as he speaks.

    I blush at the praise. ¡°I should have been able to handle a single cat without taking a hit. They usually hunt in pairs, you know. Odd that I only ran into one, but I guess that¡¯s good news for me. Thanks.¡±

    Tem ignores the accusation that he was responsible for leading the Shadow Jaguar to me just to gauge my reaction to combat, but I suppose I¡¯m not upset since I survived. I will be very angry if I do not live through the expedition, however. I¡¯m growing attached to my life, and I¡¯d rather not lose it just as I¡¯m starting to make real progress. I¡¯m sad that I wouldn¡¯t be able to tell him about my annoyance after the fact.

    We¡¯re slowly leaving the deep forest behind, making our way toward the cave Tem has marked on the map. The densely-packed, towering conifers thin out eventually, giving way to beech trees and wider patches of wildflower meadows interspersed throughout the forest. It¡¯s strangely peaceful, not hearing the constant crackle of flames, clank of metal rods, and tap of tools on glass.

    ¡°Do we have to push on to the cave tonight? I¡¯m more exhausted than I thought I¡¯d be, recovering from the venom.¡± I wince at what I perceive to be too much whining, but each step feels like torture. I¡¯m not going to die anymore, but the healing process drained my mana completely. I feel wrung out and hollow in a way that¡¯s worse than regular, physical exertion.

    Tem glances around, always scanning for danger, although I¡¯m certain he has a Skill that will alert him more reliably than his eyes can. He takes his time answering, not speaking until he is apparently satisfied that we¡¯re not in imminent danger. ¡°The cave will be a better shelter than camping in a clearing. Night is more unpredictable than the day, and this far from the city, a few oversized house cats are the least of our worries.¡±

    I groan under my breath. ¡°That means you expect me to handle any trouble that comes up, because there is no way you¡¯d be concerned about facing them yourself. They won¡¯t pose any real threat to you.¡±

    ¡°Perceptive,¡± he says wryly.

    We don¡¯t exchange any further words until we reach the hidden cave and set up camp. Tem is a stickler for covering our tracks and ensuring that every approach to the hideout is well concealed, so we¡¯re hidden from line of sight but still have some visibility outward. I follow his directions to the letter, but my clumsy hands take far longer than I¡¯d like to draw old branches and foliage in front of the cave mouth, and I fear that I¡¯m earning his ire.

    Once he¡¯s examined the obfuscation and declares it may be enough to ¡°confuse a blind bat, at any rate,¡± we go inside. I lick my lips several times before I work up the courage to ask the question that¡¯s been on my mind since we set out: ¡°How did you know about this cave? You aren¡¯t from around here.¡±

    Tem leans back against the dirt wall. ¡°You sure about that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve read your autobiography,¡± I admit, my cheeks burning. I sound like one of those fanatics who follow famous people around in hopes of basking in the reflected echoes of their glories. No thanks. I want my own glory. My story¡¯s just beginning.

    He snorts. ¡°That trash bit of libel is still in publication?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you write it?¡± I splutter. I sit up and squint at him in confusion. ¡°Then how is it libel?¡±

    He tuts. ¡°Don¡¯t believe everything you read, Nuri.¡±

    I groan as the truth hits me. ¡°Of course. You¡¯re lying intentionally to throw people off.¡±

    Tem winks. ¡°Misdirection is useful. Hasn¡¯t Ember taught you anything? She used to be more crafty, from what I recall.¡±

    My whole world spins sideways. Tem knows Ember? I thought Ezio was Tem¡¯s contact in Silaraon. And how does he know that she¡¯s been teaching me? Has he been spying on my life for some reason? Maybe Ezio wants to get rid of me so that he can claim the glass armor as his own and won¡¯t have to share the profits. Fear flashes through me at the uncharitable thought, but I clamp down on my wayward words and try to regain control of my expression, particularly as I recall that I told him about Ember the previous day.

    Tem lets out a sigh. ¡°Pity. I¡¯d hoped for more of a reaction when I made it sound like I knew your master. You¡¯ve been rather excitable at every other turn so far.¡± Tem pulls a pipe out of his travel bag, tamps down some tobacco, and snaps his finger to light up. Apparently, he considers that the end of the matter.

    I can¡¯t keep myself from staring at the sophisticated, debonair way that he makes even a casual pipe smoke look mysterious. Thrilling, even. Although I could easily copy his little trick and light a pipe with my [Heat Manipulation], it wouldn¡¯t ooze awesomeness. Tem makes it look so effortless and charming that I¡¯m jealous of his abilities.

    My curiosity finally wins out. ¡°How did you do that? As far as I know, you don¡¯t have any fire affinities or heat abilities. Does your Class give you some sort of survival Skill for lighting fires? I could see how that would be useful for a [Scout], although it seems low level.¡±

    For the first time since I¡¯ve met Tem in person, he seems genuinely confused. ¡°You can¡¯t follow the mana flows?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Only one Skill, remember? Nothing new since I earned my Class. I¡¯m hoping that I¡¯ll get another one when I advance, but I haven¡¯t hit the First Threshold yet, either. I feel like I¡¯m right on the cusp of it. That¡¯s why I wanted to go on this expedition with you.¡±

    ¡°Ah! Right, we did discuss this in Ezio¡¯s office. I¡¯ve been preoccupied, I¡¯m ashamed to admit. Please forgive my indelicacy in the matter.¡±

    I arch an eyebrow. His entire demeanor and diction have shifted. Is this a glimpse of the courtier behind the [Scout]? My own manners seem flat and clunky by comparison. ¡°Oh, uh, it¡¯s no problem. I¡¯m mostly over the fact that I¡¯m a slow learner. I¡¯ve been trying to see mana, so I¡¯m hoping that I¡¯ll unlock [Mana Sense] or a variant soon. Ezio says I¡¯m close.¡±

    ¡°Mm. Based on the prototypes of the glass armor, and your adroitness in class, I could have sworn you had some mana-related Skill. Your mana manipulation is all manual?¡±

    I nod. ¡°Correct.¡±

    ¡°Impressive. Beyond your abilities with heat obtained from glassworking, you¡¯ve clearly pushed yourself. Ah. That must be the purpose of those mana-control drills that Ezio is so fond of for improving finesse. Apologies. Negligence on my part, I suppose, expecting you to create your own antidote. Exceptionally lucky that you didn¡¯t die back there; I should have stepped in sooner.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not as fragile as I look. I¡¯ve been training hard since the beast irruption last year. I¡¯d prefer to look at the bright side: I¡¯ve learned how to make an antidote. My [Heat Manipulation] is pretty useful, since it¡¯s how I¡¯ve learned mana control. It¡¯s a lot harder for me to manage without the crutch of the Skill.¡±

    Tem blows out smoke rings. He smiles slightly. ¡°Good insight. I¡¯m glad you recognize that it¡¯s ultimately a crutch. But keep in mind that a training tool is helpful when you start. Don¡¯t feel too bad about it.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, still uncomfortable at receiving praise from my hero. ¡°I¡¯ve practiced mana control for a while in an attempt to improve my Skill. I¡¯ve upgraded it once already this year, and I¡¯m gaining more fine control and precision with heat transfers in the hot shop.¡±

    ¡°What do you make other than armor?¡± Tem asks. He leans forward, tilts his head side to side to crack his neck, and waves away the pipe smoke. ¡°Tell me what you craft. Do you have a plan to sell to adventurers and more discerning clientele?¡±

    ¡°Eventually. I¡¯m not ready yet. I built these,¡± I explain, pulling the energy-transfer glass orbs from my bag. I toss the red one into the fire to warm it up. ¡°They¡¯re helping me improve my glassmaking skills at an acceptable rate, according to my boss Ember, whom you apparently don¡¯t actually know in any official capacity.¡±

    Tem chuckles, meeting my gaze without blinking. He shrugs nonchalantly. ¡°She sounds fun. I¡¯ll have to see what she can make when we¡¯re back in town. I¡¯m terribly intrigued by glass armor, I must admit,¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still stumped when it comes to kinetic energy transfer. Multiple glass layers should spread out the impact better than they do. I need a compositional analysis Skill,¡± I murmur.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find a method to figure it out the old fashioned way,¡± Tem says. He gives me an encouraging smile. ¡°That aside, I have your notes, and I should have recalled that you only have the [Heat Manipulation] Skill under your belt at present. Unprofessional of me to put a student¡¯s life on the line and not even take a moment to double-check your Skills. Downright unprofessional.¡±

    He seems more bothered by his momentary lapse of judgment than by my brush with death. I try not to take it too personally, although it makes me more nervous about our scouting arrangement than I was previously. I clear my throat once or twice before I reply. ¡°I¡¯m not keen on dying. Might have to come back and get revenge if I don¡¯t make it home.¡±

    He frowns and sits up, no longer lounging against the cave wall. ¡°Are you threatening to haunt me from the afterlife?¡±

    ¡°Maybe that will teach you some professionalism,¡± I respond, laughing.

    To my surprise, he chuckles at my silly comeback. ¡°How refreshing. I¡¯ve forgotten what it¡¯s like to talk with people who aren¡¯t quivering in fear of knives in the dark. A bit of pluck! Very commendable, lad. Very commendable.¡±

    ¡°You do have a terrifying reputation,¡± I point out, my skin crawling at the thought of his infamous knives appearing out of nowhere.

    His good humor dries up. He taps his pipe on his knee, knocking some ash into the fire, and looks out toward the deepening gloom of night. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft with regret. ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°So! Uh, mana manipulation. You have some talent yourself?¡± I ask awkwardly, feeling bad about dredging up bad memories. ¡°I assume so, or else you wouldn¡¯t have known how to make the antidote. Maybe you could, uh, teach me?¡±

    ¡°Talent? Let¡¯s not go overboard. I do have some modicum of ability. One learns to use all one¡¯s senses when one¡¯s life is at risk. Nothing like danger for Skill advancement.¡±

    The phrase feels like the last piece of a puzzle, and an idea clicks into place in my mind. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s why I upgraded my Skill after the monster irruption?¡±

    ¡°Irruption?¡± He raises a brow. ¡°I hardly think a handful of those bronze-ranked brutes constitutes an actual invasion. They¡¯re harmless little kitties.¡±

    ¡°I was going to die unless¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yet you didn¡¯t die,¡± Tem interjects, cutting me off. His languid demeanor evaporates, and he fixes me with a stare so intense it makes Ember look like a little girl skipping through a field of flowers. There¡¯s a beast lurking in the depths of his usually mild brown gaze.

    ¡°I was in danger,¡± I insist, my mulish streak kicking in.

    ¡°You felt like you were in danger,¡± he corrected. ¡°Few died. I¡¯d have heard if Silaraon suffered casualties. As I told you earlier, I don¡¯t forget my roots.¡±

    ¡°Bijan''s family didn''t get off so easily," I say defiantly, but he has a point. They didn''t live in Silaraon, so he¡¯s technically correct with his assertion. "Regardless, do you think the danger is why I actually made progress?¡±

    ¡°Do I think there¡¯s a cosmic connection between danger and earning abilities or ranking up your Skills?¡± Tem asks, clarifying my question. He strokes his slim jaw and considers. ¡°No. You¡¯re likely correct, however, in the sense that fighting the Shadow Jaguars rolling through the region acted as an inciting incident that shocked you into action.¡±

    I scratch the back of my head, trying to sort out his statements. ¡°But you said that there¡¯s nothing like danger for Skill advancement. That¡¯s why I asked.¡±

    ¡°Right. And now I¡¯m modifying my statement. We tend to apply ourselves best when we can¡¯t afford the luxury of sitting around on our bums.¡± He puffs on his pipe, murmurs to himself, and relights the tobacco. A long draw later, he hums to himself, and settles back against the wall of the little cave again as though his outburst never happened. ¡°You think you¡¯ve had a moment of enlightenment, do you?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± I nod eagerly. ¡°I sensed something when I used [Heat Manipulation] to complete the antidote. I¡¯d hoped it might be my first inkling of mana not already my own.¡±

    ¡°Probably was, lad. You finally had a reason to pay attention.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been working at it for months. ¡°It¡¯s not like I wasn¡¯t trying,¡± I protest weakly, but I¡¯m grinning despite myself. I know he doesn¡¯t mean anything by the statement.

    ¡°Show me,¡± Tem demands, gesturing toward the glass globes with his pipe. ¡°Go on, Nuri. Use those shiny oversized marbles. Impress me.¡±

    ¡°You probably won¡¯t really see much,¡± I say, trying to lower Tem¡¯s expectations before the inevitable weight of reality shows him just how untalented of a student he¡¯s taken on. ¡°It¡¯s just energy transfer, moving heat from one orb to the other. The red one is, uh, hot. As you can see.¡± I gesture toward the fire, where it glows like warm honey.

    Tem clicks his tongue. ¡°What do you think mana is, if not energy in motion? There is plenty to see, if you know what to look for. Always is. Ah, but I suppose it¡¯s not your fault that no one¡¯s ever taught you how to see. Ezio focuses on the basics in Foundations. Go on, then.¡±

    Properly admonished, I reach for my mana and coax it into the framework of my Skill, moving slowly to try to watch every swirl and eddy of my own mana. Every so often, I catch a glimpse of what¡¯s happening. It¡¯s strange to think that I possess a small piece of the strange energy that animates the very universe.

    The crystalline structure shudders at the first touch of power, but I¡¯m not worried. Everything is healed over; no more tiny fissures all over the surface of the Skill. Soaking the Skill structure in mana and pushing to rank it up has reinforced it, resulting in a polished, perfect structure. The cracks grew back together over time, so I don¡¯t pay much mind to the momentary instability or the occasional hairline crack anymore.

    Drawing the mana from within my pool, I guide the energy down my channels and out my fingertips. I reach out to the campfire first, drawing the motes of heat from the red globe and directing them toward the blue, heat-resistant globe.

    ¡°Are you always this slow?¡± Tem drawls. ¡°I¡¯d hate to see the Lesser variety before your upgrade. I¡¯ve met sloths who could beat you in a sprint!¡±

    ¡°Just limbering up my soul before I begin in earnest,¡± I reply in an airy tone. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to set us both on fire.¡±

    His eyes sparkle in merriment. ¡°Hmph. You didn¡¯t need to thaw out before you charred that cat earlier. Good thing, too.¡±

    I nod along. ¡°Yeah, it would have gutted me otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Er, yes, that. I was more concerned about the potential loss of dinner.¡±

    I roll my eyes and flick a bit of extraneous fire his way, utterly confident in his tempered body and survival abilities to negate any actual damage. His amused chuckle proves me right.

    As the heat transfer picks up, I grasp the energy flows and accelerate the Skill, pulling every bit of heat from the glowing red glass globe without snuffing out the surrounding fire. I¡¯ve made huge strides in my dexterity thanks to the drills with Ezio, and now it¡¯s my time to show off a bit as I truly begin to manipulate the rosy glow.

    My control clamps down on the area, refusing to allow any heat loss, and I thread the red-orange heat into the training orb, warming it bit by bit from the core first.

    ¡°I added layers of different components and colors,¡± I explain as I work, self-conscious about how silly it must look as the glass lights up in patterns and flashy colors. ¡°That way I can gauge how accurately I¡¯m bringing up the temperature from the inside out.¡±

    Tem blows a wobbly smoke ring, scowling at its irregular appearance, and I wonder if he¡¯s even watching me at all. I start to sweat a little from concentrating so hard, not from the ambient temperature, but from the intense exertion of overcoming the resistance and layering my control. Rush the heat too fast, and the outside of the glass will start to glow, but then the inside stays cold. If I want a perfect transfer, then I need to change the temperature and the color from the inside out.

    ¡°These temperature and mana-control orbs¡ªan original idea?¡± Tem asks, setting down his pipe and finally giving me his undivided attention.

    ¡°Yep. I have a lot of them,¡± I boast. ¡°Ideas, I mean.¡±

    ¡°Clever,¡± Tem allows. ¡°More accurate way to gauge your control than simply guessing or relying on intuition. Well done.¡±

    I nod in agreement, and quote Ember without thinking. ¡°Glass never lies.¡±

    ¡°Ha! A noble sentiment. Maybe I¡¯ll take up the craft. I¡¯ve had enough of liars for a lifetime back in the capital.¡±

    ¡°It probably wouldn¡¯t be too hard for you to pick up, with your advancement and dexterity. All you really need is a willingness to keep trying when the glass has a mind of its own and your project doesn¡¯t turn out right. The good news is that you can always melt down a failed attempt and try again. Mistakes never feel permanent, just expensive sometimes.¡±

    We share another chuckle, although this time my laughter is a bit strained. Raising the temperature of the final layer on the blue orb is tricky, and I often fail at this step. I need all my focus to achieve an even color.

    Trembling with exhaustion from a long day, drained both mentally and physically, l nonetheless pull off a perfect transfer. ¡°Halfway done,¡± I announce hoarsely. ¡°Now the other way around.¡±

    If adding heat energy to a cold object is an exercise in restraint, drawing the heat back out from the same object is more akin to wrestling an abyssal alligator. Pulling ambient heat from the environment is fairly easy, but once I direct the energy elsewhere, manipulating the world with my Skill, the mana imprints itself somehow. Changing the new, updated template of reality requires exponentially more mana for each iteration.

    My efforts redouble, and for a short time, appear fairly successful. The outer layer of glass on the blue globe dims and recovers its deeper, almost purple hues. I squint, even though it does nothing to help with mana sight, and try again to see what¡¯s going on at a more fundamental level. I am so close to a breakthrough that I can taste it like copper on my tongue.

    Mentally, however, the strain builds and builds with dangerous, inexorable momentum as exhaustion catches up with me. My fingers start to tremble first, but the shivers spread like wildfire to the rest of my body. Soon, I¡¯m shaking so hard that I lose my balance and crash down on the sandy cave floor with a heavy groan.

    ¡°Shatter it all,¡± I mutter.

    ¡°Decent training tool. Execution is still in the formative stages, but if you can improve on the design, then I¡¯ll commission a dozen sets of your glass orbs for my eleven-year-old nieces,¡± Tem says, acting as though my spasming, floor-bound form is completely normal. And perhaps it is to him. Collapse is merely a sign of dedication!

    ¡°They could use another training tool. I like your potential, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say around a mouthful of dirt. His praise warms me, even though I¡¯m too tired to show more appreciation.

    ¡°We¡¯ll march on at first light. Get some sleep. I will take both the first and second watch. You can make it up to me tomorrow.¡±

    I won¡¯t get a better deal, but it¡¯s hard to express gratitude with my mouth half-buried in the dirt, so I simply close my eyes and give myself up to the darkness, too exhausted to even wrap myself up in a blanket.

 Chapter Twenty-Four: Heavy with the Threat of Violence

    The next morning dawns heavy with the threat of violence.

    Tem shakes me awake, one hand covering my mouth so I can¡¯t cry out, and stretches out his other hand toward the forest. He releases me once I relax, and I nod slowly to indicate that I understand the need for stealth. Whatever it is seems to have Tem genuinely spooked, and that sets me on edge. He should be able to handle anything we encounter in the Silaraon region, short of a full-on Invasion. Together, we creep up toward the mouth of the cave to gain a better vantage point, careful not to make any noise with our movements.

    Wraiths trudge about by the trees outside. I suck in a sharp breath before clamping my hand down over my mouth. They¡¯re not actually phasing right through the trees, but the way their bodies drift about makes me think they¡¯re not quite corporeal. How are we even supposed to fight an enemy that¡¯s barely there?

    ¡°Drain your mana, Nuri.¡±

    I shoot Tem a questioning glance, but the intensity of his whisper compels me to comply, although I don¡¯t understand the reasoning. Immediately, I vent my mana into the air, warming up the cave behind us in a careful stream, trying not to boil us alive.

    ¡°All of it!¡± Tem hisses urgently. ¡°They¡¯ll notice us any second. If you have anything left in your channels, then they¡¯ll burn you from the inside out.¡±

    I nod, my breath coming fast and ragged as the horror of our situation hits me.

    ¡°Keep still,¡± Tem commands. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of them. This is a foe far beyond you.¡±

    As soon as the last drops of my mana trickle out of me, warming the stone beneath our feet to uncomfortable levels, an absolutely massive shockwave of mana rips out of Tem in a single heartbeat. The force of it flings me into the wall, and I bite my tongue with a sharp cry, fighting to maintain consciousness. He lurches forward in the same instant, narrow blade drawn, and charges the wraiths without stealthing himself.

    I gape at the display of power. Did he just follow his own advice and get rid of his mana in one go to propel himself into the fray? It sounds like madness, but if the monsters really can boil the mana within our bodies, then it¡¯s likely the only sane response to their attacks.

    I shudder, licking away the blood from my lips, and forcibly resist refilling my bone-dry mana pool. Clamping down on my channels is always a painful sensation, as I¡¯ve learned from training with Ezio, but I don¡¯t dare put Tem¡¯s assertion to the test. Instead, I cram a basil leaf into my mouth and start chewing to stave off the mana-starvation headache. No coma for me.

    Spine-shivering screams screech across my ears. I press myself down against the dirt and groan, my heart palpitating under the pressure of an enemy I can¡¯t fully comprehend.

    I can barely follow the fight. Their forms flicker in and out of my vision in disconcerting patterns, as though they walk a different plane of reality that just happens to bleed into our own. I have a terrifying suspicion that my description is actually accurate.

    My head is pounding like Mikko took a mallet to my skull, but I can¡¯t look away. Tem is a ghost in his own right, flitting between wraiths and dealing death. Their inkblot forms stain reality in disconcerting patterns. They howl and claw back at him with weapons of their own, but their outraged shrieks prove that his attacks are effective somehow.

    An enchanted sword is the only answer. I want to make my own one day¡ªbut first, we have to survive.

    The battle is going well, right up until a new wraith coalesces out of the mist, larger than the others by far. Its hulking shape looms over the conflict, casting everything into a deep gloom of preternatural shadows, and it roars in savage anger.

    Tem staggers back as though the sonic attack hits him physically. Ripples in the air track its assault, and it flies by my hiding spot in the cave, passing harmlessly overhead. Even this far away, there¡¯s a faint, oily sensation to the sound that I can feel deep in my soul, as strange as that sounds. It makes me shiver in fear. Again I press myself closer to the ground, hoping I won¡¯t draw its attention. A single attack and I¡¯ll die.

    The huge wraith surrounds Tem with its amorphous, smoke-like body, and for once his sword does nothing in retaliation. The gleaming blade dims against the onslaught of shadows, and Tem stumbles to his knees with a pained cry. A massive bardiche swirls into being over his head, hovering menacingly like a headsman¡¯s axe, and the wraith lord swings it down with a triumphant howl.

    I lurch to my feet, instinctively reaching for my mana, but there¡¯s nothing in my pool. My lessons on mana control with Ezio have been too effective; I¡¯ve cut myself off from magic, and now one of my heroes is going to die because of my cowardice. ¡°Shatter this,¡± I growl, running out of the cave with my hands in clenched fists, prepared to fight alongside Tem, or die trying.

    Except Tem is gone.

    The massive wraith seems as confused as I am when its shadow axe cleaves a furrow in the ground but otherwise misses its target. Its foe has inexplicably fled, Tem disappearing right in front of my eyes without a single trace of mana.

    ¡°How,¡± I breathe out stupidly, only now realizing that I¡¯ve dashed right into the middle of the melee without a single weapon other than my meager little belt knife. The gathered enemies turn their collective attention towards me. The gray mist of their elongated faces stretches and rips apart as they move as one in eerie synchronization. Macabre approximations of toothy smiles gash their faces like open wounds where their mouths should be, and as one they scream, producing a visible whirlwind of force.

    Fear hits me like a wave of force, and I crash to the ground, clutching at my head and screaming. My body spasms uncontrollably as incoherent images assault my mind. Through the chaos and confusion, one thought stands out clearly: this is the end. I¡¯m going to die here, torn to pieces by an otherworldly incursion.

    Tem¡¯s hand snakes out of the shadows. He clasps my shoulder and drags me sideways, out of the path of a rampaging wraith. Their fear-invoking curse of bewilderment falls away, and I flinch as ebon claws pierce the air where I stood a heartbeat earlier. The world around us blurs, stretching into impossible proportions and fading until all the color is gone, mutated into endless gray. The vengeful wraiths fade away.

    I spin around blindly, trying to regain my bearings, but I can¡¯t see a thing, just white wisps of fog in all directions, grasping tendrils that slide and slither around each other and obscure my vision. A high-pitched, dissonant whine drills into my head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t die, Nuri,¡± Tem hisses, drawing me out of the weird not-existence with a scowl. We¡¯re several dozen paces behind the wraiths, perched high on a tree branch. He shoves me down, and I cling to the tree instinctually. ¡°Stay put this time!¡±

    I nod rapidly, determined to listen, and clutch at the trunk of the tree to keep from falling. I stare, my mouth agape, as Tem hurls himself off the edge. He reappears next to the cluster of lesser wraiths, reaping them with his sword like a farmer cutting wheat, and dances away again before the giant wraith lord can land a blow with its long, wicked axe.

    The last of the wraiths falls before his blade a few blinks later, and the miasma of terror dissipates, evaporating like morning mist before the fierceness of the rising sun. As the searing pain in my head slowly clears, I find that I can follow the raging duel below me with far greater clarity. Perceiving the true form of our opponent only heightens my horror, however. The wraiths have bodies after all.

    No longer shrouded in shadows, his disjointed, scaled body blasts the area with arcane radiation, and my mana channels shudder at the echo of his aura blast.

    I don¡¯t want to know how agonizing it would be if I hadn¡¯t vented my mana as Tem had instructed me. The sheer presence of the beast warps my vision, bending the world around us in a manner suspiciously similar to what Tem just demonstrated when he pulled me sideways into the strange passageway devoid of color and form.

    Tem dashes forward, his sword in hand once more. No longer contesting so many vile auras at once, the weapon again shines like a beacon, far brighter than it has any right to in the harsh sunlight. His form blurs, and lightning-fast swings from Tem slice through the enormous monster¡¯s defenses, spraying dark ichor across the forest. Each drop sizzles and melts away the earth where it lands, leaving ugly, burning scars.

    The wraith lord leaps backward, propelled by huge, muscle-bound haunches. Its blood drips everywhere, and its body is covered with cuts. Without its slaves to power the obfuscation and shielding effects¡ªI recall dimly that wraiths specialize in linked arrays¡ªthe wraith lord is now vulnerable to the shimmering, enchanted blade that Tem wields. Its corded neck bulges as it distends its jaw and screams in wrathful defiance.

    Power gathers around the beast, and Tem steps back warily, his sword in a high hanging guard. The [Expert Counterspell Scout] is breathing heavily and bleeding from his own wounds. His shirt and leather vest are torn to shreds, stained by his lifeblood, and his bare arms are trembling with the effort required to keep his sword aloft. The fight has taken something vital out of him, although I still don¡¯t sense any mana expenditure¡ªI don¡¯t technically have a Skill for it, but most mana-users can usually at least tell when someone else activates a Skill. Tem? He¡¯s completely devoid of mana.

    Curiosity gets the better of me, and I loosen the seal on my mana harvesting for a split second. As the mana rushes through my channels, I direct it up to my eyes, willing myself to see what¡¯s happening in the duel between two masters.

    Instantly, the wraith lord whirls around, pinning me with a predatory grin. As weak as I am, my mana signature must still draw him like a vulture to a fresh corpse. He slavers, running a too-pink tongue across his jagged, needle teeth, and stalks forward with a burbling laugh.

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    I glare back in defiance, and refuse to release my mana. It can¡¯t fight both of us at once, and this is all I have left to offer. I shout in anticipation of victory as Tem charges forward at the wraith lord¡¯s back, lunging in a killing blow.

    Blistering torment erupts beyond my eyes, but my willpower tightens down like a vise, and I refuse to let go. Every second that he focuses on me is a chance for Tem to end the fight without taking any further harm. And if Tem doesn¡¯t succeed, then I¡¯m as good as dead. This is all I can do to contribute.

    Failure is not an option.

    My eyes squeeze shut in concentration, and my fingertips dig into the rough bark of the tree trunk so hard that my skin splits open, but I can¡¯t let go. The world is spinning around me, a maelstrom of misery, but Tem is counting on me. I can¡¯t let go. I refuse.

    Silver fire bursts through the center of the wraith lord¡¯s chest, coruscating to my inner eye. With a bestial shriek of rage and pain, the monster bursts apart, and I slump forward on the tree branch, letting go of the meager mana I¡¯ve circulated through my channels.

    I pray that I have the strength to hang on until Tem can save me.

    =+=

    ¡°We have to warn Silaraon. They¡¯ll likely need my help once I recover, but they have absolutely no chance if they¡¯re caught off guard,¡± Tem murmurs once he collects me from my hiding spot.

    His black hair is matted with blood and plastered to his head, and he¡¯s clutching his shoulder gingerly. ¡°It¡¯s extremely rare to encounter empowered monsters with direct attacks on an opponent¡¯s mana channels. Wraiths like that will overwhelm the town. Your friend Ember can help against the shadow cats, but not against this kind of lethal threat. It¡¯s too far beyond her, unless she¡¯s prepared to pay the cost with her own lifeforce.¡±

    I stare down at the corpse of the beast. ¡°What are they doing in the middle of the forest? Did a Rift disgorge them? I figured we¡¯d be safe this far away from the border. Shouldn¡¯t the [Guardians] keep out extraplanar threats?¡±

    Tem taps a finger on the top of his silver-topped cane. ¡°A mystery indeed. I¡¯ll look into it, that I can promise you. Best stay out of it for now. Now, watch me carefully while I activate this scroll, Nuri. It¡¯s not easy, but if you can follow the threads of mana with your burgeoning senses, then you may be able to unravel the mechanism.¡±

    Groaning with the pain of reaching down to his bag, Tem retrieves an ordinary scroll and turns it over in his hands. On the other side, a gold-embossed crest in the center binds the scroll shut. A faint resonance builds in my mind as he passes his hand over the seal, but otherwise the rolled up parchment itself appears rather unremarkable.

    Raw mana manifests in his right hand, consolidating into a ghostly quill. Like Ezio, he¡¯s a fan of creating a mana pen visible to the naked eye as a result of his formidable mana control. I vow that I¡¯ll learn how to do that in time.

    I¡¯m tempted to ask what his mana-control tests results look like, but my guess is that it¡¯s tightly-guarded, personal information. He touches the condensed mana quill to the parchment, and a dizzying array of energy explodes in my mind¡¯s eye as he writes. Sorting through the flows of unfamiliar mana is equal parts puzzling and exhilarating, but I¡¯m up for the challenge.

    A moment later, I gasp in excitement. The challenge was rewarding. Literally. At long last, my hoped-for moment finally arrives. With a soft chime, the swirl of mana within my soul coalesces into a new crystalline shape, providing form and structure for a Skill. My new Skill.

    My second Skill, after so many years of hoping and waiting, almost doesn¡¯t seem real.

    Not even the ¡°Lesser¡± modifier can dampen my enthusiasm this time. I know that I¡¯ll be able to rank it up with enough dedication and practice.

    ¡°[Lesser Manasight]¡± reads the banner in my inner world. I¡¯ve never seen anything so beautiful before.

    A light smack to the back of my head sends me tumbling out of my soul contemplation. I can¡¯t muster up the energy to get mad, however, when I see Tem¡¯s stern face covered in fresh blood; the exertion of walking over to smack me is too much for him right now. He staggers and has to steady himself against the rock cliff face. He grunts, sits back down on a rock, and takes a deep, calming breath.

    The light of battle fades from his eyes as he digs through his pack and withdraws a flask that glows like the sun in my new [Manasight]. Several long swigs from the high-grade healing draught seem to help him stabilize enough to get out of the danger zone. Tem nods toward me. ¡°So? Skill any good?¡±

    ¡°[Manasight],¡± I reply immediately. ¡°It¡¯s another ¡¯lesser¡¯ version, but I strongly suspect I can upgrade it soon with hard work.¡±

    ¡°Good lad,¡± Tem says, all too quietly.

    ¡°Everything all right? You don¡¯t look good.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he growls. ¡°I likely just saved everyone in Silaraon, but we¡¯re not out of the worst of it yet. Need to get back, and you¡¯re too slow to travel effectively.¡±

    A chill crawls up my back. I figured that as long as I was with Tem, we weren¡¯t actually in any danger. Moments like these remind me of the gulf between us. I have to get stronger if I¡¯m going to have a chance to protect my friends. I swallow hard, nodding. ¡°Apologies, Tem. I¡¯m grateful. Truly. I have good friends back in town.¡±

    He heaves a sigh. ¡°Yeah, well, I¡¯m sorry, too. Stress seems to follow me wherever I go. So much for a nice, quiet jaunt through my old stomping grounds.¡± His eyes grow soft, almost misty, and his voice cracks with wistful nostalgia. ¡°I used to play in this cave as a kid. Good memories here. Thought I might escape any serious violence for once in my life. At least it¡¯s sorted, and the message sent. Now we¡¯ll see if I get dragged back into the mess.¡±

    ¡°At least I got [Lesser Manasight],¡± I say hastily, growing more uncomfortable by the moment as he pours out his life¡¯s story. I¡¯m not the sentimental sort, most of the time. But after sharing a near death experience, and seeing my favorite childhood hero bloodied and broken, I¡¯m unsteady, too.

    Tem shakes himself. He rubs his temples with the palms of his hands, then nods at me in acknowledgement. ¡°Fairly rare to unlock it before your First Threshold. Good growth potential. Plays well with other Skills, especially if you have training in mana control. Unfortunate ranking, getting the lesser variety, but at least you know how to raise it over time.¡±

    ¡°I would never dream of getting out of more practicing,¡± I say with a wry little laugh.

    ¡°And you never will! It¡¯s the nature of life. But back to your [Lesser Manasight]. You have passing familiarity with the popular control theorems, I presume, thanks to Ezio?¡±

    My face twists into a grimace, not wanting to revisit the sheer agony of the mana tests, which earns me a knowing smile from my latest hired teacher. Why do they always put me in bodily danger? Is it some sort of rite of passage?

    ¡°Good. Saves time. I¡¯ll walk you through using both Skills at once, as well as having you observe enchantment activation. That should help you get a solid start.¡±

    A thought occurs to me, and it finally dampens my enthusiasm. I lick my lips twice before giving voice to my doubts. ¡°Are we returning home, or carrying on? Any further encounters could be deadly. Another incursion is possible, and I¡¯m not much of a fighter yet.¡±

    Tem snorts. His gaze lingers on the treeline, and for a long moment I think he¡¯s forgotten about me entirely. He shifts in his seat and spits to the side, then heaves an aggravated sigh. ¡°If two incursions hit in one week, we¡¯ve got realm-shaking problems. I haven¡¯t had a fight like that in a few years, and rarely without my team. Probability suggests we¡¯re fine. Prudence demands we return. It¡¯s a coin flip, but at the end of the day, you¡¯re the one who charted the trip, and you¡¯re the one risking the most if we stay out here. What say you?¡±

    ¡°This is likely my only chance to learn from someone like you,¡± I reply without a second thought. ¡°We continue. No risk, no reward.¡±

    ¡°Yep. You¡¯re as young and eager. Just as I thought,¡± Tem says. He coughs, wiping away bloody spittle. ¡°Fine, then, we¡¯ll continue the hunt. Your funeral if it goes wrong.¡±

    I pull my blanket up around my neck, hunching down like a turtle pulling into its shell to ward off my embarrassment. If Tem thinks poorly of my decision, then why give me the option? ¡°Failed your test, huh? Sorry to disappoint.¡±

    Tem fiddles with his pocket knife, trimming his nails with quick, jittery movements that seem more motivated by long habit than out of any real need. ¡°Not judging you. I¡¯ve made a career out of stupidity. Lost my career because of it, too.¡±

    My excitement runs ahead of my brain, and I blurt out the burning question I¡¯ve been wrestling with since I first heard Tem was coming to Silaraon. ¡°Did you really get kicked out because the king is jealous of your Skills and popularity? Is that why you¡¯re not with your old Mage Bane brigade anymore?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what they¡¯re saying about me?¡±

    ¡°Sounds more plausible in my head,¡± I admit. ¡°But, yeah, that¡¯s the rumor.¡±

    ¡°The royal [Heralds] must be working overtime. They wouldn¡¯t dare tell the truth.¡± Tem snickers.

    I lean forward eagerly, my heart suddenly racing in anticipation. ¡°And what is the truth? Why are you in Silaraon right now?¡±

    Tem arches an eyebrow. ¡°We¡¯re not old drinking buddies yet, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll stop prying.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother. It¡¯s amusing. Why don¡¯t you tell me the rest of your theories while I finish healing. It will take my mind off the itch of getting my muscles restitched. Hate those potions, even though they¡¯ve saved my life more times than I can count.¡± Tem¡¯s eyes go soft again, as though he¡¯s transported back through time.

    ¡°Don¡¯t they cost more than you charged me for this expedition?¡±

    ¡°Nah, you could afford a couple at my rates. The difficulty is finding an authorized dealer way out here.¡±

    I scrunch up my nose and give him a sidelong look. ¡°Why would something like that be restricted? Saving lives is a good thing.¡±

    ¡°So is making sure the bad guys don¡¯t get their hands on them. Imagine fighting a gang that keeps coming back as good as new, all topped off after each encounter unless you kill them all outright.¡± He shudders abruptly and breaks off the story, rubbing his shoulder absently as if remembering an old hurt. ¡°These are much higher-grade than what you¡¯ve seen before.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. But who gets to decide who the bad guys are? And what if they decide that you don¡¯t count as a good guy anymore?¡± I ask, although I know I¡¯m still prodding.

    Stony-faced silence is my only reply.

    Sometimes, I don¡¯t like being right. I¡¯ve poked a still-sensitive wound, and Tem isn¡¯t in the mood to indulge me. I file the information away for later, but I don¡¯t have any plans of letting it go. This could be important, and if I ever want to become a bigger player in the world, this sort of intrigue could be my ticket to greater things.

    ¡°Am I going to regret practicing two Skills at once? Every time Ezio suggested that we try a new idea, his eyes sparked with an unhealthy sort of excitement. I think watching me squirm in pain gave him great satisfaction. I probably deserved it for all the ways I annoyed him.¡±

    ¡°Shocking,¡± Tem murmurs.

    I laugh at the barb. ¡°Fine, I probably deserve that one, too.¡±

    He rubs his chin. ¡°I won¡¯t lie to you. Practicing like that won¡¯t be pain free, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re hoping for. I can¡¯t promise that you won¡¯t find it aggravating. But you didn¡¯t get this far by giving up at the first sign of hardship, Nuri. So, if you want to continue, then I¡¯ll walk you through the process. I¡¯m not feeling up to demonstrating just yet, but my voice still works fine.¡±

    I bite back the snarky retort that springs to my lips. Mikko would have a field day on this expedition, fighting monsters and bandying about jokes. He and Tem will get along, I hope. I¡¯ll have to invite him, Lionel, and the Linas out for a drink and a bite to eat when I return so I can regale them with the story.

    I take a breath, steeling myself for what¡¯s to come. My familiar refrain leaps to mind. ¡°I¡¯m ready to learn, Tem. After all, what¡¯s a little pain?¡±

    I¡¯m really starting to hate that phrase.

 Chapter Twenty-Five: Beware The Depths

    After the excitement of the first twenty-four hours with Tem, every bird call or rustle of leaves in the trees has me jumping at shadows. As much as he doesn¡¯t want to admit it, Tem tenses up at the same sounds; the fight with the wraith lord has taken something vital out of him. Still, he¡¯s a veteran of scouting and survival, and his training keeps us both on track.

    ¡°Steady, Nuri,¡± he murmurs, his eyes scanning the forest ceaselessly. ¡°Keeping watch is wise, but you have to pace yourself. Reacting to every little thing without discretion will wear you down fast. Don¡¯t defeat yourself in your own mind before an enemy even appears. I promised to teach you to hunt and to fight, and despite my earlier teasing, I won¡¯t let you die before you can stand proud on your own two feet.¡±

    I forcibly drag my attention away from the treeline and meet his eyes, smiling although I don¡¯t feel like it. ¡°My teachers all agree that it will take me a long while to gain competency, so I¡¯ll take that as a sign that we have a lot of living still to do.¡±

    ¡°I like your interpretation of things,¡± Tem says, cracking a slight smile. ¡°Let¡¯s push on for a while longer. There¡¯s a meadow in a cleft between two foothills up ahead, if my memory holds. We¡¯ll camp there for the night. Assuming all goes well, we¡¯ll practice weapons and combat after dinner. A good workout will help clear our minds and prepare our bodies for rest.¡±

    We soon reach the campsite, and it¡¯s as well-suited for our purposes as Tem recalls. Steep, obsidian-colored cliffs on either side of the grassy meadow obscure us from view and provide some shelter against the wind. A storm is picking up, and even though the [Expert Scout] assures me that it won¡¯t be overly severe, I¡¯m grateful for something to break up the wind. I¡¯ve had enough discomfort lately, although I can banish cold with a simple flex of mana.

    After a quick dinner, Tem rolls his shoulders and begins to warm up, stepping through basic forms with fluid, practiced movements. He¡¯s calm, precise, and faster than anything I have fought to date. His movements aren¡¯t as showy as Zviad¡¯s, but he¡¯s never caught out of position. I¡¯m not sure how he¡¯s recovered so quickly, even with the potion for accelerated healing, but it¡¯s obviously a much higher grade than anything I¡¯ve seen before.

    ¡°Ten attacks, and then we¡¯ll analyze your methods. Don¡¯t expect to actually hit me; I am extremely averse to taking damage. You probably couldn¡¯t lay a finger on me even if you had a movement Skill, so don¡¯t feel bad about it. Just do your best, and don¡¯t overcompensate to try to score a cheeky blow. It¡¯s not going to work, so don¡¯t bother.¡±

    ¡°Got it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you do,¡± Tem says, a smile playing on his lips. ¡°But please, feel free to try anything you¡¯d like.¡±

    ¡°Huh. So, I don¡¯t have to worry about hurting you? You¡¯re basically a training dummy in that case. Guess I¡¯ll go all out.¡±

    ¡°Close enough,¡± Tem chuckles.

    I join him in laughter, then explode forward without drawing a weapon, jabbing at his jaw with a straight right. Immediately, I launch a low kick at his leg, and follow up my jab with a cross and then a third punch. He flows out of the way like it¡¯s the easiest thing in the world for him to avoid my desperate punches and kicks, and simultaneously slaps me on the back of the head just hard enough to send me tumbling into the mud.

    ¡°Good instincts, attacking before you¡¯ve drawn your knife. Against someone around your level, that might be enough to knock an opponent over and then end it with a blade. But this isn¡¯t about winning, Nuri. Tonight is about assessing where you¡¯re at with your fighting. Don¡¯t confuse training with testing; you need to learn through repetition over time.¡±

    I step back and drop my hands to my side. I nod seriously, wipe the sweat off my brow, and take up a more traditional stance with my hands guarding my face.

    ¡°Wait. Let¡¯s get you a suitable weapon,¡± Tem says, picking up a stick from the firewood we¡¯ve collected for the night. He snaps off a few stray twigs, then tosses the makeshift staff to me. ¡°There. Sword or spear; up to you. We¡¯ll practice both before the night¡¯s over.¡±

    I activate my [Lesser Manasight] as we spar, hoping to glean some key insights into the way mana empowers Tem in speed and agility. But no matter how fast he evades, he doesn¡¯t light up in my senses. A rising sense of excitement wells up within me. Before, I couldn¡¯t be sure, since I didn¡¯t have any mana sensing Skills yet, but now I¡¯m certain that he¡¯s moving without using a single drop of mana. It matches the way he moved previously when he dragged me through that odd, shifting, monochromatic un-reality. Is he tapping into an alternate energy source? If not mana, then what?

    A glimmer from the far end of the meadow catches my eye, and I falter in my attack. I blink, clearing away distractions, and limber up to continue our spar, but the nagging sense of adventure never stops. I have no idea what natural formation or phenomenon would shimmer in my mind like this.

    ¡°Nuri! Your brain freeze up?¡±

    I shake off my distraction and regrip the staff Tem cut for me. I bring it back up into an offensive stance, angled across my chest. The next three thrusts all miss, his body bending in ways that don¡¯t seem possible, but I slide my back foot forward in a semicircle and unleash an overhand strike that almost connects. As much as I can¡¯t stand Zviad, his footwork helps a lot in combat. I owe him that much.

    ¡°Not bad, not bad. You¡¯re still fixated on something, though. What¡¯s eating at you?¡± Tem asks me.

    I gesture behind him with my chin, not taking my eyes off the wily [Scout]. ¡°Something¡¯s lighting up like a bonfire in my [Manasight].¡±

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    Tem snickers. ¡°That¡¯s the oldest trick in the book. You think you¡¯ll actually get me to look behind my back?¡±

    ¡°No, although I wish I¡¯d thought of that trick. I¡¯m genuinely worried. You haven¡¯t noticed it?¡± I squint at Tem. ¡°Wait. That doesn¡¯t make any sense. Aren¡¯t your scouting Skills legendary? I thought you had [Eyes of the Panopticon] and [Detect Threat]?¡±

    ¡°Aww, cold tracks!¡± Tem swears. He sighs and shakes his head. ¡°Tough to pull a fast one on you. I forgot you read my book and know some of my basic Skills. I see the phenomenon, never fear. It¡¯s a Rift. Looks recent.¡±

    ¡°A Rift? Here?¡± My voice squeaks, but I don¡¯t care. While the borderlands aren¡¯t exactly the safest place in the world, it¡¯s been a while since a new Rift opened.

    ¡°Yep. Try not to pass out in excitement.¡±

    ¡°We have to tell the city guard! First a wraith incursion, and now a Rift? How can you be so calm? This is the most exciting day of my life.¡±

    Tem lifts one palm up in the air and gives me a helpless half-shrug. ¡°This is fairly normal for the Royal Scouts, Nuri. Expand your horizons.¡± He blows the air out of his puffed-up cheeks. ¡°I hate paperwork. What do you say that we just pretend that it doesn¡¯t exist?¡±

    I almost drop my staff in shock at Tem¡¯s casual suggestion, and my words come out too fast, spilling over each other as my heart rate spikes. ¡°Isn¡¯t failure to report a national threat, uh, you know, treason? You gave us a hard sell in your lecture. Going back on your word already? Not a very good example.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Guess we¡¯ll have to let them know eventually. But there¡¯s nothing that says we have to report it to Silaraon for investigation today. I¡¯ve already used up my scroll, and I¡¯m not double-timing it back to the city tonight. I¡¯m tired.¡±

    ¡°You mean, you¡¯re dragging your feet because you don¡¯t want to get involved in the mess that¡¯s sure to follow,¡± I say, keeping my tone light so it doesn¡¯t sound like an accusation.

    ¡°You should be thankful for that,¡± Tem replies quietly, and there¡¯s a contemplative note in his tone that shuts me down instantly. ¡°I¡¯m still making up my mind if you¡¯re likely to survive if we delve the Rift.¡±

    What little backbone I¡¯ve started to develop disappears, and I sink down to the ground to squat on my haunches. I clutch at my cloak, pulling it closer to my body, suddenly feeling very small and very cold. ¡°Delve an unknown Rift with a party of two? You¡¯re insane. I¡¯m curious, I¡¯ll admit, but that sounds like suicide.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re pretty crazy, too, by your own admission,¡± Tem shoots back. ¡°That¡¯s what makes us a good pair. Rifts might be dangerous, but they¡¯re also great resources. Who knows what we might find down there, Nuri? Just imagine the possibilities!¡±

    ¡°Death,¡± I breathe out. ¡°We¡¯re going to find death.¡±

    ¡°Stop. Just because you¡¯d die on your own doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s any real threat to me. I kept you alive against a wraith lord. Do you really think a little old Rift will pose much of a threat?¡±

    ¡°What if that¡¯s where the incursion came from?¡± I protest.

    ¡°Of course that¡¯s where they came from. That¡¯s what makes it valuable,¡± Tem explains, a glint in his eyes. ¡°Why do you think I¡¯m evaluating your combat skills?¡±

    ¡°Oh. You really wanna enter?¡±

    ¡°Strongly considering it if . . .¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± I prompt Tem when he trails off, a frown on his face.

    ¡°Hmm. It may be more dangerous than I expected. Virulent mana signature.¡±

    I snort. ¡°That doesn¡¯t put my mind at ease. Shouldn¡¯t we worry about the proximity to the city? I¡¯m not sure anything we find inside is worth the danger.¡±

    He rolls his eyes. ¡°Do you want to risk it all and possibly make your fortune, or are you really content to languish away in obscurity your whole life? This is it, Nuri. Your big break.¡±

    I squint toward the Rift, as though focusing might let me see more clearly. It¡¯s still a blur in the distance to my natural eyes, but the glow in my new [Lesser Manasight] keeps growing stronger. There¡¯s probably more treasure in the depths than I¡¯ve ever laid eyes on before.

    Tem starts to pace. He tosses his pack over his shoulder, an avaricious gleam in his eyes now that he¡¯s warmed to the idea. ¡°You want to dare to do great things? You want to walk as an equal in exalted circles you can only dream about right now? Then forget about the training exercises or any teaching contracts.¡± He flings his arms out wide and shouts. ¡°Let¡¯s have an adventure!¡±

    I kick dirt over the campfire, stuff my bedroll back into my canvas sack, and pop up to my feet beside him. ¡°I want an even, fifty-fifty split.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Not a chance. We both know I¡¯m going to do all the heavy lifting down there.¡±

    ¡°Yes, and we both know that you¡¯re still technically under contract right now for our joint training exercise. You wouldn¡¯t even know about a new Rift if I didn¡¯t hire you. By Silaraon law, I have rights to anything we find during this excursion as the chartering party. But I¡¯m willing to go halves with you since you¡¯ll have to work overtime to keep me alive.¡±

    Tem¡¯s jaw goes slack. He blinks at me a few times, then throws back his head and roars with laughter. ¡°You¡¯ve got some fire in you, Nuri. I like that about you. But you do realize that if you don¡¯t make it back, I get the full share. Besides, I already knew about the Rift.¡±

    I step forward, my eyes locked onto his, and suppress the urge to run. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s threatening me, not truly, so I stand up to the challenge. Sweat pours down the back of my neck as I look into the eyes of a killer. ¡°A partner at your back is only a good thing if you can trust him. I think you¡¯re tired of working with people you can¡¯t trust.¡±

    Tem slowly extends a hand, and we shake on it. ¡°Well said, Nuri. A team, then. We¡¯ll share whatever we find in the depths.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good. But don¡¯t even think about dying on me.¡± My lips twitch into a faint smile. ¡°After all, I ain¡¯t hauling all the loot back to town by myself.¡±

    We take off for the Rift as the night falls around us, chatting and laughing, our spirits high even though my hands are shaking like an old man¡¯s. Tem talks me through what I did wrong in our sparring match, gives me pointers on how to avoid traps, and promises to turn back if we encounter any monsters beyond Palladium-rank.

    A short walk through the forest brings us to the spatial distortion that marks the opening of the Rift. We both go silent, and I stare in awe at a sight I always dreamed of seeing with my own eyes, but never truly expected to behold.

    ¡°Turn around, Nuri.¡±

    I flinch at Tem¡¯s sudden words. ¡°What? I thought we were going inside? That¡¯s what we just talked about a few minutes ago. What changed?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a Greater Rift,¡± Tem says. The muscles in his jaw flex. ¡°I knew a Rift was out here due to the Wraiths, as well as¡ªwell, nevermind. I¡¯d hoped for a Lesser variety, originally. This is beyond you without better gear and preparation. Let¡¯s go home. We need a better plan if we¡¯re going to test our mettle.¡±

    My shoulders slump at the thought of an adventure deferred, but I recognize the wisdom of Tem¡¯s words. After a moment''s hesitation, I find myself nodding. ¡°All right. You¡¯re the expert. We¡¯ll do it your way.¡±

 Chapter Twenty-Six: Crossroads

    Back in Silaraon, I take stock of what we¡¯ll need if we want to challenge the Rift. I¡¯m not very confident in my sword skills yet, or else I¡¯d take the glass swords my father left behind. A sturdy walking stick is far less glamorous, but more practical. Likewise, my glass armor isn¡¯t ready for the real world. Melina cautions me that it will take more iterating and controlled, in-studio testing before we¡¯re ready to trust my life to it in the field.

    I¡¯m too nervous about the Rift to talk with Ember about it. Instinctively, I know she¡¯ll try to talk me out of entering a Rift¡ªparticularly a Greater variety. She wants to keep me safe, both because I am her last tie to my parents, who were close friends of hers, and also because I¡¯m a skilled laborer in her studio.

    Staying away is prudent.

    Yet I can¡¯t resist the call.

    Over the weekend, I continue to collect what I¡¯ll need. My checklist is sparse, since Tem is preparing food and water. I get a basic leather jerkin for better durability; I don¡¯t want to shred my shirt if I have to climb rocks or crawl in the dirt. Sharpening my knife doesn¡¯t take long, but I savor the task, imagining that with each pass of the blade over the whetstone I¡¯m slaughtering monsters in the Rift. Mikko could sharpen the knife for me much faster, but I don¡¯t want to tell him about my trip, either. He¡¯ll just try to talk me out of it.

    He¡¯d probably succeed, too, which is why I¡¯m not about to give him the chance. For once I¡¯m committed to a mischievous plan that doesn¡¯t include Mikko or Lionel, my two most-frequent partners in crime. It feels strangely lonely, but also invigorating.

    Gathering my supplies and getting a staff is quick work and doesn¡¯t seem to raise any suspicions. Informing Ember that I¡¯ll be training further with Tem results in a raised brow and a glower. I promise that I¡¯ll do my best to make up the work later, so she agrees to let me go. I¡¯ll bet she suspects that something¡¯s amiss, but my guess is that she¡¯s confident in Tem¡¯s ability to keep me alive.

    Speaking of Tem, he does all the hard work preparing for what¡¯s to come. Weapons and armor and gear are his responsibility, along with procuring vittles and coming up with a plan for our time in the Rift. He seems to have things well in hand.

    Of course, nothing ever goes perfectly according to plan.

    A pair of burly [Soldiers] with armor polished to parade-march perfection knock on my door early in the morning on the day Tem and I are supposed to leave town. One look at their shiny badges and grim faces, and I know not to argue. While the Royal Army always has some presence in the city barracks, we rarely interact with their soldiers directly. They usually stick to their forts. That means something important is underway, and I¡¯m not about to get on their bad side until I figure out what¡¯s going on.

    They give me two minutes to get dressed and ready. I¡¯d already packed the night before, so I stuff my feet into my boots, shrug on my leather jerkin over my shirt, and sling the pack over my shoulders. Walking stick in hand, I¡¯m as ready as I¡¯ll ever be, so I set off down my dirt path.

    The [Soldiers] escort me from my cabin, glaring at me with more derision than I think is necessary. We march in formation on the way into town: one in front of me to lead the way, and one trailing behind me to dissuade me from getting any thoughts about running. What do they think I am, a common criminal?

    I trudge along in uncomfortable silence, through the sparse trees and open fields on the outskirts of Silaraon, glad that no one I know is around to see me. We finally pass through the more densely-clustered homes at the edge of the city, entering the main gate and heading to the right, toward the barracks for the city watch.

    Tem is out front of the building, flanked by his own pair of [Soldiers]. Unlike my escorts, however, his pair of guards look absolutely terrified. They are under no delusions that they¡¯re preventing him from doing anything. Even if people don¡¯t buy into all of Tem¡¯s legends, everyone knows who he is and how dangerous he can be if you get on his bad side.

    Tem flashes a brilliant smile when he sees me. ¡°Ready to go, Nuri? We¡¯ll get this sorted out shortly.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m packed, at least. Not sure about ready,¡± I reply cautiously. I don¡¯t know how much to give away with people listening in, and I¡¯d rather not misspeak in front of Tem.

    ¡°Close enough,¡± the [Scout] says, waving away my worry. ¡°Now that you¡¯re finally here, let¡¯s go talk with the upstart who¡¯s blocking our entry into the Rift.¡±

    Ah. Not a secret, then.

    ¡°[Lieutenant] Cassius is busy,¡± a new [Soldier] interrupts. He emerged from the door to the three-story barracks, a square, imposing building of dark stone. He plants himself in front of the doorway. ¡°We¡¯ll summon you when he¡¯s ready to speak with you.¡±

    ¡°Wait, Cassius? That¡¯s Zvaid¡¯s father, if I remember,¡± I mutter to myself. My stomach turns as I draw the connection between the two. If the [Lieutenant] is anything like his son, then we¡¯re in for a headache. That¡¯s a complication that I never saw coming. But based on the vitriol Zviad spewed in class when Tem discussed Rifts, maybe I should have known that his father wouldn¡¯t be happy about having a Greater Rift pop up in his backyard.

    Tem makes a face like he bit into a lemon. ¡°That rude boy from class? His father is the one wasting our time?¡±

    I nod, wishing I could step away from the discussion. I don¡¯t want the [Soldiers] to take out their frustrations on me. Tem might be untouchable, but I¡¯m certainly not.

    Tem grabs my upper arm, gripping tight just below the shoulder. Before I can blink, he steps through the strange, monochrome world I first experienced when he saved me from the wraiths. We emerge back into reality in a sparse entry chamber inside the barracks, on the other side of the locked doors. There¡¯s no sign of the [Soldiers] who tried to prevent us from seeing [Lieutenant] Cassius.

    ¡°That was awesome!¡± I breathe.

    Tem chuckles at my enthusiasm. ¡°You handled it better than last time. Less resistance to passing through the mesh of the world, less nausea on the other side. Good. Let¡¯s put this little ant back in his place and get out of here.¡±

    Leading us on with an unerring sense of direction, Tem strides through the barracks like he owns the place. We pass through a plain hallway of undressed stone and turn left, down a murky passage that¡¯s missing mage lanterns. Up a dingy flight of stairs, an imposing, ornately carved wooden door bars our path.

    The carved door is the first bit of decoration we¡¯ve seen in the barracks, which makes it easy to conclude that it¡¯s where Cassius holds court. Well, that, and Tem is marching up to the door like he¡¯s about to put a child in his place.

    Telltale signs of enchantments glimmer in my [Lesser Manasight] as we approach the office. Likely, the door is warded against intruders, which makes sense for the boss, although I can¡¯t imagine that someone barging in on the [Lieutenant] is a common occurrence.

    Wards don¡¯t stop Tem in the slightest. He holds out his right hand at chest level, with his fingers splayed apart. A cold, hard light gathers in his palm like liquid starlight, blazing for a brief moment before dispersing with a barely-audible pop. Instantly, the wards fizzle out in my vision, disappearing into nothingness at Tem¡¯s casual display of power.

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    He kicks the lock, which dissolves into dust as though centuries have passed by in the space of a single heartbeat. Letting out a tortured screech, the double hinges creak, strain, and fall apart. The entire door flies open, crashing to the ground now that it¡¯s no longer held up by its mounting hardware on either side, revealing a handsome, middle-aged man with the same arrogant eyes I¡¯ve come to know so well from Zviad.

    Cassius is immediately recognizable as a member of the Densmore elite. His fine, slim nose, high forehead, and sharply-angled jaw are so perfectly symmetrical that they appear cut and polished from a single jewel by a Master [Lapidary]. To his credit, he doesn¡¯t appear fazed in the least by our sudden appearance, only frowning as he regards the fractured door lying on the office floor.

    Cassius leans forward, resting his elbows on the top of his desk, and sets his chin on his clasped fists. He sneers up at Tem. ¡°Had you waited five more minutes before bashing down my door, I would have had a Writ prepared to authorize your entry into the Greater Rift. But a wild dog can¡¯t help but bite, can he?¡±

    ¡°I need neither Writ nor authorization,¡± Tem snaps back. ¡°Stop acting like it¡¯s my fault that we¡¯re delayed. You called us here only to make a show of power. You have no authority over a Royal agent.¡±

    ¡°Former Royal agent,¡± Cassius corrects, his tone frosty.

    Tem surprises me by chuckling. He grabs one of the plain wooden chairs and spins it around. He sits down, lounging in the seat like he owns the place. ¡°Well informed, I¡¯ll give you that. We both know that you had no intention of offering any approval, however. You¡¯re just trying to regain a semblance of normality, hoping you could try to hold on to the tattered shreds of your dignity despite your exile to the borderlands. This is all a farce.¡±

    ¡°Easy to see why you were cut loose,¡± Cassius replies. Impossibly, his sneer appears to deepen; I already thought it was as disdainful as possible, but I was wrong.

    Tem shrugs one shoulder. ¡°Posturing is a young man¡¯s game. Let¡¯s get down to business and dispense with the pleasantries.¡±

    ¡°Hardly pleasant,¡± Cassius mutters.

    ¡°What do you want, boy? Name your cut from the Rift,¡± Tem says, completely ignoring the [Lieutenant].

    Cassius laces his fingers together. He glares at Tem over the top of his hands. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to discuss. You¡¯ll scout out the Rift and report back. That¡¯s your job. We¡¯ll send a crew and harvest any points of interest. That¡¯s our job.¡±

    ¡°Preposterous!¡± Tem says, laughing easily. ¡°Even non-affiliated delvers receive a finder¡¯s fee. You¡¯re out of your mind if you think we¡¯ll agree to that.¡±

    Cassius shrugs. ¡°Final offer. Otherwise, entry will be considered an act of insubordination. Think carefully what that will mean if you force the issue. You¡¯re already on thin ice.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I think I¡¯ll risk it,¡± Tem replies. He stretches, yawns, and stands up. ¡°Come on, lad. We¡¯ve got a long way to go today. Good thing you brought your big pack, since we won¡¯t share anything we recover.¡±

    ¡°Certain that¡¯s how you want to play this?¡± Cassius asks mildly.

    Tem tilts his head to the side, as if considering. He smiles thinly. ¡°Yep. Have a great stay in Silaraon. I¡¯m sure your illustrious career will take off thanks to your efforts here.¡±

    With that parting verbal jab, Tem strides back out into the hall with a whistle on his lips. He doesn¡¯t look back, seeming to trust that I¡¯ll follow him. I glance back and forth between him and Cassius, swallow hard, and give the [Lieutenant] an apologetic smile.

    ¡°I¡¯ll report back when we return. Tell Zviad I¡¯ll make him more glass orbs if he maxes out his current training program. Sorry about Tem. He gets worked up sometimes,¡± I say.

    It pains me to offer to make something for such a pompous jerk, but I don¡¯t want to get on the bad side of the Royal Army. I¡¯m not in a position to shrug off threats like Tem is, and I¡¯m not about to sabotage my career if I can help it.

    Cassius leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap and regarding me for a long moment. ¡°You know, I looked into you. Fought off monsters last year as a crafter who still hadn¡¯t hit the First Threshold. Admirable. The orbs are fairly clever, too. Trained with my son and didn¡¯t quit when you couldn¡¯t keep up. Those kinds of traits show promise. Ambition. Why waste your time with a bitter old man who¡¯s betrayed his country?¡±

    My eyebrows creep up my forehead as he speaks. I don¡¯t know what to say that won¡¯t get me in trouble, so I maintain a neutral expression and wait for him to continue, though I don¡¯t appreciate the way he¡¯s casting aspersions.

    ¡°Stay in town,¡± Cassius rumbles. ¡°I¡¯ll sponsor your apprenticeship with the Army if you want to re-Class. You won¡¯t get a better offer. Delving a Rift at your advancement is suicide.¡±

    Re-Class? He wants me to become a [Soldier]? For a brief moment, I¡¯m flattered. Then I grimace as I realize what that entails. He wants to tie me to himself now, while I don¡¯t have any reputation or leverage, as a means to simultaneously control me and ensure that Tem loses an asset. Regardless of how insignificant I am right now, I¡¯d like to think I have potential to grow if I¡¯m not capped.

    ¡°I¡¯ll, uh, I¡¯ll think it over,¡± I say, trying not to seem ungrateful for the [Lieutenant]¡¯s gesture of goodwill. I crane my neck to look over my shoulder at Tem¡¯s departing back. If I don¡¯t hurry up, then he¡¯ll leave me behind, and I¡¯m not going to miss my chance to delve, permission or not.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother. I see what¡¯s going on. Playing both sides means you lack conviction, boy,¡± Cassius says in rebuke at my half-hearted decision.

    Caught by surprise by how disappointed he sounds, words dry up on my tongue. I don¡¯t reply, and instead I scurry out of the office, chasing Tem before I lose sight of him completely. I tried playing catch with him in the forest before. I¡¯m not keen on repeating that game, not when a Rift is on the line. Zviad¡¯s dad can deal with my rudeness.

    ¡°Easy,¡± Tem announces once I rejoin him.

    ¡°Unnecessary,¡± I reply.

    He gives me an arch look and then snorts. ¡°Didn¡¯t take you for a bootlicker. Show some self-respect.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. ¡®When giants clash, ants are crushed underfoot,¡¯¡± I quote.

    ¡°Ha! Where¡¯d you hear that?¡±

    ¡°Ember told me that once.¡±

    Tem chuckles. ¡°Old Army saying. Surprised she remembers, though. It¡¯s definitely fallen out of favor with the younger crowd. Stick with me and you¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Dismissing my worries, he guides us toward a back door, letting us outside so we don¡¯t encounter the [Soldiers] that brought us to the front. As soon as we¡¯re outside the barracks, he picks up the pace, and I find myself running to keep up again.

    ¡°Nothing like kicking the hornet¡¯s nest and fleeing,¡± Tem says, his voice dripping with satisfaction at the chaos in our wake. He picks up his already brisk pace, guiding us toward the forest.

    I jog next to Tem. ¡°Not as bad as I feared, I have to admit. [Lieutenant] Cassius seems more restrained than his son.¡±

    ¡°Gonna take his offer?¡±

    I scratch my chin, taking time to arrange my thoughts. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you heard that. But it seems obvious in retrospect. You are an [Expert Scout].¡±

    ¡°So? What¡¯s it gonna be?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going with you. That should be pretty clear,¡± I say. ¡°More interesting than going to basic training.¡±

    ¡°Good lad.¡± He speeds up again, and I¡¯m forced to tuck my staff through the loops in my pack and run so he doesn¡¯t leave me behind.

    ¡°Hey, Tem?¡± I say in between breaths, once we¡¯re past the Silaraon city walls and into the woods proper. ¡°Is it true that the Army can change my Class? I¡¯ve definitely heard of earning the [Soldier] Class if you don¡¯t have one already, but outright changing it on demand? That sounds beyond the boundaries of what mortals can achieve.¡±

    ¡°They can, but I suspect it¡¯s not as easy as Cassius made it sound. Might be a question for Ezio. He¡¯s better versed in the ins and outs of the arcane sciences. I will say that usually they make recruits join them in the capital for a Class-change ceremony, so it probably has to do with the old monster himself.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±

    Tem¡¯s face grows stormy. ¡°[Viceroy] Tapirs. Highest-ranking [Mage] in the nation. He¡¯s a real piece of work, and the reason why so many people are suspicious of Rifts now.¡±

    I snap my fingers, trying to recall something I read in the book Ezio gave me while I was waiting at the library for Marko to find the textbook for the Foundations class. ¡°He¡¯s the current advisor to the [King], isn¡¯t he? Utility faction?¡±

    ¡°I see why Ezio likes you,¡± Tem says, nodding. ¡°Good mind for detail. Now¡¯s not the time for politics, though. I¡¯ll tell you more about him when we return from delving the Rift. Think of it as an added incentive to survive.¡±

    I laugh as we run through the sun-kissed woods. ¡°And here I thought living was its own reward!¡±

 Chapter Twenty-Seven: First Delve

    ¡°Is this normal?¡± I whisper, unsure if it¡¯s fear or reverence that steals my voice away in the face of eternity. We stand perched on a precipice, gazing into an abyss so profound that I cannot fathom either its scope or meaning. I sink to my knees, bereft of strength, and forcibly wrench my developing mana senses away from the intoxication of possibility. Worlds without end unfold below us, around us, above us.

    Tem lifts his hand toward the shimmering, opalescent portal guarding the void between us and the Rift. He hesitates, his dark fingers poised like cast iron keys ready to unlock the mysteries of the universe, and breathes out an oath.

    ¡°Maybe this was a bad idea after all,¡± I say, shifting backward while still kneeling in the dirt. I¡¯m no longer simply scared of monsters. I¡¯m shaking with guilt at the thought of desecrating holy ground. Why did no one ever tell me Rifts were so beautiful?

    ¡°It¡¯s lovely,¡± Tem says wistfully, echoing my own thoughts. ¡°How can the unraveling of the worlds hold such allure? Tell me, Nuri, do you think Rifts are testing grounds for mortals? Or are they the birthplace of potential? The womb of reality? Perhaps even the Origin itself?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m qualified to answer.¡±

    He chuckles wryly and folds his legs beneath him to sit next to me, staring at the glory made manifest. We share a hushed, solemn moment before Tem abruptly stands up and kicks me. ¡°Show¡¯s almost done. Prepare yourself for when it¡¯s time to enter. The roiling energies of creation spawn creatures thick and fast. Be on guard.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sir!¡± I say, jumping to my feet.

    True to his prediction, the portal pulses like a living thing, like the beat of a heart, and the ripple clears away the iridescent light. A dark, shadowy path opens up before us, yawning like the maw of a magnificent monster, threatening to swallow us whole. I somehow expected our passage to be more like stepping through a mana barrier in town, but this is far grander.

    Tem draws the narrow, elegant blade hidden inside his cane, grips my arm with his free hand, and plunges into the opening. He keeps a tight, reassuring grip on me as we go through the portal. Darkness closes around us, cold and hungry and unyielding.

    Then we¡¯re through, stumbling on uneven rocks the color of rust. The air is thick with the scent of old blood. Mana signatures bloom in my newly-developed sight, a riot of color that¡¯s too overwhelming for me to track. Tem immediately pushes me down to the ground and covers my mouth, signaling me for silence.

    An utterly enormous shape rumbles by, careening off rock formations and scoring deep grooves in the ground with its massive slabs of razor scales, each spike larger than the entire glassworks studio. Its carapace gleams a dull red, like most of the surrounding area, but it doesn¡¯t seem to reflect any light, instead emitting a visceral, fiery warmth from within.

    I tremble, keeping my mouth shut. Inwardly, I''m screaming, but manage to stay silent as I glance about to take in more surroundings. It''s dark, which leaves me confused at first how I can perceive anything at all. I don¡¯t see any illumination around us, but the entire place is pulsing with life and detail. I¡¯ve never been so hyper aware of the world before, and it finally hits me that I¡¯m flaring [Lesser Manasight] to supplement¡ªor replace¡ªmy vision. The Skill is still new to me, which adds to my excitement.

    ¡°Steady,¡± Tem admonishes, his voice low. ¡°Drop your mana use and wait for the behemoth to pass. You¡¯ll need it before the end. Nothing anyone can do against a monster of that ranking.¡±

    ¡°B-behemoth? They¡¯re real? Should we turn back?¡± I suggest, thinking of his promise about threat ratings. There¡¯s no way that Tem¡¯s entire team could even begin to fight such a monstrosity. They¡¯re mage-killers, not premier monster-hunters.

    Tem gives a curt shake of his head. ¡°They won¡¯t attack unless provoked, although it could inadvertently crush us, instantly killing us without realizing if it strays too close. Stay still and hope it moves on soon.¡±

    I swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. ¡°We¡¯re not a dozen paces inside. Don¡¯t Rifts become more warped and dangerous the farther in you go?¡±

    Tem keeps crouching down, but he turns to smile at me in a sad, knowing way. ¡°Define ¡¯farther¡¯ in, though. The problem with measuring distance is that it requires a starting and stopping point. In here?¡± He breaks off, his voice growing strangely thick and hoarse with emotion, and slowly gestures around us. ¡°Things lose their meaning. Distance stretches and compresses. Time spirals out of control, too; you never know if you¡¯ll come back out the same month, let alone the same day or week. Rifts are just as dangerous to the mind as to the body.¡±

    ¡°Well, we¡¯re as prepared as we can be on such short notice,¡± I reply more calmly than I feel. A suspicion worms its way up from the recesses of my consciousness, and I grip his upper arm, turning to look at Tem. ¡°You knew this Rift would form here, you said? There¡¯s no other explanation for why we headed into the deep wilderness for my first training mission. You need something from inside here¡ªand you need my help to get it, or else you would have scared me off instead of helping me to prepare for a delve. What aren¡¯t you telling me?¡±

    ¡°You read too much, kid.¡± He slips out of my grasp like smoke between my fingers, and I¡¯m left empty-handed several paces away. The weird, alien way that Tem seems to slide through space suddenly doesn¡¯t seem unnatural at all, and another piece of the puzzle snaps into place for me.

    Tem must have seen the light of recognition in my eyes, since he holds a finger over his lips, inclining his head toward the behemoth floating far overhead. ¡°Later.¡±

    His simple response holds the weight of promise, so I nod and sit back down against the rocks to bide my time.

    The behemoth is in no hurry to vacate the premises. It rotates lazily through the air, but it¡¯s not truly flying; up and down are hard to quantify within the Rift, and it¡¯s not using wings to hold itself aloft. Rather, the magic of the worlds seems to bend to its will, carrying it hither and thither at a whim.

    I lace my fingers together and count my breathing, just so that I¡¯ll have something to do to keep my mind off how much I want to track its movements with my Manasight. How often will I get a chance to observe a being of pure arcane mastery? I could learn secrets that Ezio can only dream of, peering into the dizzying depths of magic. But drawing the attention of the giant beast will likely prove fatal, so I let go of my disappointment and remind myself that I¡¯m a crafter, not a mage. I¡¯ll have other opportunities.

    The seconds bleed into minutes¡ªperhaps longer. My perception doesn¡¯t seem reliable here. I don¡¯t truly have a way to track time inside the Rift. But just as I fear that I¡¯m going to die from sheer boredom-induced insanity, the behemoth lurches forward, crashing through stone and creating eddies of void in its wake, burrowing straight through what appears to be a solid mountain of granite. Soon, it disappears into the distance.

    Tem flops down on a stone next to me and hisses sharply through his teeth. He slips a flask from within his cloak, pops the cork, and gulps it dry. Only now do I notice how hard his hands are shaking. ¡°Congratulations on surviving, Nuri. You¡¯ve received a glimpse of primordial powers not of this world. The number of people I¡¯ve met who can say the same thing can be counted on one hand, and I don¡¯t mean using [Scout] signs.¡±

    ¡°Hooray for us,¡± I say weakly. ¡°But what else lurks down here?¡±

    ¡°Treasures unimaginable,¡± Tem replies brightly, stowing his empty flask and standing up in a smooth, confident motion. ¡°Come, young apprentice, let¡¯s make your fortune.¡±

    If he¡¯s in good spirits, then things can¡¯t be too bad, I think with a slight smile. I scramble to follow Tem¡¯s light, steady strides, which eat up far more ground than they should. Somehow, he¡¯s moving just like Ezio, sliding across the ground like a skater over a frozen lake in winter. Again the similarities between the two strike me, and I file away the information to dig into later, when it¡¯s safe.

    Assuming I survive that long.

    After a few moments of silence, I wet my lips and ask the question on my mind.

    ¡°How do you know where we¡¯re going?¡± I finally ask, thankful that I can keep up with the demanding pace. I¡¯m in good shape these days thanks to my training with Ember and Mikko, so even with Tem¡¯s movement Skills, I¡¯m not left behind. Still. What good is bodily training when magic can propel you across the world more easily?

    Tem chuckles. ¡°I¡¯m an [Expert Scout]. Do you really think I¡¯ve made it this far without picking up a Skill that alerts me to treasure? I don¡¯t fancy risking life and limb for the pittance you¡¯re paying me. So, I¡¯ll make up the missing pay by cheating.¡±

    I nod. ¡°You¡¯ve been in a lot of Rifts. Which came first: the movement Skill, or the practice of keeping one step ahead of danger?¡±

    Tem turns to flash a dazzling smile at me. ¡°I¡¯m not untalented like you. I¡¯ve got Skills for days, Nuri, and I barely had to work for them at all.¡±

    I snicker, and he breaks into soft laughter. Even with the behemoth gone, neither of us have dared to make much noise. ¡°You¡¯re so easy to mess with, kid. I earned them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to think I earned mine, too.¡±

    Tem strokes his smooth-shaven chin. ¡°You did. Nice work with the antidote. If I have any advice, it¡¯s to stop fixating on the mistakes of the past. You lacked direction, so understandably you got nowhere. Look how quickly you picked up [Lesser Manasight] once you switched your focus to training yourself. Untold legions of [Mages] have searched for shortcuts to power, ways to circumvent training and mastering mana. Guess how many found them?¡±

    ¡°None,¡± I say, instantly grasping what he¡¯s getting at. ¡°That¡¯s why Ezio¡¯s lessons are so valuable to me. And yours, too. I appreciate what you¡¯re doing on my behalf.¡±

    ¡°Smart lad,¡± Tem says approvingly. ¡°Now, look sharp; we¡¯re about to find what I hope is only the first of many valuable resources in this Rift. My Skill is pinging me incessantly.¡±

    Nothing visibly changes in the barren landscape. We¡¯re still surrounded by rust-red and mottled gray, a muted vista of the detritus of cast-off, decaying worlds. I tap into my new Skill, always excited to see that it¡¯s still there, and a rush of white, gold, and blue fires burst into beautiful patterns in my sight. They pulse with untold possibilities.

    I release the Skill, panting at the tug on my mana, and reconsider my judgment about the desaturated, dull world of the Rift. Perhaps what I¡¯m seeing here isn¡¯t death; perhaps it¡¯s the promise of nascent worlds and endless growth. Tem did allude to that earlier. He mentioned an Origin, whatever that means.

    My guide squats down next to a huge chunk of rock that seems indiscernible from the rest of the Rift, even when I pump additional mana into my Manasight. He arches an eyebrow, waiting for me to stop being stubborn, and pats the top of the stone lovingly. ¡°Nuri, say hello to wealth beyond your wildest dreams. This is the biggest chunk of Rhodium ore I¡¯ve ever seen in an ore, and it¡¯s just sitting here in the open. We don¡¯t even have to mine for it.¡±

    I still don¡¯t see anything special with the rock despite dumping nearly half of my mana pool into [Lesser Manasight]. I¡¯m draining myself of mana too quickly, so I release the Skill. I¡¯m hopeful that I¡¯ll be able to push it past the ¡°lesser¡± variety thanks to the harrowing circumstances of the Rift. In that case, I¡¯ll probably reduce the mana costs while also growing my Capacity in the process. Win-win.

    ¡°What makes Rhodium valuable?¡± I ask Tem, reaching out my fingers and touching the rock in hopes that I¡¯ll be able to discern more with my mana senses if I make contact. No such luck.

    ¡°You¡¯d have to ask a [Material Scientist],¡± Tem says, shrugging. ¡°All I know is that it¡¯s the rarest and most valuable metal around. By the time it¡¯s smelted and refined, we can sell it off bit by bit to Master [Alchemists] and [Jewelers] at exorbitant prices¡ªit¡¯s over five times as expensive as gold.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never even heard of it.¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re a [Glassworker], not a [Metalworker]. Ask your brother when we get out; I¡¯ll bet his eyes will bulge out of his head when you tell him what we found.¡±

    ¡°Noted.¡± I nudge it with my boot. The rugged boulder doesn¡¯t budge. ¡°How are we getting it out of here if it¡¯s as heavy as gold? Or are you hiding more Skills from me?¡±

    ¡°I have my ways,¡± Tem says mysteriously, wiggling his fingers at me like a two-bit village charlatan.

    I brighten at the thought of getting answers to my questions. ¡°Is that why you move like a void beast when we¡¯re sparring? You¡¯re using some sort of spatial manipulation, but I can¡¯t see or track the mana. Is it just a difference between our levels, or are you fueling the movements with something else instead of mana?¡±

    Tem drops the act, but his satisfied smile tells me he¡¯s still up to something. ¡°What do you know? Ezio was right. You¡¯re a lot sharper than you look under that goofy exterior.¡±

    Whatever snarky response I¡¯m cooking up dies on my lips as the ground starts to vibrate beneath us. Clicking sounds, like a pack of dogs running across a wood floor, wash over us with such volume that I clap my hands over my ears for relief. It doesn¡¯t help.

    Tem grabs the boulder and lifts it up from the bedrock. It¡¯s only a few inches, and his slender body is straining under the weight, but I still stare like I¡¯m witnessing a miracle. No one should be that strong. His body is shaking with the effort. Grunting, he pushes on empty air, and the gigantic rock disappears with a faint pop.

    ¡°There. Can¡¯t leave that behind. Now start running!¡± He grabs my arm and takes off sprinting, dragging me far faster than I could ever run on my own.

    Now my training proves insufficient. Despite all my hard work, I can¡¯t keep up with the speed of an experienced [Scout] in the Second Threshold.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop!¡± he calls, as though I harbor any foolish intentions of getting up close and personal what¡¯s making the horrendous sound.

    All around us the world is twisting, spiraling in on itself as the space collapses in sparks and static, but Tem leads us true. He dodges around falling stalactites, gliding across the broken earth like a surfer on the waves. With a surge of power, he knocks aside chunks of nothingness that manifest in our path, each emanating a terrible, visceral hunger.

    ¡°Need to take cover! I can¡¯t keep up this pace forever, not if I¡¯m going to bring you with me,¡± Tem shouts in my ears, but I can barely hear him over the rush of wind. We angle toward an outcropping and crest a tall hill that springs up out of nowhere, and he flings us both down to hide behind a gnarled mass of rocks.

    I lean to the right and peek down the cliff face, curious what creatures are pursuing us. I suck in a breath and press into the shallow lip of the rock that¡¯s covering us, trying to process what I¡¯m seeing. Blood-red crabs are pouring forth like a flood of thick, chitinous blood, sweeping over the ground and breaking apart rocks as they rampage. The angry, churning mass looks like they¡¯ve spawned straight from the mouth of the abyss.

    Some are small enough that I could probably pick them up in my hands, but many are as big as bulls. Some of the crabs loom even larger than the glassworks itself, however, and they snap up the smaller ones with their huge, knobby claws, cracking them open and devouring the soft pink flesh with savage bites.

    ¡°What are those things?¡± I whisper tersely to Tem.

    He just shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m a [Scout], not a [Zookeeper]. But it doesn¡¯t take an expert to know that they¡¯ll kill you.¡±

    I grunt in agreement, watching in equal parts fascination and horror as the crabs smash their way through the landscape. Their jagged armored carapaces bash through rock spires with ease, and I breathe out in relief as the stampede veers away from us, demolishing hills in a wide swath to our left.

    Tem taps his chin. He speaks up again, keeping his voice so low that I can barely hear him at all. ¡°Think they¡¯re Crimson Crabs, if I recall.¡±

    Once the noise fades away and the ground stops shaking, Tem pops up from our hiding spot and saunters along a switchback path, heading down the sheer cliff face.

    ¡°Tem!¡± I hiss. ¡°Where are you going? What if they come back? Shouldn¡¯t we hide?¡±

    He shakes his head at me. ¡°You see the size of those legs? I reckon a crab¡¯s a crab. Bet they make good eating.¡±

    I laugh, letting out some of the tension, and start the treacherous trek down the steep hill to join him in his quest for crab legs. ¡°You¡¯re more and more like Mikko the longer I know you. How many people get to see this side of you, Tem?¡±

    ¡°Not many,¡± he admits. ¡°I have to play the mysterious detective, the lethal assassin, or the dignified courtier. Nice to just get away and mess around for a while.¡±

    We pick our way down the hill, but the longer we climb, the farther away we seem to get. I finally clear my throat and bring it up to Tem, but he simply shrugs and keeps walking like it¡¯s completely normal. ¡°Can¡¯t rush things in a Rift. We¡¯ll get there¡ªor not.¡±

    ¡°Meanwhile, we¡¯re rich, if that big ugly rock is as valuable as you claim. Why not just get out now, while we still can?¡±

    Tem misses a step at last. He turns to face me, uncharacteristically grim. ¡°What makes you think that we can get out?¡±

    ¡°We could go back through the portal, right?¡±

    ¡°That only works for Lesser Rifts,¡± Tem says, his voice taut. ¡°In a Greater Rift? We need to find the exit¡ªor make our own.¡±

    My breath catches in my throat. ¡°You¡¯re saying that I¡¯d be trapped in here if I came in on a whim?¡±

    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s why I advised us to go back and prepare. We couldn¡¯t saunter in and expect things to go well once I realized it was a Greater variety.¡±

    ¡°Good to know,¡± I grunt.

    I don¡¯t say anything further, but I¡¯m beset with a sudden fear of never escaping the Rift. Combined with the adrenaline of our recent near-survival, and I¡¯m more shaken than I¡¯d like to admit.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine with me here,¡± Tem says. ¡°Keep working hard, Nuri. Now get ready to fight; we¡¯ve got a monster incoming.¡±

    I shrug off my pack, setting it down for better mobility, and stand near Tem. We both take up a loose ready stance.

    Something lights up in my [Lesser Manasight]. Mere heartbeats later, a dull, heavy mass slams into the rocks beside us, kicking up a cloud of dust. We spin to face the new arrival, and Tem shoves me out of the way a second before thick jaws split the air where I was just standing.

    Despite his warning, I¡¯m too slow.

    Yellow, vertical eyes gleam dully from within a huge square head. Spikes and ridges jut out from all over the red and black striped lizard, and when it opens its mouth to roar, a purple tongue lashes back and forth like a barbed whip.

    I tumble backward, putting distance between us, and draw my dagger. There¡¯s only one monster, and Tem has drawn his sword, which means it¡¯s time for us to fight. That¡¯s why he told me it was incoming. This time, I¡¯m going to prove my worth. I¡¯m tired of running.

    The lizard screeches and flares an enormous yellow and purple frill around its neck. Its tongue lashes out again, spraying drops of sizzling poison, but Tem bends out of the way with one of his trademark, reality-warping dodges. He ripostes as soon as he¡¯s clear of the impact, stabbing the tongue and retreating in one swift, fluid movement.

    I draw deeply on my [Heat Manipulation] Skill, although my total mana is only back up to around three-quarters of the way full. The air around the lizard glistens as residual moisture flash-freezes, and it recoils from the coat of rime building up on its nostrils and eyes, shaking its head and snorting out tiny sparks of lightning and fire.

    ¡°Good! Freeze its legs if you can, and I¡¯ll dispatch it,¡± Tem calls out in encouragement. He sounds more cheerful at the prospect of fighting the monster than anyone in his right mind should. He dashes in, scoring a stab on the muscular foreleg. Bright purple ichor spews across the ground, painting the drab rocks in a colorful array of violence.

    I immediately turn my attention to the open wound, dropping the temperature in a tight, controlled area around the puncture. The energy flows of mana in the Greater Rift are sluggish, as though they¡¯re far away and barely able to hear my voice of command, but the training with the heat-resistant glass orbs pays off. The wound freezes over and the creature¡¯s leg gives way.

    It collapses into the dirt with a pitiful shriek, and Tem flashes forward, slitting its throat with a single, smooth draw of his blade.

    ¡°Excellent control! Mana manipulation isn¡¯t easy in a Rift at first¡ªparticularly not out here on the periphery. Deeper in, when the density picks up, you¡¯ll have a better time of it. Good work on our first kill, Nuri. You¡¯ve earned the core on this one.¡±

    My mind blanks for a moment. ¡°A . . . a beast core? They only form in Gold ranks and above from what I know. You said we wouldn¡¯t run into any down here!¡±

    Tem shrugs helplessly. ¡°Oops. Sometimes life has more exciting plans for us. I didn¡¯t set out to lie to you.¡±

    I cross my arms and stare him down. ¡°That¡¯s the most bald faced lie I¡¯ve heard all day.¡±

    ¡°I can one-up it with an even better lie if you¡¯d like,¡± Tem offers cheerfully. ¡°Did you know that I have a Skill for throwing people off track?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a sign of virtue,¡± I protest.

    Tem frowns. He looks up from cutting into the gory, bright-purple carcass, sniffs at me with haughty airs, and wipes his hands on his pants. ¡°But it could be! A facile mind never stops imagining!¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°C¡¯mon. The ability to tell imagination from reality¡ªfact vs fiction¡ªis what separates men from boys. A toddler who makes up stories is cute. A grown man who does the same is pathological.¡±

    ¡°I prefer practical. Or political.¡± He winks at his own low-hanging joke. ¡°But then, that is precisely why I left the capital.¡±

    I chuckle at the venerable [Scout]. ¡°Doll it up all you like. You misled me about the threat level.¡±

    ¡°Telling the truth is likely to earn trust. My method will earn gold. Which do you prefer?¡± With a soft, squelching sound and a spray of purple blood, Tem tears away an already-rotting chunk of fat and tissue, tossing it aside where it sizzles on the red-rock ridge and soon starts to decay entirely.

    His words echo in my mind: Time works differently in a Greater Rift.

    Humming to himself in satisfaction, Tem digs around inside with his blade. He pumps his fist in triumph when he taps the end of his sword against something solid. ¡°Tada,¡± he sings, and drops the weapon to reach inside the body with both hands. A moment of grunting and tugging later, and he pulls a dull, misshapen rock from deep inside the lizard beast and presents it to me with a flourish.

    I scrunch up my nose at the steaming pile of viscera wrapping around the supposed core of the monster. ¡°How do I know this is real?¡±

    Tem tosses it to me, and I grab it reflexively, yelping at the hot, corrosive touch. The core is shockingly heavy, but I hang on despite the scorching pulses of power. Tem snickers at my uneasiness, and even has the temerity to wink at me. ¡°A gift for when you learn to imbue with mana. Go on, examine it in your new mana senses.¡±

    I shrug off my cloak and wrap it around the still-smoking core. Even without activating my [Lesser Manasight], it¡¯s clear that it contains potent concentrations of mana. When I dare to tap into my new Skill, it lights up like the sun on a cloudless day. ¡°Imbuing sounds exciting, but I¡¯m not sure that will ever happen at this point.¡±

    ¡°Knock it off, Nuri. You¡¯re young and reasonably talented. Fake self-deprecation ain¡¯t a good look after assisting with a Gold-ranked monster takedown in the middle of a Rift. You handled yourself well just now. Freezing the battlefield offers intriguing possibilities.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not really a put down,¡± I say, scratching at my beard as I try to find the right words to express myself. ¡°I¡¯m just not sure that I have the patience to keep working on my crafting skills after watching you dismantle monsters. It feels like a waste of time. Fighting is more fun.¡±

    Tem wipes off his blade, shifts around his gear, and plops down on a rock. Somehow, he manages to make the stone look more like a throne than an awkward perch. ¡°How many old men have you seen in adventuring teams?¡±

    ¡°Not a lot,¡± I admit. ¡°I get it, I¡¯m safer this way. Everyone knows it¡¯s a young man¡¯s game to run toward danger. Adventure isn¡¯t easy.¡±

    Tem points toward himself. ¡°Ah, news to me!¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°Right, the strong survive.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re half right,¡± Tem says. His voice grows contemplative. ¡°Some of my friends, even those more talented than I am, didn¡¯t make it. I don¡¯t have anyone from my original team left. But how many older workers are at the glassworks studio?¡±

    ¡°A dozen or more,¡± I say, seeing where he¡¯s going with the comparison. ¡°But it¡¯s still not a guarantee. My own parents died off when I was young. They picked up the mana plague when it swept through the region, and by the time the [Healers] synthesized an effective cure, it was too late for them. Safe professions didn¡¯t keep them safe from the rest of life.¡±

    ¡°Still better odds,¡± Tem says mildly.

    We both grow quiet for a moment, lost in our worlds of regret and hopes. I stuff the core into my bag, more excited than I¡¯m willing to admit at the prospect of using it to craft a powerful artifact. Combined with Ezio¡¯s proposed glass armor, I could probably get into a prestigious guild even without a combat class.

    ¡°If survival is your only goal, sure,¡± I allow. Tem looks up, his dancing brown eyes intense and hawklike, tracking my every movement as though he can see straight through me. ¡°I¡¯m not cut out for a boring existence. I want more than glass and the daily grind from life. I¡¯m not afraid of work, but I¡¯m terrified of wasting my life.¡±

    Tem snorts. ¡°You¡¯re what, twenty?¡±

    ¡°As of last summer.¡±

    ¡°Commit to one thing for a few years, Nuri. Hit your First Threshold. Improve your mana control. Evolve your Class and add to your Skills. And whatever you do, don¡¯t give half-hearted effort and then complain that it didn¡¯t work out after all.

    ¡°If you put in work¡ªreal work¡ªand Ezio and Ember sign off, then I¡¯ll take you under my wing and help you gain a combat Class at the First Threshold.¡±

    ¡°What, just like that? No signing up for the Army, like Cassius offered?¡±

    ¡°No strings attached,¡± Tem says solemnly. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to assist. You¡¯ve fought hard at every occasion, despite making mistakes and almost getting yourself killed a few times. I admire that kind of grit. Most artisans wouldn¡¯t have come out here in the first place, let alone kept their wits while fighting off a jaguar. Nor would they help against a Rift monster. You¡¯re all right, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, blushing at the praise. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I switch as early as possible, though? A few years of training could make a big difference.¡± I falter and trail off at Tem¡¯s dubious look.

    ¡°Making your own tools is an underrated talent. You don¡¯t have to worry if you can trust your gear, or wonder if someone sold the information about your supposedly secret weapon or escape plan. Plus, you¡¯ll have an opportunity to sell to people like me. You want to play the long game? Stay the course with your crafting. I promise you won¡¯t regret it.¡±

    I mull over his words, nodding as they sink in. ¡°Sounds wise. Thanks for the advice.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Now, get moving. We¡¯ve got a long way to go, Nuri. This is only the beginning.¡±

 Chapter Twenty-Eight: Disintegration

    ¡°Steady! Slow inhale through your nose. Hold to the count of four. Exhale just as slowly. Listen to your heartbeat if you can¡¯t focus on anything else. I can hear it pounding in your ears from here. Poor kid; you must be ready to collapse.¡±

    I close my eyes, warding my sanity against the swirling vortex of not-reality around us, and follow Tem¡¯s breathing exercises again. It helps me feel more grounded, centered on myself in the middle of a sea of madness. By the time I open my eyes, I find that I can walk in a straight line again, no longer looping and tripping as the world shifts around us. The Rift¡¯s been getting worse since we entered, however long ago that was.

    ¡°It¡¯s breathing!¡± I say, snapping my fingers as I suddenly put the pieces together. ¡°The way the ground and walls shift and pulse, it¡¯s like the inside of an absolutely enormous creature. Are we¡ªare we inside a void monster?¡±

    Tem shrugs. ¡°Doubt it. Some have postulated that may be the case. It¡¯s far above my pay grade. Ask Ezio when we get back.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your favorite line,¡± I say, chuckling weakly.

    Tem shrugs. ¡°What can I say? The void does funny things.¡±

    ¡°Like your strange storage methods?¡± I push, hoping for an answer, but Tem doesn¡¯t react to my prodding, just grinning at me.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Tem, I¡¯m not a dummy¡ª¡±

    ¡°Could have fooled me,¡± Tem says blandly.

    I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his teasing, and instead keep talking, laying out my case for why I¡¯m certain he¡¯s making use of void energies. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of anyone storing an object that massive in an interdimensional storage device. It¡¯s orders of magnitude better than any bag or chest I¡¯ve ever heard of before. And remember, I¡¯ve read your biography.¡±

    ¡°Ahh, traps and tripwire,¡± Tem mutters. ¡°I always thought that book was clever until I met you. Now I wish I¡¯d never published that stupid thing.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said it was all misdirection?¡±

    ¡°Of course it is,¡± Tem says. ¡°But the best lies are always built on truth.¡±

    I nod smugly. ¡°So no one has a dimensional storage space like you do via normal Skills. I¡¯m right. Just admit it!¡±

    ¡°You want a prize?¡± Tem asks lazily. ¡°Because I already gave you a beast core worth more than a year¡¯s salary in Silaraon.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t put a price on truth,¡± I say airily.

    ¡°Sure I can. Blood. Haven¡¯t you ever heard dead men tell no tales?¡±

    I yawn and pat my mouth with my hand in an exaggerated fashion. ¡°If you were going to kill me, you¡¯d have done it a long time ago. Why not teach me what you know?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± Tem grunts, turning away and busying himself with setting up camp. I silently fall in beside him, assisting with the quick preparations. He ignores me as we work, but I¡¯m satisfied with his tacit admission that he¡¯s doing something unusual.

    After the tent is up, along with an obscuration array that Tem swears will keep us safe from monsters while we finally catch up on sleep, Tem passes out some hardtack so we can keep up our strength. Neither of us have any idea how many hours or days have passed inside the Rift, but we¡¯re both running ragged from exhaustion and hunger.

    ¡°One sequence with your heat-resistant orbs before bed,¡± Tem orders, already starting to nod off.

    ¡°So, is it a magically-binding oath?¡± I begin. ¡°Is that why you can¡¯t tell me more about the void powers you so clearly have?¡± I yelp and duck too late to avoid his boot, which he throws with unerring aim at my face.

    Still chuckling to myself, I activate both [Lesser Manasight] and [Heat Manipulation], and get to work grinding my Skill rankings. If I keep pushing, I should be able to upgrade to the full version of [Lesser Manasight] soon. Dropping the ¡°Lesser¡± prefix is my number one goal right now, after surviving the Rift, of course.

    ¡°You¡¯ve outgrown your tools,¡± Tem notes, rolling over in his bedroll and nodding toward the glass globes. ¡°They¡¯re too easy for you now. You¡¯ll have to find something harder, or craft new objects when you¡¯re back at the studio.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good news! Doesn¡¯t help much right now, but thanks for the encouragement. It¡¯s hard to keep working without knowing if I¡¯m getting anywhere.¡±

    ¡°Nope. Doesn¡¯t help much yet,¡± Tem agrees. He rubs his nose with the back of his hand. ¡°It¡¯s not a big bottleneck, though. Just come up with ways to distract yourself while you work. You could try juggling knives.¡±

    ¡°Or I could listen to you snoring.¡±

    Tem¡¯s other boot smacks me in the face, but the flash of mild outrage in his eyes is worth the indignity. ¡°Too bad you only have two boots. This is good practice,¡± I quip.

    To my shock, his boots pelt me again. And then again. I throw my hands up in front of my face¡ªafter beginning the [Heat Manipulation] sequence; I¡¯m not so stupid that I¡¯ll waste a good training opportunity¡ªand duck for cover behind the pile of our packs and carryalls. Tem¡¯s laughter echoes through the tent, a kind of pure glee that¡¯s utterly infectious, and soon I join him in his amusement.

    Tem sits up and puts his hand out, palm up. His boot disappears from the ground next to me and materializes in his hand, ready for throwing. He winks at me. ¡°Don¡¯t ever antagonize a [Scout], Nuri. We¡¯re full of tricks.¡±

    ¡°And still no mana use,¡± I mutter, but he simply rolls over and goes to sleep, leaving me to figure out a way to challenge myself. My eyes catch the knives laid out by our dinner plates, and I sigh. Am I really going to juggle knives just to challenge myself? What if I slice off my finger?

    We haven¡¯t been on our expedition for long, but the intensity of the practice¡ªcombined with the incredible precision boost provided by [Lesser Manasight]¡ªmeans I¡¯m making rapid improvement. The challenge is greatly diminished. Manipulating the energy flows is almost trivial now unless I¡¯m adding in another task for complexity. Even before the Rift, I could handle the first several levels of the Iron Lunk¡¯s offensive and defensive routines while controlling the heat, thanks to the footwork I learned from Zviad.

    In the end, I settle for reviewing the magical theories Ezio gave me instead of trying to juggle anything as dangerous as a knife. I thread a touch of heat into the first orb, activate my [Lesser Manasight], and rely on instincts and mana memory to let the process go while I get in touch with my scholarly side. ¡°Let¡¯s see,¡± I mutter to myself, casting my mind back to the dusty tomes. ¡°Two competing schools of thought go into improving Capacity.¡±

    The first orb reaches equilibrium, and I stop talking to myself under my breath to focus on reversing the energy flows, but it¡¯s harder than I anticipated. My attention wavers from theory as I try to keep the even energy flows required for the heat transfer; it''s one or the other if I want to do it properly, and simultaneously reciting dense paragraphs from the textbooks Ezio loaned me proves too much. The two activities cross my mind, and I lose focus. In my frustration and exhaustion I yank on the wrong rune in the Skill structure in my soul, drawing all the heat out of the glass and leaving it as cold as the grave.

    The dense, layered orb shatters in the sudden chill, spraying shards of sharp glass across my face. I scream and flinch away, my eyes squeezing shut just in time to prevent the razor glass from blinding me. Stinging pain peppers my cheeks, and I cry out as thick, hot blood trickles down into my mouth.

    Tem leaps up from his bedroll. With a flick of his wrist, he materializes his sword. His eyes scan the tent, and for once a pulse of mana extends to our surroundings. A moment later, I watch a ripple of mana wash back over us, faint but complex in my [Lesser Manasight].

    ¡°Not an emergency?¡±.

    I shake my head weakly. ¡°No, I just broke one of my glass globes.¡±

    Tem smirks, his full lips pressed flat for once as he shakes with silent laughter. ¡°I almost burned a Skill to keep you alive. Good to know it¡¯s just broken glass. Easier to replace than a skull.¡±

    I wipe the blood off my face with the back of my sleeve. ¡°True enough. Still discouraging to lose it. They have nostalgic value for me.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Nuri,¡± Tem says.

    I manage a shrug. ¡°As you said, I¡¯ve outgrown these anyway. I¡¯ll make better ones when we get back. Maybe you can help me design something with Mikko,¡± I say, excitement starting to build at the thought of crafting something alongside my brother. With Tem¡¯s help, maybe we¡¯ll be able to create our first masterwork.

    A deep, bone-rattling rumble shakes the ground, drowning out Tem¡¯s attempt at a reply. He scrambles to his feet, stashes his things, and pushes me out of the tent ahead of him. With a swirl of his wrists, he pulls the tent and everything inside it within his mysterious storage ability, and he ducks behind the rock outcropping that shelters our position.

    Overhead, the cavern ceiling disintegrates.

    Dark tendrils of gray nothingness rip apart the rust-red and charred gray-black rock that predominates in the Rift. In rushes the Void. I don¡¯t have any other words to describe what I¡¯m seeing, and Tem has all but confirmed that the void really exists as more than an amorphous and sinister concept in children¡¯s stories. For once, I wish I¡¯d paid better attention in school in my early years, before I earned my Class and upgraded to the working world.

    ¡°Stick close!¡± Tem yells, latching on to my arm with an iron grip. His eyes go bright and brilliant, shining with the telltale gleam of mana. It¡¯s a strange, swirling silver color in my [Lesser Manasight] that I can¡¯t quite place, but the potent complexity of the working instantly sets me on edge. There¡¯s more power flowing through him than I¡¯ve ever sensed before.

    Cracks spread in a spider web pattern across the burnt ground. The tremors intensify, and I crash down to my knees as the world splits apart all around us. A crevasse opens right beneath me, and I plunge into the depths. Tem¡¯s hands tighten on me, pulling me back over the edge of the gaping canyon that suddenly snakes across the landscape where our tent stood not two moments earlier.

    Clinging to Tem, I hobble alongside him across the crumbling terrain as formerly solid rocks dissolve into dust. My feet keep slipping and sliding, and if not for Tem¡¯s steady gait¡ªhe somehow draws on his mysterious abilities invisible to my [Lesser Manasight] to stride across a plane of existence that I can¡¯t perceive.

    Storm winds kick up the dust into a howling funnel that buffets us from every direction, tugging at my clothes and slinging shards of splintered stone that sting my eyes. Up and down, left and right, forward and back¡ªdirection loses its meaning as I tumble through a grayscale abyss, clutching at Tem like a drowning cat digging its claws into its owner.

    ¡°This is our stop,¡± Tem declares, although the bizarre, indecipherable world of the Rift is impossible for me to parse. How he knows what¡¯s happening is beyond me.

    We ricochet sideways, slamming into a wall that I swear wasn¡¯t there a second before. The horrific shriek of the world devouring itself cuts off so abruptly and completely that for a moment I wonder if I¡¯ve died. My ears are ringing and my lungs are burning as they pump like bellows, so I conclude that I must be alive if my body can still feel pain.

    Darkness closes in all around us. The stillness is so absolute after the horror of the void that I find myself struggling to keep from bolting. I don¡¯t know where I¡¯d run, but standing still in the middle of the dark triggers an ancient instinct of prey stalked by a predator. I never thought that I¡¯d miss the queasy unreality of the Rift, but I¡¯d trade the oppressive darkness for the void that lit up the sky with the lurid promise of oblivion.

    Tem¡¯s fingers dig deeper into my arms. ¡°Breathe, Nuri. Breathe! We¡¯re not safe yet, not by a long shot. I need you at your best for what comes next.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to die,¡± I whimper.

    ¡°Remember your training,¡± Tem demands, his voice grating in my ears. ¡°Breath in. Hold! Breathe out! Hold. In. Hold. Out. Hold.¡±

    The simplicity of the demand gives me something to latch onto in the middle of the terror, and force away all the distractions so that I can listen to Tem¡¯s advice. I breathe in a slow, quiet rhythm, matching the encouraging murmurs from the [Expert Scout]. As my racing heart calms down, Tem releases my arm with a reassuring pat.

    ¡°Better, Nuri. Now, let¡¯s see where we¡¯ve ended up. I haven¡¯t stumbled into a labyrinth in a while. This is exciting!¡±

    A spark lights up the dark. Tem holds his finger aloft like a torch, turning back and forth to illuminate our surroundings. Wrapped in gold-and-red-flecked mana, his fingertip glows with a joyful, inviting warmth that seems out of place in the horrors of the Rift.

    ¡°This will get harder before it gets easier,¡± Tem says.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    I grimace. ¡°Have I ever told you that you¡¯re the worst at pep talks?¡±

    ¡°Stop interrupting me after my opening statement, then. It¡¯s not my fault you suffer from the worst sort of impatience.¡±

    I wave my hand dismissively. ¡°All right, all right. Go on.¡±

    Tem clears his throat. ¡°As I was saying, falling into this labyrinth is a stroke of good luck. It won¡¯t be easy, but we make it to the end, we¡¯re guaranteed a way out¡ªor at least as close to a guarantee as you¡¯ll find in a forsaken place like this.¡±

    A way out? That catches my attention. ¡°So, it¡¯s like a giant corn maze? That reminds me of a joke I heard about a corn farmer. He was something of a maize expert.¡±

    Tem snorts. ¡°That was terrible. Should have brought a farmer instead, huh? You¡¯re not an expert on anything yet, except maybe at finding surefire ways to kill yourself. Yeah, all right, a Rift labyrinth is like a corn maze, if the maze is actively trying to kill you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of killing,¡± I point out nervously. My back goes clammy with cold sweat.

    ¡°Glad you got the details right,¡± Tem says, turning back and forth as he examines the walls with his finger torch. He leans over to the stone and sniffs it. ¡°We head right.¡±

    I gape in astonishment. ¡°What, are you a bloodhound now? Following your nose?¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s the expert here?¡± Tem asks, his eyes twinkling as he unveils yet another one of his many talents. He strikes off in the direction indicated, not waiting for me to answer. We both know I¡¯ll scurry along behind him, regardless of the reason he gives for the path. A hunch, a favorite color, a nursery rhyme¡ªno matter how nonsensical they might seem, they¡¯re still all better than what I¡¯d come up with. Besides, he hasn¡¯t let us down yet.

    Tem is muttering to himself, too quietly for me to make out, and as we reach a yawning, dark gulf where a side tunnel joins up with our corridor, his face lights up. ¡°Ah! Perfect. We¡¯re in the outer reaches. Less danger here, although you need to keep your guard up, Nuri. You¡¯re as sensitive as a silk spun spider web in a Southeastern storm.¡±

    I reach out a hand and tentatively touch the stone wall. Unlike the burning, savage heat of the Rift proper, this feels cool, solid, and entirely too uniform to be natural. I eye the length of the cut stone, each piece as square and smooth as the last, and start counting out paces as we walk past the passageway. At fifty paces, another tunnel crosses our path. Tem walks right by it without a care, but I restart my count, squinting at the tunnel mouth suspiciously.

    Sure enough, after another fifty paces, the next tunnel arrives, right on cue. There¡¯s no way this is as wild as the rest of the Rift.

    ¡°This can¡¯t be a naturally-occurring phenomenon,¡± I finally say, watching Tem¡¯s face to gauge his reaction.

    ¡°Nope!¡± he confirms, striding confidently forward.

    I trot to keep up with his strange, space-bending stride, and try to engage him in further conversation. ¡°Which begs the question of where it comes from, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± he says.

    ¡°Oh, c¡¯mon!¡± I splutter. ¡°Someone built this. This is an Architected Rift, just like Ezio told us about in class, isn¡¯t it? Aren¡¯t you curious?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Fine time for you to turn into a worse conversationalist than Mikko,¡± I mutter. ¡°Look, this is something I¡¯ve never heard about before when people talk about the mysteries of Rifts. I¡¯ve always thought the stories were fairy tales for kids; fall into a weird, colorful vortex, escape monsters, come home with a pot of gold. That sort of thing. Only Ezio ever mentioned the fact that they could be artificial. This could be revolutionary proof! Don¡¯t you want to bring new and exciting information to people? We could be the first men in the realm to publish works about the architects of the labyrinths!¡±

    Tem snickers, shaking his head at me as he ticks off another tunnel on his hands. He stops here, tilts his head sideways, and double-checks the count. ¡°One more.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡± I ask. ¡°There could have been more tunnels behind us that you¡¯re not accounting for.¡±

    ¡°Nah, you either end up at the start, middle, or end of the labyrinth,¡± Tem declares with confidence

    I take a deep breath, steadying myself as I remember than he¡¯s the expert. ¡°Still, you¡¯re making an assumption about where we came in. How do you know? And can you teach me?¡±

    Tem¡¯s next words dash my hopes of becoming famous. ¡°There are a few books on this subject in the capital. You¡¯re just not privy to them because Tapirs decided to lock them down and repudiate the works. Ezio is one of the few [Scholars] who isn¡¯t intimidated. Consider that a stroke of good luck that you know him. Otherwise, you¡¯d have to attain your Second Threshold and sign up to serve the crown directly before you earned access to the forbidden books. Now pipe down. We¡¯re turning left up ahead, and we¡¯re likely to meet our first monsters.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± I push.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Tem scoffs. ¡°Why do you think I¡¯m not curious? I¡¯ve had these details drilled into me since I joined the brigade. I already know the layout as well as who made this maze.¡±

    I keep my voice at a quiet whisper as I follow Tem to the left, my [Lesser Manasight] flaring so I¡¯ll have an early warning if any of the beasts of the labyrinth attack. ¡°So, who is it? Can¡¯t you tell me now that I¡¯ve seen it? I¡¯m not ever going to forget this encounter, so don¡¯t try to dodge the question.¡±

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d never ask!¡± Tem says dramatically. He pauses, looking around us with an exaggerated expression of caution on his face. He rubs his palms together, and leans in theatrically to make the big reveal. ¡°The Masters of the void.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Never heard of them.¡±

    Tem scratches the back of his head, then snaps his fingers in my face, making me jump. ¡°Oh! Right, right, I forgot they go by a different name in popular stories.¡±

    ¡°No you didn¡¯t,¡± I say as I roll my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re just building it up so that I¡¯ll get all excited or have a big reaction.¡±

    ¡°Guilty as charged,¡± Tem says. ¡°Now, do you want to know, or what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to regret this, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    Tem grins and nods.

    I throw my hands up in the air. ¡°Fine! I want to know. I¡¯m begging you to reveal all the secrets rattling around in your head. Happy now?¡±

    ¡°Yep. You¡¯re more likely to know them as the Abyssal Monarchs, the high overlords of the wraiths and sovereigns of all void-related realms.¡±

    ¡°Oh, smack me with a battledore,¡± I groan. ¡°Are you serious?¡±

    ¡°Quite,¡± Tem replies, a twinkle in his dark brown eyes.

    ¡°Then why are you so excited? This is¡ªthis is insane!¡± I say, pacing as I fail to contain my excitement. ¡°They¡¯re the ones responsible for that wraith incursion that almost killed us. And instead of staying safe back in Silaraon, I decided we should march right into danger. Mikko is right; I¡¯m an enormous idiot. Well, might as well enjoy our adventure while we can since we¡¯re gonna die down here.¡±

    Tem purses his lips together and blows a raspberry in my direction. ¡°Stop worrying, Nuri. You¡¯re worse than my great-aunt. We¡¯d have gotten out eventually, but Labyrinths are the fastest way¡ªand the most dangerous, as you¡¯ve surmised.¡±

    I sigh, glancing around for boogeymen hiding in the shadows. ¡°Figures. Glad I¡¯m with an expert, at least.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±

    ¡°Why would we ever willingly wander into their domain?¡± I ask.

    Tem shushes me and jerks his head toward the tunnel. ¡°Company soon. Keep quiet and stay in the shadows if you want to sit this one out. Fight first, talk later.¡±

    A trio of smokey purple signatures light up in my [Lesser Manasight], moving toward us quickly. I shut up, taking Tem¡¯s advice, and crouch down several paces behind him. My hands clutch the handles of my knife, not that I¡¯m likely to do much against the kind of power radiating off the incoming monsters.

    Tem casually draws his blade, flickers out of view, and pops back a moment later. With a contemptuous snort, he flicks the blood off his narrow blade. ¡°They¡¯re weaker than I anticipated, Nuri. They must not be guarding the core. You get the next ones, and I¡¯ll provide pointers if you start to struggle.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you just kill things while I watch the energy fluctuations? My [Manasight] is getting great practice down here.¡±

    Tem shoots me a disgusted look. ¡°This ain¡¯t a vacation. You want to get stronger, or not? Look, I¡¯ll tell you plainly if we run into something you can¡¯t handle. In the meantime, we¡¯re still on your expedition. I¡¯ll keep training you if you¡¯re willing to keep learning. This is good practice.¡±

    ¡°Right, good practice,¡± I repeat to myself, already visualizing the savage scrapes and brutal bites I¡¯ll have all over my body by the time we emerge. ¡°Fine, but you gotta tell me everything. I want to know more about why you think entering a Labyrinth is a good idea. Aren¡¯t we intruding?¡±

    ¡°Sure, but the monarchs don¡¯t care about visitors unless you threaten the Labyrinth core. It¡¯s like a Rift core, but built to create a permanent bridge. Mess with one of those, and you risk destabilizing the void and tearing a hole right through the realms.¡±

    I gulp. ¡°Got it. No cores.¡±

    ¡°Raiding their outposts is always lucrative, though. Fight through a few guard dogs, lift a little loot¡ªI used to bring my gal out to a labyrinth for dates. Good times.¡±

    I stare at Tem in shock. ¡°You¡¯re crazy. I mean, absolutely shattered-glass insane. There¡¯s no way you considered this a date.¡±

    ¡°To answer your earlier question about why I¡¯d ever want to go into a labyrinth,¡± Tem says, ignoring my outburst, ¡°well, you can think of them as islands of stability in the sea of chaos that is the void. Stability requires dimensional anchors, which means a ready-made pathway back to our own plane.¡±

    ¡°Bridges between reality,¡± I breathe, catching his excitement. ¡°Now that¡¯s an adventure!¡±

    ¡°Precisely. Now, let¡¯s pick up the pace. If memory serves, we¡¯ll hit an armory soon. You can probably pick up an upgrade to those little toothpicks you carry around. Who knows? You might even find some fancy glass ornaments. I won¡¯t judge another man¡¯s taste.¡±

    ¡°I think you just did,¡± I reply blandly, falling in beside Tem as we set off down the tunnel again. As we go, he condenses a series of little strands of visible mana, placing them side by side in neat, geometric rows. Some he turns at right angles. A single path snakes through the rest, its color shifting into a soft blue.

    I watch with curiosity as he builds out a tiny model of the parts of the labyrinth we¡¯ve already traversed, impressed at his mana control for a non-mage. Do [Scouts] gain extra abilities for energy manipulation? Maybe it helps him blend in as he sneaks behind enemy lines, though I don¡¯t remember him possessing an [Illusion] Skill.

    Tem glances up ahead every so often, and his jaw tightens if he senses anything that he doesn¡¯t like. I can¡¯t see or hear anything, and for the most part my [Lesser Manasight] is coming up empty. The tight lines around his eyes and his sudden lack of conversation tell me that we¡¯ve got ourselves in a rough spot, however.

    His eyes widen and he comes to an abrupt halt. Tem holds up a fist, signaling me to stop moving. The miniature model of the labyrinth winks out of existence. Tem leans against the wall, slides down, and rests his feet. I join him, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and he draws in the air with his little mana torch. It¡¯s a slow way to communicate, but he spells out the words: ¡°Wait. Captain.¡±

    I have no idea what he means by a ¡°Captain,¡± but I give him a curt nod, and he releases the mana pen and his glowing finger torch, plunging us into darkness.

    As the minutes stretch on, I sink inward, visiting my inner world with only the rhythm of my heartbeat to keep me company. If we¡¯re up against an enemy as dangerous as Tem makes this Captain sound, then I won¡¯t do any good, anyway. Tem will watch my back; I¡¯m going to take a long-overdue look at the crystalline structure of my [Lesser Manasight] compared with the full fledged version of [Heat Manipulation]. It¡¯s only been a few days since I¡¯ve received the Skill, but it feels longer since I¡¯ve been straining to see mana for months now.

    The silver shape of [Lesser Manasight] is simple and straightforward, only showing off several switchbacks and swirls. Impossibly small, incomprehensible runes cover the surface of the Skill, but they¡¯re far too tiny for me to make out with any clarity. Besides, I don¡¯t know any of the runic language yet, other than some basic forms Ezio showed us in class. That¡¯s a mystery for another day. The overall form of my [Lesser Manasight] is sturdy, thankfully, and it¡¯s not a weak Skill despite the lack of intricacy.

    By contrast, the grand fractals of [Heat Manipulation] expand outward in magnificent trills and patterns, pulsing with frigid blue and scalding red. The sheer complexity boggles my mind; I haven¡¯t looked at the Skill since it finally healed to my satisfaction. Not a crack shows on its now pristine surface. It gleams like perfectly-crafted glass, or perhaps polished chrome. Unless it¡¯s my imagination, the Skill seems more ornate than it used to be. It¡¯s definitely giving off a lot more pressure than it used to, so I¡¯ll take that as a sign of progress.

    I spent months carefully mana-soaking the Skill to mend all the microfractures in the original [Lesser Heat Manipulation]. A part of me wonders if I could directly control the Skill shapes through mana. On a whim, I try to add complexity to [Lesser Manasight] manually, but a quick experiment soon shows that it¡¯s a fool¡¯s errand¡ªat least with my current, rather limited mana pool. While adding mana to the mix leaves the Skill looking fresh, it does nothing to change the shape. I¡¯m pursuing knowledge, not beautification, so I let go of my fanciful dreams of shortcuts and mentally heave the equivalent of a heavy sigh.

    ¡°Nuri. It¡¯s safe,¡± Tem says, shaking my shoulder to wake me up from my stupor. He¡¯s holding up a little torch of golden mana again to light the path forward. ¡°The Captain has moved onward. They rarely patrol the same place twice, and they don¡¯t let intruders go, so I¡¯m confident I kept us cloaked since it¡¯s gone. Let¡¯s go hit that armory. They never keep the doors locked, so we won¡¯t even have to break and enter.¡±

    ¡°Cloaked? Another one of your endless Skills?¡± I croak. For some reason, my mouth and throat are as parched as a desert. I blink away crusts from my eyes, and stretch out a crick in my neck. ¡°How long was I out? I feel terrible.¡±

    ¡°Maybe twenty minutes,¡± Tem says, squinting as he looks at my face. ¡°Feeling all right? You lit up like a bonfire for a moment. Thought you were gonna get us killed even through my cloaking Skill, but then it all imploded. Never seen anyone use up all their mana that fast without spraying it into the air or using it for a finishing blow. No wonder you¡¯re dehydrated. Here, take some of my water.¡±

    I gratefully accept the leather water bottle that materializes out of nowhere, pop off the stopper, and slake my thirst. I cough and double over, spluttering as fire races down my throat. My mouth is a raging inferno.

    ¡°Ah. Sorry, Nuri,¡± Tem mumbles. ¡°That was supposed to be water, not my moonshine.¡±

    I gag, but the worst has passed. An aftertaste like paint thinner coats my tongue, clinging and more foul than a flavor has any right to be, but I¡¯m already standing back up and trotting after Tem. There¡¯s no room for self-pity here. We¡¯ve got a long way to go before we escape the Rift, and my body is already shaking off the punch to the face that is Tem¡¯s rotgut.

    The spring is back in Tem¡¯s step. He¡¯s acting more confident now that the danger has passed. With a flick of his wrists that¡¯s not technically necessary, Tem summons his makeshift mana map once more. He taps on a section up ahead of us. ¡°This room is usually an outpost. I¡¯ve only been in the rectilinear labyrinth type twice before, but they always follow strict rules. We should be able to make safe assumptions about what we¡¯ll find.¡±

    I pause, a hitch in my stride. ¡°What do you mean by ¡®rules¡¯ in the labyrinth? The Rift sure doesn¡¯t follow any. And should I be concerned that I might break the rules inadvertently?¡±

    Ten taps his chin and gives me a considered look. ¡°You¡¯re doing fine. I¡¯ll warn you if we run into trouble. With anyone else, continuing deeper would be a death wish. Red flags abound! With me? You¡¯ll make it out. Promise. Listen to everything I say and act immediately. Revere my words as the golden standard, follow my instructions, and don¡¯t argue. We¡¯ll be fine. Now, let¡¯s go rob them blind.¡±

    ¡°Just our luck, the Rift will fall apart completely out there while we¡¯re stuffing our pockets with trinkets,¡± I say, chuckling. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we hurry up and get home?¡± I twist my fingers into my cloak as the terrifying memory of the world disintegrating right under our feet crashes over me again.

    ¡°Remember, the labyrinths function as dimensional anchors,¡± Tem reminds me. ¡°Time and distance work as expected again. The original entry¡ªand exit¡ªfor the Greater Rift may have collapsed, but it doesn¡¯t matter anymore. We¡¯ll get out once we reach the gate room, and I¡¯m fairly sure that not too much time will have passed.¡±

    The knowledge that the portal has distorted and likely been destroyed does little to calm my frayed nerves. I trust Tem, though, so I nod and keep following him deeper into the maze.

    Soon, we reach a solid gray door riveted to the wall, and Tem¡¯s eyes light up with greed. He flourishes his hands at the doorway. ¡°I present to you the Outpost armory of the void! Go on, get your first master tier item. You¡¯ve earned it.¡±

    Excitement welling up within me, I grasp the intricately etched metal handle and pull.

    Nothing happens.

    ¡°Well, huh,¡± Tem says, scratching his jaw. ¡°Guess we have to break in after all.¡±

 Chapter Twenty-Nine: Looting the Labyrinth

    ¡°Look on the bright side,¡± Tem tells me twenty minutes later, speaking with far more cheer than the situation calls for. ¡°This is an even better mana-control exercise than I thought it would be.¡±

    I pause in my efforts to freeze the lock off the door and give him a flat look. We wolfed down some of Tem¡¯s rations, including an energy bar that accelerates mana regeneration, then waited until I¡¯d recovered sufficient mana to activate [Heat Manipulation]. I¡¯m sweating with the effort of directing heat away from the door, but I still can¡¯t drop the temperature cold enough to shatter the locking mechanism like I¡¯d planned. There¡¯s something strangely mana-resistant about the gray-blue metal that I can¡¯t quite pierce with my Skill, and I¡¯m starting to lose my patience.

    ¡°Hurry,¡± Tem cautions. He¡¯s getting antsy, pacing two or three steps either way, pivoting, and repeating his truncated circuit in the cramped labyrinth hallway. The light from his little mana torch bobs and weaves next to him, giving me a headache as I try to focus on the task at hand.

    I groan and lean my head against the smooth stone wall next to the door. ¡°You said I¡¯d enjoy the fruits of my labor more if I earned it. You said it shouldn¡¯t take more than a moment or two, if I put my mind to it. I should have known better.¡±

    Tem laughs sheepishly. ¡°The principle is sound. No one could have known how long it would take you.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t you just use a high-level [Expert Scout] ability to infiltrate? I saw what you did to [Lieutenant] Cassius¡¯s door. Why do you always have to make me do things the hard way?¡±

    ¡°Hm. Probably, but it would take a lot of power, given its durability,¡± Tem admits. ¡°I¡¯d have to break the lock to get us inside, and that defeats the purpose of stealth. What if it¡¯s alarmed?¡±

    I crane my neck and look at him over my shoulder, my face all scrunched up. ¡°You¡¯re that afraid of this Captain?¡±

    Tem nods solemnly, surrounded by the glowing halo of the mana torch. And beyond that, nothing but darkness. ¡°Remember the wraith lord? He¡¯s like an under-officer to the Captains.¡±

    ¡°A wraith Captain is higher-ranked than a Lord? That makes no sense,¡± I protest. ¡°Who comes up with these rankings? Are they just making it up as they go?¡±

    ¡°Certainly sounds like it,¡± Tem says. He glances both ways down the dark corridor as a sheen of mana covers his eyes. ¡°Regardless, they¡¯re not to be messed with. If we do encounter one, I may be able to delay him while you flee, but it¡¯s not a sure thing.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you an expert assassin?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a common misconception since I¡¯m good at neutralizing enemy [Mages], but no. I¡¯m not primarily a killer. Most of my Skills are focused on not leaving a trace, ferreting out spies, or tracking a target of interest. You¡¯ve read my book. You know this.¡±

    I rub my temples, trying to get rid of the headache. ¡°Yeah. I know you¡¯re not primarily a combatant, even though you can fight. I¡¯m just grumpy because my head hurts.¡±

    Tem winces. ¡°Sorry, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll stop complaining.

    I look at the annoyingly-resilient lock on the door, then back at Tem. With a great force of will, I shift my mindset. Tem is helping me out, and I¡¯ve been prickly at every turn lately¡ªhe doesn¡¯t really deserve it. If he¡¯s holding back a Skill, then he has a good reason for it. I need to be more positive, and learn to pull my own weight.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to open it,¡± I promise. I buckle back down to work, watching the flows of energy with my [Lesser Manasight] activated. Yet no matter how much I pour into the lock, the door seems to devour it, like the maw of a ravenous void beast. I keep working on the lock, no matter how stubborn the metal is against the cold, and mana spools out of me at an alarming pace. I¡¯m so lost in thought that I flinch when Tem taps my shoulder.

    ¡°Listen, Nuri, you¡¯ve given it a good try,¡± Tem says, his voice tired. The praise is nice to hear, though. ¡°You¡¯re almost out of mana, though, and we¡¯ve been here for at least half an hour. Why don¡¯t you take a break? As I said, I have another method I can try. It¡¯s messy, and might draw more attention than I¡¯d like, but it¡¯s effective. If I do it, then I¡¯m just about drained. I won¡¯t have my abilities for a fight. Do you really want to take that risk?¡±

    ¡°Good thing you¡¯re not a fighter,¡± I say. Sarcasm seems preferable to fear, so I¡¯m glad that Tem gets my brand of humor.

    ¡°True. We¡¯d need a Second Threshold [Warrior] to stand a chance.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve convinced me already,¡± I say, chuckling as I scoot to the side. I flop down in the dust of the tunnel floor, feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. Tem is welcome to take charge

    Tem waves me back a little farther, puts his hand on the door handle, and takes a deep breath. When he exhales, he gathers the energy and blasts a hole as big as my fists clenched together right through both the lock and the handle. Drops of sizzling metal run down the side of the doorframe like melting wax trailing down a candle.

    ¡°Subtle and elegant solution, just like me,¡± he says, hooking his sword through the hole in the door and swinging it open while I stare in shock.

    ¡°No alarm went off. Should be safe to enter. Behold the wealth of the abyssal monarchs!¡± Tem declares, gesturing grandly at the armory.

    I rush forward into the room, giddy at the thought of treasure. Heavy-duty metal stands designed for weapons hold heavy halberds chased in gold, standing vertically in an array like [Soldiers] at attention. On a table near me, a bundle of flanged maces made of some dark metal I don¡¯t recognize warp the light. I shudder just looking at them, and I turn away in case they¡¯re actually dangerous to my senses. A dozen crossbows without any discernible winch or arming mechanism hang on the wall above the maces.

    ¡°Who uses all these weapons?¡± I ask as an uncomfortable thought strikes me.

    Tem¡¯s jolly demeanor fades, replaced by the cold, efficient professionalism of a longtime Royal [Scout]. ¡°Labyrinths are where incursions are staged. I¡¯ve disrupted or sabotaged more of them than I care to remember.¡±

    ¡°Hm. You¡¯re saying that our realm is in constant danger? I thought most Rifts were of the Lesser variety. Don¡¯t the [Guardians] keep most Incursions at bay?¡±

    ¡°Life is always dangerous,¡± Tem says noncommittally. I roll my eyes at his evasiveness, and return my attention to cataloging the armor and armaments of the outpost armory.

    A row of shields on my right positively gleam in my mana senses, and two suits of armor at the other side of the room light up like a bonfire when I fully activate [Lesser Manasight]. I¡¯m halfway across the room, ready to claim them for my own, before Tem stops me with a hand on my upper arm.

    ¡°Give me one moment to check that they don¡¯t have any active defenses,¡± Tem says, his face grim. ¡°Then we¡¯ll take as much as we can carry.¡±

    I pause, suspicion making my stomach churn. ¡°This is all right to just take? You¡¯re sure they can¡¯t track us if we steal their stuff? If this is how they equip themselves for Incursions, then I can¡¯t imagine that they¡¯ll look kindly on intrusion and theft. What if they move up their invasion timelines?¡±

    Tem chuckles. ¡°Nuri, I appreciate your caution. You¡¯re right; they won¡¯t like us taking their stuff. But what else should we do? Flee this place forthwith and return to our homes, where we shall quiver in fear underneath our cozy blankets?¡±

    A grin tugs at my lips. ¡°When you put it that way, I sound pretty paranoid, huh?¡±

    ¡°Vigilance is good. I appreciate that you¡¯re not letting greed blind you,¡± Tem says.

    I rub my temples with my fingertips, still struggling to shake the headache from trying to freeze the lock. ¡°Are the defenses active or not?¡±

    Tem purses his lips, scanning the room again. A glimmer of mana lights up his eyes as he examines the wards and looks through the weapons one by one. A moment later, he nods. ¡°You¡¯re fine. Gear up, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Any suggestions?¡± I ask hesitantly. There are so many options that I barely know where to begin. I can¡¯t carry more than a few items, unless Tem assists with his strange storage Skills, but narrowing down my choices is already throwing me into a mild panic. What if I make a poor selection? What if I pass up something incredible because I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m looking at?

    Tem wanders around the room, poking at weapons. He hefts a sword, tests the balance, and sets it back down with a grimace. ¡°Hard to say what¡¯s best for you. I doubt you¡¯ll find a rod or paddle or shears to assist with glass blowing and sculpture. Armor is an option, since it¡¯s all enchanted against mana intrusion. The labyrinth walkers tend to rely on other methods for their damage. Mana is a treat to them, a source of vitality and wealth. They feed on it, but they don¡¯t wantonly use it in battle.¡±

    I put down the dagger I¡¯ve been examining. ¡°Is that why they invade? Our realm is, what, like a garden they want to harvest?¡±

    ¡°If only that were all,¡± Tem murmurs. His eyes take on the glassy look of a man lost in memories he¡¯d rather forget, and for once I have the good sense not to interrupt him with some irreverent or irrelevant statement.

    He shakes himself at last, walking over with two weapons in a hand. ¡°Do you gravitate toward the sword, spear, or shield?¡±

    ¡°I prefer answers,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Why, exactly, do Incursions happen? What¡¯s got you so spooked?¡±

    Tem¡¯s smile is brittle. ¡°Tell me, Nuri, where does mana collect in greatest densities?¡±

    ¡°Hm . . . within our mana pools?¡± I say after some consideration. ¡°I assume I can discard the Rifts, since they¡¯re coming through them.¡±

    ¡°Precisely,¡± Tem says, his tone frosty. ¡°They¡¯re not here to harvest herbs. They invade to set up abattoirs from the abyss.¡±

    I scoff at his pompous phrasing. ¡°So, what, we¡¯re just sheep headed for slaughter? I¡¯m not keen on offering up my throat to [Butchers] from the void.¡±

    ¡°Then I ask again. Sword or spear?¡±

    My gaze flickers to the wicked edges of the elegant halberds and brutal battle axes on the near wall. ¡°Not an axe?¡±

    ¡°Do you have any training with the axe?¡± Tem asks, crossing his arms over his chest. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you use that weapon before.¡±

    ¡°No, but they look so awesome. Imagine me at the front of a band of [Warriors], swinging my axe like a [Woodsman] chopping down a grove.¡± I break off to whistle in appreciation at my own imagined fantasy. ¡°Talk about heroic.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes I doubt that you only have two Skills,¡± Tem says with a laugh. ¡°In fact, I¡¯m almost certain that you have a third Skill that requires you to seek out greater and greater follies, but somehow keeps you alive through it. For someone without any defensive abilities or armor, you sure find yourself on the front line an awful lot.¡±

    ¡°Must be destiny,¡± I reply with a shrug.

    Tem nods along. ¡°Yep. Only way to explain why you¡¯re not dead a dozen times over.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon! It¡¯s not that bad,¡± I protest. ¡°I¡¯ve only run into jaguars, wraiths, and now this Rift with its behemoths and crabs and weird lizard beings. It¡¯s really not that¡ªfine, I see your point.¡±

    ¡°Armor is a good idea,¡± Tem reiterates with a wry chuckle.

    I break down and laugh with the [Scout]. ¡°Yeah, I see your point. Remember, though, I¡¯m making my own set. Ezio¡¯s commission.¡±

    Tem brightens. ¡°Right! Out of glass.¡±

    ¡°Speciality glass,¡± I correct him, heat rising to my face.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s promising,¡± Tem says, clarifying he¡¯s not making fun of the project. ¡°Rakesh discussed the research with me. But in the meantime, you could use some survivability.¡±

    ¡°That makes a lot of sense,¡± I admit. I stare at the battle axes for a long moment before I whirl away and rummage through the table at the back of the room. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll find to help me yet, but Tem¡¯s advice seems solid.

    Glass armor has merit, based on the material science we¡¯ve investigated. Ember thinks it¡¯s too difficult for us at our current advancement, but she¡¯s traditional that way¡ªplus, she¡¯s not exactly willing to turn down Ezio¡¯s generous gift. She doesn¡¯t disbelieve me, since she¡¯s used the enchanted swords on the studio wall. If both she and Tem think we¡¯re a long way off from succeeding, then maybe I should consider armor.

    ¡°All right. I¡¯m going to start collecting what I can carry. I don¡¯t have much space left, what with that Rhodium ore in my storage. If you don¡¯t want to pick over the leftovers, then I suggest you stop daydreaming and start packing.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, got distracted,¡± I reply, suddenly intensely fascinated by digging through the tools and instruments on the table. Maybe I can find something useful for the studio. I¡¯ve always wanted better shears and tongs, or perhaps an enchanted wand or staff that I can use as a pontil once I graduate to mana-imbuing.

    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Tem says. He clangs a few shields together, grimaces, and discards them to search for something else.

    I sort the tools into piles, not by type, but rather by level of helpfulness to my crafting. A set of blue-steel needles and black thread go flying as I toss them off the table. Moments later, they¡¯re joined by shaving spokes and woodworking tools that I¡¯ll never use. All the big hammers and oversized tongs that a blacksmith might use for repairs go off to the side, until a thought strikes me.

    I pick up the nicest hammer and tongs, checking with my [Lesser Manasight] to confirm their value, and walk over to the armor side. ¡°Tem? Could we bring back an enchanted pair for Mikko? He¡¯s done a lot to help me, and I want to find a way to pay him back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to ditch a shield or two, but that¡¯s a kind thought,¡± Tem says, agreeing readily. He runs his fingers through his short, tightly-curled white hair, and shakes his head. ¡°I respect a gesture like that. Generosity is an admirable trait.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s not an action that you would take,¡± I say, suddenly second-guessing myself.

    ¡°Not a chance!¡± Tem says. ¡°The only way to get ahead in these sorts of situations is to grab everything you can for yourself.¡± He pauses, his jaw clenching. ¡°Now, it was different when I had a team. We looked after each other. Like you and your friends. But it¡¯s a whole new world now. A poorer one, if you ask me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve still got to tell me what happened with your team,¡± I say, hoping that he¡¯ll actually provide answers for once. As usual, Tem says nothing, but he doesn¡¯t look quite as sad as he has in previous conversations. Maybe that means he¡¯s warming up to me and I can get some information out of him soon.

    I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m so intent on pumping him for details. It¡¯s not like I can actually do anything about his situation if he has been pushed out of favor. In fact, tying my career to his is probably the worst thing I can do if I have ambitions. I¡¯m committed now, though, and there¡¯s no turning back. For better or worse, Tem and I are friends. I¡¯m not planning on betraying his trust. That¡¯s not the kind of man I want to become.

    ¡°Nuri, don¡¯t forget to pick something for yourself before we run out of time. That lock I broke will be a dead giveaway that we¡¯re here. After all the work you¡¯ve done, you¡¯ve earned a reward. You need something to get ahead; don¡¯t short change yourself. But do it quickly.¡±

    I lick my dry, cracked lips, and nod at him to show I¡¯m listening. ¡°Help me find a staff in that case. Do you think they have any enchanted ones here that I could substitute as a new pontil in the hot shop? I could also use an etching tool. I won¡¯t need it until I can imbue, but I¡¯ll be prepared ahead of time.¡±

    This could be my secret weapon for the glass competition!

    ¡°That¡¯s actually not a bad idea, Tem says. ¡°But don¡¯t lock yourself in a corner. You still need weapons better than what you have currently. You¡¯re not particularly quick or stealthy, so dagger work probably is not your friend. You need more reach on the battlefield, which normally would mean the spear, but I don¡¯t know if you prefer wielding a sword.¡±

    I feel my face light up at the thought of a sword, but then I remind myself that I have two masterwork swords back at the studio. Tem seems to think a spear is better. ¡°It¡¯s hard to tell. I¡¯ve used practice swords, but I¡¯m not great with them. Most of my training is with a staff when I¡¯m battling the Iron Lunk. A staff handles a lot like a spear. I do prefer the reach.¡±

    ¡°But there¡¯s something noble about swinging a sword?¡± Tem interrupts, grinning at me.

    ¡°Yep. It makes me feel like a hero from a story. How am I supposed to pass up that kind of opportunity?¡±

    Tem groans. When he speaks, his voice is soft and sad. ¡°Nuri, you know what happens to heroes.¡±

    I think I already know his answer, but I bite anyway. ¡°Tell me. What happens to heroes?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re remembered fondly.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I get it. There¡¯s a funeral. Bards write songs. It¡¯s a big to do. But since when is risk a good enough reason not to try hard things?¡±

    Tem swings a sword around experimentally before tossing it into the discard pile. ¡°Can¡¯t say I entirely disagree, or else we wouldn¡¯t be in the middle of a Rift right now. Still, you¡¯re taking your life into your own hands. At least be smart about it.¡±

    ¡°I already agree with you. I¡¯m just giving you a hard time,¡± I say, looking over another few spears. ¡°A spear is my best bet.¡±

    Tem shakes his head, although I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s disapproving of the next weapon, or disagreeing with my statement. ¡°No, a spear is just a stopgap while you lack power. Your best bet? If you improve and build up your glass Skills, then your mana control becomes your best threat. I¡¯ve seen high-level [Papermakers] who could slice enemies to shreds with the worst paper cuts of all time, or wrap them up in endless layers of parchment and suffocate them.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re spinning tales now!¡± I laugh.

    ¡°Hmph. No respect. I give you the truth, and you throw it in my face,¡± Tem grumbles, but he¡¯s wearing his mysterious smile again and I know he hasn¡¯t taken any offense.

    I lean heavily on my elbows amid the haphazard mess of tools and rejected weapons on top of the work table. ¡°That¡¯s the long term goal. But you told me a minute ago that choosing a weapon is smart.¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Tem insists. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re always going to wield a spear or sword. If you walk this dual path of crafting and fighting, then we have to prepare you both for the short and long term. If you don¡¯t want armor, and you insist on being in melee range, then a spear is good for now.¡±

    ¡°And long term?¡± I prompt him.

    Tem joins me looking over the spears, tossing aside several that don¡¯t meet with his approval. He says, ¡°If you continue to progress under my tutelage, then your other Skills will make you revered even in the Capital. I can guarantee that.¡±

    ¡°That would be amazing. Thank you, Tem.¡± I choke up a bit. ¡°You¡¯ve helped me more than I expected. All this time I¡¯ve been dreaming of becoming an adventurer, but you¡¯ve shifted my perspective. I can keep on the path of the [Glassworker], but that doesn¡¯t mean all I can do is make plates and bowls. Thanks for broadening my horizons.¡±

    Tem shuffles awkwardly. ¡°Gonna make me blush, Nuri. You¡¯re the one who put in the hard work. That led to you gaining a second Skill. As long as you keep practicing glasswork and mana control long term, then you¡¯ll gain more Skills. I can help direct your evolutions, if you trust me. Remember, you¡¯re not even at your First Threshold yet, so just relax. You have time.¡±

    I smirk. ¡°As long as we live, you mean?¡±

    He rolls his eyes, then discards another couple of spears. ¡°We¡¯ll live. But, hey, keep this in mind: unlike these garbage weapons, there¡¯s no such thing as good Skills and bad Skills. No, there¡¯s simply the will to act. If you have enough creativity to apply what you have to the world around you, then you can make any Skill ¡¯good¡¯ with practice. Don¡¯t give up.¡±

    I nod eagerly, accepting his wisdom like a desert plant finally experiencing rain. What he says makes a ton of sense, and I can already imagine the amazing future opening up in front of me if I follow his advice.

    ¡°Now let¡¯s find a good, solid spear. Those weapons aren¡¯t going to pick themselves up,¡± Tem chides.

    In short order, we test out the few remaining spears in the row. Tem discourages me from taking a glaive or any of the assorted polearms. I finally find a spear I¡¯m comfortable with; the haft feels familiar in my hands, reminding me of my practice staff, but the blade is a long, broad, triangular bit of masterwork that even Tem admits will serve me well and hold up under repeated acts of violence.

    ¡°Thanks again. I appreciate your help.¡±

    ¡°Needing guidance is the prerogative of the young,¡± Tem says with a wink. He rumbles with a deep belly laugh, and starts to open his mouth to say something else when his eyes go wide with shock. His head whips around toward the open door, and he hisses.

    ¡°Run!¡± Tem roars, charging toward the exit.

    We sprint for the broken door, but a slab of iron slams home, blocking the exit. Pulsing lights and an ear-splitting siren explode around us, sounding an alarm, and we skid to a stop.

    Tem¡¯s dark face goes ashen, a sickly pallor under his hale, aristocratic features. ¡°We have to get out, Nuri. The Captain is on his way. If we¡¯re caught in here¡ªno, better not to give you nightmares.¡±

    ¡°Blast it open,¡± I shout, panic spiking my voice to shrill levels.

    ¡°You have to help me,¡± Tem says, drawing his enchanted blade and rushing toward the exit again. ¡°Use everything you have; I¡¯m out of my aces for a few more hours at least. I warned you about this possibility.¡±

    I run beside him, scrambling across the stone floor of the armory, and put my hand against the cold metal of the thick security door. My [Lesser Manasight] flares to life, and I sink my perception deep into the slab of iron.

    ¡°Not mana resistant?¡± I conclude, but I glance at Tem for confirmation, not trusting my budding Skill and its lesser prefix.

    When he nods, I slam my willpower against the iron, spreading my influence through the metal as fast as I can bear. The pressure of pushing mana so deeply into the massive slab burns in my channels, but I grit my teeth and endure. When my mana reaches the saturation point, I rip the heat out of the huge iron door, stealing as much energy as I can. I gasp at the strain on my mana pathways.

    The intense freeze leaves the security door brittle and unmoving on a scale so tiny that I can¡¯t see it with my naked eye. Everything vibrates at an infinitesimally small, invisible level, though I can¡¯t see it¡ªonly feel in my mana senses. That movement disappears in the door, at the cost of my entire mana pool.

    Reeling on my feet, I gesture toward Tem, too exhausted and shaky for words. He slams an enchanted mace into the frozen-over door, and a crack radiates out from the point of impact. With a grunt, he smashes the weapon into the supercooled metal again. Each hit chips off more and more metal. Tem¡¯s final blow shatters the security barrier, sending sparks flying as a flange breaks off the mace from the force of the collision.

    He shoves me through the gap in the crumbling rubble, then grabs another mace before joining me back in the tunnels and taking off at a run just shy of a sprint. ¡°No time to waste, Nuri! Follow the sound of my footsteps; I can¡¯t risk keeping the light going.¡±

    True to his word, Tem¡¯s mana usage cuts off. I run blindly, my new spear out ahead of me in a loose grip in an awkward attempt to keep from smashing face-first into a stone wall. The tension builds as I fight off the panic of running through the darkness. Despite my best efforts to tamp it down, the fear of a high-speed collision eats away at me, fraying my ragged nerves.

    ¡°Halt,¡± Tem whispers harshly, and I stagger to a standstill, groping around for the wall. I touch the dressed stone of the labyrinth tunnel, and my whole body sags against the wall with relief. My chest tightens, and my heart skips a few beats, thudding erratically as the closed off spaces and the terror of pursuit hit me full force.

    Tem grabs my shoulder, making me jump. He snaps out a command. ¡°Give me your second glass ball. Hurry!¡±

    A dozen questions ping around inside my mind, but I rip open my travel sack without arguing and find the ball. I shove it at him, connecting with his ribs, and he takes the glass globe from me with a grunt. My entire world lights up a moment later as he stuffs more mana into it than I ever expected it could hold without exploding, but since it¡¯s not heat-aspected, the glass doesn¡¯t shatter. Yet.

    Tem tosses the glowing globe to the right, and I don¡¯t even need my [Lesser Manasight] to follow its trajectory down a side tunnel. The mana bursts forth like the sun.

    Tem tugs on my wrist, dragging me in the opposite direction. He picks up the pace, and we fairly fly along, unerringly avoiding the walls and turning down corridors I can¡¯t even see. All I can figure is that he has some version of [Darkvision], or a [Scout] Skill that enables him to map out his path in a strange environment. I can¡¯t remember his published Skills.

    Time seems to lose its meaning as we dash through the darkness. I¡¯m sucking wind, and the blood in my veins burns like etching acid, but I don¡¯t dare stop. Anything that scares Tem by all rights ought to utterly terrify me. My muscles shake, quivering like gelatin, and my steps grow increasingly desperate and unsteady. I can¡¯t stop. I have to keep going. I have to¡ª

    My right foot catches on the back of my left ankle, and I stumble, slamming down into the tunnel floor face-first and breaking Tem¡¯s hold on my wrist. Blood bursts from my lower lip, hot and tangy with salt.

    For a brief, horrifying moment, I¡¯m convinced he¡¯s going to leave me down here, alone in the dark.

    Relief washes over me as I hear Tem retraces his steps. His robes rustle faintly as he stoops down next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Nuri. I got carried away and forgot to set a pace you can maintain. We¡¯re safe now. You can rest.¡±

    ¡°The Captain?¡± I finally manage to wheeze out in between gasps for air.

    ¡°Took the bait,¡± Tem confirms with a low, menacing chuckle. ¡°It was a near thing. Luckily, mana is like catnip to those misbegotten sons of shadow.¡±

    I roll over and sit up, groaning softly. ¡°The exit? Is it far?¡±

    Tem goes silent for a long moment, and I steel myself against the presumed bad news. Then he clears his throat, somewhat excessively, and a fresh suspicion pops into my mind. A moment later, he confirms my worst fears. ¡°Change of plan. The Captain won¡¯t be delayed by the mana orb for long. Once our deception is found out, the exit will become the primary target. It¡¯s only logical, after all.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯re not the type of people who really do what¡¯s logical,¡± I say with a sigh of resignation.

    ¡°No, we aren¡¯t,¡± Tem says.

    I catch my breath and stand to my feet, rolling my neck as I prepare for the next action. ¡°So, what¡¯s the score? More treasure?¡±

    ¡°We hit them where it counts,¡± Tem replies. ¡°We¡¯re going to shut down the labyrinth and cut off the void from this sector of reality.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t that trap us here?¡± I ask in alarm. ¡°You already said that would tear a hole. Don¡¯t we need the labyrinths to anchor things?¡±

    ¡°Your lack of faith in my abilities wounds me, my young protege,¡± Tem says. ¡°We¡¯ll break into the control room, and then I¡¯ll plant a timed charge. If we move quickly, we can get out first.¡±

    ¡°If,¡± I repeat back to him, my fingers already shaking with the rush of adrenaline.

    Tem plows onward, ignoring my jitteriness. ¡°We¡¯ll make it. Just recover your stamina so you can keep up. Once the blasting charge detonates, we¡¯ll take an alternate route to the exit, bypassing the Captain and crew heading to the control room. Then we¡¯ll escape the labyrinth in the ensuing chaos.¡±

    ¡°That easy, huh? Blow things up, seal the portal, and sprint back to Silaraon?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± Tem says.

    ¡°Huh. One of your better plans," I laugh. "Count me in!¡±

 Chapter Thirty: The Cost of Power

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to lie to you,¡± Tem says, huddled close by in the dark. He¡¯s dropped his little mana torch, not willing to risk compromising our hiding place. ¡°As dangerous as the last few days have been, it¡¯s largely been due to unpredictability. This time, we¡¯re going into the jaws of the lion, so to speak. Secrecy is paramount; we fight on our terms, or not at all.¡±

    I nod, then blush as I remember we¡¯re in the dark and no one can see my nod of assent.

    Tem lets out a soft, cautious chuckle. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I can still see you, Nuri, but I¡¯m glad you¡¯re listening.¡±

    ¡°Right. More cheating with your [Expert Scout] Skills to see in the dark. No mana use at all for me? You don¡¯t want me to try to burn or freeze anything if we have to fight?¡± I ask him, just to confirm what I already suspect. My whisper doesn¡¯t echo in the tunnel. I¡¯m certain Tem is using another stealth-related Skill to dampen our noise and keep us cloaked. Most likely he doesn¡¯t trust me to be wary, and I can¡¯t say I really blame him. I¡¯m a rookie at sneaking like this.

    ¡°Not a chance,¡± Tem says. ¡°Clamp down on your mana or get rid of it entirely. Last resort only. If I have to take out guards, then I will, but I¡¯d prefer to sneak past them if we can.¡±

    I take a moment to calm myself before answering. My fingers are cold and my legs won¡¯t stop twitching. My heart is thudding like a stampede of wildebeests, but I know that if I can¡¯t kill the adrenaline flow, then I¡¯m going to make a mistake I regret. Clear mind, steady hands. Once my breathing regulates again, I turn toward Tem again, a dozen more questions on my mind.

    The words come tumbling out once I find my voice. ¡°How many guards usually roam this part of a Labyrinth? Are we expecting a squad, or only a few at strategic checkpoints? And how do we know that they don¡¯t have some sort of signaling methods or check in system? Taking out one might alert the others. What¡¯s our backup plan if¡ªwhen¡ªit all falls apart?¡±

    Tem¡¯s words carry an air of finality. ¡°If it comes to that, then we run and pray.¡±

    I lick my lips. ¡°That¡¯s it? That¡¯s the plan?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not [Warriors]. You might take out one guard with your spear, thanks to the fancy arcane enchantments on that blade¡ªthey¡¯re probably the same ones on my sword, which is what first led me to working with Ezio and trying to synthesize artificial aspects, by the way¡ªbut then what? We haven¡¯t practiced fighting in formation. I definitely don¡¯t have any [Commander] Skills like [Hold the Line]. We¡¯re not going to win a pitched battle.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± I say, shivering again with the uneasy feeling that something, or worse, someone, is watching us right now. I don¡¯t like being spied on.

    Tem nudges me in the ribs with his sharp elbow, and says, ¡°You don¡¯t have to like it. You just have to do what I say, Nuri. Stick to the plan and we¡¯ll come out of this all right.¡±

    I blow the air out of my cheeks. ¡°All right. How much farther until we reach this control room?¡±

    Tem hums under his breath. ¡°Tough to say. I haven¡¯t had a chance to scout out this area in a while, and trying to keep you stealthed while we move means that we¡¯re a lot slower. We¡¯ll probably arrive in the next twenty or thirty minutes, though. You ready?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I answer him honestly. ¡°I have to pee.¡±

    ¡°Try not to make too much noise while you¡¯re about your business. And if it¡¯s going to be a long one, well.¡± He sighs heavily. ¡°I suppose I can burn one of my Skills to get rid of it.¡±

    I snicker softly. ¡°You have a Skill for getting rid of bodily waste?¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± Tem says, sounding as dignified as possible, given our discussion. ¡°When I¡¯m in the middle of a crucial scouting run, do you really think I have the luxury of trotting off to the washroom whenever I need to relieve myself? Sometimes covert action is paramount. If I¡¯m on a mission and I have to hide for days on end, what do you think I do if I can¡¯t make it?¡±

    ¡°To be honest, I don¡¯t really want to know the answer to that question,¡± I say.

    Tem huffs. ¡°I¡¯m a refined man of culture. I¡¯m not going to soil my clothes. Now, do I have to use it on you or not?¡±

    I hold up my hands. ¡°Wait, wait. I gotta ask. How exactly did you unlock that Skill? Did you . . . did you blast yourself with mana to try to get rid of it all? Or did you use your mysterious powers to, ah, void your bowels?¡±

    Tem smacks me on the shoulder.

    ¡°All right, all right,¡± I say, laughing at my own joke. ¡°Go ahead, hit me with your fancy poop Skill. Then I¡¯m ready for our suicide mission, other than being terrified out of my mind.¡±

    ¡°Great!¡± Tem says, and activates his Skill. Instantly, the pressure in my bladder and lower intestines disappears. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter if you feel ready, anyway; we¡¯re out of time. Stick close. If you get lost again, I¡¯m not coming back for you.¡±

    ¡°Sooo,¡± I ask with an innocent tone, ¡°what are the chances your undoubtedly impressive [Expert Scout] Skill is called [Cut the Crap]?¡±

    He cuffs me again, but it¡¯s totally worth it in order to make that totally awesome joke, if I do say so myself.

    ¡°We¡¯re picking up the pace, Nuri. Hang on tight,¡± Tem warns sternly. I reach out, keeping my right hand on Tem¡¯s back, and we take off at a lope, moving as silently as we can through the rabbit warren of twisting tunnels. No longer straight and geometric, the passageways curve back in on themselves now in strange spirals, like a recursive puzzle for [Logicians] to suss out. Has the labyrinth type changed? Vaguely, I recall that Ezio mentioned a few basic archetypes in Labyrinth construction.

    I shiver at the weird sensation of running in the dark, but I try to put it out of my mind and focus on matching his speed. I¡¯m not used to moving so quickly without any real sense of where I¡¯m going, and I stumble a few times when he abruptly changes direction or takes a new path down a tunnel that apparently interests him. I shift my body position, trying to balance by using the principles of the Golden Eagle martial style footwork, and our running improves.

    The urge rises within me to ask Tem where we¡¯re going along the maze-like, circuitous path, but I bite my tongue. Words are likely to carry. My guess is that Tem¡¯s comprehensive [Stealth] Skill that dampens sound isn¡¯t active any longer, since he¡¯s expecting me to be smart enough not to flap my gums needlessly. Burning through his reserves of Skills before fight or flight seems like a bad idea, not to mention that the strongest of our foes can sense and devour mana like a tasty midnight snack. I don¡¯t want to appear like a giant flesh bag full of candy, so I just have to trust we¡¯ll get there eventually.

    Despite the lack of windows or ports for air, the tunnels don¡¯t feel stale. There¡¯s no smell like most dank, dark places carry. Running through the pitch black is hypnotic, and the whisper of my feet against the stone flagstones as we run has a soothing effect. I focus on the rhythm of pumping my legs, swinging my arms, and breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth on a slow and steady four count, just like Tem showed me. Anything that keeps my mind off the impending craziness is helpful.

    Tem slows, and the change in speed makes his back press heavily against my hand. I chop my feet, trying to come to as graceful a stop as I can manage, and wait in a ready stance until he gives further instructions.

    ¡°Contact ahead!¡± Tem hisses. ¡°Don¡¯t react. Don¡¯t speak. And definitely do not activate your [Lesser Manasight]. Clear?¡±

    I nod, trusting that he can perceive me through the darkness, even with his back to me.

    ¡°Two guards up ahead,¡± he whispers. ¡°I was expecting them to patrol solo, but I wonder if they doubled up after the armory. Stay here and don¡¯t move. I can take them out before they can signal for help.¡±

    Skepticism makes me do stupid things. I open my mouth to whisper, drawing the world¡¯s quietest annoyed sigh from Tem. ¡°Yes, but you didn¡¯t think the armory was alarmed.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t,¡± Tem breathes back, his voice as quiet as a ghost. ¡°Something we took must have had a trigger that I missed.¡±

    ¡°And what if these guards have a similar artifact or tracking device?¡± I ask him, all too aware that I¡¯m pressing my luck by speaking. But I keep my volume at an admirably low level, and Tem doesn¡¯t reprimand me, so it seems like an acceptable gamble.

    ¡°Unlikely. A quality talisman like that isn¡¯t standard issue,¡± Tem explains patiently. ¡°Now sit down and for the sake of your own skin, shut up. I mean it this time.¡±

    I crouch down and scoot on my seat until my back hits the cool stone of the tunnel wall, and I throw Tem a cheeky salute. He doesn¡¯t answer, but I don¡¯t hear him move, either. I strain my ears, open my eyes, and will myself to see in the dark without relying on mana. The longer I try without any sign of success, the spookier the experience becomes. No wonder rogue [Mages] are so terrified of Tem¡¯s squad. Infiltration, counterintelligence, assassination; the prospect of an unseen assailant strikes terror into their targets.

    It¡¯s not the danger that kills them. It¡¯s not the blades in the dark. It¡¯s the crippling fear. It¡¯s the reputation Tem has cultivated more than the man himself. It¡¯s the creeping certainty of their inevitable demise that leads to lapses in judgment and, ultimately, death.

    A hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my girlish scream as I jump and fumble around unsuccessfully for my belt knife.

    ¡°It¡¯s me, Nuri,¡± Tem hisses.

    I go completely limp, and he releases his hold. ¡°If they¡¯re dead, then why did you need to keep me quiet?¡± I splutter indignantly.

    ¡°Because they¡¯re not dead,¡± Tem replies.

    My brows shoot up in a questioning look, although I¡¯m not sure how much detail Tem can make out in the dark. ¡°Complications?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re sleeping on the job, so I let them be. Follow me and don¡¯t make a sound.¡±

    I frown. ¡°I don¡¯t get it. Why not end their threat against Silaraon? Leaving them alive seems like an unnecessary risk.¡±

    Tem¡¯s out-thrust arm bars my path forward before I take a half step. ¡°And if one wakes while you¡¯re dispatching the other? No. Too risky. Best to circumvent any potential chances for them to sound the alarm.¡±

    ¡°Got it. We¡¯ll do it your way.¡±

    ¡°Boring usually means you¡¯re alive. Watch your step.¡±

    Despite Tem¡¯s trepidation, we sneak by the two sleeping guards without mishap. I¡¯m getting better at feeling his movements through the connection point of my palm against his back, and I move more fluidly than I did when we started jogging. Passing close to the wraiths makes my skin prickle with apprehension, however¡ªthere¡¯s some strange, invasive pressure that I can¡¯t quite place. It feels like I¡¯m a moon caught in their orbit, pulled closer by the sheer force of their presence.

    I shake it off and keep gliding forward, tucking away the details to ask Tem about it later. Maybe it¡¯s some inherent principle of the void? Idly, I wonder if I could earn a Void-related Skill by resisting the pull, but I probably won¡¯t have enough exposure. A new Skill takes time and concerted effort, not a single fortuitous encounter, as nice as it sounds to be that lucky.

    Three twisting turns later, Tem¡¯s pace slows down a fraction, and I sense the shift in his posture and come to a stop without needing his signal. Proud of myself for getting the hang of feeling his momentum through our touch point, I flash a cocky grin, even though moving through the darkness is still the most unsettling thing I¡¯ve done.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like how many patrols I¡¯m picking up,¡± Tem murmurs. ¡°I need to investigate again. Solo. And in silence.¡±

    Tem slips away, leaving me alone.

    Darkness is my only companion. It closes in around me, suffocating and unrelenting.

    Torrents of jumbled thoughts are still raging in my mind when Tem returns. I barely flinch when he speaks, too lost in the unceasing streams of timelessness to feel fear. A dull weariness settles into my limbs, constricting and brittle. Sudden longing for home rises in my chest, vicious and sharp with the bright delusion of misplaced hope.

    ¡°. . . Nuri. Nuri!¡±

    I flinch.

    Tem takes both my shoulders in his hands, but his grip is gentle. Strangely considerate. ¡°Seal off your mana again, Nuri. This place is preying on you.¡±

    His words reach as though from a great distance, piercing through the fog building up in my consciousness. I quest inward, and sure as the sun, there¡¯s a taste of an insidious, foreign influence swirling in my mana. Without all the training with Ezio, I never would have developed the sensitivity to notice the intrusion. With a pulse of my will, I cut away the contaminant like a surgeon wielding a scalpel, and my mind clears again.

    ¡°Is that the Labyrinth itself?¡± I whisper as softly as I can, once more in control of myself. I seal off any possibility of outside entrance, wishing that my Resistance score was higher. Ezio claims that invasive or antagonistic forces aren¡¯t affected by Resistance, but I¡¯m wary anyway.

    ¡°Not exactly.¡± Tem sighs. ¡°Admittedly, I don¡¯t understand this as well as a [Scholar] or [Arcanist] might. From what I can tell, the labyrinth intensifies latent abilities. If our enemies are projecting confusion or chipping away at conviction, then their attacks on our mana, or, more properly, on our souls, are accentuated by the innate power of the labyrinth.¡±

    ¡°You sure we¡¯re in the same labyrinth?¡± I ask, giving voice to my earlier suspicions. ¡°The shape changed from hard, geometric lines to flowing, organic swirls.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Tem replies instantly in his intense whisper, putting my fears of getting lost to rest.

    ¡°That¡¯s a relief.¡±

    Tem tuts. ¡°I¡¯ve cloaked us for now, so ask your questions. You¡¯ll have to go silent again when it¡¯s time to move, but we¡¯re safe for now. Let¡¯s take a few minutes to stabilize. Got it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Good lad. The circles just mean we passed from the outer layer of the beginning into the middle section. Some labyrinths are more circuitous all the way through. This one is quite basic, and the end will return to the rectangular template, but the area around the control room is always shaped the same. My guess is that it¡¯s most like their homeworld architecture.¡±

    ¡°Huh. It¡¯s kind of odd to think of monsters as having homes,¡± I say, scratching the back of my head.

    ¡°Monsters?¡± Tem echoes, and something dangerous in his voice catches my attention. ¡°That¡¯s a matter of perspective, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s with the sudden philosophizing?¡± I ask. You didn¡¯t hesitate to kill the wraiths.¡±

    Tem just grunts. He goes silent for a while, and I start to think he¡¯s already left to scout ahead when he abruptly speaks up again. ¡°Invaders deserve no mercy. Simple folk guarding their homes? Well. If I kill them in their sleep, then that makes me the invader, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    I shut my mouth. What am I supposed say to that?

    ¡°Can they really attack my soul?¡± I shiver at the horrifying thought, glancing around me even though I can¡¯t pierce the darkness without resorting to my [Lesser Manasight]. Even if I¡¯m not able to see, I still perceive the place with new eyes. A fresh perspective¡ªboth danger and opportunity. ¡°If we found a way to harness that power, what could we do with it?¡±

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Weaponize it,¡± Tem answers without hesitation.

    I hum in noncommittal agreement. Isn¡¯t everything a weapon to the violent? ¡°What about advancing our research into artificial aspects? Do you think Ezio could synthesize the effect of the labyrinth?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve worked on it in the past. He¡¯s not the type to enter a place like this willingly, if he can help it, but he¡¯s braved a few lesser Rifts. I¡¯d never force him to face a Greater Rift just to offer him a chance¡ªnot a guarantee, mind you¡ªat enhancing his research,¡± Tem says.

    I scrunch up my nose. ¡°Something doesn¡¯t make sense to me. How can a labyrinth offer an exit portal back to our plane, but not an entrance, too?¡±

    ¡°Do streams flow uphill?¡± Tem asks.

    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting question.¡± I furrow my brow, thinking over the implications. ¡°You¡¯re saying we¡¯re like water? An outside force would need to act on us to return us to our world.¡±

    ¡°Good, Nuri,¡± Tem says. ¡°Sometimes nature only works in a single direction. Look at the flow of blood in your body, or being born young. You don¡¯t age backward. It¡¯s not possible, or else it would be the most coveted Skill of all time. We¡¯re mortal. We grow old and die. We can¡¯t reverse natural laws.¡±

    ¡°Morbid. Are you sure we simply haven¡¯t applied the right magical solution? How do we know this is a law instead of a mystery?¡± I ask, my mind spinning through possibilities. ¡°There¡¯s not much rigor in what I¡¯m hearing.¡±

    Tem whispers back, his voice tightly controlled. ¡°No idea. I can assure you that this is the way it¡¯s always functioned in my decades of delving, however. Perhaps someday a [Researcher] will discover a way to enter through the labyrinth exit. I¡¯ll never say never. Until that time comes, though, our only option is to use the unstable, unpredictable openings of a Rift.¡±

    Something about the explanation doesn¡¯t sit well with me, however. ¡°What about the incursions? How do they retreat? It seems like they have to hope that a Rift fortuitously forms nearby so that they can get back home.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no hoping involved,¡± Tem says. ¡°Remember what Ezio said about architected Rifts? They can artificially open portals with their dimensional beacons. Rifts are most often a byproduct.¡±

    ¡°Rifts are leftovers of incursions?¡± I swallow hard. ¡°How are we not completely overrun, all over the country? Are there that many [Guardians]?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Tem says, and his voice brims with pride. ¡°People like me show up to hold back the tide. Incursions rely on creating artificial portals between realms, while Lesser and wild Rifts can form naturally. They¡¯re still holes in reality. Ezio and others have speculated that invasions from the void accelerate the process of breaking down spatial integrity, giving rise to more frequent Rifts, but we tend not to talk about it since it promotes fear mongering.¡±

    I rub my temples, already feeling an oncoming headache with the amount of information I¡¯m trying to process all at once. ¡°Will a naturally forming Rift have a labyrinth in it?¡±

    ¡°Sometimes, but not necessarily.¡± Tem pauses, as though searching for the right words to explain. ¡°Yes, labyrinths act as anchors, like we discussed, but it is possible to get in and out of a Rift without them. It¡¯s just a lot harder in most cases. Without some sort of anchor or means to ensure stability, it¡¯s a riskier proposition.¡±

    I nod along as the pieces start to come together for me. ¡°In this case, you knew that the Rift would lead to a Labyrinth, because we fought off the wraiths.¡±

    ¡°Essentially, yes,¡± Tem confirms. ¡°What I didn¡¯t expect was this level of activity, however.¡±

    ¡°Like they¡¯re preparing for another Incursion?¡± I guess.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope not,¡± Tem says grimly.

    ¡°All right, but how do you usually escape from a Rift if there isn¡¯t a labyrinth? I thought you said that exiting the portal is the only way home.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Tem explains patiently. ¡°A labyrinth is only a guaranteed way to get where we want to go. You can still exit a Rift using other methods. A labyrinth is faster, more reliable, and far safer when it comes to dimensional travel. Anyway, I¡¯m not getting trapped in a discussion with you in the middle of an infiltration mission. I took care of the guards. It¡¯s time to keep moving before we¡¯re detected.¡±

    ¡°You ¡¯took care¡¯ of the guards? That sounds ominous. What happened to you being the invader if you go after them?

    ¡°Sometimes, they simply give me no option,¡± Tem says quietly.

    ¡°Did they fight back?¡± I ask.

    Tem sighs. ¡°Yes. I was just better. Sometimes, violence is the only appropriate course of action. I don¡¯t have the ultimate answer, Nuri. When it comes down to it, I always value my life over their lives. It¡¯s a simple equation. Or would you rather I let them capture, torture, and kill us both?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I get it.¡± I swallow again, trying to work through the lump in my throat. ¡°Seems awfully convenient to make decisions without a single, guiding star of morality. What¡¯s keeping you in line? How do you keep from becoming the bad guy?¡±

    ¡°I just try to stay alive, Nuri,¡± Tem says sadly. ¡°I suggest you do the same. Now, let¡¯s get moving; time¡¯s a wastin, and who knows how long we have until the Captain figures out that we¡¯re on our way to the control room. Moral outrage is the luxury of the living.¡±

    I chew on that for a while. ¡°Will you fight the Captain? What if he¡¯s waiting for us at the control room, instead of rushing to the exit to cut us off? Can we fight, or do we just run?¡±

    ¡°Run,¡± Tem answers, and then hesitates. ¡°Well, unless I get the perfect ambush. I could probably take one out, but it¡¯s a roll of the dice. And in the meantime, you¡¯ll be an easy target to any other guards around. Are you sure you want to take that risk?¡±

    My silence is enough of an answer. I swear I can almost see Tem¡¯s sardonic smile, even though he¡¯s in front of me and it¡¯s pitch black. We¡¯re both a bit crazy, when it comes right down to it.

    Tem taps my shoulder. ¡°All right. If you¡¯re well enough to spit out questions, then you¡¯re well enough to move.¡±

    We run through the thick darkness, deeper into the labyrinth. I resume my now-familiar place jogging behind Tem with my hand on his back to keep from getting lost.

    Up ahead, the rhythmic sounds of studded boots marching on flagstone echoes through the tunnels. We both come to a halt simultaneously, pressing into the side of the tunnel to stay as unobtrusive as possible. I watch the flicker of amber lights shining through the murky gloom of the labyrinth tunnels, my pulse picking up as I consider that we may soon have a proper fight on our hands.

    ¡°Steady,¡± Tem whispers. ¡°I don¡¯t sense anything overwhelming ahead, so we¡¯re cleared for battle. Ready your spear.¡± He hands over the weapon, which he¡¯s kept in his strange spatial storage.

    ¡°What¡¯s the plan of attack?¡± I murmur.

    ¡°Not much of one. We¡¯ll come in quick and hot, but be prepared in case I can¡¯t dispatch them all before they rally and defend themselves. Use that fancy new weapon¡ªand remember, a spear advances. Sneaking is beneficial, but there¡¯s no room for cowards once we fight.¡±

    I nod, firming up my grip on the haft, and take off at a run to keep up with Tem¡¯s loping, easy pace. We¡¯re side by side now, ready to fight. His blade is drawn. In the faint illumination reaching us from the lights ahead, his deep brown eyes glint with the intoxicating anticipation of violence.

    We round the bend, and both of us lunge in unison at the unsuspecting guards. My time practicing with the Iron Lunk pays off. Our blades pierce through the necks of the warped, vaguely humanoid figures. Gurgling, they fall to the ground.

    I stare down at their strange forms illuminated by the flickering lantern hanging on the wall of the tunnel. They only share general similarities to the wraiths we fought outside of the Rift, but their forms are far more corporal. They¡¯re each more distinct, looking like individuals rather than mindless monsters. The thick, goopy ichor oozing from their open wounds clumps up on the ground, rather than pooling or flowing like blood, sizzling on contact with the stone floor.

    ¡°Focus, Nuri. Let¡¯s move quick now,¡± Tem says. ¡°Four more guards up ahead; take them out, and then we¡¯ll breach the gates.¡±

    I flick my spear clear of the corrosive, black blood, and follow close behind Tem in as fast of a run as I can manage in a half crouch. This time, our approach is less stealthy despite our best efforts, and panicked shouts in an unknown, whistling tongue reach my ears before we turn around the next bend in the tunnels.

    A wall greets us¡ªa long, bulky series of overlapping, black-lacquered shields edged in gold. Glittering silver and gold eyes peer over the top of the shields, between the narrow slits of their winged black helmets. Two have swords, and two axes, and they stand in perfect formation to stymie our advance.

    ¡°Stay back,¡± Tem commands, lunging forward towards the defensive line. Just before he reaches the range of their swords and axes, Tem¡¯s form flickers, disappearing entirely from my senses, mana or otherwise. With a brilliant burst of disorienting light, he reappears behind them, his enchanted blade whispering death as it slices through the air.

    Two of the void soldiers fall to the ground like marionettes whose strings have been cut, but the other two whirl around faster than I anticipate. Screaming in their sibilant speech, they launch a ferocious counter assault, forcing Tem backward as he staggers under the weight of repeated blows from the heavy axe. The void monster wields its weapon with brutal aggression, but Tem deflects the sweeping strikes that otherwise will lay open his rib cage.

    With deadly grace, he quick-steps back at an angle, his enchanted sword moving like an eel darting at its prey. His sheer economy of form as he parries and pushes attacks off center is mesmerizing, but I shake off the hypnotic, lethal beauty of the fight and take advantage of the opening he¡¯s created in their defenses. I rush forward, stabbing at the exposed back of the nearest wraith.

    The spearhead slips through the scaled armor on its back, but my angle is all wrong. My stab scores a shallow slice, then careens off to the side. The soldier spins around, shrieking as it raises its axe overhead, and I leap away just in time to avoid certain death.

    Tem¡¯s warning about mana rings in my ears, and I resist the temptation to draw deeply on my Skill to freeze its arms so it can¡¯t swing at me. My arms are trembling with a potent blend of fear and adrenaline as I lift the weapon and threaten the enemy soldier¡¯s midline. I don¡¯t know anything about wraith anatomy, but I pray that stabbing center mass is just as deadly against them as it is against humans.

    My desperate, fear-fueled thrust goes wide, however, easily batted away by the wraith¡¯s superior training and strength. I probe its defenses, not earning any hits, and commit to a flurry of strikes. The wraith leans away, then darts forward and traps my spear with the wicked hook on the back of its axe. In a blink, it pins the length of the spear haft against its shield, and yanks me forward. I stumble, off balance, and stare up with wide eyes at the wild face of my foe.

    I let go of the spear rather than risk getting pulled into range for an axe to the face. The creature blazes with triumph, drops its shield and axe, and snatches up my enchanted spear instead. It rushes forward to end me, then screams as a blade erupts through its chest.

    ¡°You¡¯re useful bait,¡± Tem says by way of acknowledgement, wiping off the sizzling blood on the enemy¡¯s short cape. ¡°Good job surviving.¡±

    ¡°I missed,¡± I whisper, a sudden flood of shame keeping my voice quiet rather than any pressing need for stealth. I retrieve my spear, examining the tip with a frown. It caught in the wraith¡¯s armor far too quickly for my liking. An enchanted weapon of this caliber should easily shear through any non-enchanted defenses.

    Tem shakes his head. ¡°You lived. That¡¯s all you need to think about for now. Be grateful. And Nuri? Next time, strike true.¡±

    A short jog and two turns later, we clash again with another pair of guards. This time, our approach is silent, and we don¡¯t tip them off to our presence until it¡¯s too late for them to react to our ambush. I don¡¯t miss; my spear pierces through the guard¡¯s spine.

    Here we go, I think to myself as we reach the studded, blue-steel door. It¡¯s similar to the armory door in design, but easily five times as wide. Several [Soldiers] could march side by side through the archway. I take a deep breath and step forward, placing my hand on the lock, when Tem stops me before I can start the laborious process of freezing my way through the door.

    ¡°There¡¯s a good chance that the guards have keys on them. I doubt they expect enemy combatants in the heart of their outpost,¡± Tem says.

    I turn to Tem, quirking an eyebrow skeptically. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that seem like poor security?¡±

    Tem shrugs. ¡°They have to get in somehow, don¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but won¡¯t there be someone inside the control room who could open the door for them? Why would they bother to post guards if they have such an obvious vulnerability?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± Tem says. ¡°It¡¯s far more likely that they¡¯ll have a key. If an enemy force made it this far¡ªnot a tiny group like the two of us, but a real army¡ªthen the wraiths would have long since called for reinforcements.¡±

    I glance both ways, suddenly terrified that an army might pour around the corner and tear us to pieces. ¡°How do we know they didn¡¯t do that already?¡±

    ¡°Doubtful,¡± Tem says. ¡°I likely would have sensed if they had activated the Skill.¡±

    ¡°Even though they¡¯re not using mana?¡± I ask, once again dancing around the issue of his strange use of the void.

    ¡°I have my ways,¡± Tem says mysteriously. ¡°But you¡¯re right; wasting time is a rather poor idea down here. Let¡¯s move faster.¡±

    Despite my skepticism, I dutifully bend down and pat my hands along the fabric and leather clothing, attempting to look through the guard¡¯s pockets only to discover that they don¡¯t actually have pockets. I scrunch up my face at Tem, but he just laughs.

    ¡°Where do you think I got the idea for my storage ability? Watch and learn, young man.¡± Tem places his hand over the wraith¡¯s body, his brow furrowed in concentration. A moment later, several small objects emerge from nowhere, summoned forth from the other creature¡¯s corpse.

    ¡°Wait, how?¡± I demand. ¡°If that spatial manipulation Skill belongs to the wraith, even if it¡¯s some bizarre void Skill, then how can you access it? Shouldn¡¯t that be impossible?¡±

    ¡°All the rules disappear when you¡¯re dead,¡± Tem grunts. ¡°While the guard was alive? You are correct: there¡¯s no way I can overpower its storage space¡ªalthough I may have a chance if I ever reach the Third threshold. Now? All bets are off.¡±

    I nudge the items with my foot. ¡°These don¡¯t look like keys.¡±

    ¡°Nah, nothing good here. Let me check the other one.¡± Tem repeats the same procedure with the other corpse, frowning as he appears to strain. A vein pops out on his forehead, and he crouches down to rest a knee on the ground for stability. ¡°There¡¯s something different about this one. I¡¯m hitting major resistance. Might be a security measure.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± I ask, excitement making my voice crack. ¡°Presumably, if this guard is hiding something, then it¡¯s probably what we¡¯re looking for.¡±

    ¡°It very well could be,¡± Tem concurs. He concentrates again on drawing out the objects in the wraith¡¯s storage space, and soon produces an oblong metal object that draws my attention like a lodestone draws iron shavings. The key, assuming we¡¯ve found our mark, is smooth and cylindrical, and lacks the teeth of traditional keys, covered instead in intricate golden filigree on a solid black surface. The golden fractals of the cylinder are punctuated at the top and bottom with faintly glowing green symbols¡ªunfamiliar runes that I don¡¯t understand

    ¡°Ahhh, now that¡¯s more like it,¡± Tem says with a tone of pure satisfaction. He rubs his palms together. ¡°With this, we should be able to get in and operate the controls.¡±

    ¡°What was your plan if we never found a key?¡± I ask, still glancing over my shoulder in fear that a wraith army will march around the corner any second now. ¡°How were we going to get home if we couldn¡¯t work the controls? Your plans aren¡¯t exactly inspiring a ton of confidence at the moment, Tem.¡±

    Tem chuckles and gives a helpless shrug. ¡°Not a problem. We could have used the map to find the right exit. Usually, the Realms are marked accordingly. We wouldn¡¯t want to end up in a different plane, after all. Once we¡¯d memorized the route, I¡¯d burn my second threshold Skill and we¡¯d run like mad. Now, prepare yourself.¡±

    Tem holds the key up to the door. It shimmers once with the glow of some sort of energy that looks almost like the aftereffects of mana, but I can¡¯t sense at all. It¡¯s still the first time that I¡¯ve even noticed any void activation, however, so a thrill of excitement shoots through me. If I can learn [Lesser Manasight], then what¡¯s to stop me from venturing into uncharted territory? Ezio will be so jealous!

    The energy fades, and the door swings open, revealing the labyrinth¡¯s control room. Tem leads the way inside, his sword at the ready. The circular room is larger than I ever anticipated, probably fifty paces across. Unlike the rest of the labyrinth, the room is airy and brightly lit, with a spacious ceiling overhead that doesn¡¯t feel like it¡¯s bearing down on me with the weight of ancient authority. Instead of dark lines of dressed stone, the ceiling disappears into a muted rainbow mist that fuzzes into gray at the edges.

    A portal directly into the void realm? I wonder, craning my neck as I take in the rest of the imposing room. The same filigree motif of deep green on black from the key covers the walls, which rise up to meet the ceiling in an unbroken piece. I can¡¯t find a seam or join. The rows of silver work desks are chased in gold¡ªjust how wealthy are these creatures? Everything here is stately, beautiful, and sophisticated in a way I never realized wraiths are capable of creating. If they¡¯re not simply mindless monsters, then that means I¡¯ve killed sapient beings.

    A single creature turns from a seat at a desk as we burst into the control room, and its silver eyes grow wide as it realizes we¡¯re not other wraiths. The movement is so normal, so human, that my gut clenches. I don¡¯t want to think of myself as a murderer.

    Before the wraith technician can react, Tem lurches forward, blade at the ready. To my surprise and relief, he doesn¡¯t attack. Instead, he grips the creature by the collar and holds the edge of the sword against its neck.

    An uncomfortable, warbling hum passes between them. My eyes press shut and I sway on my feet as the strange sibilance sends shivers down my spine.

    ¡°This wraith will help us escape in exchange for its life,¡± Tem says at last, panting from the exertion of maintaining the communication. I marvel at his resilience; if just being in the proximity of the echo of his strange, distorted Skill makes me feel this nauseated, then what kind of backlash is Tem dealing with? Then a thought strikes me, and my fears come rushing back in like the tide.

    ¡°Tem? Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s odd that there aren¡¯t others here? Why would they leave only a single wraith guarding the entire control room?¡± I asked.

    Tem shrugs, and it strikes me suddenly how refreshing it is to see his movement now that we have light again. I didn¡¯t realize until now how much I¡¯d grown to hate the dark during the last few hours. Days? My entire sense of time is skewed.

    ¡°I agree it would behoove us to hurry,¡± Tem says with a curt nod.

    The wraith flits away, clutching his gray robes about his long, slender limbs. He dashes to a glowing set of runes at a central desk, his multi-articulated fingers flowing over the odd swirls and sharp lines of the control runes.

    ¡°Stop him!¡± I yell at Tem, advancing with my spear in hand.

    ¡°Peace,¡± Tem says, catching me by the shoulder and spinning me around. ¡°An oath is struck. The wraith will do as bargained and send us on our way.¡±

    ¡°How can you trust that . . . thing?¡± I protest.

    Tem tightens his grip. ¡°Wraiths are people of order, despite what you may have heard about the void.¡±

    I snort. ¡°The ones we fought outside sure didn¡¯t seem like it.¡±

    ¡°There are differences,¡± Tem allows. ¡°I don¡¯t have a full answer for you, although I have my suspicions. But they follow laws, and oaths are binding.¡±

    ¡°But how? Chaos doesn¡¯t give rise to order,¡± I point out skeptically.

    ¡°Call it a defense against chaos, then, but they won¡¯t break their word. An [Accord] has been consecrated and the payment¡ª¡± his voice falters, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. ¡°The payment, as required, has been rendered. We will not be betrayed.¡±

    Tem¡¯s voice hums with an overtone of power. I take a breath to ask more questions, but my skin prickles and my tongue feels swollen, like I used too much mana even though I haven¡¯t released my hold on my mana pool. A binding oath, enforced by the void, perhaps?

    I file away the clue for later. Ezio will want to hear all about this phenomenon. If he likes studying artificial aspects, then he might flip over an alternative source of energy. Who wouldn¡¯t want to wield the power of the void?

    As I watch the wraith¡ªthis strange, alien existence that¡¯s both the cause of fear and our hope of returning home¡ªsomething Tem said niggles at the back of my mind. What does he mean when he says that the payment is rendered? I swallow uncomfortably. Is there a hidden downside to using the void?

    After all, power always comes at a cost.

 Chapter Thirty-One: The Illusion of Control

    Tem slips into a chair and leans back with a groan. His head tilts until his neck elongates and the knobby bit of cartilage in his throat sticks up like a little shield boss. His eyes shut and the skin on his face tightens as he yawns. He stretches his arms, and at last lets out a long, slow, shuddering breath.

    ¡°Everything all right, Tem?¡± I ask, shuffling closer to the [Expert Scout], but still keeping an eye on the wraith working at the main control desk. It¡¯s still difficult for me to trust that it won¡¯t sell us out at the first opportunity, and this is as good of a chance as any.

    ¡°It will be,¡± Tem rasps. His eyes don¡¯t open, and drops of sweat bead on his forehead.

    I scratch the back of my head. ¡°Is this part of . . . the payment you mentioned?¡±

    Tem¡¯s eyes open with a snap. ¡°Don¡¯t ask any further right now, Nuri. And don¡¯t even think about experimenting. Not before your First Threshold, at the very least.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes. I still expect to know more someday,¡± I say, hoping I¡¯m not testing his patience too much.

    Tem barely reacts this time. His eyes flutter and eventually close again. ¡°We¡¯ll talk later, I promise. Just let me rest a bit for now. We likely only have a few minutes of quiet before we¡¯re on the run again. Try to make yourself useful¡ªthis place is full of valuables. Take what you can carry. If I have to drop some weapons to make room, then I¡¯ll do it. But I need to recover before the Captain shows up if we want to get out of here alive.¡±

    I squint at the wraith at the desk. Its movements are so non-threatening, so far removed from the monstrous creatures that we fought off a few days ago, that for once I¡¯m wondering if I¡¯m on the right side. Haven¡¯t we invaded this creature¡¯s home? I scowl at the still fresh memory of the wraith lord, however, and my wavering thoughts firm up. I grip my spear, fingers tightening as my conviction hardens into barely-restrained violence. ¡°What¡¯s so scary about this Captain, anyway? How can it be worse than the wraith lord?¡±

    ¡°A question for later. Quiet,¡± Tem mumbles.

    I shuffle around the central control desk while Tem takes a cat nap, poking at objects and letting my eyes wander about the room. I don¡¯t see much in the way of obvious treasure, and most of the control runes appear emblazoned directly on the desks themselves. I pause next to one, chipping at it with my thumbnail, but I¡¯m not able to scratch them.

    I try again with my spear, but as expected, digging at the desk does not destroy the rune. The elaborate script work is not etched or painted as far as I can tell. They¡¯re not formed in ink or lacquer, but rather appear to be magically inscribed. The words of power have melded with the surface of the desk, like they¡¯ve grown organically from the ground, through the floor, and directly into the top of the desk.

    The wraith glances over and sees me fiddling with the runes. It warbles at me with an odd, bird-like screech, but I can¡¯t understand anything it says. I look over at Tem to see if he¡¯ll deign to wake up long enough to translate for me, knowing that he has some sort of language Skill that helps him with foreign infiltration missions, but he doesn¡¯t appear to be paying any attention. In fact, faint snores reach my ears, and I chuckle at the oddity of Tem sleeping in the presence of his enemies.

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll stop messing around,¡± I say as I turn back to the wraith. I set my spear down against the desk and hold up my empty hands so I appear friendly and non-threatening, but the wraith has already resumed its work. I feel a little like a scolded child, and my petulance gives rise to a new plan. I sense no resonance between my own mana and the strange runes, but there¡¯s only one way to know for sure. Against my better judgment, I feed a trickle of mana into the rune when the wraith¡¯s back is turned, curious to see what it might do.

    The wraith spins away from his work at the console, and its eyes dilate as it watches me with undisguised hunger. It rises from its chair and takes a step toward me before I clamp down on my mana, pulling it from within my channels back into my well, and avert my gaze. With an irritated chirp, it resumes pulling up the map features, but this time, it keeps glancing over in my direction with its strangely luminous silver eyes.

    I pick up my spear again and saunter around the room like nothing ever happened, but a cold sweat breaks out on my back. It¡¯s likely a good thing I wasn¡¯t able to activate anything; I¡¯m honestly relieved that I didn¡¯t inadvertently set off an alarm, or cause the entire control room to explode with us still inside¡ªassuming, of course, that the wraiths are paranoid enough to have a self-destruct feature in the middle of their own labyrinth.

    A sudden glow in the air catches my eye, and I hasten back over to the central desk to watch the wraith at work. Swirls of silver and black strands grow out of the top of the workstation as the wraith carries out its half of the bargain, assuming I can trust what Tem says. With a soft hum, the ethereal lights take on a more solid shape.

    At first, the magic is as thin as threads, but as they weave together and form more intricate configurations, they grow thicker¡ªfirst like yarn, then a slender rope. Finally, they create intricately-knotted cables as thick around as my wrist. The entire array twists in on itself, braiding the light into ever greater complexity. The dancing lights weave together into a tapestry that looks similar to the map Tem created for us with his Mana, but vast and more complete, on a far more detailed scale.

    A single, golden line snakes its way along the pathways of the map, originating from the circular interior, which I assume is the control room, and leading toward a more angular, boxy end of the maze. I trace the route with my eyes, trying to memorize it as quickly as I can, since it doesn¡¯t take a labyrinth expert to surmise that this is the safe path we need. It leads out from the control room, presumably to the exit portal we¡¯ll need to use if we want to make it back to the correct plane of existence.

    Only moments have passed, but when I shake Tem awake and tell him that the way out is provided for us, he looks as refreshed as if he slept for a few hours. At my quizzical glance, he just winks and tells me the names of two more Skills I didn¡¯t know he possesses: [Make It Count], and [You Can Rest When You¡¯re Dead].

    ¡°Ready to go,¡± Tem drawls, stretching again before springing to his feet. ¡°Find anything good to take with us?¡±

    Heat burns in my cheeks as I remember that he asked me to loot the control room while he rested. I shake my head and fumble through an admission that I got distracted by the odd runes and by watching the wraith for signs of funny business.

    ¡°Curiosity is a double-edged sword,¡± Tem sighs, but his eyes twinkle in amusement.

    ¡°Well, what is that?¡± I say, pointing to an elaborate contraption on a desk two rows over from the wraith. I hadn¡¯t noticed it before, since I was wandering around the opposite side of the room, but now that I¡¯ve seen it, the device is inescapably mesmerizing. Bathed in the silver glow that permeates the control room, the machine is dazzling as it refracts and amplifies the hidden colors within the monochromatic light. Three sets of interconnected cogs spin in ceaseless, silent motion, turning a face plate with a dense pattern of several dozen runes. The thing looks a little like an overly complicated timepiece¡ªbut if it tells time, then it¡¯s a clock for more times and dimensions than I know of.

    Tem¡¯s face lights up as he follows my outstretched hand and sees whatever it is that I¡¯m pointing toward. ¡°Ah! Our excellent luck continues to hold, Nuri! I¡¯ve never seen one of these in person before, but I¡¯ve heard them described.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± I ask, bursting now with curiosity. If Tem is this excited over the prospect of the device, then it¡¯s bound to be good, although I¡¯m not sure I agree with his assessment that our luck has been ¡°excellent.¡± We¡¯ve nearly died a dozen times over.

    Tem squints at the little machine, then shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m not precisely sure what the wraiths call them, but it¡¯s essentially a portable portal, uhh, prognosticator.¡±

    ¡°A portable portal prognosticator,¡± I repeat dubiously, goggling at him for a long moment. ¡°Did you really make up that name just to alliterate?¡±

    ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m a man of exceptional wit and refinement,¡± Tem says with a spark of unabashed amusement in his eyes.

    I¡¯m about to answer when another warbling cry from the wraith catches Tem¡¯s attention. An incandescent glimmer of argent light pulsates on one of the wraith¡¯s dashboards.

    The [Expert Counterspell Scout] growls. He grabs the portable portal prognostication device¡ªI vow to find its real name later, but for now I¡¯ll refer to it as the PPP¡ªand takes off at a dead run toward the opposite door from the one we entered.

    ¡°Captain¡¯s coming! Run as fast as you can. Don¡¯t stop, Nuri. No matter what, do not stop!¡± Tem shouts, and he takes off sprinting toward the exit.

    My legs feel dead, and I whimper in fear and pain and exhaustion, but I have no choice but to follow his command. I run after Tem, determined to keep running. Anything else is risking too much danger, whether it¡¯s capture, or outright death. My entire body rebels at the thought of more running, more dashes through terrifying darkness, but no matter how much my muscles burn, or my mind shuts down at the prospect of another deadly chase, I don¡¯t stop. I can¡¯t stop.I sprint past the shocked looking wraith and out of the control, out into the darkness

    My body moves on its own accord, and I dig deep for extra energy, falling back on the training with Ember and Mikko. My breathing comes in ragged gasps after only a few minutes; I thought I knew what it meant to be pushed to my limits, but now I¡¯m finding out that I¡¯ve gone far past my supposed breaking point and I haven¡¯t yielded yet. As the steps pile up, my stomach clenches and my bowels gurgle ominously. I clutch at my gut, my force of will the only thing keeping me from heaving up the last bar of rations onto the labyrinth floor.

    Tem is abandoning all caution, hurtling forward on powerful strides. Despite his earlier injunction against mana use, wreaths of power now surround him like a faint, dark nimbus as he soaks his body in energy, willing himself to move faster. A distant part of my mind notes in a detached fashion that he isn¡¯t using his regular movement Skill. Is he still recovering energy? I¡¯m surprised not to see his signature void rush that allows him to skip across the surface of reality like a rock skipping across a pond, visible only when it touches down on the membrane of the deep. Strangely, his mana flutters like a candle in the wind, as though he¡¯s having trouble replenishing his lost supply¡ªalways a difficulty without mana potions in a labyrinth and its odd paucity of mana. But when did he use it all up?

    I¡¯m falling farther and farther behind, so I ditch the speculation. I¡¯m barely able to see the pinprick of Tem¡¯s mana signature far ahead. I unseal my mana channels, pumping power from my well to push my body into overdrive. The mana is sluggish at first, as though annoyed at being so long neglected, but as I lower my head and drive my knees, my arms pumping as hard as I can, the mana responds. I don¡¯t have a Skill for this, but I almost swear that I can hear the mana singing gleefully in my veins and pathways. I soak my muscles and tendons, joints and ligaments, in the invigorating power of mana. My speed picks up, and I pray that it¡¯s worth the trade off. If the Captain gets close enough, he¡¯ll boil me alive from the inside out.

    Ahead, Tem¡¯s mana signature grows fainter in my mind. I try to focus on the wisps, but like a fading fire, they spark, gutter, and die out. The [Expert Counterspell Scout]¡¯s distinctive mana signature finally disappears altogether. In a panic, I come to a halt, gasping for breath. What do I do without him? Which way do I go?

    I growl and mentally berate myself for my stupidity. The only way out is forward. I don¡¯t have time to waste like this. Thinking my way through the situation is a luxury I can¡¯t spare the time to indulge. Muscles screaming in protest, I keep running, hoping that I¡¯ll figure out which way to turn. To my surprise, when I reach the next intersection, a faint, ghostly arrow points to my right. Its signature is so dull and faded that I almost miss it, but it¡¯s unmistakably from Tem. Relief floods me at the sight.

    Without hesitation, I turn and sprint to the right, following the clues he¡¯s left. My arms and legs are churning in the dark, with no idea of what¡¯s ahead. I pray that I won¡¯t smack face-first into an unseen wall and split open my lips and nose, or knock myself out and damage my brain. I have no time to think, no time for fear, only the desperate need to survive. Desire for home burns within like hunger: I want to see the stars above again, feel the wind on my face, curl my bare toes in sandy loam, smell a field of wildflowers in Spring, see the look of annoyance on the Linas¡¯ faces.

    I blink back tears as I run. I miss the satisfied pride Mikko has in me for getting back up and trying again, even when he beats me into the ground for the third time in a row during our sparring matches. I miss the grudging admiration Ember shows for my glassmaking talents. I miss the light-hearted teasing from the reliable Lio at the shop; he¡¯s always willing to jump head first into whatever project I have in mind, no matter how crazy. The rush of emotion fuels my mad, headlong run into the unknown. I miss my friends. I¡¯m not about to die here, leaving them to wonder where I am and what¡¯s become of me.

    Three turns later, as my strides grow shorter and choppier, and the stitch in my side is as sharp as a serrated dirk jammed in between my ribs, Tem¡¯s meticulous mana signature pops back into my senses. He¡¯s not moving, which means he¡¯s waiting for me despite claiming that he will leave me behind if I¡¯m too slow. I let out a sob of relief as I stagger around the final bend and collapse on my knees in front of the [Expert Counterspell Scout], finally able to see again in the soft, amber glow of his improvised mana torch.

    Tem glances up and gives me a curt nod. All the lines of his face are creased in deep concentration. Without a word, he turns his attention back to the wall in front of us. The way forward is blocked.

    No, it¡¯s not a wall; it¡¯s a door, I realize belatedly, made of the same blue steel threaded through with enchantments that we encountered in the armory. The same type of door barred our way into the control room. ¡°Is this the way out?¡± I ask in between gulps of air.

    ¡°Not yet,¡± Tem grunts he summons his map construct again, this time far more elaborate thanks to the information he copied from the wraith¡¯s labyrinth model in the control room.

    I squint, trying to make out the scale of the map. ¡°So, through that archway, turn to the right, and we find our goal?¡±

    ¡°Seems right, but we have to get through the door first. Can you freeze it?¡± Tem asks. ¡°I would prefer more recovery time before I access the tricks up my sleeve.¡±

    I lean both hands against the door, breathing heavily, and decide I simply don¡¯t have the energy to pry into his void related secrets right now. My chest heaves, rising and falling like a pair of overworked bellows, and I¡¯m worried for a moment that I might blow out my lung like a pressured gasket without a release valve.

    ¡°Yes. Give me . . . ten . . . fifteen seconds.¡±

    ¡°Make it fast, Nuri. And thank you,¡± Tem says, his voice weirdly calm. He settles into a slow, steady rhythm, practicing his own training as he breathes in his regimented pattern to ward off panic.

    I peek inward, gauging my mana reserves. Trying to focus the energy into my muscles drained me almost two thirds of the way. The constant filling and emptying, filling and emptying, is starting to rub my insides raw, but that¡¯s a concern for another time. I place my palm on the door handle, getting a sense for the area I¡¯ll have to destroy. I don¡¯t dare try to weaken the entire door like last time. Something tells me I just don¡¯t have the strength for it. With a deep breath, I sink my consciousness into the locking mechanism until I have a sense of its inner workings. I target the weakest spot, pushing my mana into the door. Power floods out of me, and the steel creaks and groans as it freezes over.

    I slump back, lightheaded with exhaustion, and Tem takes my place. He unsheathes his sword and strikes the frozen lock with the hilt, hissing in pain as the weapon shivers on impact and bounces back at him. He shakes out his hands, grips the sword again, and pounds on the frozen lock. Small chips of frozen steel fly off, and he redoubles his effort. With a sharp, final crack, the door handle finally gives way. The lock shatters and clangs against the labyrinth floor, spreading tiny metal shards across the tunnel.

    Tem throws his shoulder into the door, and it shakes but doesn¡¯t budge. He rebounds, staggers, and jerks a thumb at the door with a growl. ¡°Help me out. Put your back into it!¡±

    I push myself to my feet, fighting off a wave of nausea, and slam into the door, grunting as it knocks the wind out of me. I¡¯m already struggling for breath, my pulse pounding loudly in my temples, and the sudden pain is too much for me to handle. My knees go soft, and I collapse on the ground in convulsions. What little food remains in my stomach splatters across the tunnel floor as I throw up. It¡¯s mostly water and stomach acids, and the acerbic smell wakes me back up to the moment.

    Tem rams his shoulder into the door again, crashing into it like a bull on a rampage until the cold, brittle metal of the latching mechanism shatters. Tem kicks the rest of the door open. Now unlocked and freed from its frame, the door creaks with an ominous sound, like a crypt opening at the skeletal hands of the undead buried within.

    Panting from the sudden violence, Tem grabs me by the shoulders and drags me bodily through the doorway before he kicks the broken door shut. He sways on his feet, but gathers his energy and steadies himself. A wave of his hand, and the door handle appears fully restored, although I¡¯m certain it¡¯s an illusion. He doesn¡¯t have the power to reshape reality like that.

    ¡°Why not use your charge?¡± I ask once I can speak again. I slowly pull myself to my feet. My steps are slow and shaky, but at least I¡¯m moving under my own power. I know we need to make haste, but I can¡¯t move any faster, completely out of mana, endurance, and willpower.

    ¡°I did,¡± Tem replies. ¡°Back in the control room, just like we planned.¡±

    ¡°But you struck a deal!¡± I protest. ¡°Are you gonna kill that wraith after it helped us? You said they¡¯re creatures of order.¡±

    Tem snorts. ¡°You have funny notions of warfare, Nuri. It¡¯s not all honor and civility. ¡°But, if it sets your mind at ease, I told the wraith to flee.¡±

    As usual, my mind spins toward the worst case scenario. ¡°What if it disarms the weapon instead? What if we came all this way for nothing?¡±

    ¡°Getting out alive is always the first part of the mission,¡± Tem says, slowing his brisk pace momentarily to match my limp. ¡°The other goals are secondary¡ªno, tertiary¡ªgetting loot is the secondary goal.¡± He winks at me, and I chuckle weakly. ¡°Striking back at the abyssal monarchs is, unfortunately, further down the list by necessity.¡±

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°And are we going to make our first goal?¡± I ask. ¡°Are we really going to make it out?¡±

    ¡°Maybe not,¡± Tem says slowly, his face deeply shadowed in the dim light of his mana torch. His scowl deepens as he squinst ahead.

    ¡°Why are we stopping? Don¡¯t tell me that you want more loot,¡± I tease,

    ¡°The path is wrong,¡± Tem says.

    ¡°But don¡¯t we have the way out? Based on what we saw in the control room, it looks like we¡¯re almost there.¡±

    ¡°Should be,¡± Tem grunts. ¡°But we aren¡¯t.¡±

    Fear starts to squeeze my heart in its icy grip. ¡°I thought you struck an [Accord] with the wraith. Isn¡¯t that some sort of Skill to guarantee that you¡¯ll each uphold your end of the bargain?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but the reality is never that simple,¡± Tem says. ¡°It¡¯s possible that I wasn¡¯t completely clear with my wording. I may have given the wraith a loophole. Or, perhaps any creature trusted enough to have access to the control room has a greater [Accord] at work that demands fealty to the Monarchs. That would supersede my Skill.¡±

    ¡°But I saw the map. It led to an exit! Are you sure we¡¯re not just paranoid? Why don¡¯t we keep going and find a way?¡±

    Tem shakes his head. ¡°The exit should be right here, unless I forgot everything I once knew about mapcraft. No, my entire Class is built around finding paths. Exploring the unknown is who I am. I know something is wrong.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve been betrayed,¡± I say. Somehow, it¡¯s a relief to give voice to my doubts. The fear of betrayal is more terrifying than the actuality. Whatever we face up ahead, not knowing was far worse to me. I keep anticipating how terribly wrong things might go. Heading down the wrong path for a bit ? That, I can handle.

    ¡°Tem, you had a plan to get out, right? Before we even talked about the control room, you weren¡¯t planning on staying in the labyrinth forever. So can¡¯t you just find the way to the exit yourself, like you originally planned?¡±

    Tem nods. ¡°Certainly, I can. It will take longer this way, however. I wish I knew more about what¡¯s going on.¡±

    ¡°That makes two of us,¡± I reply with a wry chuckle. ¡°But what about the [Accord]? You really think it¡¯s as simple as the wraith having a pre-existing agreement? Is it bound by a [Geas] of some sort?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Tem says honestly, his frown so intense that his entire face creases. ¡°This is troubling, indeed.¡±

    I let the matter lie, since Tem appears deeply shaken.

    ¡°All right, how do we find a way to the exit? Is there anything I can do to help?¡±

    ¡°No, but I appreciate the offer. You¡¯re starting to see yourself as part of the team instead of just a tag along. That¡¯s good. We¡¯ll need that before the end, I suspect.¡±

    ¡°Why do I get the feeling that you¡¯re not just talking about the end of this adventure?¡± I say. ¡°Something big is going on, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Tem doesn¡¯t deny the declaration. He mutters under his breath, turns, and starts down a side tunnel. His face smooths out as the worry fades. ¡°Come. This way ought to get us to an exit, eventually. Let¡¯s get out of here first. I¡¯ll tell you more afterward. You¡¯ve earned that much.¡±

    Five minutes later, Tem brightens. ¡°Well, it seems that half-truths may have been enough for the wraith to make our [Accord] binding. I¡¯ll have to remember that trick for next time. We¡¯re on the right track. It led us to a closed-off tunnel that probably used to connect to the path we¡¯re on now. The directions it gave us are true, in a straight line¡ªor, well, as straight of a line that you¡¯ll ever get in a place like this. We simply had to find our way around the dead end. The exit to our realm is just up ahead.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s it,¡± I say with a grin. ¡°We made it! We¡¯re finally going home.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re finally going home,¡± Tem confirms, returning my grin.

    Just then a magnificent presence, all heat and rage in my perception, crashes over us like a mighty beast trampling lesser creatures in its path.

    No! We were so close. This isn¡¯t fair! I rage, rebelling against the sudden shattering of my illusions of safety.

    In an instant, I vent the last few remaining motes of my mana that I¡¯ve recovered after forcing open the door. Searing pain rips through my channels anyway, and I cry out at the sheer potency of the technique.

    The sharpness of the pain goads me into action. I take off running, my fatigue and the fog of confusion disappearing like clouds driven away by strong wind. The surge of adrenaline won¡¯t last; I know it¡¯s only a brief rush of fresh energy, but I ride the crest to the wave anyway and sprint for all I¡¯m worth, following Tem as the ground shakes again. If I¡¯d had a tiny bit more mana¡ªI shudder at the thought and refuse to follow that line of logic. Escape first; brag about how dangerous it was later.

    A massive rumble shakes the labyrinth. It echoes in my soul, knocking me off my feet.

    ¡°Run!¡± Tem screams.

    The ground beneath us lists dangerously, bucking like a ship on open seas in the middle of a monsoon. I scramble forward on hands and knees, unable to stand upright with the assault on reality. I can¡¯t trust my sense of direction, falling sideways and bouncing off the walls instead of falling toward the ground. With a frisson of fear, I recall Tem¡¯s earlier words about how the labyrinths function like anchors between liminal dimensions. What if Tem¡¯s timed charge of destruction resonates throughout the labyrinth, tearing it apart before we can escape? What if we¡¯re ejected into the void, doomed to utter oblivion?

    Another rumble hits us, this one of pure rage and hate rather than kinetic force. It shakes the already unstable labyrinth tunnel even more¡ªthe walls ripple and buckle like gelatin, and the formerly solid rock comes apart at the seams. Behind the walls swirls a strange fuzz of gray nothingness. It leaks between the cracks like early morning fog on a cool day.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop, Nuri!¡± Tem screams, as though I have any plan of staying down here even a second longer than required. ¡°We¡¯ve almost reached the exit!¡±

    Sure enough, the shimmering portal comes into view as we round the final bend. I blink back tears of gratitude and relief, lurching forward toward salvation.

    An entire section of wall explodes into razor sharp shards of stone that slice through my vest and pants, leaving stinging trails of fire across my cheeks and flinging me to the ground. I¡¯m getting tired of tasting dirt. Blood trickles down my face, mixing with my sweat.

    I push at the floor, forcing myself to my feet despite the pain, and turn to look at the hole in reality. It¡¯s almost beautiful, I think, and the words seem far away and obscure as reality falls apart, disintegrating into a swirl of all the colors of a chaotic rainbow. The labyrinth unravels under the assault of forces beyond my comprehension. The world is expanding and contracting like a living thing around. The brilliant, multihued coruscations refract and glisten before the light simply vanishes, sucked away into the hungry abyss that we¡¯ve come to call the void.

    An enormous creature covered in spikes barrels through the warped, rotting detritus of the labyrinth, howling in primal rage. The wraith Captain rears up to its full height, easily twice the size of the wraith lord, and roars. The sound hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest, smashing me onto my back. The Captain is encased in glowing gold and black armor, and it wields a wicked flanged mace as tall as I am, and as thick as my torso.

    ¡°Thieves!¡± it bellows, wrath rolling off it in waves so potent I can practically taste it. My soul quivers, and I cower in terror in its presence.

    Tem drags me to my feet and pushes me forward ahead of him. He picks a path across the rubble, leaping from one precarious perch to another, and somehow keeps us from falling. Stone slabs as large as a wagon crash down around us, but he drags me out of harm¡¯s way.

    We halt in front of a sudden cliff formed out of broken boulders. Tem clambers up ahead. He reaches down, grasps the end of my spear, and pulls me up after him, over the obstacles of sharp, fallen rock. I hiss at the gashes of rock, twist my body, and push off the surface with my feet. I¡¯m clinging to the spear for dear life with fully extended arms, barely able to move on my own. Nonetheless, I squeeze as he heaves me along the pile, my death-grip never wavering.

    Tem yanks me up and over a final, jagged ridge of spikes. ¡°Go!¡± he shouts, shoving me down the rockslide of broken boulders and toward the pulsing edges of the portal.

    My gaze flickers toward the Captain, hot on our tail, swinging his massive mace with a whistling sound as it obliterates stone and pulverizes the hard walls of the labyrinth.

    ¡°Go, Nuri. Warn Cassius that there¡¯s a wraith Captain.¡± Tem tosses me my spear. He hesitates for a moment, then withdraws the PPP¡ªthe portable portal prognosticator¡ªand throws it down to me as well. Then he turns to face down the massive wraith Captain, a true city-devouring threat, all alone.

    I want to say that I level my spear at the void beast and join the [Expert Counterspell Scout] for a glorious last stand. I want to say that my training kicks in, and I fight like a fiend as I transcend my limits and grasp for immortality.

    The truth is far uglier. Like a coward, I turn and flee through the gossamer shimmer of the rapidly fluctuating portal, flinging myself back into the realm in which I belong. Instantly, the path through the void, the opening to the Rift, closes behind me. The sounds of desperate battle are cut off as though they never existed. I pick myself up gingerly from the dew-drenched grass, turn around with a wince, and stare at a tranquil dawn. The portal is gone.

    And, just as I feared, so is Tem.

    =+=

    I must have passed out from pain and emotional overload. When I finally wake, wool-headed and my eyes burning, the sun is halfway through its course across the sky.

    Adrenaline has seen me through, kept my body and soul moving forward, but now as I glance around the field of tall grass trampled in places by my wild thrashing after I dove through the portal, I realize that I don¡¯t know where I am or how I¡¯m going to survive the night. I can¡¯t move very quickly in this state, which means it will probably take me three days to get back to the city, assuming that I can figure out which direction to go.

    ¡°Assuming I¡¯m even in the same country. I could be on the other side of the Capital, for all I know. Does the labyrinth play fair? It hasn¡¯t so far. Why would this be any different? I¡¯ll bet the exit is on the other side of the world,¡± I mutter.

    I squint in the powerful sunlight, overwhelming after the darkness of the last several days, and look around for landmarks. The light is both glorious and oppressive, and I¡¯m having a hard time adjusting to its ever present intensity. I try to get my bearings and figure out what to do without Tem. I¡¯ve relied on him so heavily down in the Rift, both to give me a sense of direction, and to keep me even-keeled, that now I feel like a ship adrift at sea. I¡¯m rudderless, becalmed, at the mercy of the waves with no idea where my home port might be.

    ¡°None of that,¡± I chide myself. ¡°Survive. Coming out alive is the first priority,¡± I say almost on reflex, quoting Tem. My purpose now firmly back in mind, I stagger forward. I¡¯m hungry, my head hurts, and I¡¯m limping from a deep cut across my calf that I barely even noticed until just now, but I¡¯m alive.

    My fingers close around the haft of my spear, and I lean on it heavily for balance, grateful that Tem tossed it to me before we were cut off from each other. If I had to face the wilderness with nothing more than the small knife in my belt, I¡¯d be in rough shape.

    I shake my head. I don¡¯t think I have the confidence to even try, although a small part of me hopes that I¡¯ll encounter Shadow Jaguars on the way home so I can show them how much I¡¯ve grown. It¡¯s stupid, maybe even suicidal, but I want something to vent my frustration on now that I¡¯m out of the Rift. No longer do I think of the big cats as a mortal threat. Now, they¡¯re just fodder for me to try out new weapons techniques. I want to see how much devastation my new spear can dish out.

    ¡°Food first,¡± I tell myself, speaking aloud to keep myself focused.

    I mark the positioning of the sun, trying to remember where it was in the early morning before I succumbed to my exhaustion, and start walking in the general direction of the city. We¡¯d headed west, away from the borderlands, so now I set my course toward the east. I don¡¯t know exactly where I am, but assuming that I¡¯ve come out in the general vicinity of where we entered the Rift seems like a safe bet. If I get lost in a wild nightmare of possibilities, then I¡¯ll never make it back home. Fear will kill me more surely than wild beasts.

    I nod to myself, certainty forming inside me like a glass sculpture annealing and locking in its shape. I need to retrace our steps, I repeat to myself, continuing to keep the sun at my back as I trudge onward. Idly, I wonder what my friends are up to right now. Our expedition was only supposed to last a few days, but with the way that time works in the Rift, I have no idea if I¡¯ve been gone for a week, a month, or perhaps a year. Everything is all topsy-turvy, and I¡¯ve lost my reference point. The season seems the same, but what if I¡¯ve jumped forward a lifetime? What if all my friends are dead and gone, and I¡¯ll return to nothing more than the burnt-out husk of the quaint town once known as Silaraon?

    Tiny bugs float up in clouds from the grass at my every footfall, stinging at my face and breaking me out of my useless and morose wonderings. I swat them away, although I can¡¯t help but think that I¡¯m disturbing their homes¡ªjust like I disturbed the wraiths and helped Tem blow up their control room. The insects swarm until I can¡¯t keep my eyes open to watch where I¡¯m going, and despite their diminutive size, their bites hurt. Whenever they land on my skin, I start itching furiously.

    With a growl, I release a brief burst of the mana I¡¯ve recovered since returning to our realm. The flex of will I send into [Heat Manipulation] scorches the surrounding area and fries the entire swarm of bugs to a crisp. I don¡¯t feel in the slightest bit bad about it. I¡¯m simply not in the mood to deal with the elements today.

    I know at some point that I¡¯ll have to acknowledge the loss of my tutor. My friend. But for now. I keep the thought at bay. For now, I have to focus on survival, not mourning. I work my jaw, wrestling with the guilt of leaving him behind. If his autobiography is anything to go on, then Tem has been in rough spots before and come out on the other side.

    A smile cracks my dry lips. For all I know, not only will Tem survive, but he¡¯ll defeat the Captain, blow up the rest of the labyrinth, and somehow still beat me back home. I¡¯ll probably stagger in on my last legs while he¡¯s being feted and toasted by the nobility. I chuckle softly, clinging to hope. He¡¯s well known for that kind of resourcefulness.

    After an hour of limping along, my calf is more cramped up than ever before. I¡¯ve bound up the wound, and the bleeding has stopped, but it¡¯s too tender to keep walking on any longer. I lean on my spear, pressing my palms into my closed eyes, and try to keep calm.

    My stomach twists and rumbles, letting me know in no uncertain terms that it¡¯s suffering from the undeniable urge to eat. I haven¡¯t had a proper meal in days, not since we entered the Rift, and I don¡¯t think I have anything left in my travel sack. Perhaps I can find some small game around and practice throwing my new spear. It¡¯s a long, heavy weapon, however, ill-suited for throwing; I should get a light javelin, too.

    I pat my fingers on the spear. ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad,¡± I whisper. ¡°You¡¯re still my favorite.¡±

    I drag myself onward. I don¡¯t have the luxury of finding a javelin, and I discard the idea of hurling the spear at a passing squirrel. If I do manage to score a one in a thousand shot, I¡¯m liable to make the poor critter explode from the force of the enchantments. If I get a chance, I¡¯ll try to take down a rabbit, or maybe a large bird. I wish I could get a deer, but if I¡¯m honest, it¡¯s impossible. I can¡¯t track down game that large when I¡¯m in tip-top shape. Now? Unthinkable.

    I screw up my face into a scowl. Not to mention that draining the blood and dressing the deer will take more time than I want to spend out here. I want to get home, alert the guards, and try to put together a squad to save Tem. I can¡¯t dally.

    Tem. The wraiths. Rifts and armies and the unmaking of reality. I gulp, suddenly losing my appetite. Beyond the immediate needs of food, water, and shelter lurks the looming terror of an incursion. What if the wraiths are looking for revenge? Or, worse, what if they were already amassing forces, preparing to plunge the Realms into endless war and chaos, even before we raided their armory and sabotaged their control room? What if, contrary to what Tem indicates, they are not creatures of order, but are instead harbingers of our destruction?

    The oppressive, intrusive thoughts cut off as my stomach rumbles again with hunger, this time too urgently for me to be put off by my fears. I settle into a small patch of flat ground where the tall grass is worn away, likely due to a game trail in the area. I don¡¯t have time to wait and hunt the beasts that have trampled down this path, but it will serve just fine as a resting spot while I get my bearings and recover my energy.

    I pull out my travel sack and rummage around again, although I¡¯m sure I already ate the last of my rations. To my surprise, however, I find a small bag of dried apples and salted nuts that I keep on hand for quick energy. I force myself to chew slowly, as much as I want to shove the entire thing in my mouth all at once. I savor the slight sweetness of the apple and the crunch of the tree nuts. My mouth is bone dry, and my lips have split open, but I know for sure that I don¡¯t have any more water in my treated leather waterskin. One miracle is already pushing my luck as it is.

    With a groan, I leverage myself to my feet using my spear, and set out walking again, continuing to head back toward Silaraon. If I remember correctly, we passed a creek on the way in, so I¡¯ll be able to replenish my water supplies once I find the little stream. It¡¯s hard to keep walking with all the distractions vying for my attention¡ªthe cramping in my legs, the soreness of my poor feet, my fear of the sounds around me, my worry for Tem, and my guilt for leaving him all alone in the labyrinth.

    Even so, I press on.

    The minutes slowly melt into hours. I find the stream at last, and I turn to follow it upriver after quenching my thirst. I can¡¯t even feel my body anymore. The pain has disappeared entirely, replaced by cold numbness. I try not to think about what kind of damage I¡¯m doing to myself. I just keep walking.

    As evening falls and I start to lose the light, I trudge up one last hill and see the telltale shimmer of the Silaraon city barrier in the distance. I shake my head sadly at the thought of an incursion of wraiths rampage across the countryside. Silaraon might be fine, but what about Ifran and my friends in his town? They don¡¯t have a barrier. They failed to keep out a few mangy cats. How exactly are they supposed to stop an otherworldly invasion?

    I don¡¯t fancy traveling at night, not my current state. I don¡¯t feel confident that I can take out a single Shadow Jaguar right now, and they usually hunt in packs. I slow down, leaning on a tree trunk for support, my head hanging low. It¡¯s not only my wounded body or my lack of energy that¡¯s failing me, however. My will is giving out for the day. I¡¯ve been under constant assault, and after all the terrors we¡¯ve experienced, I can¡¯t muster up the determination to push on any farther for the night.

    With a heavy sigh, I push away my injuries, my exhaustion, and start to make camp. I find a spot in a nearby tree to sleep through the night, dragging myself up into the branches with great difficulty. I hang my traveling blanket like a hammock, curl up inside, and close my eyes. With any luck, the cats will leave me alone up this high. The effort is simply too great. For extra peace of mind, I lash myself to the trunk so that I won¡¯t fall out of the hammock while I sleep

    Before I succumb to the pull of sleep, I find myself going through my pack, looking for my heat-resistant glass globes by force of habit. Then I remember how the first one broke, and the other one became a sacrifice for the cause, and their loss hits me afresh. I stifle a sniff, unwilling to risk that predators might hear me.

    Objectively, I know that I can probably make far superior training tools now. My mana sensitivities have vastly improved, thanks to studying with Ezio, and I¡¯ve actually gained a new Skill in [Lesser Manasight]. Plus, I¡¯ve applied myself in the hot shop, and my skill with glass continues to move forward. I haven¡¯t neglected mundane studies just because I¡¯m enamored with the pursuit of magic.

    Even so. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. The loss stings.

    I suspect I¡¯ll be saying that phrase a lot in the months and years to come. For now, I let out a quiet sigh, close my eyes, and finally embrace the sweet oblivion of sleep as I sway gently in my hammock. The soft sounds of birdsong and cicadas serenade me as twilight falls.

    By the end of the next day, I¡¯m close to Silaraon. I find a spot to hide the PPP and beast core, not willing to register it with the state right now. Once that¡¯s sorted, I drag my tired, beaten body back to the city, collapsing at the gates as I run out of the will to move. The guards barely spare me a look, regarding me with the practiced, semi-detached interest of professionals used to Seeing Weird Things.

    As soon as I tell them that I need to see [Lieutenant] Cassius, their attitudes change. The guards drag me inside so that they can close the gates for night time, and by the time the captain of the guard hears my story and confirms that I left under the care of Tem Cytekin, their idle mixture of curiosity and disgust has transmuted into full-blown fear.

    Cassius pulls me into his office for a debrief. He wrinkles up his nose in disgust at the sight and smell of my disheveled existence. ¡°A month in the wilds doesn¡¯t seem to have treated you well.¡±

    I flinch. ¡°A month?¡±

    ¡°Time flies by in those hellholes, eh?¡± Cassius says, a complicated mixture of anger and amusement on his face. ¡°Tried to tell you to stay.¡±

    I sit up straighter in my seat. ¡°With respect, Sir, it¡¯s a good thing I didn¡¯t stay. We need to prepare for an Incursion. Maybe a full-scale Invasion. We ran into a wraith force in a Labyrinth, led by a Captain. Tem fought it off to buy me time to escape. He didn¡¯t make it out, but he told me to warn you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, now he views them as threats, does he?¡± Cassius replies. He growls in wordless annoyance, then busies himself with writing away furiously.

    ¡°Get out of here. Go clean up. I trust you¡¯re not stupid enough to leave town in case we have more questions?¡±

    I nod, wondering what trouble I¡¯ve gotten myself into now. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m interested in any more adventures after the Rift. ¡°I brought back an enchanted spear, by the way. I hope there are no hard feelings.¡±

    ¡°Your donation is noted. We¡¯ll summon you if needed.¡± After that, the [Lieutenant] kicks me out, and I take my things and scurry back to my cabin.

    As if to underscore the mood, a rumble of thunder echoes across the heavy, leaden sky. Overhead, ghastly lights flicker across the dark underbelly of swirling clouds in the night sky. Lighting snakes across the sky as I look up, and if I squint just right, it looks like it¡¯s shining with the ominously, chaotic grayscale of the void.

    I snort in derision, and I find at that moment that all I want¡ªafter a long, hot bath and a mountain of good food¡ªis to get back to the studio and practice my glass making. I need a vacation from my vacation, and that means getting back to work.

    ¡°Or something like that,¡± I laugh softly to myself, amused by the weird ways my mind works. I make it home, strip off my filthy clothes, and stretch out on the floor, not wanting to get into bed until I have a chance to bathe. Before long, I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. I¡¯m tired. Let someone else save the world.

 Interlude: Shattered Realms

    Somewhere deep in the uncharted chaos between the Realms, the absolute cold of the void swirled around an anomaly. Where nothing existed¡ªor, more properly, in an inversion to matter and order, where unreality lurked and unmade what is¡ªa wall jutted out into a sea of darkness.

    The wall, formed from massive stone blocks, once stood straight and even. Now the misplaced structure, buffeted by the corrosive influence of the void, shivered in the unseen currents of energies churning around it. Geometric precision distorted, leaving splintered stone. The sturdy wall bent into impossible shapes, all twisted angles and recursions. In the center of the slowly-spinning mass of fractured stone and magic, a door appeared.

    Space unfolded, blossoming like a flower next to the wall. A pinprick of light, glowing with the resplendence of the sun, expanded into a shimmering, opalescent disc. The film of the portal trembled with the energy it contained, vibrating like the taut skin of a drum struck by a mallet, as the portal grew in the stillness, yawning wider and wider like a hungry maw.

    With a rustle of sudden sound, like fluttering wings or the rush of water, the portal blinked once and then went still. The circle stabilized, no longer growing outward, but appearing twice as sturdy as before. The movement on the surface froze. The center deepened into utter darkness, like the eye of the abyss.

    A man stepped through the liquid black opening, dispersing the pool of ink. Beyond him, a small squadron of [Soldiers] waited in ranks, lined up ten deep in a magnificent stone courtyard. Above them rose a hundred dark spires backlit by rose gold¡ªa city skyline at dusk.

    The man put a hand to the door in the wall, let out a breath of air that instantly crystallized into mist and ice, and tugged on the handle. The door opened outward soundlessly, revealing a twisted maze of hallways within that appeared far larger than the wall itself, despite its bulk. He turned to the [Soldiers], nodded once, and beckoned them to follow.

    In tight lock step, the [Soldiers] marched through the portal at double-time, leaving behind the city and entering the uncertain domain of the void. Once through, the seemingly-solid disc fell inward, wavering and collapsing like a soap bubble. Spatial cracks radiated outward in the wake of their passing, brilliant and jagged, before dimming and mixing with the chaos of the void. Soon, they too faded into the ether, and all evidence of the passage disappeared.

    =+=

    A week after the advance team spearheaded the excursion into the void, a makeshift war camp bustled with activity deep within the pathways of the shattered wall: [Soldiers] pitching tents, a harried [Cook] plying his arts to make slop look palatable, and a nervous [Lieutenant Colonel] tugging at his collar, which suddenly felt three sizes too tight.

    ¡°[Lieutenant] Shellington! Everything is in order?¡±

    Shellington, a slender man with a blackwood cane topped in silver, turned toward his superior officer and clasped the cane to his chest. ¡°Sir, the situation is normal. No change in threat levels since I opened the passage. Space is stabilizing.¡±

    ¡°Very good,¡± the [Colonel] replied, tapping his own cane over his heart in salute. The silver lion¡¯s head shimmered on impact, and he could have sworn that its ruby eyes opened on their own, regarding Shellington with a hungry, temperamental air.

    Shellington stared back defiantly. He wasn¡¯t in the mood to be consumed by a bauble.

    His commanding officer tilted his head. ¡°And the charges?¡±

    ¡°Primed and in place, Sir. The [Sappers] stand ready; you have only to give the word. If I may be so free, Sir, the detonation will be spectacular.¡±

    The [Colonel] scoffed, ignoring the enthusiastic report. ¡°Well and good. Let us speak about the other matter. My eyes are growing a bit rheumy, so forgive me if I¡¯ve overlooked your no-doubt valiant efforts, but I have yet to see our fugitive in camp.¡±

    [Lieutenant] Shellington¡¯s left cheek twitched just under his eye, but he kept his gaze straight ahead, staring into the empty air just over the [Colonel]¡¯s shoulder as though it were the most fascinating thing he¡¯d ever seen. ¡°My team has located recent traces of Void magic use, Sir. We¡¯re close.¡±

    ¡°You have either found him, or you haven¡¯t. ¡®Close¡¯ is only a hope, not a reality.¡±

    Shellington¡¯s gaze never wavered, still fixed on the empty air. ¡°Sir. As you say, we haven¡¯t found him yet. Sir.¡±

    The smartly uniformed [Colonel], neat and tidy in his gray jacket with polished pewter buttons, tsked. ¡°Shellington, you¡¯ve heard the speech about not failing me. You¡¯re not a raw recruit anymore. I don¡¯t need to scare you into submission.¡±

    ¡°No, Sir,¡± Shellington said, his jaw working as he fought off the urge to run. He harbored too many ambitions to give in to fear or anger.

    ¡°Alert me as soon as he¡¯s found. I expect you to take care of things.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Sir. We¡¯ve gone over this in training; my team knows their role,¡± Shellington said as he snapped a crisp salute, hoping he would be dismissed.

    The [Colonel] coughed once into a handkerchief. ¡°Carry on, Shellington.¡± He shuffled out of the ruins of the broken labyrinth, back toward the [Spatial Specialist] who could open a portal back to the Densmore capital. He paused in the twisted doorway of a hallway that had once been as straight as an arrow, but now crumpled in on itself like a tin pail run over by a carriage, and turned to regard Shellington with grey, lifeless eyes. ¡°Tell me the truth, Shelly. I¡¯m not going to be embarrassed by today¡¯s display, am I? If you make me look bad in front of the [Viceroy], then I¡¯ll have your fingers crushed with a hammer¡ªand that¡¯s me showing mercy.¡±

    Shellington swore under his breath. I hate that nickname. ¡°Why would a [Viceroy] bother with a mission like this in person?¡± He bit his tongue at the gleam in the [Colonel]¡¯s eyes, not giving voice to his next thought. Too dangerous to the cause if he¡¯s seen. Why risk it? Instead, he saluted again with his cane over his heart. ¡°You can count on me, Sir.¡±

    A thin, cruel smile crossed the [Colonel]¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ll have my blood price. Remember that, my dear Shelly.¡± He slipped through the door and vanished from Shellington¡¯s mana senses.

    Releasing a pent-up breath, Shellington sagged against the wall for a moment, collecting his composure. ¡°So much for not needing threats anymore,¡± he muttered to himself.

    He clenched his jaw, his resolve firming, and stalked back into the main room. Sneering at his subordinates, he rapped his cane hard against the remains of the stone flooring. Instantly, the [Soldiers] in camp dashed over to stand at attention, the rank scent of their fear billowing off them. As one, they stood at perfect attention, awaiting his orders.

    Pride swelled in Shellington¡¯s chest as he surveyed his hand-picked team. They were the best Densmore had to offer; they would not fail. He was no weakling to be bullied by those above him. His star was rising. He would not forget today¡¯s insults once the tables were turned.

    Shellington raised his voice, booming out an order. ¡°Summon that twisted anathema of a [Tracker]. We''ve got a rat to catch.¡±

    =+=

    Shellington kept a grimace of displeasure from twisting his face as he regarded the strange man whom the [Spatial Specialist] had transported into his camp. After opening so many portals in quick succession, the specialist lay on his back with his eyes rolled up into his skull, twitching and breathing erratically. A small price to pay if they achieved their goals. He would recover¡ªor not, and they would bring in the next specialist. The machine marched on.

    ¡°I¡¯m told that you can find a man for me,¡± Shellington said sternly, facing down the new arrival in their forward operating base.

    ¡°Can find anything,¡± the man corrected in a prideful hiss, leering back at the [Lieutenant].

    Even the other [Trackers] backed away from the hunched-over man, and not merely because their jobs were on the line. His bright eyes and smooth cheeks spoke of youth, but his blackened teeth, gnarled fingers, and halting gait belonged unmistakably to the elderly. He was a [Twin-Soul Tracker], two creatures in one, an amalgamation of an old [Blood Mage] and an odd, unknown variant of [Augur], destroying the people they had been in order to become a bizarre, fused version that inherited some of the talents of each¡ªand something more.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Shellington shuddered inwardly at that thought, breaking eye contact with the [Twin-Soul Tracker]. He hated the fact that he looked away first, unable to hold the man¡¯s too-eager gaze, but some sort of ancient malice lurking in the depths of his eyes wanted access to Shellington¡¯s very soul. He wasn¡¯t about to let the man scan him any longer. Foul abomination. I¡¯d incinerate him on the spot if he weren¡¯t reportedly so useful.

    ¡°Need a proxy,¡± the [Twin-Soul Tracker] rasped. ¡°Sympathetic resonance with your target preferred, if you¡¯re all in a rush. Doesn¡¯t matter to me; I like sightseeing in the void.¡±

    A [Tracker] stepped forward and handed the creature a small locket. He spat on the floor as he retreated, making a show of wiping his hands on his hauberk.

    The [Twin-Soul Tracker] snapped open the locket, cocked his head, and studied the small portrait within. Grey-black, diseased-looking mana shimmered across his eyes as he completed the examination. He shrugged, then crouched down to the hallway floor, sniffing at the stones, and a wave of unease rippled through the [Soldiers] and [Trackers] around him. They all backed away, giving space to the creature.

    To a man, they all felt the surge of warped power rattling the room. Trickling out of a rent in space, a ghostly trail of water¡ªno, blood¡ªdripped to the floor. It spread and flowed in halting measures, like a macabre overlay of reality. A smile twisted the [Twin-Soul Tracker]¡¯s face. He lurched forward, like a bloodhound on a scent.

    Shellington didn¡¯t need to give the order to follow. Despite their shared distaste for the tracking method, his men were well-trained and loyal. They marched silently, following the form of the [Twin-Soul Tracker] as he loped along in front of them, hot on the trail that had eluded the rest of the team for the last week.

    =+=

    ¡°No mana Skills!¡± Shellington growled, although his [Soldiers] and [Trackers] had already cut off their Skills, switching over to more mundane weapons for the upcoming fight. He tightened his own grasp on his channels, ensuring that not a single drop of energy leaked from his body. The Mage Killer took no prisoners and left no witnesses; Shellington wasn¡¯t about to fail now, just as they finally found the man for whom they¡¯d been searching.

    His men fanned out, surrounding the side room that the [Twin-Soul Tracker] had led them to with eerie precision. Disgusting methods, but he gets results, Shellington thought grudgingly.

    As their target shuffled into the middle of the hallway, blinking at the harsh light of their oil-burning lanterns¡ªthey didn¡¯t dare risk anything mana powered in his presence¡ªno cry of defiance or raised sword met their anxious ambush. Instead, the old, shriveled man sank to his knees, glanced around at the troops, and cried.

    ¡°Found him!¡± the [Twin-Soul Tracker] cackled. ¡°Now let us feast.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not for you, dog,¡± Shellington snapped. He gestured with his right hand¡ªhis left still on the hilt of his sword¡ªand two [Soldiers] stepped forward. They restrained the hunched [Twin-Soul Tracker], promising him whatever compensation he desired when they returned to Densmore, and dragged him away from the soon-to-be prisoner.

    The man in question dried his eyes with his sleeves. He slowly lifted his empty hands in the air in a universal sign of surrender, and stood on shaky legs despite the spears leveled at his chest. His face was worn and ashen¡ªa far cry from the deep sable, like the sky after twilight but before midnight, with which he¡¯d been born. Wrinkles marred his visage, and long, ropy hair hung down past his waist.

    ¡°Sure this is the right man, Sir?¡± a soldier asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice. ¡°Looks too old by a generation to be the Mage Killer.¡±

    ¡°The void does strange things to a man,¡± Shellington replied dismissively. He frowned, privately sharing the [Soldier]¡¯s doubts, at least until the carved handle of his cane pulsed with a hidden message. This man was their target, no matter how unlikely his appearance. Something had happened to him, but Shellington didn¡¯t intend to find out first hand.

    ¡°Look at you, Mage Killer! Once the pride of Densmore, now groveling in the dust like a dog,¡± Shellington said, scorn bleeding through his words like acid. Still, he gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw and defend himself if it wasn¡¯t too late. He feared few men, but the Mage Killer had earned his reputation.

    ¡°Am I supposed to know who you are?¡± the killer replied softly, still blinking against the harsh, unnatural glow of light from the torches the [Soldiers] held aloft.

    ¡°That¡¯s the best you can come back with? No matter. Your time is at an end, Mage Killer; our time has come,¡± Shellington declared grandly.

    The lines of confusion deepened on the man¡¯s face. ¡°Who are you, again?¡±

    The rasp of metal on metal rang through the hall as Shellington drew his sword. The sharp point nicked the Mage Killer¡¯s bare throat. ¡°I am [Lieutenant Colonel] Shellington of the Densmore Royal army, nephew to the late [Count] Bogdan, slain at your hand. Submit to chains, and live.¡±

    A short, muscular woman, [Major] Clarkson¡ªShellington¡¯s second-in-command on the expedition¡ªpushed forward and presented a pair of shackles and chains. ¡°[Expert Counterspell Scout] Tem Cytekin, formerly of the [King]¡¯s special forces, you stand accused of high treason. Resist, and we are within our rights to execute you without trial.¡±

    ¡°Treason?¡± the Mage Killer scoffed. He stepped back, arms crossed over his chest, and glared at [Major] Clarkson with enough force to stop her in her tracks. ¡°On what grounds?¡±

    ¡°Silence, Mage Killer!¡± Shellington roared.

    ¡°My name is Tem. Or [Expert Counterspell Scout] Cytekin to you, boy.¡±

    [Major] Clarkson caught Shellington¡¯s eye, and she shook her head slightly. She stepped in between the two men, holding up a scroll with the charges against Tem Cytekin. ¡°A formal arraignment will be held back in the capital. If you want to try your luck before then, then I¡¯m happy to run you through right now.¡±

    ¡°That would be a mercy too good for the likes of him,¡± Shellington spat, rage spinning to the surface as he glared at the man who¡¯d taken too many of his friends and relatives. ¡°Cuff him and let¡¯s get out of here. We¡¯re on a timer. The [Sappers] are eager to destroy this place, and you know that High Command won¡¯t shed any tears if we¡¯re caught in the fallout, no matter how much they may claim to want the Mage Killer.¡±

    The Mage Killer¡¯s grandfatherly face hardened. ¡°You have no idea what kind of havoc you''re about to unleash.¡±

    ¡°He might not, but I certainly do. And havoc is exactly the point,¡± a new voice interrupted, smooth and refined, like a scholar talking to eager students. No, Shellington thought a moment later, like a celebrity speaking with his adoring fans. He stifled a sneer. No one liked the [Viceroy], whether friend or foe.

    ¡°I thought I smelled your stench, [Viceroy] Tapirs,¡± the Mage Killer said. He shifted into a fighting stance, his hands wreathed in silvery-black power that made Shellington¡¯s vision swim just to look at it. Accursed power of the void!

    ¡°Ah, ah, ah,¡± [Viceroy] Tapirs chided, gliding into view. He gestured toward the old man with a perfectly manicured hand. ¡°Drunk too deep, have we, Tem? Look at the price you paid this time! After swearing you¡¯d never succumb, too. Where are your principles now, old friend? Well. I never have known a man could resist the intoxicating power of the void for long.¡±

    The Mage Killer vanished in an explosion of void energies.

    ¡°None of that now,¡± [Viceroy] Tapirs said, sighing wearily. Time seemed to slow as he pointed a finger at the empty air and spoke in a ghastly, echoing voice. ¡°[Death Shall be Their Shepherd]. Hmm, just to be safe: [None to Deliver].¡±

    Power ripped through the hallway, rippling in waves from the outstretched finger of the [Viceroy]. Space warped and distorted as the fey Skills rampaged through the labyrinth like a deluge. The air itself split open with a shudder, and the Mage Killer tumbled to the ground. The square set of the man¡¯s shoulders slumped, and he offered his wrists to [Major] Clarkson, a glassy look in his eyes.

    The [Major] quickly bound him before he could change his mind, although Shellington didn¡¯t think he could break free of the two masterful Skills anytime soon. Against anyone else, they would have spelled certain death.

    ¡°Good work, Shellington. You¡¯re dismissed.¡± [Viceroy] Tapirs left no room for discussion as he floated forward, his slippered feet making no sound¡ªif he even walked at all, often seeming to float through the air, above the petty needs and demands of humanity. Unlike the assembled [Soldiers] and [Trackers], with their utilitarian uniforms of grey and blue hues, the [Viceroy] favored fluttering red silk. His vest and flowing pants looked like a splash of blood against the dark backdrop of the labyrinth wall. Delicate black lace traced intricate patterns of embroidery along his high collar, his only nod to a different color palette.

    [Viceroy] Tapirs took hold of the chain from [Major] Clarkson without resistance. He tugged to draw the Mage Killer after him as he left the hall in stunned silence.

    Shellington wanted to countermand the order, to shout for his men to stop the theft of their hard-won prisoner. That snake is going to take all the credit! But Shellington¡¯s mouth had gone dry. He only stared after the pair in helpless anger as the [Viceroy] stole his prize. The [Soldiers] shrank from his presence, and the [Viceroy] waved his hand again, summoning his own portal without the need for the [Spatial Specialist] to recover.

    ¡°Best take your men home, little Shelly. Our work has just begun. The people will need strong [Soldiers] more than ever, now that the war has begun.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll pay for this,¡± the Mage Killer vowed, shaking off his stupor long enough to glare at the [Viceroy]. ¡°Densmore will bleed because of your ambitions.¡±

    ¡°And yet they¡¯ll blame the butcher¡¯s bill on you, old friend,¡± [Viceroy] Tapirs replied as he stopped through the portal, dragging his prisoner behind him. The portal snapped shut, and just like that, they were gone.

    Shellington ground his teeth, watching his dreams of glory go with them. He sheathed his sword with more force than necessary, then banished his annoyance from his mind. He had a job to do. He was still a [Soldier] at heart, after all, and the [Viceroy] wasn¡¯t lying about one thing: war was at the gates.

 Original chapters

    The revision of the book one is now posted. Goals for the rewrite: Less whining, more gratitude and determination. Nuri''s motivation is no longer to be "the best," but to explore magic and to create with joy. He''s anticipating how gaining personal strength will help his friends and family, and is no longer so self-centered.

    Books two and three will see a few minor tweaks for continuity and attitude adjustments, but feel free to keep reading since the plot is mostly unchanged. Thank you for your patience as I work to improve this series. Follow to receive a notification when the next chapters go live!

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    If you''d like to read the original version of Delicate as Glass, then comment or send me a PM, and I''ll reply as soon as I can with reading info. The old opening is pretty bad, which is why you''ll see critical comments below. They helped me forge the story into something better, however, so I appreciate them all. Thanks for the honesty!

 Original chapters comments and critique

    The revision of the book one is now posted. Goals for the rewrite: Less whining, more gratitude and determination. Nuri''s motivation is no longer to be "the best," but to explore magic and to create with joy. He''s anticipating how gaining personal strength will help his friends and family, and is no longer so self-centered.

    Books two and three will see a few minor tweaks for continuity and attitude adjustments, but feel free to keep reading since the plot is mostly unchanged. Thank you for your patience as I work to improve this series. Follow to receive a notification when the next chapters go live!

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    If you''d like to read the original version of Delicate as Glass, then comment or send me a PM, and I''ll reply as soon as I can with reading info. The old opening is pretty bad, which is why you''ll see critical comments below. They helped me forge the story into something better, however, so I appreciate them all. Thanks for the honesty!

 Poll and State of the Story discussion

    I started this story without a plot or through-lines, without character profiles, and without an ending in mind. The beginning of Delicate as Glass clearly suffers because of it, rushing and bumbling between hurried vignettes. Worse, the main character is paper-thin and annoying, although he¡¯s improving. I intend to fix this for three reasons.

    First, my own artistic pride. I want to tell a complete story, not a half-baked tale. I wouldn¡¯t have posted this story in its current state if not for Writathon, which was a fun challenge, and while I don¡¯t regret posting, it¡¯s not up to my standards. I know I can¡ªand will¡ªdo better.

    Second, for the sake of readers, on two fronts. One, you deserve a main character you actually like, not simply the promise of one who improves over time. I want you to enjoy the adventure and to look forward to time with the characters. Two, in order to show that I hear and respond to reader feedback. Many of you have shared concerns, complaints, or critique, and I want you to know that I take each word to heart.

    Third, and certainly the most selfish and pragmatic, I want to save the ratings on this poor story before they crater any further. I¡¯m sitting at 3.7 stars, and, well, it¡¯s a bit of a blow to the ego. No story is immune to criticism, and I certainly agree with most of the critique leveled at the early chapters, but I¡¯m human, too. One-star character reviews hurt. :(

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The question then becomes a matter of timing. What would you, dear readers, prefer?

    Option one: I continue to post weekly chapters with new content, continuing to tell the story that¡¯s taking shape in my mind. I have plans in progress, and actual notes now, and I think you¡¯ll enjoy the increased emphasis on crafting and character growth. There¡¯s a lot that will happen on both micro and macro levels. When I can find scraps of time, I will work on a revision. I may make piecemeal changes or updates to early chapters as I go, and post bigger reconstructions down the road, likely over summer.

    Option two: I skip a few weeks of updates, and instead use that time to revise the beginning, with the specific goals of making the MC more likable, clarifying his motivations, more slowly building up the world (and system), and balancing the relative power and interactions of characters. This will mean that you still have new content, technically, but it will require a reread. Moving forward with the current plot lines will be delayed a month, or more, if I go with this scenario.

    Regardless, I am going to take a one-week break to clear my mind. Please vote in the poll. I will check again next weekend to tally the results and provide an update on future plans. Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and rating. I appreciate every interaction¡ªeven the painful ones serve to improve the final story!

 Book Two Chapter One: Of Magic and the Mundane

    Incursions. Rifts. Unfathomable treasures. Silaraon is abuzz with a kind of electric, contagious energy. Rumors are flying fast, and I¡¯m right in the middle of it all after giving my report to [Lieutenant] Cassius. Search teams are sweeping the area of the Rift to try to make contact with Tem, and as much as I want to help him, I¡¯m finally starting to realize that I don¡¯t have what it takes yet. But I will get there.

    Ember is furious with me for taking the risk I did, but instead of a lecture, she just tells me over and over again how happy she is that I¡¯m alive. Heaping guilt on me through kindness is more effective than yelling at me, and I feel terrible that I put her through such anguish for the last month.

    I languish for nearly a week recuperating at the city infirmary, and while I¡¯m not fully recovered, most of my wounds are patched up thanks to Lionel¡¯s Aunt Althea. All I want to do is get back to my workbench and make something out of glass. Something nice and safe. I¡¯ll even take a commission for cups!

    Before I can return to work, however, I have to report to my unlikely benefactor at the Silaraon City Academy. Ezio is the smartest man I know, and if I¡¯m going to find answers that might help Tem, then he¡¯s my best chance at uncovering the truth. Perhaps my only chance.

    That¡¯s how I find myself back in Ezio¡¯s office after begging off work for one more day. The all-too-knowing look Ember gave me when I told her why I needed one more day still haunts me; she has a sad story of her own, and one day I hope she tells me what happened. I try to shake it off and focus on the discussion at hand.

    I pace in front of Ezio¡¯s desk, a thousand questions churning through my mind after my narrow escape from the Rift. His eyes keep flicking down toward my feet, and I realize I¡¯ve been scuffing at the rug, so I stop making tracks and offer an apology. I don¡¯t mind stopping, anyway. My calf is twinging with pain from the cut I took. Despite the healing, it still doesn¡¯t feel right, and I need a break. Besides, Ezio doesn¡¯t deserve the trouble I¡¯ve made for him; I resolve to try to not annoy him as much, and right now that means paying more attention to his carpets.

    ¡°Spit it out,¡± Ezio says. ¡°Your head is liable to explode from all the pressure¡ªsomething is clearly bothering you, Nuri.¡±

    I hesitate, unsure where to start, but he takes my indecision for stubbornness and sighs at me. His arms cross in front of his immaculate black robes, and he slips into what I¡¯ve come to call lecture mode. ¡°Something¡¯s eating at you, Nuri, as plain as day. If you keep it locked away inside, it¡¯s going to spill out in destructive ways. Don¡¯t harbor your regrets and resentments. I¡¯m no [Confidant], I realize that, but I hope you know that you have my ear.¡±

    I can¡¯t help myself. There¡¯s something so earnest, so noble about his pose, that I let out a soft chuckle. Instantly, his brows knit together, and I feel genuinely bad about my response. ¡°Sorry, Ezio. It¡¯s really not a big deal. I¡¯m just curious about magic, although I appreciate your heartfelt offer to listen to my woes. And, of course, I¡¯m worried about Tem.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Tem is a genius at surviving.¡± Ezio shuffles a few notes on his desk. He straightens his robes, regaining some semblance of his usual, dignified demeanor. ¡°Rifts have a way of preying on the mind, so this sudden fascination with magic may not be an entirely natural development, but you¡¯ve piqued my interest. What are you curious about?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve earned two Skills in my life, and while I¡¯m not ungrateful¡ªyou know how difficult it was for me, emotionally, to have only a single Skill¡ªI am left a bit confused. What strikes me is that everyone seems to pick up similar Skills, even if we take radically different paths toward earning the abilities. Why are we so limited in our understanding of mana?¡±

    ¡°Not all [Mages] are limited,¡± Ezio counters. ¡°Progress takes time. We discussed this in class just last week. Oh! Right. You were still in the Rift and missed that discussion.¡±

    I prepare myself for another variation of the ¡°work harder and be more patient¡± theme that Ezio, Ember, and Tem all seem to share. Maybe if they all agree, then they actually all know what they¡¯re talking about. I slow my breathing and remind myself to heed their wisdom. They¡¯re the three strongest and most knowledgeable people I know, after all.

    I tap my foot in lieu of further pacing on Ezio¡¯s prized carpets, trying to figure out how to formulate my thoughts. ¡°I need to get stronger. I never want to be in a position to leave behind a friend ever again.¡±

    ¡°Admirable. This is hardly your fault, though,¡± Ezio says, a tremor in his voice. I remind myself that he lost a friend, too, even if he insists that Tem will make it out alive.

    ¡°It might be next time if I¡¯m not strong enough to save my friends,¡± I insist. ¡°That means I need to learn everything I can from you about sensing and manipulating mana. What I don¡¯t understand is why I can¡¯t mold mana in more free-form ways. Shouldn¡¯t magic conform to my will? I thought that was the point of mana-control exercises. Yet I¡¯m stuck with the same general abilities as other [Glassworkers]. Why do we all share similar Classes and Skills? Why is our magic so small and unimaginative? I can¡¯t get Tem¡¯s incredible Skills out of my mind. What do I need to do to get there?¡±

    ¡°Ah. An age-old question, Nuri. I see the source of your discontent now.¡± Ezio strokes his chin, then settles into his easy chair. He pours himself a drink, takes a few deliberate sips, and gestures out the window in the direction of the farming districts. ¡°Tell me, what do sheep have in common with cows or goats?¡±

    ¡°Uh, sheep? I suppose they all live in barns,¡± I venture to guess, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic.

    Ezio¡¯s professional, judgment-free mask never slips. He just nods in encouragement for me to continue, which makes me smile at my own stupidity. He¡¯s probably disappointed, but he tries so hard to play the role of the wise mentor that I find his mild reactions funny rather than insulting. He doesn¡¯t deserve to have an idiot for a student, but here we are.

    I chuckle. ¡°All right, let me try again. They all grow horns, they eat grass, they tend to live in herds or flocks, and they, um, have four legs,¡± I say, improving on my original answer, but still a little embarrassed at how slowly I¡¯m thinking when put on the spot.

    To my surprise, Ezio nods in genuine approval this time. ¡°Just so, Nuri. These animals follow a repeating pattern that we find all throughout the world. Different creatures, but shared characteristics. And like all natural laws, magic is similar. We don¡¯t know quite why, but Classes and Skills take on the same recurring patterns. Deviations from the patterns are usually about as helpful as a goat with two legs¡ªor seven legs, if you want to imagine something terrifying! It can be done, but that doesn¡¯t mean that it should be done.¡±

    I chew on the inside of my cheek. Something about his answer doesn¡¯t sit well with me. ¡°So we¡¯re locked in, then? It seems like that will lead to stagnation. Does this system, or the heavens above, want us to accept the status quo? That seems depressing. Why go through all the trouble to research artificial affinities in that case?¡±

    Ezio tuts, holding up a finger. ¡°Slow down. I said deviations are usually bad. Not always. And it is in that rare beneficial mutation that my research places its hope. Is it a tiny sliver of possibility? Yes, admittedly. But if we can figure out an unknown optimization? Ah! Then we have something! We are chasing greatness, you and I, in our respective ways. Most of us will never reach our lofty goals. But the odds don¡¯t matter. It¡¯s the inner fire that drives us. And if we succeed?¡±

    A slow smile grows on Ezio¡¯s face, and I copy his expression instinctively. Something inside my soul sings at his words, and I nod in growing conviction. My mouth opens before I think things through. ¡°We¡¯re not meant for small things.¡±

    He slaps his hands down on his desk, his eyes blazing with conviction. ¡°Well said, Nuri! Listen, if you and Mel want to work here with me and assist Rakesh with our research, then I¡¯ll speak with Ember about buying out your contracts so you can transfer. I know you don¡¯t want to be a [Scholar], but we could change the world!¡±

    I cough politely into my fist, buying time before replying. ¡°I appreciate the sentiment, but I want to keep working with glass. I¡¯m still years away from taking advantage of more advanced mana techniques. And I have to figure out the nacre-inspired glass for you first, anyway.¡±

    ¡°On that front, Rakesh and Melina have made some progress,¡± Ezio says. He leans back in his chair. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss that further at a later time. What else is on your mind? The furrow in your brow tells me it¡¯s more than generic questions about magic.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Next question. How does Tem move the way he does¡ªand can you synthesize it? I know it¡¯s not mana, but energy is energy. If I could, say, add an enchantment for his void traveling to my armor once I figure out the glass technique, then I¡¯ll have unmatched mobility.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a secret I¡¯m not privy to,¡± Ezio admits. His face twists into a scowl, and he taps his fingers against the cover of his assembled tomes. ¡°After all these years, I still have yet to earn his trust there.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out,¡± I boast, my voice ringing with a confidence that I don¡¯t quite have yet. If the smartest man I know doesn¡¯t know the secret, then what makes me think that I¡¯ll get to the bottom of it? ¡°Tem all but promised that he¡¯ll take me delving again the next time a portal opens. I¡¯ll unlock the secrets of the void the next time we¡¯re fighting for our lives in a Rift.¡±

    ¡°You must have made a good impression. Exciting! But first our dear friend must make it out from the last Rift. And, Nuri? Do try to stay alive if you enter one again. You¡¯ve had a taste now of how dangerous they can be¡ªand I¡¯d hate to do all this work for nothing,¡± Ezio deadpans.

    ¡°I do believe our interests align in that regard. I have every intention of staying alive from here on out,¡± I assure him wryly.

    Ezio offers me a tremulous smile. ¡°Excellent. I look forward to seeing what secrets you uncover once our dear friend is restored to us.¡± He trails off, staring out the window for a long moment. ¡°I do hope he¡¯s well.¡±

    ¡°So do I,¡± I whisper. ¡°But if I¡¯m going to be helpful, then I need to cross the first threshold. I also should keep my first promise to you and finish up that impact-resistant glass project you commissioned before I start dreaming of bigger things.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Ezio says, nodding in excitement. He seems as eager as I am to shake off the pall of uncertainty hanging over us. Thinking about Tem too much just makes me sad, and Ezio seems to share the sentiment. ¡°About the glass, Nuri¡ªI think I have a lead.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Is this research you conducted, or more information from one of your long winded colleagues? I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m prepared to wade into another one of his articles.¡±

    ¡°This is my own professional opinion,¡± Ezio hastens to assure me. ¡°Curiosity got the better of me while you were gone, so I started digging into the structures of the nacre. The main problem is that I can¡¯t see it well enough on my own. I¡¯d love to put in a requisition for a tool to see small things, but my departmental funding is running low. I have made inquiries regardless, but the best they could do is put the device on hold for me, pending the funds. If I do come into some money, then we¡¯ll be able to use the viewing device to see nacre at a close up level that was previously unimaginable. I¡¯m certain we¡¯ll reveal more about its unique structural properties with the proper analysis.¡±

    ¡°[Sense Composition] would be useful. I¡¯d love to get a Skill like that,¡± I admit.

    ¡°You may be surprised how much technology can fill in the gap,¡± Ezio says. ¡°Remember, don¡¯t just fixate on Skills. There¡¯s more to life than just preset magic, although the tried and true forms are definitely the easiest path to power.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve definitely seen that on display over the last several days with Tem,¡± I say. ¡°I sure hope he made it out.¡± I grind my teeth together at the thought of the brave [Expert Counterspell Scout] trapped in the labyrinth, fighting off the wraith Captain. I can¡¯t help but feel responsible for the mess. Without me slowing him down, he¡¯d be here now.

    Ezio sighs at my twisted expression. He leans over to pat my arm, looking less like a distinguished [Researcher], and more like a kindly grandfather. ¡°I know you feel responsible, but trust the experts on this one. They¡¯ll find him if he¡¯s made his way back out. And if not? Well, Tem always was good at surviving. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised in the slightest if he turns up in a month or two in some distant city with a pile of gold.¡±

    ¡°You think he¡¯ll find an alternate route out of the labyrinth?¡± I ask, sudden excitement lacing through my voice.

    Ezio nods solemnly. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the first time. I¡¯ve learned not to underestimate him, not under any circumstance.¡±

    The terror of the wraith Captain crashes through my memories, and I shiver involuntarily. ¡°But can you really win against an enemy like that? There¡¯s no way he defeated the Captain.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about winning¡ªit¡¯s about surviving. And if there¡¯s one thing Tem excels at, it¡¯s not dying when by all rights he should be long gone. He¡¯s an expert at finding ways to slip into the cracks and crevices of the world. I¡¯ve seen him disappear entirely before.¡±

    ¡°You mean, use his weird void magic,¡± I say, and Ezio nods. ¡°But can¡¯t wraiths use the same thing? How will that help him?¡±

    ¡°Do you and I share affinities?¡± Ezio asks. He chuckles when I shake my head. ¡°Sorry, Nuri, I can¡¯t help but fall back into rhetorical questions and lecture mode. But my point is that we use magic differently, even though we¡¯re both human.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but we¡¯re both mana users,¡± I point out. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the defining factor? I¡¯m not sure that it matters which aspect of mana manipulation we¡¯re good at using. The point is that we share a similar source of energy¡ªone that apparently tastes good to wraiths, but that¡¯s another discussion entirely! If they¡¯re not using mana, then don¡¯t they also share a similarity with void?

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°A keen observation,¡± Ezio allows. ¡°You¡¯re thinking along the right lines. I¡¯d suggest that you are making a broad generalization, however, instead of the narrower application. Just as our mana use doesn¡¯t look anything alike, they may both wield the void and still have divergent abilities. The category is the same, but the details matter. It¡¯s almost certain that they don¡¯t share any Skills, or that the wraith Captain will have insight into what Tem does with the void.¡±

    I scratch the back of my head. ¡°You seem quite confident he¡¯ll live.¡±

    ¡°Tem has been around a long long time. He¡¯s been getting out of situations like this since before you were born, Nuri. I¡¯d be quite surprised if a single foe brought him down, provided of course that he¡¯s able to flee. If he has to stand and fight? Well, there won¡¯t be a body left to recover for a funeral. Even Tem¡¯s not as strong as a Captain in direct combat.¡±

    I heave a frustrated sigh. ¡°So, that¡¯s it, then? There¡¯s nothing I can do about it? Time to get back to work, and simply trust he¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°Honestly, I thought you¡¯d be relieved,¡± Ezio says. He hums softly under his breath, as though considering his next works.

    ¡°I am relieved. I¡¯m not prepared to fight off an incursion. I don¡¯t have the kind of power it takes to save the world. But I¡¯m not content to leave my friend alone, either, not after he did everything he could to save me.¡±

    Ezio breaks into a crooked grin. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it said that adversity makes a man¡ªthat, or breaks him. I¡¯m glad to see that in your case it appears to have had a maturing effect.¡±

    I laugh. ¡°Is that your way of saying that I¡¯ve been in desperate need of maturity? No, no, don¡¯t apologize. You¡¯re not wrong. I guess I¡¯ve been acting like a child for a while. Entitled, self-absorbed, whiny¡ªit¡¯s high time to step into adulthood. It¡¯s tempting to sink back into the same patterns, to revert to the same excuses. For so long, I complained that I¡¯m not getting anywhere in life because I didn¡¯t have Skills, or because I¡¯m not lucky, or because, well, any reason other than me. I know it¡¯s time for me to step up and grasp hold of my own destiny. As long as I have guidance from you and Tem, and the support of my friends along the way, I think I can manage it.¡±

    Ezio seems misty-eyed, so I sketch a hasty bow and try to avoid eye contact. The level of sentimentality is too much for me to handle today. ¡°Thank you for all you¡¯ve done, but I think the time has come for me to get back to my studio and get to work. Let me know if you do get that viewing device you mentioned previously. What¡¯s it called?¡±

    ¡°A microscope,¡± Ezio says. ¡°Newfangled, but seems promising. Expensive, though. It¡¯s quite the delicate arrangement of optics.¡±

    ¡°Optics are complicated, but I might be able to try to make my own if you can give me a general idea of the formula,¡± I say as the idea takes root in my mind. A challenging project is the perfect way to distract myself from the guilt of leaving Tem behind.

    Ezio frowns thoughtfully. ¡°Now that¡¯s a clever idea. Rakesh should be able to track down basic schematics for us to review. We¡¯re likely still better off buying one and figuring out how it works, but then we¡¯re back to the problem of overcoming the financial hurdle.¡±

    ¡°I think I know how to pay for it,¡± I say, lowering my voice just in case anyone wants to eavesdrop. I suspect we¡¯ll be fine, thanks to the privacy wards Ezio keeps in his office, but I don¡¯t want to take any chances with a reveal of this magnitude.

    ¡°Nuri, you¡¯ve piqued my interest once again. Something you discovered in the Rift, perhaps? My imagination is beginning to run wild!¡±

    ¡°Just so,¡± I say. ¡°Are you familiar with rhodium?¡±

    The look of surprise and sudden anticipation on Ezio¡¯s face tells me everything I need to know. ¡°Then you¡¯ll understand what¡¯s on the line when I tell you that Tem discovered a chunk of ore almost as big as I am¡ªso big, in fact, that he struggled to put it in storage. And I¡¯m sure he won¡¯t mind sharing a little of the proceeds.¡±

    Sure enough, Ezio¡¯s eyebrows crawl up his forehead at the mentions of Tem¡¯s propensity for rule-bending. He must already be familiar with that particular void storage Skill.

    Ezio rubs his palms together. ¡°In that case, I will prevail upon my wealthier relatives and seek an advance on a loan. I believe that we¡¯ll be able to afford the microscope after all. Nuri, this is only the beginning of a long and profitable partnership. A true pleasure doing business with you!¡±

    =+=

    My first day back in the studio doesn¡¯t feel real anymore, like I¡¯m sleepwalking through an entirely separate existence. After the pulse-pounding threat of the Rift, working with glass is a relief. Strangely, it feels too easy. How do I transition back to mundane tasks after witnessing the heights of magic? Is this how soldiers feel when they¡¯ve been fighting for their lives with a brotherhood of fellow [Warriors], only to come home to fix fences and rake leaves and wash up after dinner? No wonder so many of them seem to struggle.

    I snort. There goes my old presumptuous attitude rearing its ugly head again. I know nothing of real trauma. I¡¯ve only had a few days of difficulty, and I¡¯m already acting like I¡¯m some war-torn, scarred-for-life [Veteran]. It¡¯s insulting, really, to those who have truly put their lives on the line for a cause.

    I sigh. All I did was blow a chunk of my life savings to hire Tem, and that was in the pursuit of money, fame, and adventure. One out of three ain¡¯t too bad.

    When I first returned, I was so sure that I wanted someone else to fix things. I¡¯m not cut out to save the world! And that¡¯s still true to an extent. I still need someone else to do the heavy lifting. But why not me? Isn¡¯t this what I wanted? An escape from the doldrums of my dreary existence. I don¡¯t have a bad life, just a quiet one. What sickness is it that drives me to reach for the stars, to grasp beyond my means, to always desire more and to yearn for something greater when what I have is perfectly fine?

    I excuse myself from the floor of the hot shop, hurrying past coworkers to duck into the washroom on the side. My thoughts run wild as I take care of business. It¡¯s not craziness that bothers returning [Soldiers]. For some, it¡¯s the sudden lack of tension after running hot for so long. For others, it¡¯s the desire for something more, the inability to accept that this boring life is the new reality. That¡¯s where I am right now: I feel like a bird locked in a cage, yearning to be free and spread my wings in search of new horizons.

    I find my thoughts turning again and again to the adventures of the last few weeks. As terrifying as it was, I¡¯ve also never felt anything as exhilarating as fighting for my life. The opportunities of the Rift are worth reliving the heart-pounding maze of the labyrinth, or fighting more beasts down in the depths.

    I wash my hands, then splash cold water on my face, spluttering at the sudden sting. It brings me a moment of needed clarity, a brief bit of sanity in the midst of the madness. Instead of fixating on Big Ideas, I need to just get to work. Go back to the basics. ¡°I¡¯ll make some bowls or something,¡± I mutter to myself as I stare into the mirror at the bags under my eyes caused by stress and lack of sleep. ¡°Small steps. No grand gestures, just simple, honest work.¡±

    I pat my face dry with a towel and check to make sure I look somewhat composed. Thus determined, I return to my workbench, detouring only to grab a list of common work from the cork board on the wall. I let out a wry chuckle when I see that there are, in fact, orders for bowls. Usually, I scoff at making such simple pieces of glass¡ªthat¡¯s work for an [Assistant], not a man of talent like me! The reality is I¡¯m still an assistant, however, at least according to the truth that governs us all. I guess it¡¯s time I stop looking down on my Class. An upgrade will come in time; I simply need to keep working.

    A weight lifts off my shoulders as I claim the work order, registering it with the [Foreman]. I gather a batch of brightly colored rods in cherry reds, sky blues, minty greens, daffodil yellows, and sunrise orange. I nod in satisfaction at the array of colors, avoiding only the deeper purples and darker blues. I want to make festive glassware, not something heavy or profound. I¡¯m going to start with a basic technique to keep my mind focused: drawing cane.

    The process is so simple that usually we have a true [Assistant] take care of it while the established [Glass Sculptors] and [Flameworkers] devote their attention to more complex work. I mean the young assistants, not people like me who merely have Assistant as a prefix in the name of a Class. It¡¯s relaxing, in a boring way. All you have to do is pull. With steady pressure, you can draw the molten glass into a long, slender rod of whichever colored glass you want. The result is perfect for adding stripes of color to decorate plain objects.

    I set up my impromptu cane-pulling station in the corner of the studio, focusing on the sheer pleasure of the craft. I walk backward, drawing out a rope of glass across the hot shop floor. Each bit of colored cane is roughly the width of my pinky and three or four paces long when finished. Draw it out too thin, or move too erratically, and the glass will snap.

    When I was younger, I found it stressful to draw cane, but now it¡¯s a fun competition to see how quickly I can complete the task.

    Besides, breaking it doesn¡¯t mean a complete failure. The glass cane may still be usable if I don¡¯t need the full length. For this project, I¡¯ll need to cut off sections as long as my forearm, and then bend them around the curve of the bowl. I¡¯ll cluster various canes together to make a colorful pattern. Once I¡¯m done, the outside of the bowl will have a rainbow-like vertical effect in bright, playful colors. I¡¯m not interested in following the exact gradation of a real rainbow, however. I want to change things up, subvert people¡¯s expectations of the color paradigms.

    I whistle to myself as I work. It¡¯s a large batch for a local children¡¯s school, and the work order calls for matching cups and bowls, so I¡¯ll likely be busy all day with the project. When I¡¯m done pulling this cane for the bowls, I¡¯ll repeat the process again, but next time I¡¯ll keep the cane thinner and more delicate. The cups will require a finer touch and more slender cane so that I have sufficient room to decorate the fluted wine goblets for the teachers, as well as the shorter, more utilitarian water cups for the students.

    Some people consider this work tedious. There¡¯s definitely an element of repetitiveness that creeps in, but today I find that it steadies me, despite complaining about feeling like I¡¯m a bird locked in a cage.

    I reach the end of a cane, and beckon over one of the [Apprentices] to set it aside at my workbench. I need something to ground me back to the reality that I¡¯ve known all my life: glass. Usually, I have to fight off the boredom, but right now I crave the reliable nature of doing the same thing over and over again, knowing that I¡¯ll get predictable, useful results. In a way, it¡¯s a relief to know that I can always return to the shop if delving in the deeps doesn¡¯t work out.

    ¡°Need a hand?¡± Lionel calls out, sauntering by and giving me a raised eyebrow when he sees me pulling cane.

    Reflexively, I tell him no, and he shrugs and sets off for his own bench. I frown to myself, wondering why I¡¯m so quick to turn down time with my friend. If he has a lull in his own projects, then why not have him join me for a bit?

    ¡°Actually, yes!¡± I say, making Lionel turn around. ¡°Come on over, Lio. We¡¯ll work together, just like old times.¡±

    Lionel bounds back to slap me on the shoulder, a grin on his face. ¡°Ember easing you back into the swing of things?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re a little overqualified for the job,¡± I admit, chuckling. ¡°But don¡¯t you think there¡¯s a sort of egalitarianism to a hot shop? Everyone needs to put in effort, and everyone needs to carry the load. Looking at some tasks as beneath me is probably why I still haven¡¯t grown in my Skill or my Class.¡±

    ¡°You sure you didn¡¯t get replaced by a smarter doppelganger down in that Rift?¡± Lionel teases.

    ¡°You¡¯ll never know,¡± I laugh, waggling my eyebrows at him.

    Lionel rolls his eyes and laughs at my display. ¡°Thoughtfulness is a good look on you, buddy. You¡¯ll have to tell me what happened down there. Must have been crazy!¡±

    I nod. ¡°Grab the yellow batch next. We¡¯ll pull together.¡±

    Lionel picks up the color I indicated, grasping it with his pincers. ¡°Race ya?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re on!¡± I say, grinning.

    We both set out pulling at a steady, even pace, and for the first half a minute, I¡¯m in the lead. I hear him mutter [A Master¡¯s Touch: Twenty Seconds of Greatness] under his breath, invoking one of his Skills to break the deadlock in the race. It gives him a huge boost of ability for a short window of time, and he surges ahead, keeping his glass malleable and moving in a straight line no matter how quickly it spools out into the colorful cane.

    ¡°Do you ever wonder if that¡¯s a crutch?¡± I ask, though I¡¯m marveling at his speed. He finishes before I¡¯m halfway, running backward without a problem, even though the glass would otherwise crack under the rapid strain.

    ¡°What, relying on my Skills to do my work? Nah,¡± Lionel counters as he scrunches up his face. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I use the tools at my disposal? This isn¡¯t some weird envy thing again, is it? I thought you were past that, Nuri.¡±

    I shake my head gently, careful to keep my movement from inadvertently shaking the glass and breaking the cane. I don¡¯t answer as I pull, shuffling backward and drawing out the length of shimmering glass. It¡¯s so pretty when it¡¯s still soft and bright, like liquid fire moving in my hands, and a part of me always feels sad to see the inner flames die out. I know the final result will be worth it, and cold glass is stunning in its own right, but there¡¯s something mystical about the movement of molten glass.

    I finish, handing off the cane to an assistant, and set down my tongs. ¡°No, nothing like that. I don¡¯t begrudge you having a Skill. I just wonder sometimes if we rely on our Skills so much that we forget it¡¯s possible to complete our craft without them, you know? I wonder if in a weird way, I¡¯ve accidentally set myself up for greater success down the road by not relying on Skills to bridge the gap.¡±

    ¡°Uh, right. Let me get this straight. You think that by not training your Skill and not putting in the effort to gain more Skills, you¡¯re actually a genius?¡± Lionel teases. We share a chuckle.

    ¡°Well, yes, to an extent. I have to keep up with the rest of you without any useful Skills to fall back on, other than my [Heat Manipulation]. Granted, that alone makes the job much easier, but I¡¯ve had to find little tricks along the way to optimize my workflow to try to match everyone else¡¯s speed. I¡¯m good at what I do¡ªwe all are¡ªbut you¡¯re faster than I¡¯ll ever be, as you just proved.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Lionel says grandly, sweeping a bow

    ¡°Ha. Thanks for that. Guess I deserve some teasing,¡± I admit. ¡°But now that I know how to properly apply myself and train, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll gain a third Skill. I do wonder if in the future, when I cross the first Threshold and upgrade my Class, if I¡¯ll go further than I would have otherwise, because I have a strong foundation.¡±

    Lionel pauses, a new set of colored glass in his hand. He sets it back down and gives me an odd look. ¡°Huh. Never thought of it like that. Maybe it¡¯s like when you were wearing your weights everywhere while running. Once you took them off, you got way faster.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± I say, nodding in excitement. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m talking about. I¡¯m not saying that my laziness was a good thing. I¡¯m just trying to look on the bright side. That¡¯s right. I admit it. You were right, and I was wrong. I was lazy and entitled.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be too harsh on yourself,¡± Lionel says, looking abashed. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re onto something. Everything will equalize in the future, but you¡¯ve set yourself up for success. A strong foundation to build on, like you said. Maybe you¡¯ll reach greater heights than any of us will, someday.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Lio. Your encouragement means a lot,¡± I whisper, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. We lapse into silence, lost in our own thoughts. We each pull another length of cane, handing it off to the [Assistants], who rush over to handle the glass before it breaks.

    Lionel and I jog back to the bench with the waiting rods of glass, constantly kept up to temperature by a judicious application of [Heat Manipulation]. I toss him a red piece of glass and I pick up a rod that¡¯s topped in pure white glass. ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve got an idea. Let¡¯s twist these together for the next cane. It¡¯ll look festive.¡±

    Lionel shrugs easily. ¡°Whatever you say, boss. Just don¡¯t forget about your friends down in the depths once you do reach those heights you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°You think I can actually do it?¡± I ask in surprise as we begin to twist and twine the two colors together. They form a long, tightly braided cane. For some reason, the intertwined white and red makes me think of peppermint and warm days by the fire.

    ¡°Of course I think you can do it! In fact, I¡¯m counting on it,¡± Lionel says. ¡°You¡¯re not meant for little things. All the craziness going on lately is just the beginning¡ªfighting off those big jags, delving the Rift, hobnobbing with [Scholars] and famous [Scouts]. You¡¯re moving up in the world, Nuri. I¡¯m proud of you.¡±

    We finish drawing the colorful cane, and I nod at him. ¡°I never knew you were such a gifted liar, but I appreciate the sentiment.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± he insists, his tone more serious than I can remember.

    Lionel twirls his jacks around his fingers, making the tool dance like a dagger in the hands of a playful [Assassin]. ¡°Your success isn¡¯t a surprise, Nuri. You¡¯ve always had something different about you, even if you didn¡¯t know how to express it. Now that your talents are coming into their own? I¡¯m serious. I want to be part of it. I know you¡¯ll do right by your friends, but take us with you if you can. There''s more to life than Silaraon, and you¡¯re going to prove it.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Lio. That means a lot,¡± I say. I¡¯m grinning like an idiot, my cheeks hurting from the strain, but it¡¯s worth it. Maybe my mundane life is pretty great after all.

 B2 C2: Mother of Pearl

    Tem and I swagger back from the labyrinth, leaping over the ground with strides that carry us a dozen yards in a single bound. We''re larger than life, dragging massive sacks full of gold that would have been far too heavy for me to lift before I ranked up a few Thresholds. The rosy gold of sunrise warms our backs, illuminating our heroic silhouettes to the welcoming committee. Ember meets us outside the city walls, stomping through the tall sage grass with a grim smile on her face, an entourage in tow. She¡¯s patrolling a low ridge that snakes past the main river in Silaraon, despite a lack of civilian license for guard work¡ªat least as far as I know. She¡¯s brought my three friends from the glassworks, as well as my sworn brother, Mikko. I¡¯ve never been so happy to see his ugly face. So, in the interest of honesty, I tell him just that.

    Mikko rushes past Ember, sweeping me up into a bearhug that no longer feels so back-breaking, given my newfound power. ¡°Ma was getting worried! Da told her you were blooming into a local celebrity, right before our eyes. Did you really see a wraith lord and defeat a Captain in single combat? What a beast!¡±

    ¡°Put me down, you great lummox-headed git! You¡¯re gonna ruin whatever meager reputation I¡¯ve built,¡± I complain while raining down hammer fists on his muscular shoulders that make him wince in pain and drop me. ¡°I¡¯m an important man, not a rag doll!¡±

    Everyone laughs uproariously at my wit and dashing good looks.

    ¡°Looking for a job, young man?¡± Tem asks, ghosting into view next to us. Mikko drops me with a yelp at the [Expert Counterspell Scout]¡¯s sudden appearance.

    ¡°Rust me,¡± he swears, falling back on rough forge talk. I prefer to say shatter me, but that¡¯s because glass is superior. ¡°Nuri wasn¡¯t joking about training with a living legend.¡±

    Tem rubs his closed eyes with his fingertips. ¡°Are you all raving fanatics? Even in the Capital I can go about with less fanfare. Do you all know my face on sight?¡±

    Melina shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯m not like the rest of the loonies. They¡¯re on the official team club. It meets on the first weekend of every month. But anyone can tell you¡¯re fairly overflowing with mana. If you kept Nuri alive despite his best efforts to kill himself¡ªand I¡¯m sure he came up with a hundred creative ways to try your patience¡ªthen you have our heartfelt thanks.¡±

    ¡°Can we go back to the part where you offered me a job?¡± Mikko interjects.

    Tem opens his eyes, scrutinizes Mikko, and grunts in approval. ¡°You look strong. I¡¯ve got a rock that I can¡¯t keep in my void storage anymore. It¡¯s just one of my many void abilities! Be a good lad and put those muscles to use. Carry this big ole rock to your foundry for me.¡±

    Mikko¡¯s jaw slackens. ¡°You¡¯re teaching Nuri, but you just want me for my body?¡±

    Tem nods. ¡°You¡¯re built like a packhorse. So, yes.¡±

    I cackle at the sudden inversion of our reputations. ¡°I¡¯ve always preferred comparing him to a mule, since he¡¯s so stubborn.¡±

    ¡°Mule it is,¡± Tem says. ¡°He looks about as bright as one, too.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re taking his side?¡± Mikko squeaks.

    I nudge Mikko in the ribs. ¡°I¡¯ve proven myself over the last few months. We¡¯re fast friends now. You¡¯ve been replaced.¡±

    ¡°I like this new version of Nuri,¡± Lionel chimes in. ¡°He¡¯s found his backbone.¡±

    The chatter cuts off abruptly when Tem pulls out the chunk of ore and lets it thud to the earth. It lodges itself a full hand¡¯s breadth into the soil. Out here in the real world, removed from the chaos of the Rift, it looks bigger than I remember, although still shot through with a reddish hue. It still doesn¡¯t look particularly special in my [Super Advanced Manasight], but I don¡¯t have any metal-related Skills yet, only a variety of superlative glass Skills.

    Mikko has plenty of metal and ore Skills, however, and his reaction to the rock doesn¡¯t disappoint. His eyes bug out, and he dashes over to the boulder with more urgency than I¡¯ve ever seen from my goofy brother before. His fingers splay as he reaches out to touch the rock longingly. ¡°What is this? And will you let me work on it? My Skill a [Smith¡¯s Rough Appraisal] is going absolutely insane.¡±

    Tem scrutinizes Mikko, his eyes glimmering with silver threads of mana in a way I¡¯ve never seen him utilize energy before. He nods and strokes his jaw. ¡°You¡¯re half a threshold short of earning the kind of Skills needed to properly work on Rhodium, but I can always use more [Blacksmiths] I can trust. Tell you what: if you can get this to your forge, then I¡¯ll pay the [Master Smith] to provide you with private lessons for a month. Best deal you¡¯ll ever get.¡±

    Avelina drapes an arm over Mikko¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You can do it, Ko! Show him the strength of the most talented young smith in Silaraon.¡± She plants a kiss on his cheek and saunters off before he can say anything to break the mood.

    Mikko blushes, but I can¡¯t help but notice the way his eyes linger on her form, or the determined set of his jaw when he turns back to the massive rock. Have I missed an important development while I¡¯ve been lost in my own little world? The months spent in the Rift, chasing down monsters and growing powerful, have cost me time with my friends. I shrug; it¡¯s worth the trade off. I¡¯m stronger now than ever.

    Mikko plants his feet shoulder width apart, squats down, and digs his fingers underneath the edge of the rock. He breathes in sharply, drawing on ambient mana so hard that I feel I tug in my own channels. His body swells with power, and he straightens inch by inch, straining to dislodge the edge of the stone from the soil. Shaking with the effort and surrounded by curling wisps of steam, Mikko shouts as he rips the chunk of ore free from the earth.

    He staggers under the weight, dropping one edge of the rock to the ground and falling to one knee. I cry out in disappointment, caught up in the spectacle of strength and the excitement of the promised rewards. Yet before it all comes crashing down, Mikko throws his shoulder into the center of its mass, rocking it up and flipping it over on its side.

    With a triumphant roar, Mikko seizes the bottom corner of the ore and heaves again, rolling the chunky, oblong boulder across the ground. It tears up great gouges of grass and soil, and progress is slow, but he¡¯s building momentum as he dashes around to the other side of the stone and flips it again.

    ¡°Good improvisation!¡± Tem calls out. ¡°Attempting to carry that much weight was a trap.¡± He crosses his arms across his slim chest and watches Mikko with half-lidded eyes, seemingly ignoring Ember¡¯s efforts to catch his attention. I¡¯ve never seen her bat her eyelashes before.

    Step by grueling step, Mikko advances. He strips off his outer layer, tucking his tunic into his belt, and sweat glistens across his bronzed skin as he wrestles with the enormous hunk of Rhodium ore. He slips, drops to a knee again, and rests on the ground for a moment, his heavily muscled chest heaving. Then he flings himself into the task again, rolling the rock like it¡¯s no more than a small glass marble. Several excruciating turns of the stone takes him to the edge of the bluff overlooking Silaraon, and he lines up his shot before pushing it off the edge.

    ¡°Mikko, you idiot!¡± Avelina screams. ¡°There are houses down there!¡±

    We all go sprinting after him as he whoops and dashes downhill, leaping off ledges and careening off trees at speeds that would break a normal man in half. Incredulous, I watch with my [Super Advanced Manasight] active as he accelerates in a burst of glorious mana, racing ahead of the stone to kick up clods of dirt and create a banked turn right in front of my eyes by punching the ground into submission.

    The rock hits the groove and pitches sideways, away from the cluster of houses that Ava seems so worried over. Mikko sprints alongside the runaway boulder, punching it back on track when it strays, each blow accompanied by a huge explosion of mana as he soars through the air like an avenging demigod. He¡¯s heading straight for the forge and armory compound, and now that we¡¯re on level ground, he¡¯s sprinting fast enough that I¡¯m worried the rock is going to smash straight through a wall.

    Mikko¡¯s shouts of celebration draw a crowd as we grow closer, and to my surprise, the chief smith sprints out from the gates, his leather apron flapping in the wind. He¡¯s a [Master of the Forge], if I remember, and his form is shedding so much mana that it¡¯s actually blinding my [Super Advanced Manasight]. He dashes forward and slams his hands into the rock, stopping it dead in its tracks and burying it halfway in the ground. The force of it shoves him back several steps, but they both stop moving.

    ¡°Mikko, you rust-brained lunk, if you¡¯d knocked over my forge, then I¡¯d have taken my smithing hammer to your thick skull! Again! Does you no good, apparently. Too stupid to know when you¡¯re beat.¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t want me to knock things over, then build stronger walls!¡± Mikko yells back, nudging the chief in the ribs with his elbow. The man doesn¡¯t budge; he¡¯s built like an oak stump, twice as thick as I am and just as tall. And with Skills he¡¯s clearly even stronger than he looks, if he can stop a runaway boulder with nothing more than his bare hands.

    I shiver. Remind me never to fight blacksmiths unless I¡¯m a mile away. With an army under my command. And a top grade escape talisman at the ready. But then again, I did take out a Captain all by myself while Tem was indisposed, so a mere mortal like him should pose little trouble to me.

    The head blacksmith¡¯s pure white, bushy eyebrows crawl up his forehead like oversized caterpillars as he moves his hands across the massive rock. ¡°I take it back, boy. You¡¯re welcome to knock over a wall or two anytime if you repay me this handsomely!¡±

    ¡°Who said that¡¯s for you?¡± Tem says mildly, stepping in between the touching reunion of blacksmith brothers.

    ¡°And who might you be?¡± the [Master of the Forge] demands, his eyes narrowing to slits beneath his oversized eyebrows.

    ¡°Tem Cytekin, [Expert Counterspell Scout], at your service,¡± Tem says, a wry smile playing on his lips. ¡°I also happen to be the owner of this here rock. Your employee was simply assisting in bringing it to the shop so that we can arrange payment.¡±

    The burly smith blanches. ¡°Trust a Cytekin to ruin your day.¡±

    ¡°Oh? You¡¯ve heard of my illustrious deeds?¡± Tem asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

    ¡°No, but I knew a Inor Cytekin who once blew up my uncle¡¯s shop in a dispute over an item that wasn¡¯t up to his exalted standards. You related?¡±

    Tem¡¯s tension melts away, and he beams at the chief blacksmith. ¡°Never heard of him! I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll get along famously, whatever the faults of our supposed kin.¡±

    ¡°¡®Our kin,¡¯ not your kin?¡± the [Master of the Forge] fairly snarls. ¡°You saying my uncle deserved to have his shop reduced to rubble?¡±

    Tem shrugs helplessly. ¡°Satisfied customers rarely get upset. But I¡¯m sure we can come to an acceptable agreement regarding this lump of rock.¡±

    ¡°That depends on the price you quote me for the Rhodium,¡± the smith rumbles.

    Mikko nods his head toward the forges. ¡°Let¡¯s discuss it over mulled cider, shall we?¡±

    He tosses an arm around the head smith¡¯s shoulders and strides toward the fortress-like walls of the blacksmith compound.

    I drag my feet as I follow them, hanging back so that I can ask Tem the question that¡¯s burning in my mind. ¡°You can¡¯t fool me. You¡¯re related to that troublemaking Inor. It¡¯s not the last name that gives it away¡ªit¡¯s your irascible spirit.¡±

    ¡°You wound me,¡± Tem says with a laugh. He leans over and whispers in my ear. ¡°Just for that, I¡¯ll tell you the truth. Inor is my dad. And the apple didn¡¯t fall far from the tree. Hope you packed your flame-resistant apron, Nuri. Never know what might mysteriously combust.¡±

    At that, he throws back his head and laughs and laughs and laughs, his face distending into a grotesque parody of a grin. Rushing out from his mouth like a mad disease burbles the multihued chaos of the void, soundless and yet rushing in my ears with the force of a thousand waterfalls.

    Then the dream breaks, and I bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. I stare at the wall, trying to process the jumbled nightmare, and I wish that Tem really did come back from the Rift with me. I hope you¡¯re all right, Tem. For all of our sakes.

    =+=

    The specter of Tem hovers over me the next morning as I help the Linas finish a general work order for the day, but I fight to keep the horror of his potential death from my mind. I have a project to tackle, and Ember is only too happy to let me switch over to the more lucrative private commission from Ezio. After stuffing a bit of lunch into my mouth¡ªa soft flatbread topped with shredded chicken, grilled peppers, and sauteed onions¡ªI rush back into the hot shop so I can claim a priority workbench for the afternoon.

    Today¡¯s plan calls for experimenting with two new changes. First, I¡¯m tracking down a promising lead on an ingredient update, and second, Ezio suggested shaping the glass sheet with a different technique that might help. That means I need to try three combinations in order to isolate which one makes the difference, assuming that I meet with any success. Method one: create the glass with the new ingredient, and shape it with the old technique. Method two: create the glass with the new ingredient, and also use the new technique to shape the project. And, of course, in method three, use the old ingredient alongside the new technique.

    I count the variations on my fingers to verify that I have the right number.

    I chuckle and nod to myself. Originally, I wrote down four combinations, until I realized that using the old ingredients and the old technique is exactly what I¡¯m already doing. I don¡¯t need to further document it as a control group, because it already exists. That realization was a blow to the ego, but at least I figured it out before telling the Linas about my plan. Melina would have pointed out the problem right away.

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    I set up my test station and lay out my tools for the day. Lionel is helping me again since the Linas are still tied up on the long, tedious project they started in the morning making matching vessels for a local [Chief Judge]. Lionel volunteered to take notes, and since his handwriting is neater than mine, I¡¯m only too happy to oblige him.

    I nudge him in the ribs. ¡°Ready to get started?¡±

    ¡°Lead on, boss,¡± Lionel says, sorting through my papers.

    I appreciate his assistance, although it would be nice to have the Linas to brainstorm with. The twins have taken on more responsibility in the studio lately, however, especially since two of our senior [Gaffers] finally retired. I hear one of them took the [Gardener] Class, while the other is moving toward the capital to spend time with his grandsons. It won¡¯t be long before the Linas are promoted despite their youth; they¡¯re probably the best tandem we have, and they deserve the distinction.

    Lionel makes a face as he reads my scrawled notes. ¡°Do you want me to transcribe all of this for you? I may not be an actual [Scribe], but I¡¯m, well, legible.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it,¡± I say with a laugh. ¡°But my writing is legible to myself. Does that count?¡±

    His flat look tells me everything I need to know, and I raise my hands up in surrender. ¡°I defer to your superior penmanship. Go on, pretty up those notes. And . . . thanks.¡±

    I pace while he works, and soon new ideas spring to mind. ¡°Hm, do you think the interior layer undergoes compression on a hit, or is the impact resistance a function of the material in the outer structure?¡± I ask, musing aloud. Lionel writes it down, the pen a blur in his hands.

    I sigh wistfully. ¡°If I could afford enough mother of pearl to make an entire glass sheet with it, then maybe I could put these ideas to the test. Too bad.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that would scale very well,¡± Lionel says.

    ¡°Ha! If I had the resources to spend that kind of money, then I¡¯d already have the order in for one of the microscopes Ezio mentioned. In the meantime, I have to figure it out the old fashioned way: trial and error.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I usually do,¡± Lionel says, nodding along. ¡°I feel my way forward and hope for the best. So far, I¡¯ve still got a job, so how bad can it be?¡±

    I snort. ¡°Maybe we¡¯re all charity cases, and Ember¡¯s masking a heart of gold under that gruff old exterior. You never know!¡±

    Lionel rolls his eyes, then taps his finger on my notes about the new ingredient I want to add to the glass today. ¡°Are you sure this is going to work, Nuri? I¡¯m afraid the flux we¡¯re adding is going to make it too brittle.¡±

    I nod slowly, considering. ¡°Glass strength is sometimes a frustrating tradeoff between rigidity and brittleness. You¡¯re probably right about that,¡± I say grudgingly, not wanting to start over before we¡¯d even begun.

    ¡°Sorry to sound so skeptical,¡± Lionel says. ¡°I¡¯m sure it was one of the few ways to add strength to the sheet. I¡¯m just not sure that the inner layer is enough to absorb the impact and keep the whole thing from shattering, though. The outer layer has to be able to take some hits, even if we¡¯re dispersing the energy through the inner layer.¡±

    ¡°Right, I hear you. If I knew how to fold mana into the glass, we could harden it without introducing fragility and fault lines. But to compensate, I¡¯m adding more filler this time. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll be sufficient, like you said, but that¡¯s the theory behind it at least.¡±

    Lionel rakes his fingers through his short black twists of hair, a far-off look in his eyes. ¡°Remember when we were kids and we¡¯d visit Old Nylar¡¯s barn? We¡¯d swing little sticks around, pretending we were ancient heroes armed with swords from legend.¡±

    ¡°How could I forget you declaring death and destruction on hay bales?¡± I snicker. ¡°But what does that have to do with glass?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Lionel answers slowly, drawing out his words as though he¡¯s still formulating his thoughts, ¡°if we hit the slats between the stalls too hard, we¡¯d break them, and Old Nylar would demand that we fix the trouble we caused. But when we hit the hay bales that you remember oh so well, they were softer¡ªthey had some give to them. We could whale on those all day long and never really cause a problem, other than some stray bits of hay that the horses picked up off the floor. Doesn¡¯t it seem like the outside layer might actually need to be softer, not harder, so it disperses the hit?¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± I reply, too surprised to say anything smarter. ¡°That¡¯s exactly the reverse of what I¡¯ve been trying to do. But you might be onto something, since what I¡¯m doing now clearly isn¡¯t working. If we make the outside too elastic, I don¡¯t know that it will have any kind of stopping power. It seems counterintuitive.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the trade-off, isn¡¯t it? Have you asked Ember about armor? She might know she used to be an adventurer.¡±

    ¡°Good luck getting her to talk about those days,¡± I murmur.

    ¡°So don¡¯t ask about that. Seek out her professional opinion instead. I¡¯m sure she will give you advice on how to work this particular commission.¡±

    ¡°Might could work. I¡¯ll think about it.¡±

    Lionel chuckles. ¡°It¡¯s too bad you can¡¯t use those glass droplets¡ªyou know, the ones we showed the kids at last summer¡¯s faire?¡±

    ¡°Ah, the display when we dropped the globs of hot glass into the bucket of water?¡± I ask, snapping my fingers as I try to picture the festival.

    ¡°Yeah!¡± Lionel replies. He bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement. ¡°That thing! It¡¯s insane how strong they are on the rounded end. I couldn¡¯t break it with a hammer.¡±

    ¡°Too bad they¡¯re too big to practically fit into armor,¡± I say with a sigh.

    ¡°Plus the other side shatters if you snip it or touch it the wrong way,¡± Lionel says, his face falling as he thinks over all the downsides. ¡°I don¡¯t think armor would be very robust if you could break it from the inside out.¡±

    ¡°True, true, but maybe we could start there and take some inspiration from the shape of the drop. It is incredibly resistant to impact, and that¡¯s what we¡¯re looking to mimic. I wish I had a Skill to analyze composition so that I could apply the principles to our project.¡±

    ¡°There you go again, pining after Skills. Let¡¯s just get to work and find out what happens. Don¡¯t worry so much, my friend,¡± Lionel says, his voice soft with concern.

    ¡°Thanks for all the ideas, Lio. You¡¯re a huge help. The drops are not a bad idea for the rivets, actually, if we can protect the tail end. Maybe we could use a few small drops for portions of the armor that are able to sustain more bulk?¡± I frown. ¡°But part of the allure of this type of project is making armor that¡¯s thin and lightweight¡ªsomething simple to craft and easy to modify without a Master on hand.

    ¡°I told you, Nuri, you¡¯re the boss,¡± Lionel says with a lopsided grin. ¡°You get to make the rules. So, what¡¯s the plan for today?¡±

    ¡°Next page of notes,¡± I say, flipping over the loose sheaf of papers to show Lionel the grid I made. ¡°We need to test the three different options¡ªand I suppose we should probably note the new ideas you came up with. We can test those tomorrow if today¡¯s efforts don¡¯t pan out.¡±

    A rough plan in place, Lionel and I scurry to the back room, where we paw through the bins of available components and materials until we find the ingredients we need. It bugs me a little that the suggestion from Ezio has so many potential issues, but I trust that he¡¯s got his reasons for trying the rigid but brittle approach. If nothing else, more data points may be useful in the long run.

    Items in hand, we get to work making the new batches of glass, leaning on Lionel¡¯s Skills to accelerate the process. Once they¡¯re prepped and warming in the crucible, we take a quick snack break and hydrate up. Even with [Heat Manipulation] to stave off the sweltering heat, the air tends to make me thirsty. It¡¯s oppressive in the hot shop. Besides, I don¡¯t usually leave my Skill running unless I¡¯m working on a project.

    ¡°You know, Lio, part of me wonders if I should always blast [Heat Manipulation] all day long. It might be a more efficient way to train if I just constantly moderated my environment.¡±

    He gulps down a glass of water, and nods eagerly as he wipes stray droplets off his lips with the back of his hand. ¡°You¡¯re definitely on to something. Practice is the best way to rank up Skills, so why waste time?¡±

    I feed some mana into the Skill, and soon surround us with an aura of tightly-controlled temperate bliss. ¡°Ahhh, that¡¯s more like it! No more winter bite, no more scorching summer heat. Why haven¡¯t I been doing this all the time?¡±

    ¡°Laziness,¡± Lionel says without hesitation.

    I grimace, but I can¡¯t deny the accusation. ¡°Well, no more. Time to grow up and get to work.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of growing up, I¡¯ve been thinking about picking up some flame work,¡± Lionel mentions. He squints at the far side of the glassworks studio, where we have display racks set up for prospective buyers. ¡°You ever notice how the fancy sculptures always seem to command a premium? Maybe that¡¯s where I¡¯ll specialize. Good income that way.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°I thought you wanted to come with me on adventures? Are you already giving up that dream to settle down for some glass sculpture?¡±

    ¡°Not at all,¡± Lionel says. ¡°You told me yourself that the [Expert Counterspell Scout], Tem Cytekin himself, suggested keeping up with craftwork. I don¡¯t see why we can¡¯t do both.¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯d be more than happy to have you along any time. I¡¯ve been worried about how lonely it might get trying to follow in Tem¡¯s footsteps. If you and the Linas and Mikko are willing to join me, then we could maybe have our own team. We¡¯ll be itinerant artisans and adventures!¡±

    ¡°Ha, wouldn¡¯t that be something. Quite the odd combination, but I could see it working,¡± Lionel says, warming to the vision of traipsing around the countryside making things and slaying monsters as we go.

    Our chatter continues as we double check the batch using the new glass composition. The crucible is always a good way to jump start the preparation, but with a deft touch of my [Heat Manipulation], I ensure that the first of the two mixtures are ready for testing. ¡°You want to start with the old technique or the new one?¡± I ask Lionel.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with what we know. That way we¡¯re sure to have a good test. Who knows how long we¡¯ll have to experiment with the new ideas to get things working? If it takes all day, then we won¡¯t have time to get to the other tests.¡±

    ¡°Fair point,¡± I say, running my fingers through the tangled growth of my beard. It¡¯s getting itchy on my chin, and I don¡¯t like snagging my fingers in the knots. ¡°I need to get some oil for my beard.¡±

    Lionel pauses his pen above his notepad. He gives me a mock serious look. ¡°Sorry, is that part of the test, or should I not write that down?¡±

    ¡°Very funny, Lio. My beard just grew more than I expected while I was gone. I guess that Rift really made a man out of me.¡±

    ¡°Something had to!¡± Lionel wisecracks, grinning and ducking before I can smack him on the shoulder.

    ¡°All right, test number one,¡± I call out, and we both instantly switch into project mode, our teasing left behind for the moment. I carry over a shovelful of glass and begin spreading the hot, flexible glop around the workstation top to make a flat sheet. Lionel adds his own shovelful to the mix, and once I declare it ready, I put it through the heavy rollers. They¡¯re still calibrated from the last time I rolled out sheets, since I¡¯ve claimed this pair. As the sheet comes out, Lionel and I lean down, squinting critically at the result.

    ¡°Hmph. I suppose it¡¯s good enough. Take this to the annealer while I make the second sheet,¡± I say, turning back to the crucible. Lionel nods and works with an assistant to move the sheet as requested.

    I begin with the next glass mix, ensuring that it¡¯s prepped and ready to go. I give the go ahead, and Lionel and I take turns carrying clumps in the big shovel, racing back and forth to the crucible and collecting more of the newly mixed batch until we have enough.

    Once I¡¯m satisfied with the size and general consistency, I pull it through the rollers again to press it flat. ¡°Let¡¯s get this in the annealer, too. Then let¡¯s get to work on the filler. I could use your feedback; I think we need more, but it starts to bulk up the project too much.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure we have the right material for filler? Lionel asks. ¡°Maybe we shouldn¡¯t only be concerned with the composition of the outside of the glass. How do we know that what we¡¯re using will compress in a manner analogous to the mother of pearl?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no guarantee,¡± I admit. ¡°But it¡¯s spongy, soft, light, and readily available. Unless we find that the glass is no longer the breaking point, I think we should continue tests using this filler. One problem at a time.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good,¡± Lionel says, and trots off to prepare the next batch of glass, copying the method I showed him earlier. This time we¡¯re trying both the new shaping technique and the new composition. Instead of rolling the glass thin and pressing it between the heavy metal rollers, I¡¯m going to try gently tapping it into shape with a wooden mallet while using my [Heat Manipulation] to maintain its pliability and temperature. I douse the end of the treated wood hammer in a bit of water beforehand, just to make sure that it doesn¡¯t catch fire or smolder, and begin to gently pound everything into place. Lionel scoops more shovelfuls on top of the desk while I fashion the sheets, using twin streams of [Heat Manipulation] to shield myself from the scorching waves rising from the workstation while also keeping the glass malleable.

    ¡°So, remind me,¡± Lionel says, already sounding skeptical. ¡°What exactly do we gain by hammering it versus precise rolling? Seems like we¡¯ll have a less consistent result.¡±

    ¡°Yes, exactly. Ezio theorizes that since nacre, or mother of pearl, is an organically found compound, then it¡¯s grown rather than manufactured. And that means inconsistencies and irregularities are part of its structure.¡±

    Lionel scrunches up his nose. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense to me. If you build a bad foundation and make everything irregular, then the house just topples over.¡±

    I go back to running my fingers through my short beard, pleased that it¡¯s starting to grow so well. Before long, I¡¯ll look properly like a man, not just another assistant in the studio. ¡°I see your point. Maybe it¡¯s not just irregularities; maybe the fact that it¡¯s grown together gives it an increase in strength? Hmm. Maybe we need something to hold the glass together, like little fibers or threads. Maybe that would mimic the organic nature.¡±

    Lionel starts pacing excitedly. ¡°Yes! When we built the new shed out behind the main house, the [Mason] did something similar with the concrete. He said adding little bits of stone, or tiny filaments of metal, made the composite stronger than if he just used the pure cement mix. Do you think that maybe that applies to glass, too?¡±

    His enthusiasm is infectious ,and I find myself nodding along, a sudden spark of hope in my heart. ¡°You might be on to something! Maybe that¡¯s what we¡¯ve been missing. We¡¯ve already started this process, though, so for the sake of being thorough let¡¯s go ahead and complete the batch and test it out. Tomorrow I will come back and try the threads or little bits of metal, as well as a softer shell for dispersion. Maybe I can get some shavings from the forge from Mikko.¡±

    Lionel snickers. ¡°Just make sure to buy it off him upfront. Otherwise, he¡¯ll claim a portion of the revenue once you get your glass armor going.¡±

    Our new plan in mind, we resume our work on the third test of the day while waiting for the two test projects to anneal. This time, we¡¯re using the old composition with the hammering flat technique, although I have my doubts about its efficacy. Nonetheless, Ezio will be impressed if I keep meticulous records. I think it will appeal to the [Scholar] in him.

    We finalize the third test and then step outside for a quick breath of fresh air and a much needed stretch. Although Ember runs a tight shop, she always encourages us to take time to care for our bodies when we need a break. She thinks we will get more done if we¡¯re rested and at the top of our mental game, instead of tired, hungry, hunched over, and losing focus¡ªI can¡¯t argue with the results. We pump out more products than a studio our size should be able to handle. We may not be located in the downtown district, but we¡¯re still the most prestigious and prodigious glass shop in Silaraon.

    ¡°What if none of these methods work?¡± I say suddenly, breaking into Lionel¡¯s quiet contemplation of the clouds. We¡¯ve walked all the way to a small bluff overlooking the stream¡ªit¡¯s a popular spot for lunches, although we didn¡¯t bring any food and it¡¯s getting closer to the dinner hour, anyway. We¡¯re just lying in the grass, staring up at the sky while we kill a few minutes of time. Soon, we have to go in and collect our glass, but it¡¯s cooling in the annealer and we need to regroup and prepare for our next steps.

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll move on to the next one. Don¡¯t worry so much. You get paid either way.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that. I need this armor,¡± I say, urgency bleeding into my voice.

    Lionel blows a stray floating dandelion seed away from his face. ¡°Mikko could make you armor. Something else is eating at you.¡±

    ¡°I was hoping it would be enough,¡± I admit after a long moment of silence.

    Lionel arches an eyebrow. ¡°Enough for what?¡±

    My words come out soft, but Lionel seems to hear me nonetheless. ¡°Official recognition.¡±

    ¡°You mean validation? You¡¯re hoping to get a new Skill out of this, aren¡¯t you!¡±

    I hunch my shoulders forward defensively. ¡°So what if I am? ¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Nuri. You deserve a few more Skills. But don¡¯t let that motivate you. Just do this because it¡¯s interesting. And you¡¯re getting paid. You¡¯ll end up with a great suit of armor to help your adventures. Don¡¯t get greedy, or lose your focus. Skills will come in time.¡±

    I nod slowly. ¡°Well, we should head back. Time to check the first batch.¡± An uneasy truce settles over us as we trudge back in silence, Lionel¡¯s words churning in my mind. I square my shoulders as we enter the shop, determined to focus on learning and improving. I know he¡¯s right; Skills will come in time. And when they do, I¡¯ll be ready to take full advantage of them. For now? I roll up my sleeves. ¡°It¡¯s time to get to work.¡±

 B2 C3: Architect of Unseen Worlds

    My days in the studio settle into a rhythm. Formulate a new theory. Test the new theory in glass. Fail at yet another armor attempt. Sigh, throw up my hands, or mutter an oath. Repeat. My early fervor for the project is dying out. No matter how many great ideas Lionel, the Linas, Ezio, or I come up with, the plans always end in failure, and there¡¯s only so much disappointment that a man can take.

    Somewhere in the middle of the third week, as my excitement sours like a glass of milk left out too long, I take an unscheduled break to go speak with Ezio again. Originally, I planned to keep the Rift prediction device¡ªthe PPP, I think with a chuckle¡ªto myself. It doesn¡¯t seem right to share the secret with anyone until Tem comes back. But if I¡¯m going to make any progress at all with the glass armor, then I need to see what I am working with¡ªand to afford a microscope, I need a bargaining chip. I could build up hype about the Rhodium, but it¡¯s not in hand. An artifact from a labyrinth, already in my possession? Oh yeah, this thing has to be valuable.

    As I walk toward my little cabin, detouring to pick up the PPP on my way to the SCA¡ªthe Silaraon City Academy¡ªmy body slowly relaxes and unfurls. The tense, hunched-over posture from the last several weeks of constant work in the studio seeps away, and I stand taller and breathe more deeply, savoring the fresh, warm air. Summer in Silaraon is redolent with fresh herbs from the many gardens and small farms scattered nearby, and I already feel better inhaling their sweet, earthy scents.

    Overhead, the sky is a crisp, bright blue, unperturbed by clouds or pending Incursions from the void. Birdsong occasionally reaches my ears, uncaring about the troubles of men or wraiths. ¡°Why have I been in such a foul mood with so much tranquility only a few short strides away? I need to get out more often,¡± I tell myself.

    By the time I show up at the SCA, where the guards now recognize me on sight and usher me inside to Ezio¡¯s office, I¡¯m positively beaming. I think the sight of contentment on my usually-scowling face unnerves my mentor and friend, the [Scholar Nonpareil]. He raises his eyebrows and gestures up and down with an open hand. ¡°Nuri! What a surprise. Should I test you to see if you¡¯re a [Doppelganger]?¡±

    ¡°Hmph, that¡¯s the second time someone¡¯s accused me of that since I''ve returned,¡± I say with mock petulance. ¡°Can¡¯t a fellow simply be in a good mood?¡±

    ¡°Young man,¡± Ezio replies sternly, ¡°no one comes to my office because of a good mood. Something is bothering you, and I¡¯m not interested in prevaricating about the bush today. Out with it!¡±

    I laugh good-naturedly at his scholarly outrage. ¡°I¡¯m not going to make you work for any information, Ezio. I¡¯m practically an open book! You¡¯re right, though, I did come here initially due to frustration. I feel better after some fresh air.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll resign from the SCA on the spot if you¡¯re here for fresh air,¡± Ezio teases.

    ¡°Right,¡± I say, suddenly squirming in my seat as I shift my travel sack in my arms. I have a hard time meeting his eyes. Sharing the existence of such an exquisite artifact seems wrong without Tem here to see Ezio¡¯s reaction.

    Ezio glances at the clock pointedly, and settles back with a sigh. ¡°I know we need money to get a microscope. I brought back something from the Labyrinth that I think is valuable, based on the way Tem¡¯s eyes bugged out when he saw it, but I don¡¯t really know if it¡¯s mine to give away or sell. It doesn¡¯t seem fair to profit off it while he¡¯s still out there, fighting for his life.¡±

    ¡°With respect, that¡¯s a load of rubbish. It does him precious little good at the moment. Our friendly [Scout] approves of using whatever resources you have on hand. He¡¯s not the type to begrudge you taking advantage of a potentially valuable artifact. Don¡¯t constrain yourself because of his imagined feelings on the matter,¡± Ezio admonishes, though not unkindly.

    I nod slowly. ¡°Fine, but if it¡¯s as valuable as I think it is, let¡¯s set aside some of the money for him if he gets back. When he gets back.¡±

    ¡°Very well, let''s see it,¡± Ezio says, settling back into his comfortable chair. He hums to himself while he rummages through his desk drawer, and a look of triumph flashes across his face as he withdraws an elaborate set of glasses with several eyepieces. He fits it over his eyes, resting on his ears, and twists a small dial. The extra lenses on the top of the glasses swivel down to change the view in front of his eyes.

    I plunk my travel sack down on top of the desk, unwrapping it with deliberate care. I can¡¯t help it. Despite what¡¯s at stake, giving Ezio some payback for the way he unveiled the mana control test is an opportunity I¡¯ll never pass up, so I make the PPP reveal as dramatic as I can possibly get away with.

    With a flourish, I pull away the last scrap of linen hiding the gleaming artifact, proudly pointing as I present the PPP to Ezio. I¡¯m hoping for a spark of excitement, or a loud shout, or something to demonstrate just how emotionally invested my favorite scholar is in the marvelous discovery. Instead, Ezio¡¯s face screws up in confusion.

    ¡°Well? Does this solve all our problems?¡± I demand.

    Ezio leans forward, frowning as he cycles through a few lenses with a quiet, precise click of the knob on his glasses. ¡°Unsure. What is it, exactly?¡±

    ¡°A portable portal prognosticator!¡± I declare, going with Tem¡¯s made-up term since I can¡¯t find a better one. Besides, it rather rolls off the tongue, albeit in a pretentious way.

    ¡°Shiny, but I have no idea what that means,¡± Ezio says wryly.

    ¡°Tem said it could predict when a Rift will open. There¡¯s probably a small market for that among adventurers and treasure-seekers, right? Do you think it will be enough?¡± I wring my hands together, suddenly convinced that it¡¯s too niche to command much attention or money on the open market. The microscope will still be out of reach, and I¡¯ll never make new armor or earn a new Skill or find Tem or¡ª

    Ezio has gone dead silent. His face blanches, dark eyes locked on the PPP with a sort of wary fascination. I¡¯ve seen similar looks in the steady, determined gazes of [Beast Tamers] who work with dancing snakes. One wrong move, and the venomous serpent has the last laugh.

    ¡°Problem?¡± I ask, my gut clenching in sudden worry.

    Ezio glances around wildly, as though startling awake from a terrible dream, then taps a glyph on his desk that closes the curtains over his windows. He activates a second control rune. A hazy, blue-grey curtain of bent light springs up around us, cutting off the desk from the outside world. Sight, sound, smell¡ªit disappears in an instant.

    The casual display of advanced anti-eavesdropping magical barriers has me goggling, but it¡¯s Ezio¡¯s next words that hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

    ¡°Now we are able to speak freely, away from prying eyes and ears. Nuri, wrap that back up and hide it somewhere safe. Tell no one that you have that . . . that device.¡± His forehead is beading with sweat, and his breathing comes fast and choppy, but his eyes never leave the PPP while he speaks.

    ¡°If someone finds out that you have such a dangerous artifact in your possession, and you didn¡¯t turn it over to the royal army, you¡¯ll likely be drawn up on charges of treason. It¡¯s far, far more important than Tem probably let on in the Rift. That artifact could be the key to winning this war¡ªor losing it forever.¡±

    =+=

    ¡°A little more filler for this next test,¡± I mutter to Lionel as I monitor the overall shaping with my [Lesser Manasight]. He nods and adds more with his precision measuring Skill. We¡¯re back in a groove after I¡¯ve returned from Ezio¡¯s office, but it¡¯s becoming increasingly difficult for me to focus on the project.

    ¡°Any new leads?¡± Lionel asks as he finishes the task, his Skill guiding him unerringly.

    I shake my head, staring at the floor as I try not to think about the dire implications of the PPP hidden under my bed at home. ¡°The longer Tem delays, the less and less comfortable Ezio¡¯s [Merchant] cousin is with the thought of a loan. We¡¯re on our own.¡±

    ¡°The Linas offered to assist us again next week. They¡¯re almost caught up with all the recurring orders for the month.¡±

    I grunt in a general approximation of a noise of approval, earning a funny look from my friend. I ignore the unspoken question in his eyes and latch onto talking about the twins instead. ¡°Can¡¯t hurt to try something new. Glass isn¡¯t exactly straightforward sometimes. Abyss knows we¡¯re not getting anywhere on our own. They¡¯re smart and talented, so maybe they¡¯ll figure out something we overlooked.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re pretty remarkable,¡± he says agreeably, seeming to sense my mood.

    ¡°Can¡¯t exactly fail worse,¡± I grumble.

    Lionel crosses his arms, giving me a side eye gaze of skepticism, but he doesn¡¯t push the issue. I appreciate that about him. I have enough burdens to deal with right now already.

    =+=

    After Ezio¡¯s grand announcement of my grim future as a traitor to hearth and home, the next several days of work in the hot shop don¡¯t just dampen my enthusiasm for creating the new speciality glass¡ªthey shatter it into a million little pieces, throw it on the floor, and stomp on it with heavy boots until every last shard and splinter is utterly annihilated.

    I¡¯m never earning a Master¡¯s honor at this rate!

    Every single attempt at creating the armor shatters when we hit the composite sheets of glass and filler with a light smack from a broom. It¡¯s not a particularly rigorous test, but it doesn¡¯t have to be. If the hybrid compound can¡¯t hold up to a gentle blow, then it will never stop a sword or turn aside a spearhead.

    As yet another unsuccessful week drags on without any hope in sight, I let out a ragged scream, throwing down the broom as the latest piece of glass armor cracks under my probing. I stomp back to my workbench, sweep my arm across the tools, and send the wooden paddle I use for shaping the hot glass clattering to the floor.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Nuri!¡± Ember roars, striding across the studio floor like an avenging spirit. Her hair is standing on end, fire crackling around her like sparks in a storm. ¡°I¡¯m shutting you down. Take a day off and get your mind right.¡±

    Heaving with frustration-fueled adrenaline, I glare at Ember, daring her to reprimand me further in front of all of the workers in the studio. ¡°I¡¯m not done,¡± I growl. ¡°I still have two more recipes to try this week, and I¡¯m not giving up yet. I¡¯m not a quitter!¡±

    Ember squeezes her eyes shut, and the halo of flames visibility recedes. She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and smiles tightly. ¡°No, but you¡¯re also not helping. Cool down, stop beating yourself up, and come back with a clear head.¡±

    ¡°My head is fine!¡± I snap in embarrassment, more defensive now that I see how hard she is working to try to be reasonable. I¡¯m not a baby anymore; she doesn¡¯t have to coddle me.

    ¡°Get out,¡± Ember spits, her fire flaring back up. ¡°Go now and you keep your pay for the day. If we have another problem, or you break anything, we¡¯re docking your wages for a week.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair,¡± I snarl. ¡°I have to keep trying! I¡¯m so close, but nothing¡ª¡±

    She clenches her jaw ¡°Not gonna happen today, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Nothing is working!¡± I shout. ¡°No matter which materials I mix in, no matter what I do in the formative stage, it always breaks!¡±

    Ember stalks closer, and an ominous nimbus of black fire spreads out around her head. The weight of it is oppressive, and all of a sudden, I find breathing more difficult in her presence. ¡°That¡¯s exactly why you need to cool off. Go home. Try again tomorrow. Or better yet, in another week. You haven¡¯t been quite yourself since you¡¯ve come back from the Rift. Fix your stuff, or find a new studio.¡±

    The fight goes out of me like a vanishing storm, and suddenly I¡¯m a ship becalmed, adrift at sea without a wind to bring me into port. With a heavy sigh, I lean down and pick up the scraps of the broken glass from my latest failed attempt, stuff the shattered pieces into my pocket, and drag myself out the door.

    I barely notice where I¡¯m going until I reach the path to Reijo¡¯s house. I glance around in hesitation, then back away. I¡¯m not a baby. I don¡¯t need a father-figure! I can sort through this on my own. Hunching my shoulders, I stuff my hands in my pocket and turn toward my little home.

    I trudge into the cabin, slam the door, flop down on my bed, and stare at the wall, lost in a seething roil of conflicted emotions. Returning to the studio today isn¡¯t an option. Ember might not let me back all week. I lift my clenched fist, staring at the shaking ridges of the back of my knuckles, and stifle a sob. I¡¯m supposed to be too old to cry like this, but the endless failures and the weariness of falling right back into the same old groove of my boring existence crashes over me, and I break like shattered glass.

    My fingers twist the covers of my bed into knots as I sob, letting out all the built-up fears and frustration of the last several weeks. I let out a ragged scream, and tension I didn¡¯t even realize I¡¯ve been carrying melts away. My shoulders droop, and my breathing falls into a steady rhythm. Escaping the Rift took a toll, and I¡¯ve been avoiding dealing with the fallout. The weeks of repeated failures in the studio simply brought everything to a head.

    As the turmoil in my mind and emotions recedes, I dig my hand in my pocket to find the shard of broken glass from today¡¯s latest failed batch. The edge slices my finger, and I yank my hand out with a muttered oath. Sucking on my finger, I roll off the bed, mosey over to the desk, and rummage around for a strip of linen to bind the wound. Once that¡¯s sorted, I pull the piece of glass out of my pocket and examine the jagged lines. It jabs into my calloused palm, but I cradle it more gently than before, and I¡¯m not cut.

    ¡°I already know what it should look like. So why can¡¯t I make you match?¡± With my other hand, I rub my temples, thumb and forefinger splayed wide to reach either side of my head. As my headache clears, I get up and shuffle over to my desk. I fish around in my drawer, pull out the little seashell, and place it side by side with the glass pieces.

    ¡°What¡¯s your secret?¡± I ask in a whisper, as though it can hear me and answer. Activating my [Lesser Manasight], I scan the surface of the mother of pearl in an attempt to glean new information. Waves of mana wash over the mother of pearl in increasingly intrusive scans as I push the limits of the Skill to the extreme.

    No secrets of the universe reveal themselves, however, and I¡¯m left feeling more than a little foolish as I squint down at the little pieces of glass and strips of mother of pearl, so I let go of my second Skill. I¡¯ll probably have to upgrade it before I get more meaningful details.

    ¡°If only I could see what it¡¯s made of,¡± I mutter. But without Tem¡¯s money, I don¡¯t have an easy way to procure a microscope, and there¡¯s no way in the abyss that I¡¯ll give up control of the PPP. Not for the first time, I groan at how limited our magic is: no one in the glassworks seems to be able to figure out much in the way of the composition of a naturally-occuring material while using Skills that are glass-centric. I¡¯ll just have to do it myself.

    I run my fingers over the materials, eyes closed, trying to absorb as much information as I can through the sensitive edges of my fingertips. Every little crevice or crack, every notch or imperfection, etches into my mind . . . but tells me nothing. I give up with a soft, embarrassed laugh. A little nick or scratch on the surface doesn¡¯t actually tell me about its structure any more than a new hat or a festive scarf tells me about a person¡¯s true nature. There¡¯s an entire order of existence beneath the surface that matters far more than the exterior.

    ¡°That¡¯s it. I have to look deeper,¡± I tell myself, trying to manufacture some enthusiasm, although I¡¯m having trouble believing that it will matter. But my feelings won¡¯t change things; the only way forward is to put in the work, so I commit myself to the task at hand. Once again, I activate my [Lesser Manasight], but this time I try to push deeper into the inner workings of the nacre rather than scanning the top layer.

    As before, nothing happens. There¡¯s no latent mana left in the piece of shell, probably since there¡¯s little to begin with in non-sapient species. Plus, this sample might be years old, for all I know. Perhaps a fresh catch might have some mana for me to latch onto and trace through the structure of the shell, but this is dull and lifeless in my [Lesser Manasight].

    All I can see are the lines of connection between me and the bit of mother of pearl, and they¡¯re only extant while the Skill is churning. As soon as I cut the flow of mana, the strings that bind me to the scrap of seashell turn to mist and fade away.

    ¡°What if I¡¯ve been thinking about it all backward?¡± I ask aloud, staring up at my ceiling as my mind whirls through new possibilities. I reach out with my mana, straining to reestablish the connection between me and the mother of pearl, but without relying on a Skill. The tendrils of mana waver as soon as they leave my body, lacking both shape and intent, but I draw more and more deeply from my mana pool and force the intractable mana into thin, threadlike strands that bind me to the broken bit of shell.

    I engage [Lesser Manasight], observing the free-form process of mana manipulation to see if I can find where it¡¯s breaking down. The weak, quivering lines of mana keep veering off to the sides or recursing back on themselves, but as I watch the process I¡¯m able to guide the way the mana flows and twists through the air.

    ¡°I¡¯m too far away,¡± I whisper under my breath, leaning closer until I¡¯m almost touching the mother of pearl. Now that the mana doesn¡¯t have to travel so far from my body, the glowing lines grow more stable, forming more and more quickly as I increase the connections. My muscles are shaking with the effort, and I¡¯m halfway out of mana, but I push onward, certain that I¡¯m on the verge of a new understanding, teetering on the brink of enlightenment.

    A chime echoes in my mind as the connections snap into place, blazing with potency, as though they want nothing more than to reach out and connect. Trembling with excitement, I flop backward on the bed and enter light meditation. My consciousness sinks into my soul space, and I hiss in a sharp breath through my teeth when I see not one, but two new Skills gleaming in pristine magnificence. I drift closer with a pulse of willpower, examining the gilded banners hanging from the sides of the Skills.

    Obtained Skill: [Composition Analysis]

    Obtained Skill: [Micro Manipulation]

    Synchronicity detected! Combining all compatible Skills.

    Golden swirls of energy wreathe the Skills within me, blinding in their intensity. I blink, and I¡¯m ejected from my meditation as my concentration shatters like glass. I groan, my head pounding, and fetch a drink of water from the well outside before sinking back into a light state of insensate internal investigation.

    The overwhelming pulses of system light have dissipated, and in the place where the two Skills resided a moment ago, a singular statute now dominates the space. Far larger and more intricate than any of my other Skills, the fractal-covered structure gleams with faint echoes of the golden light that eclipsed the silvery sheen of the other Skills. Instinctively, I know this is no lesser Skill¡ªand maybe not a typical rank or rarity, either.

    A feeling of reverence washes over me as I read the title emblazoned on the structure of the new Skill: [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds].

    Hot tears sting my eyes. All my years of complaining and frustration over my lack of new Skills fall away in an instant. I have the first part of an Artisan Skill set. That means I¡¯ve been officially recognized as eligible for an entire series of Skills related to creating and crafting. I didn¡¯t just earn a single skill; I¡¯ve stumbled upon a long, hard path to greatness. These Skills are far more than lesser or greater variants; this is the stuff of legend!

    Shaking with awe, I circulate my mana again, making sure that my [Lesser Manasight] is activated so that I don¡¯t miss a thing. I hold up the little piece of mother of pearl and focus on my intent to analyze it¡ªno, to embrace it and to truly understand it. An explosion of mana gushes out of me as [Architect of Unseen Worlds] hums to life for the first time.

    My perception rushes forward toward the mother of pearl like a bird of prey dropping from the skies. Down, down, zooming closer until the pearlescent surface fills my entire consciousness, and I plunge into the sea shell. Miniscule details I¡¯ve never seen before stand out, and in a flash of insight, I realize what I have been missing. Infinitesimal, interlocking blocks like tiny bricks comprise the entire structure. Lionel is right; the mother of pearl does gain its rigidity and strength because of the way it¡¯s grown together organically.

    As I pour more mana into the Skill, the details grow larger and more precise in my mind, and I realize there is more to the mother of pearl¡¯s strength than interlocking bricks. There are actually cracks running through the striations. Imperfections from breaking, or part of the design that allows it to absorb impact? I wonder. Perhaps force disperses along the pre-existing cracks, thus allowing it to¡ª

    My attention wanders, and I lose my grasp on [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. Panting, I shake out my arms and legs, retrieve another cup of water, and wait to recover some energy for another go at the incredible Skill. The mana cost of keeping the Skill active is shockingly high, so once I feel ready, I switch my attention to the broken glass from the shop. I don¡¯t want to drain my entire pool before I can see what¡¯s missing from the glass I¡¯ve created.

    Even with the little filaments Lionel and I added as bonding agents in the glass, it doesn¡¯t hold up to a hit the way that it should. I take a breath and embrace [Architect of Unseen Worlds] as I hold the sharp pieces of broken glass. Mana threads spool out, forming connections to the glass I¡¯m holding.

    Instantly, I see the differences, and I grasp the implications with a sort of preternatural certainty of conviction. Despite minute fluctuations and minor imperfections from where my wooden paddle hammered the glass flat, the surface is smooth and fairly uniform. There are no cracks, no micro-structures to create pockets of strength or miniature crumple zones. Ezio was right about imperfections, although none of us knew how to implement them.

    The analysis portion of the Skill is a resounding success, but I know that there has to be more to it than simply the ability to see small things writ large. The very name of the Skills says that there¡¯s more: it¡¯s the [Architect of Unseen Worlds], after all. Architect, not simply observer. I can make things, I know it!

    I sink my perception into the glass, envisioning the same structure and shape as the mother of pearl, and push. Mana surges out of me like water from a broken goblet, and half of the little shard of glass flickers and transmutes before my eyes, stretching and bubbling as it ripples, reconstitutes, and is remade. The heavy draw on my mana cuts off abruptly as I empty my entire reserves before the transformation is complete, but the change is shocking. I stare at the new composition of the glass, gawking at how closely it mirrors the mother of pearl.

    This is it! This is the difference that I¡¯ve missed. Part of me feels a tad disgruntled, like I¡¯ve cheated by using a Skill to fill in the missing knowledge that I could have gleaned from more research and study, but the feeling is overshadowed and subsumed by a far larger part of me that¡¯s cackling in ecstasy. I leap off the bed, dancing around the room like a madman. At last, a Skill worthy of renown!

 B2 C4: The Cracks Begin To Show

    I wake up cotton-mouthed and faint with hunger. An atonal whine in the back of my mind won¡¯t go away no matter what I do, and it worsens when I turn my head or move too abruptly. Admittedly, I may have gone a bit overboard with testing out my new Skill; every time my Mana pool refilled, I tried changing another small piece of glass, or latching on to an element of the world around me and transforming it, until my channels felt like skin rubbed raw with sand.

    I shiver as the strain sweeps over my body. I stand up to get water from the well, and the sudden shift from sitting to standing sends a spike of pain through my skull. My head pounds with an uncontrollable headache while I stagger out to the well. Still, a small grin twitches on my lips. For a Skill like this? Worth the trouble.

    The crunch of jam and toast, along with a handful of dried oat clusters, is abrasive in my ears, but I push through breakfast and drain an entire bucket of water from the well. My stomach gurgles ominously despite the first go at breakfast, and I wolf down a bowl of yogurt and berries before I work up the energy to even think about heading back to the glassworks for the day.

    I don¡¯t know the exact energy correlation between food and mana, but I¡¯m willing to bet Ezio has a formula for it already worked out. If I¡¯m correct, investing in a Skill of this magnitude requires more from me than the same amount of mana poured into [Heat Manipulation]. Even running it concurrently with [Lesser Manasight] is a guaranteed way to make my head buzz like a hive of bees that¡¯s been kicked by a stupid child¡ªnot that I would know from experience what that¡¯s like.

    As the after-effects of too much mana strain and the euphoria of a grand Skill slowly wear off, I shrug on my clothes, stuff the handful of transmuted glass into my pocket, and yawn so hard that my jaw cracks. I wipe sleep-spawned tears from my eyes and set out at a light jog to wake myself up.

    Outside, I barely make it a dozen strides before the rumble of thunder shakes my chest. The deep, basso growl makes me look up in unease at the sound. The rapidly advancing cloud bank rolling in smudges the horizon like an ink spill, dark and low across the skies.

    I skitter back to my cabin, slip inside, and throw a slicker over my clothing to keep out the impending rain. Although the storm hasn¡¯t started in earnest yet, there¡¯s still enough tension in the air that my skin pebbles into gooseflesh, and the hair on the back of my arms and neck stands up in alarm.

    I pick up the pace, deciding that I¡¯ll count the run as training time. It''s well past dawn, but it seems too dark outside for the time of day. Visibility isn¡¯t great during a storm, granted, but I can barely see where I''m going at all, walking the path more from memory than relying on my sight. Overhead, the flash of and flicker of lightning draws my attention, and I suck in a breath, skidding to a stop in the middle of the meadow path.

    There''s something off about the color of the lighting strikes. Instead of a vibrant white or a jagged yellow streaking down for the ground like the spear of an avenging god, the lightning shimmers, moving erratically and meandering on its way across the heavens. The bolts oscillate between all the colors of the rainbow¡ªbright and scintillating, yes, but the bands of color are not vibrant or beautiful. Instead of a pastel panoply, or a cheerful rainbow, the multi-hued lights take on a sickly, muted shade that speaks of chaos and corruption.

    With a shiver, I realize I''ve tasted its particular dysfunction before, back in the Rift.

    My mouth goes dry again, but this time it''s not from the mana strain. My hands start to tremble and my heart thuds in my chest. ¡°Not the time to shut down, Nuri,¡± I tell myself sternly, fighting off the paralysis of fear.

    My booted feet dig into the ground, sending sprays of dirt flying as I sprint down the path as fast as I can, desperate to get back to the studio and make sure everyone''s all right. Oh, Tem, what have you done this time, I groan in my mind as I run, certain that this is his doing. If only we hadn''t destabilized the labyrinth. If only we¡¯d continued onward, skipping the control room entirely, and found a more equitable solution to the problem of returning home.

    By the time I round the final bend in the path and see the glassworks in the distance, my lungs are burning. My throat is raw and ragged from gasping in breath, stringing from the crisp morning air. The rumbling overhead intensifies, and dash toward the studio in terror.

    Then, like a soap bubble pricked with a pin, the chaos and riot of color pops. All at once, the gloom disappears, dissolving as warm golden sunlight filters through the frayed edges of the clouds. The sudden light warms my face, and I let out a cry of relief. I slow down, catching my breath, and try to compose myself before I enter the studio. I don''t want to give away just how panic-stricken I am by the thought of the Void taking away everything I love.

    I pause at the door to brush stray specs of dirt off my tunic and rake my fingers through my hair and beard. I don¡¯t have a mirror to ensure that I''m well groomed, but buying time lets me steady my breathing. I paste a tight smile on my face and I step through the studio door.

    Inside, the bustle of coworkers catches me off guard. Has no one else noticed that The End Is Nigh? I glance around wildly, needing the assurance of visual confirmation that all my friends are fine, and I wave to them one by one, checking off their names in my mind. Maybe I¡¯m overreacting.

    Lionel beckons me over, but I give him a slight shake of my head and instead look for Ember. I square my shoulders and approach her with more confidence than I feel. She''s eyeing me warily as I approach, and for a moment I wonder if she''s more scared of me than I am of her after my petty outburst the last time I was in the shop. She looks tired, a little run down, I realize with a start of guilt that I¡¯ve probably been adding to her stress.

    ¡°I owe you an apology,¡± I say, my voice soft but firm as I meet her eyes. I refuse to hang my head in embarrassment; growing up means taking responsibility for my mistakes and setting things right, even if it makes me uncomfortable.

    Her stern mask cracks into a smile. ¡°You¡¯re forgiven already, Nuri. Does this mean you¡¯re ready to work?¡±

    ¡°Soon!¡± I reply. ¡°But first I have something to show you¡ªto show the entire team.¡±

    Ember¡¯s eyebrow raises as she catches the undertone of excitement in my voice, and she calls for the workers to gather around to hear my announcement. Putting me on the spot makes my stomach flutter, but I know they¡¯re all going to want to see this display.

    The [Assistant Glassworkers] and more established [Gaffers] crowd around the central workbench. A [Glasssmith] jostles his way in next to [Flameworker], and by habit I look around for my friends. Lionel is grinning at me, as though he can already sense my news, but it takes me a moment to pick out the Linas.

    A tall, slender man I don''t recognize stands next to Melina, leaning lightly against her shoulder with practiced ease. His straight, narrow nose and clean-shaven face are framed by dark, close-cropped hair, and his blue eyes lock onto mine with electric intensity. He is perfectly symmetrical, like a statue carved from marble by a Master [Sculptor]. No detail is missing or overlooked; he''s dressed in a smart azure jacket that matches his eyes with unerring accuracy, and his tailored grey pants are pressed with such crisp creases that he wouldn''t look out of place on military parade grounds.

    I glance down at my own slicker, still wet with rain, and the ragged tunic underneath, and suppress a grin at how grubby I seem in comparison. The mystery man reminds me of my time with Tem¡ªhe¡¯s always dapper and well put together, even bedraggled from fighting monsters in the middle of a Rift. These two look like they¡¯d get along; their skills at showing off impeccable grooming are equal parts mind-boggling and impressive.

    Avelina catches my eye and tilts her head toward the man, her eyes wide with glee and more than a hint of pride. ¡°Nuri! Look what my sister dragged in.¡±

    The man stepped forward smoothly and offered a slight, precise bow. ¡°Padouk, itinerant [Merchant], at your service. Yes, in case you¡¯re wondering, my parents did in fact name me after padouk wood¡ªand I¡¯ve almost forgiven them for it! Pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Melina''s is a friend of mine.¡±

    ¡°What he means is that he¡¯ll be happy to sell your wares alongside mine,¡± Melina says, glancing up at Padouk shyly. ¡°He only takes the finest glass pieces, and he¡¯s already interested in your armor! I¡¯ve told him all about your experiments.¡±

    ¡°Uh, right! That¡¯s what I want to show you. Or show everyone, it looks like. Wow. I didn¡¯t expect so many people to watch my demonstration.¡± I pause and lick my suddenly-dry lips. ¡°Anyway, I think I¡¯ve cracked the code. I¡¯ll be happy to sell some prototypes once we¡¯ve worked out the kinks.¡±

    ¡°I look forward to a profitable partnership,¡± Padouk replies, his cheek dimpling just the right amount as he smiles at my awkward segue.

    ¡°Give me a moment to set up. I¡¯ll be right back,¡± I call over my shoulder, dashing over to the display shelves and grabbing an ornate, sea-green amphora in one hand and a plain, clear vase in the other. I run back and place them side by side on the workbench, then step back and spread my arms wide, warming up to the theatrics of showing off.

    ¡°Watch closely,¡± I say, flourishing my hands and twitching my fingers mysteriously above the clear glass vessel. Everyone leans in, crowding around the workbench and staring at the two pieces of glass arrayed on the countertop. The glass pieces are roughly the same size, but beyond the differences in coloration, the fancier piece is covered in raised tessellations and intricate, recursive swirls for decoration.

    I close my eyes briefly, relying on my new Skill to get a feel for the composition of the materials. They¡¯re both glass, but their salt and chemical content vary slightly between them, and they¡¯ve been constructed with different purposes in mind, so the thickness of the glass walls are distinct between them. My [Lesser Manasight] flares to life while my newest Skill begins its first stage, and I inscribe in my mind each detail of the glass, pushing until I even have a sense for the exact flux added in. After a long moment, I know exactly how much iron-oxides were added to the mix to result in the green coloration, and I¡¯m certain that I can match it with the second activation of [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds].

    I open my eyes, smile at the audience reassuringly, and take a deep breath. I surround the clear vessel with my mental image, and pour my mana into the plain vessel, shaping it with will and intent. Slowly, starting from the top of the bottle and moving downward, the clear glass transmutes, crystallizing into new patterns and new colors that are an exact match for the fancy green vessel.

    With a gasp, I break off abruptly, releasing the Skill and swaying on my feet. Despite my best efforts to improve my mana pool, I¡¯ve already running dry and the vessel is only two-thirds of the way transformed. I gesture toward the glass, my heart racing, and bow at the waist to hide the strain on my face. I stand up once the grimace of pain passes. ¡°Tada! Hope you like the new Skill.¡±

    I¡¯m unsteady on my feet, and my headache is back with a vengeance, but the shocked expressions and gaping mouths on the faces of the crowd makes up for the repeated mana use that¡¯s burning away at my channels. Ember¡¯s sharp gaze is particularly gratifying; she knows just how hard she¡¯s pushed me to improve, and now I¡¯ve risen to the challenge. I nod gratefully toward her. I wouldn¡¯t be in this position without her challenging me to grow.

    The room slowly stops spinning, but I lean on the edge of the workbench to fight off the effects of dizziness. If I collapse now, I¡¯ll never hear the end of it from Lionel¡ªI spare a glance at my friend, and he¡¯s grinning madly, whooping and clapping hands with the other workers. A constant susurration of excitement ripples through the studio. We¡¯re used to casual displays of incredible abilities, but this? This looks like true magic. I take a moment to bask in the adulation, although I know the fun is almost over. Soon, the real work begins.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± Melina breathes, shuffling forward to stand next to me. She reaches out and tentatively brushes the transformed bottle with her long fingers, her own bevy of Skills activating as she examines the work. ¡°It''s not even an illusion¡ªit''s a real, true, perfect transmutation. Do you have any idea how magnificent of a Skill this is, Nuri?¡±

    I shrug nonchalantly, but I can''t stop grinning. My cheeks are starting to hurt from how happy I am to have a new Skill, and from how excited my friends are on my behalf.

    ¡°What¡¯s the big deal?¡± Lionel interrupts, sauntering over to nudge me in the ribs with his elbow. He makes an exaggerated show of scratching at his chin and squinting at the glass. ¡°He didn¡¯t even finish it. Typical Nuri, losing interest halfway through an order.¡±

    Avelina kicks him in the shins for me, but the way Lionel¡¯s eyes are dancing with mirth, I don¡¯t mind the teasing in the slightest.

    ¡°True, true,¡± I reply. ¡°Why go all out when you can impress people with a halfway job? Although, truthfully, that¡¯s all the mana I have. I¡¯m working on expanding my pool, but Capacity is one of the hardest stats to raise. I¡¯ve been holding mana all day long, soaking my Skills in it passively even when I¡¯m not activating an ability, and it¡¯s working! Believe it or not, a few months ago, I wouldn¡¯t have even been able to use this Skill at all. It¡¯s a hungry little beast.¡±

    ¡°Someone get him an infuser,¡± Malla, a senior [Gaffer] calls out. ¡°I wanna see that Skill again. If he can copy my finest work that fast, then we can double our profits! I¡¯ll personally pay for an extra set of mana draughts if I get a share of the proceeds.¡±

    ¡°Good idea, for as long as his mana holds,¡± Lionel snickers. ¡°Let¡¯s not get too carried away just yet. Nuri¡¯s Skills tend to grow at a pace more akin to a snail than a jackrabbit.¡±

    ¡°Ouch. I deserve that,¡± I say, joining him in laughter. ¡°But this time I¡¯m putting in the work. You¡¯ll see! But don¡¯t worry about getting left behind; I¡¯ll buy you dinner once I¡¯m rich.¡±

    Lionel claps me on the shoulder, his playful look melting into a more serious expression. ¡°I know you¡¯re putting in the work. I look forward to seeing you flourish, my friend.¡±

    I flash him a full grin. ¡°Me too, brother.¡±

    Ember interrupts our sentimental moment with a loud cough to clear her throat. She leans down to tap the glass, frowns thoughtfully, and stands back up, her arms crossed as she shakes her head in disbelief. ¡°Impressive, Nuri. I¡¯ve never seen anything quite like it. Well done. If we provide enough mana, will you be able to use your Skill a few times a day, or does it take too much out of you? How much regen do you require?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s find out,¡± Padouk interjects, stepping forward and offering his hand. ¡°As part of my profession, I deal with a great many unusual Skills, and I¡¯ve developed tools to make use of my clientele and their various talents. Allow me to provide you with my [Mana Link], so that you may borrow from my pool. What an exciting Skill! I simply must see it in action again.¡±

    The thought of taking in foreign mana to fuel my Skill makes my stomach churn with the all-too-vivid memory of the mana control test. Although it¡¯s been a few months since the test, the searing pain is still fresh in my mind. Nonetheless, I don¡¯t want to appear ungrateful, particularly not when Melina¡¯s eyes are shining with affection as she gazes at Padouk. Denying him feels like it would be an insult to her, so I find myself nodding along, unwilling to act mean to a friend, or to disappoint my audience.

    ¡°Excellent! Let¡¯s begin,¡± Padouk says, clasping my hand.

    A jolt of raw energy shoots through me, and I flinch back on instinct, but his fingers close around mine like a vice grip, and I can¡¯t pull away. He¡¯s terrifyingly strong, belying his slim build, and as the rush of mana crashes through me, I find myself turning to [Lesser Manasight] instead of [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds].

    Padouk lights up like a bonfire in my sight, fairly shimmering with power. He¡¯s controlling it tightly, but the potency reminds me more of Tem than of someone my own age. I shut off the Skill, unease slithering through my gut, and instead offer a weak smile and reach toward my new, powerful Skill.

    A torrent of mana flows through me, inundating my Skill, and then surges outward to remake the world. In a flash, the rest of the clear glass vessel transforms under the influence of my Skill, but I¡¯m still brimming with mana. I glance around frantically, searching for an outlet for the power coursing through me.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°How about limitations?¡± Melina asks, her notepad in hand. She¡¯s staring with wide-eyed wonder at the process, her pen scritching across the surface of the paper as she documents the Skill and all its idiosyncrasies. ¡°Can you make something completely unique, or do you have to copy an existing product?¡±

    ¡°Copy,¡± I manage to say between grit teeth. ¡°And I need to do more; your beau gave me way more mana than I can handle.¡±

    With a guilty look, Melina dashes over to the front service desk, where a small bouquet of chrysanthemum adds a touch of life to the rows of gleaming glass. She plucks a flower and a white decorative fern, scoops up a simple cup, and rushes back over. ¡°Does it work on living material? Can it only change like for like? Try to remake the drinking glass into a flower. I¡¯ll bet that doesn¡¯t work! Then try to copy the chrysanthemum over the fern, superimposing a new pattern over the old. Oh! And can you change¡ª¡±

    With a headache-induced growl, I take the two plants and slam my consciousness into them. My Skill races, and the mana soaks through the stems and petals, but I can¡¯t seem to get a grip. They slide sideways in my mind whenever I try to find purchase, as though they¡¯re too slippery for me to grasp. Still, pouring the excess mana into the Skill is better than venting it into the room, and soon the pressure alleviates without killing me or harming anyone around me.

    That¡¯s always a win in my book.

    Melina¡¯s face falls. ¡°So, it only works on glass?¡±

    Instinctively, I shake my head. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s limited to glass. I¡¯m simply not familiar enough with botany to rely on the Skill to overcome my limitations. I¡¯ve worked with glass my entire life, so transforming it comes naturally to me. And I got a sense for the mother of pearl because I¡¯ve been studying it practically every waking hour of the day for weeks now. I¡¯ll bet I could do the same with other materials.¡±

    ¡°Good theory,¡± Melina says, nodding along in approval. Her hand blurs again as she scratches down more notes. ¡°Flowers may be an exception, however. The shell is organic, but it¡¯s no longer alive. I¡¯m not sure if living objects work. Perhaps after the flower wilts, we can dry and press it, and test again.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s plan on more tests,¡± Ember says. ¡°In the meantime, Nuri, you need a break. Let go of the mana and sit down. You look unwell.¡±

    I simply grunt, too tired to reply, but the link doesn¡¯t drop. I clamp down on my channels to prevent more mana from pouring in, but Padouk¡¯s Skill resists, like we¡¯re on either sides of a door, fighting over whether it stays open or shut. I look inward, and sense his Skill sizing up the structure of my Skill, cataloging every crack and crevice, as though Padouk is measuring and memorizing the magic.

    Frantically, I slam my mental energy against it as the invasive mana pokes and prods at my Skill, and with a final push, slam the door shut. I glare at Padouk accusingly, but he¡¯s already lifting his hands up with a chagrined expression on his face.

    ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry, Nuri! I got carried away in excitement. My [Merchant] Class has a Skill that constantly assesses value, and it just went haywire while you were working. I tried to cut the connection, but it was raging out of my control. Your Skill is extraordinary, my friend. We definitely need to enter a contract for your wares. As an apology for my lack of decorum, please accept a gift of mana draughts. I¡¯ll provide you with an entire case.¡±

    Mollified by his generosity, I smile and nod, but alarm bells are still going off in my mind. There¡¯s more to his story than meets the eye, and I resolve to keep an eye on the [Merchant]. What exactly has Melina gotten herself into? She¡¯s far too smart to fall for tricks¡ªisn¡¯t she?

    ¡°Good show,¡± Ember says, shouldering past Padouk. Her tight, carefully-neutral look as she regards him is a relief. She¡¯s a good judge of character, and if Padouk has any unsavory designs, she¡¯ll take care of us.

    ¡°Thanks, but I owe it all to you. I wouldn¡¯t be here without your help,¡± I say as heartfelt gratitude wells up within me.

    ¡°You did the work,¡± she deflects. ¡°All I did was give you a push.¡±

    ¡°Sorry I complained so much about it at the time. You knew what I needed.¡±

    She chuckles, but doesn¡¯t reply right away. Instead, she claps her hands and directs everyone to get back to work. With a few good-natured grumbles, the [Gaffers] and [Glasswork Assistants] shuffle back to their posts, offering me congratulations as they go.

    I smile at Ember. She¡¯s not much for speeches, but she¡¯s an effective taskmaster. At that moment, I wouldn¡¯t want to work for anyone else. She keeps the pressure on, but only because she cares.

    Ember turns back around now that we¡¯re alone, and her narrowed eyes drill into mine. Her expression suddenly hardens. ¡°You could be an incredible artisan. Perhaps a master of the craft someday. Do you still want to learn to fight, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°I have to,¡± I reply softly. ¡°I owe it to Tem to search him out. And what if more Rifts open? We all have a part to play. I¡¯m not in it for glory anymore, Ember. I just want to keep my friends safe.¡±

    ¡°Chaos is building,¡± Ember breathes, too quietly for the crowds of coworkers to overhear now that they¡¯re back in the swing of glass production. ¡°You¡¯ve seen the signs.¡±

    I shudder, remembering this morning¡¯s storm all too well. ¡°The void is coming. I want to be ready for it when it arrives.¡±

    Ember places a heavy hand on my shoulder. ¡°Well said. I promised your father that I¡¯d keep you safe, but you¡¯re growing up. There comes a time in every man¡¯s life where he has to make his own decisions. I can¡¯t protect you forever, so maybe it¡¯s time to properly equip you to protect yourself.¡±

    I cast a glance behind her, looking with longing at the glass swords on the wall. ¡°I want to learn to fight like you do. Will you teach me? I¡¯ll find a way to pay you back.¡±

    She turns and follows my gaze toward the enchanted swords on the wall. ¡°Use your new Skill to make expensive glass for me once a day, Nuri, and I¡¯ll train you to fight with twin swords. Direct instruction. How does that sound?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it twice a day if you include the Linas, Lionel, and Mikko,¡± I counter-offer. ¡°They¡¯re going to need to defend themselves if the Rifts grow more volatile. I want to defend Silaraon and defend my friends, but I don¡¯t want to do it alone. Will you help us?¡±

    Ember swallows hard, and I almost swear I see a tear in the corner of her eye before she blinks and it disappears in a puff of steam as heat radiates off her body. Unconsciously, I¡¯ve already activated [Heat Manipulation] to rebuff the buildup of temperature, and I remain cool and comfortable until my mana wears low. I still haven¡¯t regenerated much; I only cast my new Skill again thanks to the borrowed mana from Padouk.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s a motivation I can get behind, Nuri. For your friends, I will teach you. Let¡¯s whip you into fighting shape.¡±

    =+=

    Rain is falling in a gentle, soothing patter when I drag myself into the Silaraon City Academy training arena three weeks later. The sound doesn¡¯t come close to drowning out the constant complaining from the Linas, Lionel, and Mikko. Their dulcet tones of despair ring constantly to my ears, and I sympathize with their groaning.

    I grin at them with a knowing look. ¡°It gets better, friends. I¡¯ve been in your shoes. Not too long ago, I was the one hating my life and cursing my lack of athleticism, but I didn¡¯t give up. You¡¯ll get there, too.¡±

    ¡°Is this the part where you brag about your martial prowess?¡± Mikko teases. ¡°I can still handle a higher level with the Iron Lunk than you can. We all know Tem dragged your sorry self through death-defying adventures.¡±

    I toss an arm around my brother¡¯s shoulder and chuckle. ¡°That he did, much to your dismay. You¡¯re still stuck with me, Ko.¡±

    ¡°Like a bunion on my foot I can never get rid of,¡± Mikko shoots back with a laugh.

    We¡¯re all gathered for our second combat training session with Ember, who has relented after the growing threat of incursions¡ªand the cash flow I¡¯m bringing in by duplicating the most expensive glasswork in the shop with [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds]¡ªand I am the only one not nursing a bruise or sprain. I don¡¯t know if I just got lucky last time, or if it¡¯s thanks to my dedication to training myself in Tem¡¯s absence. I¡¯d like to think it¡¯s the latter.

    We trudge across the hard-packed dirt of the arena floor, which is slowly turning to mud under the constant drizzle, and I strike up a cheerful tune, whistling to try to keep up everyone¡¯s spirits. This seems to only make them even more annoyed, so I drop the song and offer some more encouraging words, instead. I¡¯m sore from pushing myself, but there¡¯s no way that I¡¯ll let it show. This is my moment to shine. I can inspire them to greatness.

    Just like Tem did for me, I think with a lump in my throat. I hope you¡¯re all right out there.

    ¡°Nuri!¡± Ember roars, swaggering over with a pair of dulled swords over her shoulders. She tosses one to me before I¡¯m ready, and I fumble the catch, dripping the practice blade into the mud. ¡°Shatter me,¡± I swear under my breath. I could have sworn she did that on purpose to knock me down a peg or two.

    ¡°Ah, the great hero of the Rift!¡± Lionel hoots. ¡°Don¡¯t leave the defense of the realm in his hands; he might drop it.¡±

    ¡°Always knew you were a butterfingers,¡± Avelina says with a wink.

    ¡°Exemplary swordsmanship,¡± Mikko comments dryly.

    ¡°All right, all right, get your jollies in,¡± I grumble, but as I watch my friends fall all over themselves in uninhibited cackling, I can¡¯t help but smile. The last session was excruciatingly difficult, and they probably needed the outlet. Seeing their frustration dissolve into good-natured ribbing makes me feel better about the day already.

    ¡°Clever move," Ember whispers, too softly for my friends to hear, as she picks up my sword and hands it to me again. ¡°Unite them against you in order to refocus them on the day¡¯s training. Good work.¡±

    I nod as though it were all part of my plan instead of just dumb luck. My irritation fades, and I wonder if that was part of Ember¡¯s plan. She is proving a master not only at managing the glass studio and fighting, but also at teaching and inspiring.

    If making myself the butt of jokes is what it takes to improve the mood, then so be it. I nod to myself in satisfaction as the tension and grumpiness of the morning breaks like a dam, giving way to a rush of camaraderie.

    Melina pats me on the shoulder. ¡°Go on, Nuri! Show Ember how it¡¯s done.¡±

    A little more humbled, but encouraged knowing that my friends are on my side despite their teasing, I grip my weapon and fall into a familiar stance. I¡¯ve picked up a few new favorite defensive tricks while training with the Iron Lunk, based on my memories of how Tem handled himself in the Rift. Ember is refining my technique, too, and I¡¯m improving under the tutelage of the harsh beatdowns, but it¡¯s gratifying to know that my time with the training dummy wasn¡¯t a total waste.

    Ember stalks into striking distance, her own practice sword at the ready. She¡¯s taking a simple plow stance, both hands down near her waist, with the tip of the sword facing upward. The deadly point never wavers from threatening my face, held at roughly eye level. At a nod from me to confirm that I¡¯m ready, she glides forward on light but steady feet, and her arms snap into full extension an eyeblink before she thrusts at my chest.

    I¡¯m ready for the opening attack, and I match her step forward while shifting my hilt a few inches¡ªjust enough to deflect the thrust with the strong of my sword. Tem¡¯s quick battlefield teachings echo in my mind, and I make sure to keep my sword point in line as I lift my arms and answer her opening move with a thrust of my own, our blades clacking and scraping against each other as I maintain the pressure of the contact.

    Quick as a snake and twice as slippery, Ember disengages from the momentary bind and half-steps to the side, crossing her body with her back foot. My blade goes wide, and she instantly twists both of her hands, forming a pivot point with the hand closest to the crossguard. The double-handed maneuver accelerates the blade behind her in a false-edge cut straight at my head before I can react.

    The wooden practice weapon smacks me in the back of the skull, driving me down into the mud. Stars explode across my vision as my face hits the wet ground with a squelch, and I eat a mouthful of goopy dirt.

    ¡°Nuri!¡± Lionel rushes over to pick me up. He brushes off my coat, torn between staring at me and glaring daggers at Ember. ¡°Are you all right? You¡¯re blinking weirdly¡ªdon¡¯t move. Here, my aunt taught me how to check for brain damage. Look at my finger. Try to follow it with your eyes as I go.¡±

    He holds up a hand and slowly waves it back and forth, peering at my eyes the entire time as though he¡¯s going to divine the state of my health just by looking at me.

    I concentrate and roll my eyes in opposite directions, which makes him suck in a breath in worry. I laugh and stand up. ¡°Relax, Lio, I¡¯m doing it on purpose. I¡¯ve been hit harder by my training dummy. Still, your concern is touching.¡±

    Lionel smacks me on the arm. ¡°Not funny! I don¡¯t have any healing potions on me, and my Skills aren¡¯t suited for brain trauma. You could have died from that kind of impact!¡±

    ¡°Huh. Remind me when you picked up [Healer] as your second Class? I thought you swore up and down that you¡¯d never go anywhere near blood. Aren¡¯t you too squeamish?¡±

    Lionel blushes. ¡°I¡¯m still squeamish. But my aunt took me on a tour of the hospital a few months ago, while you were busy studying with the weird guy at the academy. I couldn¡¯t believe how many people were suffering, and how easy it is for my aunt to patch them up. As long as she has mana, she can fix their problems. I¡¯d be crazy not to learn how to do that, too.¡±

    ¡°Huh. I never knew,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Sorry I never asked you more about what¡¯s going on in your life. I¡¯ve been caught in tunnel-vision lately, only caring about my own goals.¡±

    Lionel shrugs. ¡°You¡¯ve had a lot going on. But, yes, I¡¯m taking [Healer] as a second Class as soon as I¡¯ve gained enough potential to actuate it. With all the talk of Incursions, I figure it will be even more valuable soon.¡±

    ¡°Excellent!¡± Ember beams, clapping Lionel on the shoulder. ¡°Our little team needs a healer to look after Nuri when I¡¯m not around. He¡¯s talented at getting into trouble, but it will put my mind at ease to know that you kids are going to band together for your next Rift.¡±

    ¡°Our next what?¡± Mikko yells.

    ¡°What¡¯s the worry, Mikko?¡± Ember says smoothly. ¡°You¡¯re as durable as an anvil. Just let the others do the thinking, and you¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°Historically, allowing Nuri to do the thinking doesn¡¯t turn out well,¡± Mikko points out.

    ¡°Hey!¡± I shout. ¡°Who brought us all together for this training event, and convinced our respective bosses to give us time off to train for a delve so we can find Tem?¡±

    ¡°Ember did,¡± Mikko says without hesitation, a huge grin splitting his face when I grumble at not getting my just dues.

    ¡°You¡¯re quite welcome,¡± Ember replies. ¡°Now, since Nuri seems to have fully recovered his fighting spirit, let¡¯s ratchet things up a notch.¡±

    ¡°You mean down, right? We¡¯re not going up in intensity, are we?¡± I squeak, glancing around at similarly-shocked faces.

    ¡°Nuri versus the team,¡± Ember announces to a cheer. ¡°And, go!¡±

    =+=

    We¡¯re laughing and teasing each other as we eat lunch, sprawled out on a grassy hill next to the training arena now that the rain has stopped, when I spot an anomaly in my [Lesser Manasight]. I¡¯ve taken to running my Skills as often as possible while I try to deepen my mana pool. I need to grow if I ever want to use [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds] more frequently.

    ¡°Something¡¯s coming toward the city, and it¡¯s moving at a pace that I¡¯ve never seen before,¡± I announce, sitting up abruptly.

    A moment later, Ember bounds up the hill, a frown creasing her face. She¡¯s dropped the practice swords, and instead I see Hellfire and Brimstone strapped to her belt. She seems to take in my tense posture with approval, and juts her chin out in the direction of the anomaly I noticed. ¡°Get ready, Nuri. I haven¡¯t felt a signature like that since my army days.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± I say, momentarily distracted from the approaching mystery by the comforting reminder that I''m with a professional. Ember fights way better than the average adventurer for hire. It''s fun to picture her in the royal army in her prime.

    Before I get too sidetracked by ruminating on the past, the mana signature I¡¯ve been tracking bursts into view, and a giant, gleaming construct soars over the treeline on metallic wings each as wide as a house. An officer with glass goggles on perches between the wings, wreathed in a golden glow of mana that¡¯s visible even to the naked eye.

    We all scramble to our feet, exclaiming in excitement, as the flier whooshes over us, loops back around, and settles to the ground in a veritable explosion of displaced air. With a whir, the wings retract, folding around the army officer until he¡¯s clad in a bulky suit of armor. If I hadn¡¯t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed that he could fly so effortlessly.

    ¡°Nuri Shahi?¡± the officer says, addressing me with a full name that I haven¡¯t heard in over a decade.

    I nod slowly, suppressing the urge to correct him. I¡¯ve adopted Reijo and Kirsi¡¯s last name, but something warns me that implicating them isn¡¯t the best idea right now. ¡°That¡¯s me. How can I help you, sir?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll find out,¡± the officer says with a grunt. He takes in our muddy clothing at a glance, weighing us on the scale and clearly finding us wanting. ¡°You are the last known associate of the [Expert Counterspell Scout] Tem Cytekin.¡±

    His tone makes it clear that this is a statement, not a question, but I nod anyway. ¡°That¡¯s correct, Sir. He saved my life in a Rift last month.¡±

    The officer¡¯s face twitches slightly, but he withdraws a scroll from his satchel bearing the royal seal and gives it to me. My hands shake as I accept it, and I fumble with the seal, a sense of foreboding building as I stare at the officer. He seems to take pity on me, and unsheathes his knife, flipping it around to hand it to me hilt-first.

    I steady my grip, cut the seal, and unroll the scroll. As my eyes scan the page, dread creeps up my spine. I pass the scroll to Ember, who¡¯s gone ashen under her tanned, weathered skin, and mumble an explanation. ¡°As of two days ago, by royal decree, Tem has been declared a traitor and an enemy of the state. They¡¯re blaming him for the Rift and the rising instability and threat of incursions.¡±

    She shifts to interpose herself between me and the officer, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. I square my shoulders and look him in the eye. ¡°That means I¡¯m likely considered an accomplice, is that right?¡±

    The officer nods curtly. ¡°You understand what¡¯s at stake. Good.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s done nothing wrong!¡± Ember insists, her hand shifting to the hilts of Hellfire and Brimstone. ¡°You can¡¯t have him.¡±

    ¡°Nothing has been decided, formally. He¡¯s not under arrest yet,¡± the officer replies with tightly-controlled patience. ¡°Nonetheless, he¡¯s coming with me for questioning.¡±

    ¡°It will be all right,¡± I interrupt, although my shaking voice betrays my worry. ¡°I¡¯ll go with him, Ember. Just take care of my friends while I¡¯m gone.¡±

    The officer¡¯s gaze sharpens slightly, as though he¡¯s reassessing me, and he offers a slight smile. ¡°Good lad. You¡¯ll get a fair hearing from me. I must insist on privacy, however. If you will?¡±

    His wings unfurl with a shimmer of power, and he extends a hand, now gauntleted and ready for flight¡ªor a fight¡ªto present a pair of goggles. I take them and set them firmly over my eyes, although my body has gone cold and I¡¯m trembling with adrenaline. I offer a brave smile toward my friends, who are simply staring at us, dumbfounded.

    The officer inclines his head toward Ember, loops a harness around my chest, and blasts off into the sky with me firmly in tow. As we roar through the air, hurtling back toward the capital at breakneck speeds I never thought possible, something tells me that nothing will ever be the same again.

 B2 C5: Nobody Expects the Royal Inquisition

    After only half an hour of flying, my body is screaming in protest. The leather harness digs into my armpits despite generous padding, and the buckles scrape across my ribcage. I¡¯m having trouble breathing. I should be enjoying the view as we pass from the farmland of Silaraon with its occasional pockets of trees, to foothills and heavy forests, but instead I¡¯m worried because I can¡¯t feel my fingertips anymore. They¡¯ve gone numb from the pressure of the harness against my shoulders and arms, and a weird tingling radiates down my arms.

    ¡°I need a break,¡± I manage to gasp, fighting against the dizziness to form a full sentence. It¡¯s hard to hear anything over the rushing wind at this velocity. My ears are ringing with the never-ending sound. Only a constant application of controlled [Heat Manipulation] is keeping my skin from freezing thanks to the high altitude and incredible rate of travel.

    The officer must hear me anyway; he descends in a fast, looping spiral, skimming over tops of trees. We narrowly avoid colliding with twisted branches, flitting above the trees like a hummingbird until he darts down into an opening between the lush, silvery-green leaves.

    I squint through the hazy goggles at the surrounding forest as we approach the ground at nerve wracking speeds, but I don¡¯t see anything familiar. We¡¯re already well past the area I¡¯ve explored with Tem, and I don¡¯t recognize any of the natural landmarks this far out.

    We touch down heavily, and the officer staggers a bit, probably not used to flying with another person as cargo. He takes several extra steps before he regains his balance. He unclips my harness and promptly flops down onto the ground with a heavy grunt.

    ¡°Flying is a younger man¡¯s game,¡± he grumbles, peeling back his goggles and helmet to reveal steel-gray hair. Now that I¡¯m not overcome with shock at his sudden appearance, I take a closer look at his face. His tight curls are cropped close to his skull in military fashion, and to my surprise, his wrinkled skin marks him as closer to retirement age than the prime of life. His darker hues remind me of Tem¡¯s face, and I wonder if he¡¯s a relative¡ªmost Silaraon natives are mahogany- or olive-skinned.

    That¡¯s where the similarities between Tem and this officer end, however. The flier is stocky and broad, with a wider nose and far heavier cheekbones compared with Tem, and I scratch my short beard in contemplation. Wouldn¡¯t a lighter frame make flying easier? But then I remember that carrying me along didn¡¯t seem to burden the wing constructs, so physique and size probably doesn¡¯t matter much. The two men are structured differently, although if I could squint then they might look like they¡¯re from the same lineage. Perhaps they¡¯re distant cousins.

    I gingerly stretch my arms, massaging the fingers to regain feeling. I take care to avoid the tender areas under my armpits where the harness rubbed my skin raw while still working blood back into my shoulders, chest, and fingers.

    ¡°How did you expect to make it all the way to the capital?¡± I ask, my eyes scanning the forest clearing for threats and escape routes. Tem would be proud of my paranoia.

    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t,¡± the officer admits. He shrugs and gives me a wide, friendly smile. ¡°I can question you anywhere. It¡¯s just best to keep up appearances.¡±

    ¡°So carrying me off like that was just a show for my friends?¡±

    He winks, then digs a biscuit out of his bag and chomps down in satisfaction, leaning back against a log and looking suddenly like a [Vacationer] enjoying recreational pursuits.

    I snort. ¡°Don¡¯t you think lying to me is a poor way to start off our interactions if you¡¯re supposed to discern the truth?¡±

    He stops mid-bite, lowers the biscuit to his lap, and turns to regard me more fully. ¡°Who says the truth has anything to do with our current predicament?¡±

    I sink down to the grass next to him, my legs too wobbly to hold me at the moment. I wasn¡¯t the one powering the flying constructs, but I feel wrung out anyway. ¡°Aren¡¯t you an Inquisitor?¡± I ask, squinting at his uniform as though I could understand the insignia. The bright sunlight reflects off his gleaming metal pauldrons, and I have trouble making out any of the distinguishing features of his armor.

    ¡°Of course I¡¯m an [Inquisitor], Nuri. What¡¯s that got to do with it?¡± He resumes eating his biscuit, looking entirely unconcerned¡ªlike this truly is just a picnic in the park.

    ¡°You said you had to question me. I assume that means you want to know everything that happened between me and Tem?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± the [Inquisitor] booms. He tugs at the straps on his wrists, then yanks off his armored gloves. He holds out a massive hand toward me with another wide grin. ¡°The name is Casella, by the way. A pleasure to meet you.¡±

    ¡°I wish I could say the same, I reply wryly, ¡°but I¡¯m not sure that would be truthful given the circumstances. I¡¯d rather be with my friends right now, not staring down the threat of torture and interrogation.¡± Nonetheless, I clasp his offered hand. It only seems polite.

    ¡°Is that what people think we do?¡± he says, chuckling and shaking his head as though I¡¯ve told the best joke he¡¯s heard all day. ¡°Relax! I don¡¯t bite.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what people with unfriendly dogs like to say,¡± I mutter, but he ignores me.

    ¡°Now, I¡¯ll ask some questions, I¡¯ll write up a report that probably lets you off the hook, and then I¡¯ll close the file and hope my superiors leave you alone. There¡¯s no point dragging some kid from the frontier into the mess that passes for Capital politics.¡±

    ¡°Forgive my skepticism,¡± I say, shifting from the grass to a nearby log. I stretch out my legs with a soft groan. ¡°Somehow, I doubt that¡¯s all there is to your plan.¡±

    ¡°Truly, you wound me!¡± Casella replies. ¡°You¡¯re also pretty sharp; you¡¯re right to be wary, but not because I mean you harm. My partner is still back in Silaraon keeping watch on your friends to see how they react to your sudden disappearance. I¡¯ve found that guilty people tend to rush to cover up things when they think we¡¯re not watching. Why should I work hard when they¡¯ll do my job for me?¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°So you do want to discover the truth. Why all the nonchalance earlier?¡±

    ¡°Of course I want to find out the truth, but that¡¯s just me. I¡¯m here on orders, obviously, and what my commanding officers decide to do with the information that I report may or may not have anything to do with the truth. Now, do you want a snack first, or are you ready to spin a yarn about your adventure in the Rift?¡±

    ¡°Not much to tell that I didn¡¯t already report to the Silaraon city guards,¡± I say slowly, my mind racing as I try to figure out how much to include. After Ezio¡¯s warning, there¡¯s no way that I¡¯m telling him about the PPP, not to mention Tem¡¯s bizarre [Accord] with the Wraith as we tried to make our way out of the labyrinth.

    Casella levels a stern glare at me, and suddenly he looks less like a friendly uncle and more like an officer in the royal army ¡°Humor me, Nuri. It will go better for you if you do¡ªand for your friends.¡±

    I bound to my feet, pulling on my [Heat Manipulation] to drop the temperature in the area to bone-chilling territory. The siphoned-off heat gathers in my right hand until the air shimmers and warps from the energy build up. ¡°If you harm a single one of my friends, then I swear I¡¯ll burn you alive.¡±

    Casella just chuckles and leans back against the fallen tree trunk. ¡°Lad, I would never have made it to my position if I weren¡¯t durable enough to handle an artisan who hasn¡¯t even hit his first threshold yet.¡±

    Despite my [Heat Manipulation], my cheeks burn in shame at his casual dismissal of my threat rating. I don¡¯t lower my hand, however, although the amount of mana I¡¯m funneling into the Skill means that I¡¯ll have to find a target for it soon, or become more adept at deconstructing the potentially lethal spell and reclaiming my unused mana.

    ¡°Spec into an [Assassin] Class and give it twenty years,¡± Casella continues, pulling his glove back on and rubbing his hands together as frost creeps across his armor, ¡°and maybe I¡¯ll feel a threat. Until then, you might as well try being amicable and having a proper conversation. We¡¯re all adults here.¡±

    ¡°You call threatening me a proper conversation?¡± I snap. I cut off the active mana to my Skill, but I maintain a firm grip on the trembling ball of compressed fire in front of me. It¡¯s the closest thing to an offensive display I¡¯ve ever managed, and I think it may even impress a low level [Fire Mage].

    ¡°I¡¯m not making threats. I promise you that. I¡¯m simply trying to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation if you lie to me or leave something out,¡± Casella insists. ¡°I have no intention of making your life more difficult, but I do need to get to the bottom of what¡¯s going on out here. Help me out so that I can recall my colleague before he has to take action.¡±

    ¡°How is that not a threat?¡± I point out, starting to sweat from maintaining the fiery orb. ¡°I noticed you didn¡¯t try to reassure me that my friends won¡¯t be harmed. You make it sound like the [Inquisitors] don¡¯t deserve a shady reputation, but you¡¯re not doing much to improve your standing in my eyes.¡±

    Casella sighs wearily. ¡°That¡¯s because I can¡¯t ever guarantee anything absolutely. I have no idea what he¡¯s going to do back there, other than respond appropriately to the situations he finds himself in. Assuming your friends aren¡¯t dumb enough to try to kill him, then they should be just fine. But if they make a scene, or if you don¡¯t give me the full story, and someone up the chain of command sees fit to come all the way out here, then you¡¯ll wish that you were talking with someone as reasonable as I am. Understand?¡±

    I clench my jaw, still not happy with Casella, but his explanation makes a certain sense to me. I let my [Heat Manipulation] go, flinging the excess build up of energy into a pile of sticks and broken brush around the fallen tree Casella¡¯s leaning on. The dry timber burst into flame.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the campfire sorted,¡± Casella says cheerfully. He graces me with another of his wide, toothy smiles, and it seems genuine enough that I smile back.

    ¡°You said everything will be fine as long as my friends aren¡¯t dumb. Well, that¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m worried about.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯re saying the same about you,¡± Casella chuffs. ¡°No wonder Tem turned out the way he did. Everyone from these parts seems to be crazy. Do you all have some sort of collective death wish?¡±

    ¡°No, I just don¡¯t like being pushed around and threatened. No Silaraon citizen does. Tem¡¯s the same way, I¡¯ll wager.¡±

    ¡°Aye, he always was,¡± Casella confirms. He scoots closer to the fire, extending his hands and melting off the thin coat of rime that built up when I sucked away the heat.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t done anything wrong. And neither has Tem,¡± I insist, meeting his eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re likely correct, or at least half right,¡± Casella says. He frowns. ¡°You know what the problem is with getting halfway to the truth? Well, it¡¯s still halfway a lie. Something happened in that labyrinth. Something is threatening the stability of the realm. If it wasn¡¯t you, and it wasn¡¯t Tem, well then, it¡¯s the most suspicious timing I¡¯ve ever heard of in my entire career. And, a bit of friendly advice for you, Nuri, I didn¡¯t make it this far in my career because I¡¯m easily duped. If something looks suspicious, it usually is.¡±

    I nod slowly, understanding where he¡¯s coming from, but still hesitant to let slip details of our labyrinth escape that may come back to haunt me. ¡°Why should I tell you anything? You¡¯ve already labeled Tem a traitor. Whatever I do or don¡¯t say from here on out probably won¡¯t make any difference. You¡¯ve made up your mind about Tem, and you¡¯ve very likely made up your mind about me, too. Might as well just get on with whatever you¡¯re going to do.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, that¡¯s a fine speech,¡± Casella says mildly. ¡°Believe it or not, I¡¯m not a judge, jury, and executioner. I don¡¯t know what you think I do, but my job is to uncover the truth. I find the facts and I report them up the chain. Now, as I mentioned earlier, I¡¯m not naive enough to think that the [Inquisitors] are infallible. Somewhere above my pay grade, someone might well use this information for nefarious ends. Human nature is what it is.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s probably the most honest thing you¡¯ve said all afternoon,¡± I say.

    ¡°Look, I get it. You don¡¯t trust us. You think we¡¯re manipulative or murderous. And we are, sometimes. I expect some level of corruption; it¡¯s just how the world works. That doesn¡¯t mean that it has to be me who succumbs to the temptations of power, though. It also doesn¡¯t mean that my actions are meaningless. If nine out of ten¡ªor more¡ªof my operations get to the heart of the matter and make the world a better place, am I to blame for the malpractice of someone else in my order for the one thing that gets twisted? Nah, I don¡¯t think so. I keep things simple and straightforward. You understand me?¡±

    ¡°Then why go through the [Cloak and Dagger] routine?¡± I demand. ¡°What¡¯s the point of all this if you claim that you¡¯re just going to let me go. Let¡¯s just skip to that part. Surely you have more important things to do than scaring a bunch of young men and women in a tiny city on the edge of the borderlands.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t decide what¡¯s important, I just follow what my commanding officer tells me to do,¡± Casella says. ¡°She ordered me to come talk to you. My partner has orders to scout out the town. That¡¯s what I¡¯m doing, and if people talk about my work, then I¡¯ll sound like I showed up in great pomp and put the fear of the abyss into you.¡± He winks, and I find myself grinning back.

    ¡°You¡¯re irritatingly likable,¡± I grumble, and he bursts into a deep belly laugh.

    ¡°Thank you, Nuri. I like to think so, too. That said, we do have to have a conversation about the Rift and about Tem. I¡¯m trying to be reasonable about it, believe it or not. We did the song and dance for anyone who might have been watching, but now that we¡¯re out of sight, we can talk normally here, man to man. How does that sound?¡±

    ¡°That I can do,¡± I finally allow, seeing no way around it.

    Casella nods. He digs around in his satchel and withdraws a cylinder of finely etched metal that¡¯s as long as my hand and tapers to a spike on one end. He stabs the spike into the ground and thumbs an activation rune on the top. A shimmering blue beam of mana, faintly visible to the naked eye, but akin to a bonfire in my [Lesser Manasight], pulses out at regular intervals like a beacon in the sky.

    ¡°There. My partner will know that we¡¯re in progress, and he¡¯ll make his way to us when his job is done in town.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the range on that?¡± I ask, intrigued despite myself by the artifact. Ever since Ezio started opening my mind to the wonders of combining magic and technology, I¡¯ve been intrigued to learn more. I wonder what I can craft in the future if I learn more mana control as well as how the world works. What can I imbue? Most tools I¡¯ve seen use a metal construction, since metal seems more conductive to mana, but I¡¯ll bet I can achieve similar results with glass, specifically if I put in small metal filaments to prove the mana flow.

    ¡°Not sure, Nuri,¡± Casella admits cheerfully. ¡°I make a point to never read the technical specs; those documents are as dry and boring as an old piece of rawhide left in the sun. Pretty sure it can reach from here to well past Silaraon, though.¡± He furrows his brow and tugs on his earlobe, as though thinking it over. ¡°Maybe we could signal to the border of Naftali if we don¡¯t encounter any interference.¡±

    I whistle long and low. ¡°How are you able to boost the range like that? It¡¯s far beyond any Skill I¡¯ve heard of. How do you cut through the interference of other mana aspects? Is it a hybrid Skill, or an inscribed enchantment? And what about your partner? Does he have a Skill to pick up on it from this kind of range? What sort of sensitivity does he have to external mana? And¡ª¡±

    Casella holds up a hand to stop me, his eyes growing wider by the second. ¡°Whoa there, Nuri. You¡¯re talking to the wrong person! I see why Tem liked you, though. He always did have a keen mind, although he usually leaves the fiddly bits to [Scholars] and [Researchers]. But that does make me curious about you.¡±

    Mana shimmers across his eyes for a heartbeat, a dizzying array of aspected threads in a pattern too complex for me to follow. ¡°Huh. You¡¯re neither an [Artificer] nor a [Scientist], despite asking questions just like they might. How is it that you¡¯re still an [Assistant] and haven¡¯t passed your first Threshold? You seem like a bright young man.¡±

    I inch closer to the fire, warming my hands by the cheery yellow and red flames as I think about how to answer his question. It¡¯s not particularly cold out, but there¡¯s something comforting about natural warmth. I don¡¯t feel like using my [Heat Manipulation] anymore, not since Casella¡¯s brows creased the instant I channeled. He¡¯s an affable man, but if he senses a threat, he could snuff me out faster than I can pinch a candle.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Truth be told, it¡¯s not a very flattering picture. I was just wandering, lost in my own mind after my parents died, and instead of putting in work to increase my Skill¡ªwell, I just floundered for a while. I wanted life to come a little easier; I felt like I was owed something after going through the pain and frustration of losing my family. It wasn¡¯t until I started taking responsibility for myself and actually putting in work that I earned a second Skill a few months back.¡±

    Casella¡¯s eyes glimmer with Mana again, and he tilts his big head to the side, his bushy hite eyebrows raised. ¡°And yet you have three Skills now. If you earned another one already, then your Potential is full to brimming over. You¡¯re liable to hit your next Threshold any moment at this rate! Any ideas what you¡¯ll do when you have the potency to claim your next Class?¡±

    My jaw slackens, and I catch myself just staring at Casella. I wasn¡¯t sure what exactly he was doing the first time, but now that I¡¯ve seen it again, I¡¯m absolutely certain that he can peer right down into my inner world. ¡°How did you do that? Is that one of your Class Skills? And is that something only [Inquisitors] can learn how to do, or could I gain this ability if I rank up my [Lesser Manasight]?¡±

    Casella strokes his square chin. ¡°Depends. I can¡¯t always see the exact names of Skills and Classes. Usually, it depends on the difference in levels. Since you haven¡¯t gone through your first Threshold, though, I can read you like an open book! You still have [Lesser Manasight], so any potential upgrade is a long way off. Until you find a way to tier that up and potentially add a supporting Skill or combine it and form an Aggregate, then you won¡¯t be able to [Appraise] someone else¡¯s private information. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll have enough time together for me to teach you how it works¡ªnor do I think my superior officers will appreciate it very much if I disseminate proprietary intel. I¡¯ve probably said too much already.¡±

    I nod, completely understanding the delicate position I¡¯ve put him in with my questions. He could have simply ignored me, but he¡¯s clearly working to build rapport. ¡°How soon until I can get back to my friends?¡± I ask, changing tactics in hopes that we can get this all over with soon.

    I like Casella, but I still don¡¯t trust him. If anything, I¡¯m even more on edge now after I¡¯ve witnessed his openness than I was when I expected a proper [Inquisitor] like in the stories. Idly, I wonder if I¡¯m a sucker for falling for his ploy, but it¡¯s better I talk with him than with a true zealot who¡¯s already decided that Tem and I are guilty.

    ¡°Give it a few days at the very least. I can¡¯t bring you back too soon, or else no one will believe that I was thorough. I don¡¯t want charges of favoritism¡ªit¡¯s already bad enough that I know Tem from back in the day.¡±

    I scrunch up my nose as I give him a sideways look. ¡°So why did they send you then?¡±

    He shrugs his massive shoulders. ¡°I was the only one nearby, so my little squad was assigned the job. Had they vetted me a little bit more rigorously, which to be fair would require that they go back more than two decades, then they probably would have noticed that I¡¯m quite friendly with their newly announced traitor.¡±

    ¡°If you know Tem so well, then why go through this charade? You know he wouldn¡¯t do anything to hurt innocent people.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not strictly true,¡± Casella replies slowly, and his face clouds over with doubt for the first time since I¡¯ve met him. ¡°He¡¯ll do whatever he thinks is necessary to complete missions he believes in, Nuri. He¡¯s a friend, or was, and he¡¯s shown good judgment in the past, but he¡¯s also as ruthless and practical as anyone I¡¯ve ever known. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s a traitor, but I do find it likely he was forced to make tough decisions.¡±

    I swallow hard, remembering our desperate fights, the heart-pounding run through the dark in the maze-like labyrinth, and coming face to face with an enemy that I thought lived only in fairy tales. The terrifying visage of the Captain looms above me suddenly in my mind, and I shudder involuntarily.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me about what you saw?¡± Casella prompts gently. When I don¡¯t reply, he sighs, shaking his head sadly. ¡°We don¡¯t have to rough it the whole time, you know. You could accompany me back to the barracks if you¡¯d like. I¡¯m not trying to make you miserable. The sooner you talk, the sooner this is all over.¡±

    I shake my head, start to speak, and then think better of it. He quirks an eyebrow, and I groan. ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll go with the honest reply. Tempting offer, but I¡¯d rather not surround myself with more minders. If I have to get away, you¡¯re already a tough task to escape. I don¡¯t trust any of you. At all.¡±

    ¡°Wise,¡± he says, winking. ¡°But I¡¯m serious, Nuri. You can¡¯t hold out forever. If you don¡¯t talk with me, they¡¯ll send someone else. I¡¯m the closest thing to a sympathetic ear you¡¯re going to get.¡±

    ¡°If I don¡¯t have a choice, then maybe the barracks are better after all. At least it will be comfortable. And I assume you¡¯ll feed me?¡± I tease.

    Casella rumbles with amusement. ¡°Considering you were picnicking next to the arena and had training weapons with you, I would have thought you were made of sterner stuff. How exactly did you survive in a Rift if you can¡¯t even camp outside for a couple days?¡±

    ¡°I respond well to pressure, I guess.¡± We share a knowing chuckle; we¡¯ve both seen our share of tough times. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I look for pressuring situations. I like to be comfortable as much as the next man.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. I can¡¯t fault a man for not wanting to sleep on the hard ground or shiver through cold nights without a blanket.¡±

    ¡°Cold isn¡¯t an issue,¡± I insist, wrapping myself in a layer of warmth with an extremely slow and cautious application of [Heat Manipulation]. Casella tenses for a moment, his hand drifting toward his weapon, then visibility forces himself to relax at my gentle, obviously non-threatening Skill activation.

    ¡°Handy little Skill,¡± he remarks, gesturing toward me with his chin. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see that you¡¯re using that outside of the studio. You wouldn¡¯t believe how many [Artisans] I¡¯ve met who stagnate because they think their Class and their Skills are only useful in a specific context. Tem probably told you this, but if you push yourself to use your abilities in unorthodox ways and at all times, then they¡¯ll grow like nothing else. It¡¯s just like exercise: if you want to get strong, then you have to put in the time. The best way to rank them up is to train them incessantly. You¡¯re on the cusp of taking the next step, Nuri. Keep grinding.¡±

    I clamp my jaw shut before I cave in to his demands. I¡¯m dangerously close to giving in and telling him everything. There¡¯s something about Casella that makes me want to like and trust him, and I surreptitiously activate my [Lesser Manasight] and begin scanning myself to see if I¡¯m under the influence of a Skill that lowers my guard or engenders false loyalty.

    Nothing shows up, but he¡¯s already mentioned that level and threshold disparity is often enough to overcome an otherwise functional Skill. Or to enhance its effects, if used against a target far weaker than yourself, I think to myself cynically. For all I know, he¡¯s playing me like a flute, and there¡¯s nothing I can do about it.

    ¡°Now,¡± Casella says, standing abruptly and producing two blunted blades from out of nowhere¡ªhe must have a storage skill just like Tem. ¡°Let¡¯s see if your training is worth anything. If we¡¯re going to spend the next few days together, then we might as well put you through your paces to see what you¡¯re made of.¡±

    =+=

    That night, I stretch out in the dirt. no longer caring about the hard ground. What are creature comforts to the battered and bruised? I¡¯m too exhausted to even think about asking for dinner. I groan softly. I thought Ember was bad, but Casella¡¯s on a wholly different level, pressing me mercilessly with his weapon and never letting me get sloppy with my guard. Every opening he exploits with a sharp smack. He¡¯s an expert at using the rest of his body in conjunction with his blades, trapping my limbs, kicking me in the chest, unloading surprise hip throws, or smashing his elbows to my face. One time he head-butted me so hard we had to stop and wipe up the blood pouring down my forehead before I could see again.

    ¡°If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d think you were trying to kill me,¡± I mutter into the dirt.

    ¡°You did well, Nuri. If you ever wanted to join us, you could make a career among the [Inquisitors]. I¡¯m always on the lookout for talent.¡±

    ¡°No thanks. I¡¯m a glass maker, not a military man.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re curious, wary of authority, and unafraid of a fight you can¡¯t win. That combination doesn¡¯t work so well among the enlisted men, but it¡¯s perfect for what we do,¡± Casella replies with a soft chuckle. That¡¯s one of the things I like about him. He¡¯s always friendly, always sounds amused¡ªsomething about it stirs deeply-repressed memories of my father, a man of warmth and joy and indomitable spirit.

    ¡°Not interested,¡± I insist, but I can¡¯t deny that some part of me craves an enthusiastic teacher. I appreciate everything Ember¡¯s done for me, but she¡¯s training me grudgingly.

    ¡°Eat up, boy,¡± Casella rumbles, nudging me gently in the ribs with his boot. ¡°Your body¡¯s got to rebuild strength. You¡¯re on the verge of your next threshold; don¡¯t go starving yourself and delaying your advancement. You put in good work today and I¡¯ll not have it go to waste.¡±

    A small voice in the back of my mind warns that this is all a trick, and he¡¯s probably put a truth serum in the food, but I snort and push it aside. The delta of power between us is so great that he doesn¡¯t need to resort to tricks if he wants to force information from me.

    I roll over with a groan and gratefully accept the offered jerky and hardtack he hands me. It¡¯s tough chewing, and I worry for a bit that I¡¯m going to chip a tooth or strain my jaw muscles, but the food fills me with unexpected warmth and a burst of energy. Whatever this stuff is, it¡¯s more than simple soldiers¡¯ fare. I sense my mana regeneration boosted significantly, and new energy seeps into my muscles.

    ¡°This is incredible!¡± I say, speaking around a mouthful of the tough food.

    Casella chuckles at my wide-eyed wonderment. ¡°What, did you think I was going to leave you in such a pitiful state? I still have questions for you. Don¡¯t even think about sleeping yet, Nuri. We¡¯ve had our fun. Now, I need to take down your full report.¡±

    My chewing slows down, and I glance around for a distraction, but his tone brooks no objection. I take my time finishing the food, trying to compose my thoughts. I¡¯d always intended to give him the runaround, but I¡¯m no longer as antagonistic as I was. I swallow my last bite and turn to face him. ¡°So, that¡¯s the plan, then? Build some personal connections, knock me around a bit, teach me a few things and dangle even more details just out of reach, and flatter me about my paltry Skills until I go ahead and spill the entire story about Tem?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he says bluntly, not even trying to hide his trickery.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say it seems to be working,¡± I reply bitterly, embarrassed at how easily he¡¯s managed to sway me. But I simply don¡¯t see the point of resisting any longer.

    ¡°I¡¯m not your enemy. Nuri,¡± Casella says softly.

    Somehow, I find myself believing Casella. Even if this is all an elaborate ruse just to get me to talk, I can¡¯t deny its effectiveness. Against my better judgment, I begin to recount the tale of how we encountered the Shadow Jaguars, fought the wraiths, and found the Rift. He leans forward, his eyes shining in excitement¡ªor maybe that¡¯s just the reflection of the campfire?¡ªas I tell him about fending off the monsters inside the Rift, describe the way Tem taught me how to survive, and explain how he saved my life time and again.

    My voice chokes up as I tell Casella about entering the labyrinth and stumbling through the cloying darkness. His cheek twitches as I talk about fighting the wraiths and finding the control room, and I can almost imagine him drawing his weapon right then and there to leap into battle on our behalf. Suppressing a flash of guilt, I leave out the details about the PPP, unwilling to open that particular box of chaos and questions. I do break down, though, and tell him about the concussive charges that Tem set off, wincing as I realize that it probably served as the nail in the coffin of the case against him.

    Casella simply nods, apparently unsurprised by my final, explosive revelation. ¡°Trading instability in order to delay an Incursion. It¡¯s not ideal, but it¡¯s probably worth it. He¡¯s bought time for us to mount a proper defense. He¡¯s always been a crafty old fox. I¡¯ll put it in the best terms I can in my report. If I have my way, we¡¯ll march out a legion to stymie those void buggers. That¡¯s a double edged sword, though. Hmm.¡± He trails off, lost in thought.

    ¡°May I ask a question?¡± I venture, When Casella nods, I take a deep breath and forge on ahead. ¡°What¡¯s going on with Tem? Why is he so persecuted for seemingly no reason? Is it legitimate? He seems like a good man to me. But first he got kicked out of his squad, and now he¡¯s facing treason charges. Why?¡±

    Casella scowls, and a dark nimbus of oppressive power swirls around his head. It¡¯s so reminiscent of Ember that I¡¯m convinced it¡¯s a shared Skill¡ªperhaps something unique to the royal army. Now there¡¯s a destructive Skill I¡¯d love to pick up!

    Casella shakes his big, square head. His gravelly voice comes out more strained than usual. ¡°Tem cares not one whit for politics, and that¡¯s his undoing. He cares about the country. He cares about his friends. He cares about the army. I can¡¯t imagine a single scenario in which he would take actions against country or creed for any malicious reason. But he¡¯s bullheaded and won¡¯t listen to reason; he refuses to play political games, and people resent him for it.¡±

    I snort. ¡°So he¡¯s just so pure-hearted that the world isn¡¯t good enough for him? I¡¯m not sure that I buy that.¡±

    ¡°Ha! No, that¡¯s not it, either. He just cares about getting things done. As I said he doesn¡¯t give one whit about politics¡ªand that¡¯s a double-edged sword. It means he doesn¡¯t get involved in plots and schemes, but it also means he doesn¡¯t care who he ticks off. He¡¯s famously, ah, single-minded in the pursuit of getting a job done. Sometimes that rubs people the wrong way.¡±

    ¡°I thought diplomacy was a necessary skill for a [Scout]. Tem¡¯s done infiltration missions before in other countries. How does he do that without the ability to talk to people? It seems like a job requirement, to some extent, to know how to play politics.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s different, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°How! It all sounds the same to me,¡± I insist.

    ¡°No. That¡¯s just a game in service of the mission. When it comes to his real life, to his friends and his interactions, Tem doesn¡¯t play around like that.¡±

    ¡°So, what¡¯s his actual crime?¡± I say, pushing for answers.

    Casella shrugs. ¡°He¡¯s been caught in the fallout between rival factions. My money is on the Thaumaturge Compact. They want him gone because he¡¯s dangerous. It¡¯s his fault, in a way; he hates their petty games, so he plays up his reputation in order to be more respected in the Capital. Nothing gets you out of boring dinner parties like your hosts fearing for their lives. But I think it backfired on him.¡±

    ¡°Oh? He¡¯s too big of a threat?¡± I guess.

    Casella nods, confirming the suspicions I¡¯ve harbored for a while. ¡°Consider: if you¡¯re a [Mage], and you want the [King]¡¯s ear, wouldn¡¯t you want to remove the biggest threat against [Mages] in the entire country? Tem has a well-earned reputation for being a [Mage]-killer.¡±

    ¡°They already exiled him. Isn¡¯t that good enough?¡± I protest.

    ¡°Exile may have been enough,¡± Casella says slowly, ¡°at least, until he started meddling with Rifts again. That¡¯s a step too far.¡±

    ¡°Again?¡± I echo, my interest piqued. ¡°He mentioned that he¡¯s been inside Rifts many times, but I¡¯m not sure what you mean by meddling, unless he has some sort of history of causing problems that I¡¯m not aware of¡ªand I¡¯ve read his biography a couple times.¡±

    ¡°Misdirection,¡± Casella says, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

    ¡°Even so, I spent an intense few days bonding with him while fighting for our lives in the Rift and escaping the labyrinth. He . . . he sacrificed himself so that I could go free. I¡¯m not going to speak ill of the dead.¡±

    ¡°Not dead,¡± Casella says instantly. ¡°No one survives like Tem Cytekin.¡±

    ¡°I hope you¡¯re right.¡± I pick at a tuft of grass with my fingers absentmindedly, looking for a way to change the subject. Talking about Tem makes me sad, and there¡¯s nothing that hurts like hope. If I don¡¯t get my expectations up, then they can¡¯t hurt me later.

    I lick my lips and cough to clear my throat. ¡°You don¡¯t seem very good at your job, you know. This is the worst interrogation I¡¯ve ever sat through.¡±

    Casella just laughs. ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m just a kindly old man. But with respect, I¡¯m extremely good at my job. I got my answers. And you will not escape, so you might as well get some rest. We¡¯ll get some sleep and meet up with my teammate, Mbukhe, once we¡¯re up tomorrow. Don¡¯t try to run off or play the hero.¡±

    I nod slowly, unsure what else to say. I find myself liking Casella even if he represents to me something of a terrifying unknown. I can¡¯t exactly call him an enemy, but even after telling him as much as I have, it¡¯s hard to trust him. I¡¯ve always considered myself a loyal, generally-patriotic young man, although I don¡¯t burn with nationalistic fervor, but [Inquisitors] have a reputation for a reason.

    We stare at the campfire until it dies down to embers. Casella banks it for the night and tosses me a spare blanket. I finally speak up again just before sleep. ¡°This isn¡¯t how I thought it would go. I¡¯d prepared myself to travel to the Capital, to take in the sights, and to make some heroic stand defending Tem to a jury of his peers. Instead I¡¯m curled up next to a campfire talking with an old man who could be a friendly grandfather!¡±

    ¡°Watch yourself, lad. I¡¯m not that old!¡± Casella protests, but like everything else he does, even his warnings are tinged in mirth.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the right answer is to anything anymore. You¡¯re not what I expected. I still want to get back to my friends. We have to keep training and become stronger if we¡¯re going to find Tem and keep people safe from the Incursions. I just want everyone to be all right. Is that so much to ask?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a good place to start. Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯m behind on my beauty rest.¡± With that pronouncement, Casella rolls over and soon starts snoring, apparently unconcerned about sleeping in the middle of the wilderness, potentially surrounded by wild beasts. He sleeps as easily as a baby curled up in her father¡¯s arms, a mental image that makes me smile. He leaves me alone with my thoughts, and I soon join him in slumber.

    =+=

    The next morning, Casella¡¯s teammate rejoins us. Mbukhe is wiry and unremarkable; every one of his features are as average and normal as I can imagine. My eyes seem to slide past him, and it gives me a headache to focus on him long enough to actually get a good look. When I finally do, I almost pass out from dizziness.

    ¡°Good perception,¡± he says, nodding slightly in acknowledgement. They¡¯re the only words he¡¯s said to me the entire morning.

    ¡°Nothing suspicious among his friends?¡± Casella asks.

    Mbukhe shakes his head, suddenly visible without the extra effort. A cloaking Skill? ¡°They¡¯re clean. As expected, we¡¯re chasing dead ends.¡±

    ¡°He must like you, Nuri,¡± Casella says. ¡°Not many people get to see Mbukhe in the flesh like this. You¡¯ve impressed him with your effort.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m honored,¡± I say. Flattery is almost always a safe choice among strangers.

    ¡°Not a very truthful man, this one,¡± Mbukhe says, chuckling drily. He fades back into an uneasy obscurity. Oops. Turns out that flattery wasn¡¯t the right choice for once.

    ¡°So a waste of time?¡± Casella says, pressing on with his questioning, a piece of paper in his hands. He¡¯s writing with a condensed mana pen, just like Tem, I note with interest.

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Mbukhe says, drifting into my sight. He fishes out a bit of hardtack from Casella¡¯s travel pack and crunches down, replenishing his resources. ¡°The [Merchant] from Naftali? He¡¯s good. Quiet. I saw him snooping around at Nuri¡¯s house, but he seemed spooked by something and left before I could observe properly¡ªalmost lost me twice on his way back to his inn. Worth watching.¡±

    ¡°Wait, do you mean Padouk?¡± I ask, a frisson of shock shooting through me.

    ¡°You have many other [Merchant] friends?¡± Mbukhe asks, sounding amused. He tears off another chunk from his hardtack, chewing with determination.

    I frown, scratching at my beard. ¡°He¡¯s from Naftali? That¡¯s news to me.¡±

    Casella claps a big hand on my shoulder. ¡°When you return, keep an eye on that one, Nuri. Padouk, you said? Naftali has been posturing lately, and Padouk sounds like an agent to me. He¡¯s more than a simple [Merchant] if the esteemed tracker Mbukhe had difficulty tailing him. Stay on guard, my friend. Something¡¯s up, and if Naftali is involved, then it likely means trouble.¡±

    I shrug and offer a resigned smile. ¡°What else is new? Trouble is just another day of the week at this point.¡±

    Casella and Mbukhe exchange a worried glance. It¡¯s quick, but it makes me sit up and take note. If the pair of formidable [Inquisitors] are concerned, then what chance do I have of surviving what¡¯s to come? I shrink down in my seat, gnawing on my own piece of hardtack, and pull my blanket closer around me. It¡¯s not cold, but I¡¯m shivering anyway. I hope that my friends will be all right without me.

 B2 C6: The Gang Gets Back Together

    Casella drops me off in the same place he took me from originally, touching down on the green hillside above the arena far more lightly than his previous landing and making me wonder if he was just messing with me before. I stretch my sore shoulders and wince at the chafing from the harness, but my discomfort is balanced by the rush of relief as I look out across the city. It¡¯s good to be back, even though my team has long since departed the training arena and I¡¯m standing awkwardly on my own.

    True to his word, Casella departs without requiring anything further from me, jetting away in a rush of turbid, golden mana. The Silaraon city guard approaches soon after, converging on my position with more urgency than I¡¯ve seen from them in a while.

    A grim-faced [Captain of the Guard] takes down my story, his brows raised in incredulity as I describe, with some key redactions, the friendly interrogation I endured. ¡°Concerning all around. Silaraon doesn¡¯t see many [Inquisitors]. The news of your arrest¡ªand return¡ªwill send ripples through Silaraon for some time. More work for me, unfortunately. At least your boss will stop pestering me now.¡±

    After extracting a promise that I¡¯ll stay around the city in case they have any further questions, the [Captain] sends me on my way to the glass studio so I can set Ember¡¯s mind at ease. She¡¯s apparently been on their case nonstop, requesting that they file a formal complaint about my arrest. She¡¯s also been trying to whip up support for a search and rescue party on my behalf, according to the talkative [Captain], who enjoyed commiserating about his work.

    The thought of my friends searching for me puts a huge grin on my face as I trot down the hill and head across town to the crafters quarters. For all her gruffness, Ember treats me like family. What more could I truly ask for?

    As soon as I push open the door and step inside, a mob greets me. Ember rushes over, the team in tow, and I¡¯m dumbstruck with emotion. Were they waiting for me?

    ¡°Glad to see that [Captain] Greyson stayed true to his word and let me know you were back. I gathered your friends when we heard the news.¡± She stops just before they reach me, holding out an arm to slow down my team, however. Ember peers at me, looking into my eyes intently, as though she¡¯s studying my soul now that I¡¯ve returned. ¡°Circulate your mana. Do you feel any foreign influences, or anything out of the ordinary?¡±

    My gut clenches, and my suspicions about the [Inquisitors] comes roaring back to the fore. I swallow, spin up my mana, and activate my [Lesser Manasight]. A tense few moments pass as I catalogue every nook and cranny of my interior, but I finally shake my head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d be able to tell if I were still under the effects of a Skill, however. Casella didn¡¯t exactly seem incompetent.¡±

    ¡°First name basis already?¡± Lionel teases. ¡°I suppose you make friends a bit faster these days. You¡¯re like a lodestone for trouble, though, aren¡¯t you, Nuri? Well, at least you got your wish; nothing¡¯s boring anymore.¡±

    I chuckle wryly. ¡°If I ever complain about life being boring again, just smack me. I think I''ve had my fill of adventure for a while.¡±

    ¡°I''m afraid our adventures are only beginning,¡± says Melina. ¡°There was another chaotic storm while you were gone, just like you described from the other day. I don''t think stability or safety are in our near future. Like it or not, we''re on the front lines against the void. Battle is coming, and we have a job to do to keep this place safe.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the Silaraon City Guard¡¯s job,¡± Ember cuts in. ¡°I want you to promise to take care of each other, not charge in and do something stupid. I¡¯m not taking the time to teach you to fight so that you can throw away your lives. I want you to survive, not suffer heroic deaths.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t fight what¡¯s coming,¡± I say, gathering my thoughts as I scan the room full of old friends and coworkers. ¡°But we can protect the people who matter to us.¡± My voice grows husky as my throat closes up, and it takes me a moment to recover. ¡°Not all the fights take place on a battlefield. We''ve gotta be ready to act if the violence spills over. Who else will stick up for common folk like us?¡±

    Avelina puts the back of her hand to my forehead, as though she¡¯s feeling for a fever, and frowns. ¡°Whatever that [Inquisitor] did made Nuri sound responsible. Suspicious!¡±

    ¡°Teasing aside, I don''t like it, either,¡± her sister chimes in. ¡°Doesn¡¯t it simply seem a little too convenient that they pick him up and then let him go, just like that? I''d wager my Threshold advancement that he''s under some sort of [Compulsion] or [Reporting] Skill, or that we¡¯re still under surveillance.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Ember says slowly. She awkwardly puts a hand on my shoulder. ¡°I''m just glad you''re unharmed. I haven''t seen an [Inquisitor] like that for twenty years. Maybe more. We''re fortunate he didn''t have any ill intent, or else none of us would be standing here right now. They are terrors to fight. Believe me on that front.¡±

    ¡°Someday, I want to hear more about your past,¡± I say, meeting Ember¡¯s look. ¡°I want to know more about your time in the military. And more about my dad.¡±

    ¡°Not much to tell,¡± she says flatly, her face growing guarded in a way that screams that, yes, there is a lot to tell, but I don¡¯t want to dredge up the past.

    ¡°I know now¡¯s not the time, but I want to hear more,¡± I insist. ¡°You¡¯ve never talked about your early years much. I always thought you met my dad during his adventuring days. Did you serve together first?¡±

    Ember¡¯s jaw works back and forth. Finally she gives me a curt nod. ¡°We did adventure together for a short time. He wasn''t in the military with me, but he had all the signs of an army man. I''ve never lied to you, Nuri. I just don''t like talking about days gone by. Truth be told, we only worked a couple jobs before we ran into a buzzsaw of a monster that nearly took our team apart.¡±

    She grimaces and gestures toward her stomach. ¡°I still have scars underneath my tunic none of you are ever going to see. It¡¯s impossible to forget. We retired and discovered a new life here. Your father got married, had you, and died from that shattered mana poisoning plague. That''s about the sum of it. Before he passed, I promised him that I''d keep you safe. I don''t think we have that luxury anymore.¡±

    ¡°Did you and Dad ever go into a Rift? I ask, fascinated by the possibilities. ¡°Is that where you ran into the monster that tore apart the team?¡±

    ¡°Are you crazy?¡± Ember shakes her head, glancing around at the audience in clear discomfort at baring her soul in public. ¡°We stayed as far away from Rifts as we possibly could. We would never have gone in even if we ever discovered one. The most we did was searching through old ruins for scraps. Could we have maybe cleared out a layer? Certainly. But it¡¯s never worth the cost. We weren''t suicidal¡ªthe fact that you¡¯re still in one piece after entering a Rift boggles my mind. Your father would have been very proud to see how dedicated you''ve become since then.¡±

    I blush, but the praise is intoxicating. ¡°I think I''ve always taken for granted working with glass. How exactly did Dad go from an adventurer to working here? Of all the stories you''ve never told, that¡¯s the one I want to know the most. It''s perplexing! I¡¯m trying to do the opposite of what he did.¡±

    Ember snorts. ¡°That''s because you have it precisely backward. He didn''t go from being an adventurer to a [Glassworker]; he went from being an [Assistant Gaffer] to trying his hand at adventuring. He even made some crappy glass swords in the pursuit of copying those beauties up on the wall that you admire so much.¡±

    ¡°I guess I really am following in his footsteps,¡± I say softly.

    ¡°Yes, whether you knew it or not,¡± Ember confirms with a nod.

    ¡°Is that why you were so adamant about not letting me join the defense against the Jaguars, and so opposed to not training me to fight? You''re afraid I''ll run off and meet my end somewhere?¡±

    ¡°I suppose so,¡± Ember replies quietly. ¡°Sometimes blood just sings too strongly to resist.¡±

    =+=

    On our lunch break, I sit down in the grass at the top of my favorite little knoll, surrounded by my friends. Even Ember has joined us for once. We¡¯re overlooking the stream, quietly enjoying each other¡¯s company, and I¡¯m basking in the sunlight and enjoying a moment of peace. I¡¯m still stretching out my sore arms. Hanging from a harness isn¡¯t very pleasant. That experience¡ªI groan under my breath. I¡¯m not keen to repeat it again unless absolutely necessary, and definitely not twice in one week.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s next?¡± Lionel asks, pausing from devouring his roasted sausage and eggs wrapped in a thick flatbread. A bit of hot sauce dribbles down his chin, but he doesn¡¯t seem to notice, so I don¡¯t say anything.

    I take a slow, deep breath, still savoring the quiet. ¡°I think we would be best served to continue to hone our Skills. Let''s just put all this unpleasant business behind us for now. Until war breaks, there''s not much we can do other than better ourselves. Casella says I''m right on the cusp of leveling and gaining my first Threshold. I think it would be irresponsible not to make a push to finally join you in the ranks.¡±

    ¡°How can you be so calm?¡± Avelina asks. A touch of flame flickers up on her fingertips, and she stares into it with an intensity and anger that makes me shiver. ¡°How do you know the [Inquisitor] is telling you the truth? If his partner Mbukhe was staking out the city while you were gone, then what''s to say that he''s not still here? It seems like an elaborate ruse, but we¡¯re just the type of people to fall for it¡ªwe¡¯re all too trusting.¡±

    ¡°What other choice do we have? Either I take him at his word and get on with life, or we all jump at shadows and peer around every corner with never-ending suspicion. I don¡¯t know about the rest of you, but I''m not interested in adopting a lifestyle of paranoia.¡±

    Ember fiddles with her vambraces, tightening the straps and rolling her shoulders as though she''s preparing for a fight, even on her lunch break. ¡°You¡¯re both right, in a sense. Getting back to work is productive. Pushing for the next Threshold is essential¡ªboth as a glass maker and another potential fighter in the war. That said, there¡¯s merit to not taking everything at face value. I think you should stay in pairs as much as possible from now on and watch each other¡¯s backs.¡±

    Lionel wipes the hot sauce from his chin with a finger, licking it off before answering. ¡°Ha, so I¡¯m stuck with Nuri, huh? I guess it¡¯s my lot in life. I shall accept my fate with good cheer!¡±

    Ember coughs. ¡°Yes, well, the Linas are already a natural pairing.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m excited,¡± I say, casting Lionel a glance. He knows Ember doesn¡¯t find our teasing as endearing as we do. No sense putting her on edge unnecessarily.

    ¡°Nuri, I would recommend you spend as much time as you can with Lionel from now on without raising suspicions,¡± Ember continues. ¡°If your behaviors change too drastically, then they might catch on, but talking outside of work and maybe training more with Mikko is probably a good idea.¡±

    I nod at Ember¡¯s sensible advice. There''s still the niggling questions from Mbukhe about the [Merchant], Padouk, snooping about, but for Melina''s sake I''m not willing to voice any of the suspicions just yet. Maybe he was simply on his way over to speak with me about business arrangements? For all I know he caught sight of the [Inquisitor Infiltrator] and spooked. It''s not completely outside of the question that a [Merchant] would have some way of evading unwanted attention in case of unhappy buyers, I tell myself, but the excuse rings hollow in my mind.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Good ideas, Ember,¡± I say instead, keeping my accusations to myself until I can figure out more solid information. ¡°For now, I want to cling to some elements of normality. It would be nice to think that I can trust people, even if they haven''t really given anything indication they''re worthy of my trust.¡±

    ¡°Admirable, but don¡¯t get eaten up. It¡¯s a dangerous world out there,¡± Ember grunts.

    Once again silence settles over our squad, but this time it¡¯s less easy than it was a few moments earlier. We finish eating, brush off our crumbs, and follow Ember¡¯s lead. Come what may, it¡¯s time to get to work.

    =+=

    The next week finds us back in the shop, as usual, but we¡¯ve been given special dispensation to work on another pet project. Now that we have a little breathing room, it¡¯s time for our next goal: Create glass work without using our hands or any physical touch.

    The Linas, Lionel, and I are arrayed around a workbench, determined to push our Skills to the next level. ¡°I don¡¯t know if this kind of collaboration will even work, but I''m excited to see what happens,'''' I say, drumming my fingers on the table nervously.

    ¡°I''ve only ever held objects in place,¡± Melina admits. ¡°I¡¯ve never done anything like this.¡± Her voice comes out thin, the words too fast¡ªa rapid cadence that sounds more like the ratatat of a military drum sounding marching orders than her usual calm, considered composure.

    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± Lionel says cheerily. He places a handful of frits and glass chips on the table along with a sprinkling of iron oxides and other ingredients, then pulls out a little brass pocket watch with a faint, precise tick. ¡°Let''s time ourselves while we work. As I¡¯ve learned from Melina, we have to get a baseline to know if we¡¯ve improved. We''ll measure again in a week or two to see if we¡¯ve made progress.¡±

    ¡°Ezio will approve,¡± I say, nodding along. ¡°He loves establishing baselines. I think that man is more numbers than human¡ªno, that''s not quite fair. He likes researching seashells, too, apparently. But if it''s esoteric knowledge, or quantifiable results, he is all over it.¡±

    ¡°I''m still cross you haven''t introduced us,¡± Melina interjects, giving me a side eye.

    ¡°Look, once I have enough of the prototype armor to make an actual chest piece, then we¡¯ll go deliver the goods and you can come along. I¡¯ll make sure to sing your praises and tell him that you were indispensible to the work, which is true. But right now, I don''t think he''ll be very impressed. All I can make are little pieces the size of my fingers. I might have to transition to scales instead of full plate, but I¡¯m embarrassed to admit to him just yet that I¡¯ve hit a snag. I want to try to find a work around. The largest piece I''ve been able to transmute so far maybe covers my entire palm. It''s not even see-through, so I can''t even put it in a helmet and use it to protect my eyes.¡±

    ¡°Now there¡¯s an idea,¡± Lionel hums. He taps his chin with a long index finger. ¡°I wonder if we can adjust the composition of the filler? It works pretty well as a compression agent, but it does add to the opacity of the finished product.¡±

    ¡°Why don''t you just transform afterward with your Skill?¡± Avelina suggests. ¡°That way you can ensure that it¡¯s see-through once you''ve made it with the right structural integrity. Have you tried that yet? Changing its appearance should be easy as long as the actual substance is correct first. Right?¡±

    I chew on the inside of my lip for a moment while I consider her suggestion, then shake my head. ¡°No, I don''t think so. Structure contributes to the appearance; changing its outward look probably would require changing its actual function. I don''t think you can have one without the other, but I''ve been wrong before.¡±

    ¡°And will be again,¡± Lionel says with a chuckle, elbowing me in the ribs as we all share a much-needed laugh to break the growing tension.

    I wait for the good natured teasing to die down, and then clap my hands together. ¡°So! Let¡¯s start with something simple, like a cup.¡± I draw on my mana, feeding it into the Skill that''s been with me the longest. A nostalgic smile plays on my lips as the upgraded version of [Heat manipulation] activates and begins the process of melting the glass. The glass chips glow and wobble like jelly on a plate as I lean on the table. Their shapes deform further the higher the temperature goes, and I push on the Skill, compressing the mana to contain the heat to only affect the glass on the table.

    ¡°This is taking too long,'''' Avelina complains. With a rush of bright flames, a tongue of fire appears at the end of her fingertip. She melts the ingredients with a wild grin while I shield the team from the raging temperature with my [Heat Manipulation].

    Melina squints at the molten glass, tilting her head as she activates her own Skills. She¡¯s likely assessing the composition to ensure it¡¯s ready for the next step. Apparently satisfied, she raises her hands with a look of fierce concentration. The loose pieces on the table rattle, drawn inexorably toward one another like metal shavings to a magnet. Melina abruptly squeezes her fist; the materials crumple, crushed by some arcane pressure and forced to fuse together.

    ¡°Nice work!¡± I shout, louder than intended. I know the Linas are good, but this display of teamwork warms my heart. ¡°You don''t even need me for this project.¡±

    ¡°We do. You are the only one with [Manasight]. You have to keep an eye on what happens when something goes wrong. And you know it will. It¡¯s our first try,¡± Melina says.

    ¡°Ready to try your newest Skill?¡± I ask, nodding toward Lionel. ¡°I''m curious to see if it''ll work without touch, or on someone else''s composition at all. Probably should have asked about that before we jumped into this project.¡±

    Lionel presses his lips flat, forming a thin line as he stares at the glowing, hovering orb of molten glass. It¡¯s taking on a faint yellow-green tint that will fade into a darker green as it cools. He grits his teeth and pushes mana into the Skill as I follow along with my [Lesser Manasight], studying closely to see if it goes wrong.

    Tiny tendrils of mana unfurl from Lionel, delicately touching the surface of the glass and drawing a ghostly diagram in the air. More and more connections spin out from him, like thread unwinding from the spool. I watch in fascination as Lionel infuses the entire structure with excess mana, sweating as he pours power through the connections to try to reshape the ball of glass into [A Perfect Prototype].

    ¡°There¡¯s too much leakage,¡± I murmur. ¡°Stray mana is escaping from the Skill at an alarming, uncontrolled rate. I don''t think you¡¯ll be able to complete it without touch¡ªthat, or you need to improve your mana control once it leaves your body.¡±

    Lionel ignores my warning, too committed now to stop. His face is all screwed up in concentration, his brows furrowed together. He sticks out his tongue unconsciously as he tries harder, pushing more and more mana through the thread-like connections to the glass. The mana glows brightly in my [Lesser Manasight], but again the same mana-leakage problem arises. The Skill sputters, faltering halfway through the change.

    With a growl of frustration, Lionel cuts the Skill, but not before the wash of unrestrained, chaotic mana interferes with Melina¡¯s control. She yelps as the entire thing comes crashing down onto the workbench, splatting wet, goopy glass on the table like a dropped egg.

    ¡°More power isn''t the answer,¡± I affirm. ¡°If anything, extra mana only exacerbates the inefficiencies already there. You''re hoping to bridge the gap by just flooding the Skill with power, but the reality is that the energy loss only ramps up under these conditions. I don''t see a way around it, Lio. I''m sorry.¡±

    Lionel wipes the sweat off his forehead and laughs. ¡°All good! We¡¯re never going to grow unless we practice. Failure¡¯s just part of the process, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°All right, good first try. I appreciate your willingness to experiment, everyone,¡± I say with a broad smile. I¡¯m nodding at everyone to keep their spirits up, but they seem less frustrated by the mishap than I am. ¡°First we have to address Lionel¡¯s mana leakage before we try that again. Otherwise, I think we''re in good shape! We nearly got an actual shape, and on our first try no less! I''m really impressed with everyone''s skill and attitude.

    ¡°Mana leakage, huh?¡± Lionel says with one brow raised. ¡°That sounds like a problem I would hope to avoid until my old age. Can I get a diaper for it or something?¡± His eyes twinkle with mirth, his failure already behind him.

    ¡°Actually,¡± Melina says, drawing out the word as she winks at Lionel, ¡°yes, you can get a ¡®diaper¡¯ so to speak. They''re pricey, but we might be able to borrow one from Nuri¡¯s scholarly friend. It''s a type of glove that works almost like a lens, compressing the user¡¯s mana and focusing everything in the same direction. Much like a magnifying glass can focus sunlight into a fine enough point to start a fire, a focus glove draws the power into a single area, which should, in theory, mitigate against mana loss. It doesn''t make you more powerful, necessarily, but if we can borrow one from Ezio, then we might be able to get around Lionel¡¯s leakage by increasing the distance that the spell form travels before it all falls apart.¡±

    I whistle appreciatively. ¡°A focus glove? Now that sounds handy.¡±

    Loud groans meet my bad pun, but I just grin at my shameless joke. If a fellow can''t have some fun with his friends, then what''s the point?

    ¡°Right. I''ll talk with the good [Scholar] to see if we have any possibility of requisitioning one. It might be difficult, though, given our current delicate situation. I''m not exactly the most beloved figure in Silaraon at the moment.¡±

    ¡°In the meantime, can''t you just get closer?¡± Avelina asks. She purses her lips, humming to herself for a moment while she puzzles over the predicament. ¡°Nuri, when you''re using your [Lesser Manasight], can you tell how far the spell form goes before it unravels? Or will you need to rank up the Skill for that kind of precision? I know we want to test casting at a distance, but it seems like it¡¯s worth our while to get a proof of concept first. We can always work on tweaking parameters after the fact.¡±

    ¡°A surprisingly cogent thought,¡± Melina says, giggling at her sister''s sudden indignation.

    ¡°What!¡± Avelina says, throwing her hands up. ¡°How do you think she got so smart? She just takes after me. That''s why I''m usually left with the bad ideas, because my little sister steals my best ideas.¡±

    ¡°Truly, her dastardly nature knows no bounds,¡± Lionel teases. ¡°Where would she be if she never met Padouk? A hopeless case, I''m telling you.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Avelina snaps, glowering at Lionel. ¡°I''m the only one who can tease my sister. She''s a great catch, and you know it.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sorry. I just wanted to be part of the fun. Didn''t mean to overstep,¡± Lionel says, crossing his arms and looking appropriately rebuked.

    ¡°Let''s just try again, with Lionel much closer,¡±'' Melina suggests. ¡°As long as we''re fresh and our mana is still relatively topped off, we should keep going. Nuri, was Lionel at least getting halfway across the gap before the spell form fell apart?¡±

    I squeeze one eye shut, staring up at the ceiling and chewing on my lip while I try to remember this exact sequence of events. ¡°Yeah, that sounds pretty accurate to me. As long as he''s about a hand''s breadth away, I think our strategy is viable. We''ll figure out a way to reduce the energy loss, either through using the focus glove like Melina suggested, or just good old-fashioned practice.¡±

    Avelina swipes the old glass out of the way, dropping it into the waste bin where it''ll be recycled and reused in other projects. Sometimes we take the broken pieces and scatter them across the drawing and ideas board. Once we¡¯re happy with the shape, we¡¯ll move them to a workbench, glue them in place, and cover them with a clear epoxy to make everything glisten. For some reason, the artwork style is popular with certain folks who prefer to find abstract meaning in things rather than looking at recognizable details or pastoral tableaus.

    One of the [Assistants] rushes over with a fresh batch of unheated glass, and we begin again, this time with more confidence as everyone knows his or her part. I regulate temperature while Avelina melts the glass. Melina lifts it up and compresses it, turning it until she announces that it¡¯s ready. Lionel takes a deep breath, moving closer and relying on my [Heat Manipulation] to shield him from burns.

    Sure enough, now that Lionel is much closer, he''s able to apply his Skill without physical touch. I observe through my [Lesser Manasight], keeping careful watch on the structure of the complex Skill. At the first sign of deformation or wavering, I instruct him to inch a little bit closer, but at about half a foot away, he''s able to successfully imprint the glass with the archetype of a previous work that he''s completed. Excess mana still pours off the Skill, but enough of it holds together for the spell form to work. Soon, a simple elegant cup floats in the air, held aloft by our various linked Skills.

    ¡°Yes!¡± Avelina shouts, pumping her fists in the air like an athlete who just won a huge race. ¡°We are awesome!¡±

    A buzzing suddenly builds in the back of my mind. I snatch the cup before it can fall to the ground and shatter, wincing as I sense an uncomfortable resonance between so many Skills activating at once. It''s like a faint itch behind my eyeballs, or a growing rattle as my teeth clatter together in unexpected ways. Although I can''t precisely visualize the bleedthrough of so many mana Skills, and theoretically my [Lesser Manasight] only affects my eyes, I''ve noticed that I seem more attuned to mana in general thanks to the Manasight. I¡¯m not about to complain about extra dimensions to one of my few precious Skills.

    ¡°Distance is still an obstacle,¡± Melina observes, scribbling in her ever-present notebook.

    ¡°Still, it''s an encouraging first step,¡± I say, acknowledging Avelina¡¯s excitement. ¡°But let''s not get carried away. We still have a lot of work to do before we can work successfully outside of the studio. I don''t reckon this method will be viable for a while. We won¡¯t be able to execute out in the field for quite some time, and not at any great distances. We might be looking at months or years of practice before we can affect things on a reasonable scale.¡±

    ¡°I still think this calls for a celebration,¡± Lionel says, grinning despite being the weak link in the formation. He doesn''t seem to let this sort of thing bother him, and I admire that about him. The knowledge that I¡¯m the worst at something always eats at me until I get it fixed, but he''s happy enough to make a mistake, try again, and find a way to get around the problem. His attitude amazes me; honestly, it¡¯s something I could probably learn from if I put in the time.

    ¡°I agree,¡± Avelina chimes in. ¡°We deserve to treat ourselves after that success. It¡¯s the first step in our climb to the top.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, but what could we possibly do to celebrate? What are you thinking?¡± I ask innocently, already knowing what their response will be. ¡°Pub?¡±

    ¡°Pub!¡± the others instantly chorus with grins and rowdy cheers all around.

 B2 C7: The First Threshold

    As the weeks flow by, the ominous chaos storms wax and wane. The only consistency in the middle of the uncertainty is that the storms and spatial anomalies seem to drift farther from Silaraon, affording us some relief. I don¡¯t want to lose my edge, but I have to admit that it¡¯s nice not to worry quite as much about imminent death and destruction.

    Carrying that much fear is exhausting.

    The days meld together as we alternate working on our two main projects. My progress on the glass armor is slower than I would like, simply because of the amount of mana it takes to transmute even a small amount of glass into an acceptable similitude of the mother of pearl. I¡¯m continuing to practice my mana soaking methods and I can tell I''m seeing progress by my own rough, unscientific estimation. I¡¯ve added probably close to twenty or thirty percent capacity to my mana pool over the last year. But it''s still not enough to handle the kind of volume I need to make an entire chest plate.

    Instead, I turn my attention toward creating smaller, palm-size scales. After consulting briefly with Ezio, we¡¯ve decided that it¡¯s simply not worth the frustration of trying to brute-force a singular piece by fusing on tiny additional layers once or twice a day. He suggested a few dusty tomes filled with dense dissertations on armor types, and in between the yawn-inducing descriptions, I found something more my speed: pictures.

    I snicker at the memory of Ezio¡¯s long-suffering expression when I told him that pictures were way more fun to look at than the historical texts. Regardless of our scholarly differences, we¡¯ve agreed on the path forward. The illustrations inspired me, and now I¡¯m crafting dozens of overlapping scales that I¡¯ll affix to a high-quality, woven gambeson. It will suffice for our purposes for now. Over time, as I gain more strength and a deeper mana pool, then we can experiment with larger pieces and a unibody construction approach.

    In the meantime, the majority of my focus is split between working with my team on our collaborative distance casting on the one hand, and good, old-fashioned craftsmanship on the other. While I''m still trying to push my [Lesser Manasight] up in rank, and I generally want to take advantage of my [Heat Manipulation] while working on commissioned pieces, I¡¯ve also picked up a new tactic. When I¡¯m practicing instead of working on the clock and rushing to fulfill orders, I try to hone my traditional glass work skills¡ªsans magic.

    I try not to rely on [Architect of Unseen Worlds] when it comes to glass work, and not just because of its exorbitant mana costs. Unquestionably, it¡¯s my strongest and most useful Skill¡ªif the situation calls for it. I''ve won a few commissions for more intricate pieces because of my ability to duplicate other [Glass Smith]¡¯s creativity, but I''m putting in serious work to improve my techniques. I want to gain further skill working directly with glass in a more mundane manner, without magic as a crutch.

    That¡¯s led me to today¡¯s predicament: training my admittedly underdeveloped aptitude for flamework with Avelina. She¡¯s sculpting jewelry with her fingers, oblivious to the fire she can summon from the tip of her index finger as it wreaths around her hands. She expertly rolls the colored glass rods between her hands, melting the glass until she deems the molten blob large enough for her purposes.

    ¡°No [Heat Manipulation] today, Nuri,¡± Avelina reminds me cheerfully. She nods toward the nozzle clamped to the workbench, which is connected to a magitech furnace that feeds the flame with gas and oxygen. ¡°That¡¯s your station. Use that little flame for finicky work, just like a real [Assistant]. Here, catch!¡±

    I fumble the handful of glass rods she tosses my way, and wince in embarrassment as they drop to the ground with a crash and clatter. I remind myself just in time to bite my tongue, annoyed equally by my clumsiness and her cavalier attitude. I may have some resistance to the fire thanks to my [Heat Manipulation], but shards of glass will still slice and dice my skin.

    ¡°Suddenly, I think I know why I haven¡¯t shed the [Assistant] label,¡± I say with a laugh, as I try to act more like Lionel and not let things get me down as much. There¡¯s no point complaining about what happened; I just have to get my act together and keep moving forward.

    I pick up the rods that are still intact, toss the scraps into the recycle bin, and grab an extra couple rods of various colors for our project. We¡¯re making little pendants today, which is way outside of my comfort zone. I¡¯m accustomed to larger vessels¡ªbig vases, full windows with shapes and colors, plates and bowls, and huge decorative work. I¡¯m partial to fantastical shapes when I get to play around instead of creating functional pieces.

    Following Avelina¡¯s lead, I turn the valve on the gas, pick up the metal sparker, and ignite the flame. As soon as the fuel catches, burning nice and orange, I ease open the valve for the oxygen, changing the color of the fire to a hot blue jet as long as my forearm. We don our own in-house creations: didymium safety glasses to protect our eyes from sodium flare.

    I insert the end of a clear rod at the tip of the fire, slowly turning it as I inch it closer to the base of the flame jet. The glass takes on a cherry-red glow as it melts and balls up around the rotating end of the rod.

    ¡°Gravity is both friend and foe,¡± Avelina reminds me, tilting her own rod to speed up the gathering process. She deftly manages her flame, eschewing the magitech I¡¯m tied to in favor of her own Skills, and soon has a small glob of hot glass spinning in her hands.

    I nod, relaxing as I copy her techniques. It¡¯s very different from what I¡¯m used to in the hot shop, but glass is still glass. It flows and gathers in familiar ways, and as I turn my rod in a never-ending revolution, I make small corrections to keep the growing ball of glass from falling off the end. I aim the flame at the still-cool glass just below the molten ball, bring it all up to temperature so it can join the growing globe, adding more material to my final piece.

    The amount of material is soon difficult to control, so I pick up a thin piece of glass rod with my other hand, enter the tip of the flame, and keep it turning while I bring it closer to the hottest portion of the fire nearest to the nozzle. Once it¡¯s hot enough, starting to melt in the oppressive flames, I stick it to the other side of the rotating ball I¡¯ve collected. Now my two glass rods are fused together, and I continue to turn them both while I gather more glass.

    Satisfied with the size of the molten glob at last, I detach the thin rod by over-heating it and spinning it in small circles until the tail of thinning glass pulls apart. Humming to myself as I work, I select a red rod, heat it up, and trail it across the ball of glass I¡¯ve already gathered. The delicate criss-cross pattern is difficult to control at first, but years of practice with glass helps me maintain a steady hand and even sizes.

    ¡°I¡¯d hate to be the woman who wears that gigantic pendant,¡± Avelina teases me. ¡°I¡¯d get a crick in my neck before lunchtime!¡±

    I glance down at the intricate piece, roughly the size of a goose egg. ¡°Your neck muscles need some exercise. It¡¯s not that big!¡± I scoff.

    ¡°Look at my pendant,¡± Avelina retorts, holding out a nearly finished piece held between metal tongs. ¡°It¡¯s maybe a quarter the size of yours! Most people want jewelry to accessorize, not to make a statement that can be seen halfway across Silaraon.¡±

    We share a laugh, and I place my globe to the side. ¡°Point taken. Maybe someone will want a paper weight or a decorative piece. I¡¯ll start over.¡±

    This time I¡¯m much faster, gathering the glowing glass into a globe that¡¯s significantly smaller than the first attempt. I layer red and white across the clear glass, creating a monogram of two well-known ancient runes: love and happiness. It¡¯s finer detail work than I¡¯m used to, and I¡¯m not completely satisfied with a few of my lines, but it¡¯s good enough to sell in the general shop. We wouldn¡¯t offer this to our more discerning clientele, but it will do for the average lad looking for an inexpensive but special gift for his lover.

    I press the entire ball flat with my paddle, careful to preserve the shape of the intertwined runes that I created. I have to plunge the entire thing back into the flame jet, still turning the entire time, to heat it back up to sufficient temperature to press flat. When it passes Avelina¡¯s critical eye test, I aim the fire at the top end of the flattened disc, heating it until it glows white, and then snip a cut a third of the way down the disc with my shears.

    Using the edges of the shears, I pry the glass apart, creating a rough, heart-shaped pendant. With a judicious application of heat and gravity¡ªthe two eternal tools of the glassmaker¡ªI smooth all the edges and refine the overall shape.

    Turning the piece over, I examine it from each side until I¡¯m certain it looks exactly as I envisioned it in my mind. I carefully melt a little more colored glass from the red rod, affix it to the top of the heart, and gently pull it apart. Patience is required to maintain the balance of heat and pressure, but I manage to elongate the glass without breaking it, pleased with my efforts working with such small and delicate pieces.

    I pinch the length of molten glass in the little tongs, and bend the long, slender strand of glass into a loop, using the flame jet to melt it and fuse it back to the main piece. We¡¯ll thread a golden-colored thread through it later to turn it into a necklace.

    Before I finish, I polish the rough spots with the fire, ensuring that it¡¯s smooth and sleek, although I don¡¯t completely obliterate the last few inconsistencies. People want things that look handmade, not something that could have been developed with a Skill and mass-produced. It¡¯s a funny thing how the lack of perfection enhances value for many buyers.

    Avelina flashes a big smile at me. ¡°Well done, Nuri! You should work with us more often. Anyone can turn out a vase, but it¡¯s satisfying to finish something smaller and more intricate.¡±

    Her words echo the rising sensations in my chest. Mana is building unexpectedly, as though moving in response to my work, and I feel like I¡¯m stuffed to the gills. Keep going on this path, the energy seems to whisper. This is the way to advance!

    =+=

    On the weekends, Ember instructs us with further combat training. The team still shows up and puts in work to improve, although the urgency we once had is diminished as the chaotic storms and spatial tears seem to have migrated farther away from the city. I don''t really have an explanation as to why they''re moving, and that unsettles me. At first blush, the development appears to be beneficial for us since people are breathing more easily¡ªand I can''t say that I don''t welcome the respite; we''re simply not ready for a void war¡ªbut something about it niggles at the back of my mind.

    After setting off the charges to delay the wraiths, surely we won¡¯t get off this easily, right? Yet in my furtive attempts to use the PPP, it does seem to indicate that we¡¯re farther from the epicenter than before, if I¡¯m reading it correctly.

    Ezio convinces me to keep training in the meantime and not worry about things so far outside of my control, so I fling myself into my armor project with abandon. So it is that after nearly two months of constant work my efforts pay off. While a full suit of armor is still a ways off, my chest piece is, at the very least, ready for its first real test. I¡¯ve passed the prototyping stage and now I''m ready to find out just how much force damage the armor can soak up before actually threatening me.

    We''re gathered by Mikko''s house so that we can make use of the iron lunk. That way we can standardize the power and vector of the attacks. I have to admit, it¡¯s a smarter approach than what I had been doing: guessing at how hard I¡¯m hitting the armor with brooms back at the studio. I''m fairly confident that the armor will handle a few blows, but I also don''t particularly want to break my ribs unnecessarily.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Lionel has improved in his second Class at a staggering rate, already earning a second dedicated Skill, but he''s still not a full-fledged healer. If I break a bone or puncture a lung, I will be in a world of pain until we can get to his aunt for proper care and recovery.

    ¡°Remember,¡± Melina admonishes, fixing us each with a stern stare, ¡°in the pursuit of academic rigor we need to establish baseline durability and then re-examine the armor after every series of impacts in order to determine the efficacy of its impact resistance. I know it''s not a perfect methodology, but it''s the best we have given our time constraints and Nuri¡¯s, ahh, limitations with his [Architect of the Unseen World] Skill.¡± She trails off, blushing at pointing out my inadequacies.

    ¡°You mean because my bro has a mana puddle instead of a mana pool?¡± Miko says, chuckling at his own joke.

    ¡°Let''s just get this over with before it rains,¡± I say, resigned to the pain I''m about to put myself through. Avelina smiles at me sympathetically while Lionel and Mikko stand shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed and huge grins cracking their faces.

    ¡°You know, we could just put the armor over the iron lunk,¡± I venture for the third time that night. ¡°Surely Mikko can hit with roughly the same force if he uses one of his blacksmithing hammer Skills. Besides, we''re not publishing an article in a journal; we just want a rough idea of how sturdy this armor is before we field test.¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± Melina admits, ¡°Ezio and I are planning to publish an article in conjunction with his colleague¡ªthe one who wrote that bloviating piece on mother of pearl. We agreed that this would be a good follow-up article to discuss some of the practical implications of the discovery, rather than merely look at biology for biology''s sake. Not that I disapprove of any form of study on its own merit, of course.¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± I reply with a sigh. ¡°Very well. Carry on.¡±

    I roll my shoulders and make a show of warming up, but it''s really just to buy some time to work out the building tension headache. The impending test has me breathing heavily and my hands shaking. The jolt of adrenaline makes my stomach flutter and flop. Something tells me I''m about to go through a very unpleasant experience. I breathe in deeply, swelling my chest with air until my lungs feel like they''re bursting, and then slip on woven gambeson with the glass scale armor over top.

    ¡°No more stalling. It''s go time,¡± I declare.

    Melina is taking notes, so Mikko volunteers to operate the iron lunk. He thumbs over the control rune, dials up the first level routine, and announces that he¡¯s disabling headshots, much to my great relief. Just in case, he hands me a spare helmet from the forge. It''s plain and looks unfinished, like he made it in a hurry, but it''s sturdy metal. More importantly, it should keep my skull from splitting open like a melon in case of an unfortunate mishap.

    A light drizzle begins to fall just as I step forward within striking distance, and I can''t help but laugh at the timing. Of course it''s going to rain. I can''t possibly have a comfortable test for once. ¡°All right, bring it on. We''ll test the weather sealing, too!¡±

    ¡°Can''t complain about a little bit of precipitation if you plan on doing more delves,¡± Lionel points out, still smirking at me.

    I grunt an agreement and brace myself as the first flail smacks into my chest. As hoped, the force of the blow is distributed across the armor, leaving me relatively unharmed. My [Lesser Manasight] and my new Skill, [Architect of Unseen Worlds] are running passively, although I''m not trying to transform anything with my Architect Skill. Instead, I''m monitoring the state of the armor with its ability to perceive composition, noting how the glass surface deforms and cracks into thousands of little micro-fractures. That¡¯s the secret to absorbing so much force; the blows are spread all across the structure of the armor and absorbed by the intentional weak zones, crumpling on a small scale rather than transmitting the kinetic energy of the hit to my body directly.

    Nine more blows rain down on me, combining with the cold water droplets to make me thoroughly miserable, but the armor holds. I don''t even feel too bruised, just battered around a bit. The last hit knocks me on my butt, much to the amusement of the gathered peanut gallery.

    ¡°Are you sure that''s level one?'''' I complain to Mikko, crossing my arms and giving him an accusing glare from my seat in the mud.

    A look of pure panic flashes across Mikko¡¯s face. Fumbling, he brings up the interface in his mind, his fingers dancing across the control bracelet. He looks up sheepishly, his bronze cheeks deepening in color to a rust-red blush. ¡°I, uhh, accidentally may have put it on seven instead of one. I was a little nervous, and they looked similar! In my defense, the stylization in the enchantment is a little bit difficult to tell apart. He went for fancy flourishes¡ªyou¡¯ve seen it yourself! Anyone could have made that mistake.¡±

    I groan, dropping my helmeted head into my palm, but Melina interrupts me with a raised hand. ¡°Don''t complain! This just means that you don''t have to do levels one through six. Thanks to Mikko, we can move on directly to levels eight, nine, and ten, assuming that the armor lasts that long¡ªand that you''re still cooperating at the end of everything. Look on the bright side, Nuri. Mikko¡¯s saved you from a good bit of beating.¡±

    Mikko grins at the unexpected praise. ¡°Hey, what are brothers for?¡±

    =+=

    Beaten down into the mud, over and over again, battered by the iron lunk and slick with my own sweat and the soaking rain, I nonetheless rise again. My body¡¯s shaking with the force of each impact now at level ten, and my muscles are screaming in protest, but I¡¯m committed. Forcing myself to do hard things isn¡¯t getting any easier, but it¡¯s strengthening and sharpening me, like a blacksmith working over a blade, quenching and tempering it through water and hammer and flame. There are no shortcuts.

    An errant blow catches me in the head, jarring my helmet loose and twisting it over my eyes so that I can¡¯t see anymore. Rain hammers down on my skin, pelting so hard that I don¡¯t even want to fix the helmet and open my eyes; a raindrop to the eyeball is painful. I ignore the cries of the Linas to kill the test, holding up my hand to stop Mikko from turning off the iron lunk with his control runes.

    Of all my available skills, only [Lesser Manasight] can help me right now. I flare the Skill, pushing my senses to their limit as I tried to feel the movement of the world around me instead of just seeing mana activation. [Architect of the Unseen World] isn¡¯t going to help me at the moment; the time it would take to either analyze the iron lunk or change the composition of its limbs will leave me vulnerable.

    I steady my breathing and track the movement of the iron lunk only through the faint echoes of its mana use, grateful that it can¡¯t use footwork to reposition. If I¡¯m ever truly in danger, I only have to step backward out of range. I¡¯m turning my body, taking the blows on parts of the armor that haven¡¯t already sustained micro-fractures during the training session. Eyes squeezed shut, I extend my senses outward.

    A faint wave of energy on my right warns me just in time. I turn and duck, hearing the whistle of wind as a near miss flies past my right ear. My hands clench into fists, but my knees relax, staying loose and ready to move. Where will the next blow¡ªthere! I shift forward and leap, letting the strike pass harmlessly underneath me. My friends¡¯ teasing and good-natured chatting soon fades into silence as they, too, seem to sense that I¡¯m on the cusp of something new.

    On a whim, I activate my [Heat Manipulation], not changing the environment but rather feeling the difference between the ambient air temperature and the cold limbs of the iron lunk. I try overlaying the two Skills, weaving the shape of their mana forms together as I sense an epiphany building. The feeling is fleeting, barely there . . .

    A dull thud echoes through the training yard as I take a blow to the ribs, spinning to the ground with a loud grunt. My head spins from the loss of air, but I push myself back up, moving away to give myself a moment of breathing room. Once I regain my focus, I charge back into the fight, putting myself in striking distance as I pour mana into my Skills.

    Again, it¡¯s almost imperceptible, but as I focus, I feel my two skills start to harmonize. No discordant feedback; I think I¡¯m clear to push harder. The world around me takes shape, moving from the vague hints of colors belonging to distinctive mana aspects to a more well-defined, stereoscopic impression of energy and heat and color. I dodge past two more sweeping strikes, weave past a jab and thrust, and shout in triumph as I duck under a follow up blow.

    Inwardly, a seething sea of energy rises. I gather it together with a pulse of my will, and with a final surge, I shove through a barrier I barely realized was there. In an instant the world around me snaps into sharp relief. And I know with unerring accuracy the lunk is striking from below, swinging upward. My attention latches onto the iron lunk, and I move more slowly but with great certainty than before, always a half-step ahead of its attacks.

    I instinctively twist my body to the side, dodging the blow by a hair¡¯s breadth. No longer simply content to test the durability of my new armor, I¡¯m pushing my Skills to their maximum, shaping my mana until it''s tight, compressed, and utterly under my control. The more focused application of energy enables me to reach across the distance and to shore up the weaknesses of my Skills. Something new is happening, I¡¯m certain of it. I¡¯ve never sensed the world around me with such pinpoint precision.

    There¡¯s still something holding me back, however. Shaking with fear and excitement, I rip the helmet the rest of the way off my head, tossing it aside. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know I''m risking a concussion or worse without the helmet¡¯s protection, but I need to trust the Skills I¡¯m nurturing. Besides, the thrill is unlike anything I''ve ever felt before. I know that I''m taking charge of my life, grasping my future in my own two hands.

    I weave in and out of strikes, tilting and shifting my body at just the right angle to avoid every blow. My confidence builds as the repeated whistle of the iron limbs meeting nothing but air fills my hearing. The vicious power strikes pass near me but never touch me.

    In a lull between the strikes, in the space of a single heartbeat, I lunge forward. My legs uncoil like a pair of powerful springs, and I drive my shoulder into the iron lunk with a predatory roar. The full body tackle topples it over, but even as I¡¯m falling to the ground, I contort my body, avoiding a retaliatory blow that should have cracked open my skull.

    Instantly, power churns within my inner being and I fall to the ground with a gasp. I sink inward, seeking that space within my soul that visualizes the Skills I''ve learned and potency I¡¯ve gained. Everything is alight, limned in gold fire, humming with a pleasant resonance that sounds faintly like music. There''s no actual song, but it moves me emotionally nonetheless¡ªthe same way that a dirge from a bard brings tears to my eyes, or an energetic jig at the pub fills me with excitement and makes my feet tap on their own accord.

    In a flash of insight I know that I finally reached the next level, that I''ve gathered enough potential to break through. A raging fire surrounds me, the glow of multifaceted mana so intense and dazzling that it blinds even my [Lesser Manasight]. My inner world, the proud domain of not one, not two, but three Skills, vibrates with pride. There''s no recognizable song, no grand harmony, and yet the musical analogy feels accurate.

    I¡¯m bursting with power, and it¡¯s as though the heavens have opened. A veil I didn''t even realize was covering my eyes is suddenly lifted. I see in exquisite detail the shape of my path, the amount of potency I¡¯ve gathered, and the budding potential for the future. Mana fills me to the brim. The very essence of who I am, not simply the professional path I¡¯m on, takes on a clarity I''d never before envisioned.

    With a shock, I realize none of the Skills are of the lesser variety any longer. I grin hard enough to make my cheeks ache. My [Manasight] has ranked up, and I see tendrils of mana reaching out, connecting it with my other two Skills, although the strongest resonance is with [Heat Manipulation]. I take it as proof that I¡¯m on the right tack using them in conjunction. The ripples of simpatico between [Manasight] and [Heat Manipulation] excites me about future applications of the Skills.

    In the core of my being, the banner announcing my Class takes on a new shimmer. My previous Class, [Assistant Glassworker], glimmers with a burst of overwhelming light, and by the time I can see again, the Assistant prefix has disappeared. I¡¯ve done it! I¡¯ve gained a full Class!

    I flex my fingers, almost throwing myself out of my core space. My emotions are running hot, oscillating between elation and disappointment. After all this time, I finally tiered up, I¡¯ve finally shed the Assistant label. Yet, I was hoping for more. I thought that perhaps with the addition of my third Skill, [Architect of the Unseen World] I may have pushed the rarity of my Class and future potential upward into a new tier. I''m still secretly harboring hopes of some sort of [Magical Glass Smith] class, although that appears to be well out of reach.

    Then I laugh, shaking my head at falling back into my old patterns. My story isn¡¯t over. I have years¡ªdecades!¡ªof growing left. There¡¯s still time for greatness. I¡¯m not giving up yet.

    A clear chime rings out, bell-like and beautiful, and I freeze in place. The roiling ocean of mana in my inner world suddenly coalesces, compressing into a massive, solid shape covered with dense, geometric runes. The gleaming angles of the esoteric structure are difficult for me to follow, far eclipsing my old Skills in sheer complexity. Only the [Architect of the Unseen World] compares, and it¡¯s a truly unusual and potent Skill to earn pre-Threshold.

    I move forward with a thought, soaring above the twisting fractals to see the banner proclaiming my new Class Skill¡¯s name and function. When the name comes into view, I let out a shriek of excitement so loud that it throws me out of my inner world. I find myself lying on my back in the mud, blinking up at my friends¡¯ worried faces, and a cackle bubbles out of me.

    ¡°Congratulations, Nuri!¡± Melina shouts, the first to make the connection as her worry transforms into happiness on my behalf.

    I take the offered hands, allowing Mikko and Lionel to haul me to my feet, and let out another whoop and holler of exhilaration as we all share hugs, dancing in the mud and rain without a care in the world.

 B2 C8: The Front Lines

    ¡°Congratulations, Nuri!¡± Ezio greets me with a bow as he creaks open the door to his office in the Silaraon City Academy. ¡°Your first Threshold is an incredible achievement! Well done, my young friend. Not everyone has the persistence to see things through.¡±

    ¡°Is it normal to feel faster?¡± I ask with a chuckle, returning Ezio¡¯z bow and then bounding into his office, slipping past him before the door closes. I take in the room at a glance, admiring the new red carpet he¡¯s installed.

    ¡°Yes, improving your physical capabilities is a common experience when passing the first Threshold. You¡¯ll find that there are other benefits, as well,¡± Ezio says with an air of affected mysteriousness.

    ¡°Oh?¡± I ask, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Is that why I¡¯m more aware of the gradations of light and shadow on the walls? Before, I would have just seen the sunlight coming through the window, but now it has depth and character I never noticed. I¡¯m also able to more clearly recall the shape and decor of the room from my previous visits. So, mentally, I¡¯ve received some sort of . . . boost?¡±

    Ezio ushers me toward his upholstered sitting chairs. He flourishes his robes as he takes the seat opposite me, winking and tapping his temple with a long finger. ¡°Got it in one, Nuri. You know what this means, of course.¡±

    I shake my head, bewildered. ¡°Apparently my mental boost only goes so far. I¡¯m not sure what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°Your body and soul have undergone fundamental changes. Why, the only responsible thing to do is to establish a new baseline,¡± Ezio says slyly, grinning at me with a touch of mirth and madness.

    My stomach flops in sudden fear as a terrible premonition grips me. ¡°Not the mana-control test again! I¡¯ll do anything to get out of that¡ªeven if it means going back into the Rift.¡±

    ¡°Ah, Nuri, don¡¯t overreact! We can put it off for another time if you can¡¯t handle a little adversity,¡± Ezio says, his eyes dancing with merriment at my sudden discomfort.

    I give him a flat look, leaning back in the comfy, overstuffed chair with my arms crossed over my chest. ¡°I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re teasing me, or if you genuinely want to see the new numbers. They can¡¯t be that different since last time.¡±

    ¡°A bit of both,¡± Ezio admits. He straightens his robes, folds his hands in his lap, and hums softly. ¡°Your scores surprised me last time, Nuri. You were further along than you realize. I don¡¯t usually administer tests to pre-Threshold individuals, but your numbers were solidly above the few I¡¯ve seen. Most people make a jump after finally reaching their tenth level, but a rare handful show more improvement than others. Some of them were already on the cusp of advancing, so their metrics barely change at all despite their obvious upgrades in Class, Skills, and physical and mental characteristics.

    ¡°You¡¯re a fascinating case to me. You probably should have leveled years ago, given how much potential you¡¯d accumulated, but you bottlenecked instead. It¡¯s baffling, but it let you gather more mana and build a stronger foundation than your peers¡ªcontrary to almost all the published literature on the topic, which claims that stalling out will cause you to languish and will likely diminish your future potential. Studying your progression is a fairly unexpected opportunity for me to deepen my own understanding of how the advancement process works.¡±

    ¡°So, I¡¯m just a lab rat to you? The truth comes out!¡± I say in mock accusing tones as I parse his words, grinning at Ezio so he knows it¡¯s just my particular brand of teasing at play.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯re special. Everyone¡¯s a lab rat to a [Scholar],¡± Ezio shoots back, and we share a chuckle.

    ¡°Very well, we¡¯ll postpone. Why don¡¯t you tell me about the Class Skill you got, instead?¡± Ezio suggests, a feverish light flickering in his eyes. All his previous levity is gone, subsumed into the calculating, manic stare of the august [Scholar Nonpareil] of Silaraon who knows he has a mesmerizing new research subject to analyze.

    I sit up straighter, no longer slouching in the comfortable chair. Pride swells my chest as I repeat the words I¡¯ve lovingly memorized. ¡°My new Skill is called [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach]. It¡¯s the best glass-related Skill I¡¯ve ever heard of, other than my [Architect of Unseen Worlds] Skill line, but that¡¯s still incomplete and has applications outside of glassmaking. This Skill is entirely specialized to me and my upgraded Class.¡±

    I break off, grinning as I tell him about my favorite part. ¡°Based on my testing with the Skill so far, I¡¯m able to produce a small batch of ready-to-work glass each day without needing to supply any of the base constituents. And I can do it at a distance.¡±

    ¡°Remarkable!¡± Ezio says. He shakes his head slowly, a note of childlike wonder filling his voice. ¡°I assume the drawback is that the distance is somewhat limited? Have you tested the range? Can you conjure something up beyond line of sight, or must you see your intended target to activate the Skill?¡±

    I lean forward, matching my teacher¡¯s pose, caught up in the excitement that flows from Ezio in palpable waves. ¡°Unfortunately, it only seems to work within a short radius¡ªperhaps about half a dozen paces. Beyond that, I feel like I¡¯m slamming face first into a wall at a dead sprint. No amount of flaring my mana or trying to overload the Skill has any effect whatsoever. Well, other than pain,¡± I say with a grimace.

    Ezio winces sympathetically. ¡°Nonetheless, that¡¯s a powerful skill. You realize this sets you on the creator path, yes?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what that means,¡± I admit. ¡°Is it unique to [Artisans] and crafters?¡±

    Ezio strokes his chin, momentarily lost in his own little world while he searches for the right words to explain what he is talking about. ¡°Creators are crafters capable of conjuring up the material or medium with which they work. That sort of Skillset is rare and highly prized, not only within Densmore, but also by our surrounding nations. Given the limitations of the Skill¡¯s rank, and your fledgling abilities with mana manipulation, you most likely won¡¯t be classified as a true creator until your second Threshold. Even so, it¡¯s an incredibly powerful and versatile Skill. Well done! I can¡¯t wait to see it in action.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I say sheepishly. ¡°I already used it this morning before I came to visit you. I was so excited that I completely forgot how long it takes to recharge.¡±

    ¡°All good, my boy,¡± Ezio says, marking down notes on one of his ever-present notepads. He hums to himself while he writes, his hands blurring as he records his thoughts with a speed that¡¯s only possible when fueled by a Skill. ¡°My academic curiosity hasn¡¯t managed to kill me yet, although you¡¯re certainly putting my theory to the test that being a [Scholar] isn¡¯t hazardous to one¡¯s health! You do manage to try my patience rather frequently.¡±

    ¡°Never fear. We¡¯ll arrange a time for you to test and take measurements,¡± I say, and Ezio seems pleased with the peace offering.

    A sly smile crosses his face. ¡°You do know what we can test, however, don¡¯t you?¡±

    I groan, burying my head in my hands. ¡°You¡¯re not going to give up on that, are you? You won¡¯t let me leave this office until you make me do another mana-control test.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t make you do anything, Nuri, but I genuinely think it¡¯s to your benefit that we reestablish your baseline now that you¡¯ve passed the first Threshold. Does it help me to have the numbers in hand? Absolutely! But mutual benefit isn¡¯t a bad thing at all. Besides, aren¡¯t you curious?¡±

    Despite my usual instincts for self-preservation, I have to admit that I am curious. How have I changed? Have I truly grown since our last test? I feel stronger and more in control of my mana and my Skills, but I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s a quantitative change or simply a measure of comfort and familiarity on my part. An empirical test result is a good way to check my own impressions of myself. It¡¯s easy to lie internally when I want to try to make myself feel better about my progress. Conversely, when I¡¯m in a rut or an emotional lull, the temptation is to deride my progress. I often feel like I haven¡¯t improved at all. The mana control test will have a moderating effect on both highs and lows.

    I sigh in resignation, caught between horror and curiosity, but my naturally inquisitive nature soon wins out. I nod at Ezio. ¡°All right, let¡¯s get this over with.¡± In the end, there¡¯s no way around the pain, so I might as well embrace the test and all of its capacities, good and bad.

    Ezio leans back, reaching behind his desk, and produces the test with a flourish and a grin worthy of an evil overlord. ¡°Ready to behold how far you have yet to go?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t even have to fetch the test. You were that sure I¡¯d go along?¡± I ask.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°We¡¯re more alike than you realize, my young friend. You can¡¯t resist knowledge, even if it¡¯s a painful road to tread. That¡¯s something I admire about you,¡± Ezio replies.

    I stare at the Mana control test, a strange mixture of anticipation and dread swirling inside me. I¡¯m not looking forward to the pain of foreign mana scouring my pathways, but the challenge excites me in a way that¡¯s hard to explain. I¡¯m no longer the scared, insecure young man who wandered into Ezio¡¯s office with a giant chip on my shoulder. I¡¯ve learned, grown, and made friends who have helped me along the way. Determination to prove that their investment in me wasn¡¯t misplaced burns like fire in my chest.

    I approach the twin metal orbs with a grim set to my jaw. My body knows what¡¯s coming, and there¡¯s an instinctual fight or flight response. My teeth ache from squeezing together so tightly, but I can¡¯t seem to help the nervous reaction. I¡¯m breathing shallowly, inhaling through my nose in short, rapid bursts, as I fight to master my fear.

    Placing my hands on either side of the control orbs, I begin the test abruptly, before I can second-guess myself. I draw mana from the reservoir orb and cycle it through my body as fast as I can, resolved to finish in record time. It burns like dumping etching acid on a glass plate, but I push onward, feeding the mana into the receptacle on the far side of the reservoir.

    The longer I draw on the mana, the worse the pain. It hits me in a jolt of energy like a lightning bolt from clear skies; my forearms spasm, tightening on the metal orbs until I¡¯m almost certain I can hear them creaking under the force of my grip. Have I gotten that much stronger since passing the first Threshold? Maybe all the time I spent soaking my soul and body in mana throughout the day is finally bearing fruit.

    I push the errant thought away, focusing entirely on the test at hand. By sheer force of will, I guide the mana freely through my body, gritting my teeth and trying to maintain its purity. Not letting my own mana influence or change the unaspected test energy is more difficult than I remember¡ªperhaps due to my deeper pool and higher quality Skills?

    The pain pushes any further thoughts away. I growl and forge ahead, my eyes shut as I fight off the dizziness, but I can still see thanks to my mana Skill. I¡¯ve kept [Manasight] running at a low level, not willing to risk contaminating the test by flaring too much of my own mana to power the skill. Nonetheless, I¡¯m able to see enough of what¡¯s happening in my own channels to actively avoid adulterating the unaspected test mana with my own energy sources as best as I can.

    The two mana types mingle together like a dye poured into water, but I strain to keep them apart, as pure and separate as possible so that my test results will impress Ezio. I wish the two forms of mana were as phobic as oil and water, but even if they were, circulating them both through my core and my channels would probably have an emulsifying effect. There¡¯s no way to circumvent the cross-contamination, at least not at my level.

    I strain onward, ignoring the burn as I seek improvement. It¡¯s not as bad as I remember from the first time, although I¡¯m still fighting the urge to throw up all over the new red carpet, and it¡¯s certainly still not what I would ever willingly seek out if not for the test results at the end. I grit my teeth, renewing my commitment. I set myself to the task at hand, and I¡¯m not about to give up anytime soon. I will see this through. No matter the cost.

    And just like that, the last of the mana is siphoned through the test apparatus, coursing in a spiral through my body. I deposit the mana into the other side of the test, gasping for air as the test finishes. I release the mana-control test orbs and step back, my limbs quivering like gelatin on a plate.

    ¡°Hey, not so bad that time,¡± I croak, forcing out the words around a shaky smile.

    ¡°Incredible resilience,¡± Ezio says. He sits down next to me, still scribing away in his notebook, and regards me for a moment in silence. ¡°I mean that sincerely, Nuri. Even I struggle to shake off the effects of the mana-control test, and I¡¯ve been practicing this for a few decades. There¡¯s a sharpness about you, a drive and burning intent, that wasn¡¯t there before. Nurture that flame. Don¡¯t let it burn out.¡±

    I incline my head in acknowledgement, strangely moved by the earnestness in Ezio¡¯s voice. I¡¯ve stopped chasing approval in the same way that I did before, but the deep cravings for affection and affirmation are still there. They¡¯ve simply grown¡ªshed their own old skin like a snake molting¡ªand taken on a new and improved form.

    I don¡¯t trust my voice to say any of these words swirling in my mind, still struggling with the after effects of the mana-control test. The roiling emotions churning inside my chest feel like a geyser building up pressure and about to explode. I settle for a simple nod of my head, but it seems to get the point across, given Ezio¡¯s kindly, knowing smile in return.

    He bustles off behind his desk again, emerging with a plate of biscuits and two glasses of mana draughts mixed with wine. ¡°Well! How about some snacks to go along with all your new numbers?¡±

    I greedily sip down the draught, embracing the soothing sensation, and devour two or three biscuits before I manage to work up the energy to reply. ¡°You¡¯ve thought of everything, truly. Thank you.¡±

    Ezio finishes his notes with a decisive scratch of his pen, then flips the notebook around for me to examine.

    Capacity: 29 ¡ª> 44

    Retention: 71 ¡ª> 76

    Speed: 57 ¡ª> 62

    Resistance: 19 ¡ª> 13

    Fidelity: 72 ¡ª> 81

    Consistency: NA

    ¡°Impressive,¡± Ezio declares, tapping his fingers on the new numbers. ¡°You should be immensely proud of your work, Nuri. This kind of progress is remarkable over a full academic cycle. To come this far in less than half a year? It¡¯s almost suspiciously fast.¡± He adjusts a lens that¡¯s hanging down over eye¡ªwhere did that come from? I think groggily¡ªpeering at me intently as he fiddles with a control rune on the narrow headset. ¡°Has Tem given you anything?¡±

    My brows furrow. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Ezio opens his mouth, seems to think better of it, and presses his lips together. It takes a pointed stare from me for him to sigh and relent. ¡°It¡¯s nothing, Nuri. Nothing for you to worry about right now. But maybe we¡¯ll keep your original scores just between the two of us if you ever test in the Capital. They don¡¯t need your pre-Threshold baseline, anyway.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said it would be good research material? Getting cold feet?¡± I ask as I chew on my fourth biscuit. Or is it fifth? I¡¯ve lost count.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, Nuri. You shouldn¡¯t let anyone know about the previous results. Not that I think we¡¯re likely to run into anyone from the Capital anytime soon, but in certain circles, these results would be enough to cause problems. You already have a target on your back because of your friendship with Tem. If word of your explosive growth gets out, you¡¯ll be an even more intriguing specimen. Someone will want to discover how you¡¯re growing at such an absurd pace. I don¡¯t think I have to warn you about how dissection works.¡±

    I shrug, and say, ¡°I don¡¯t see how it could really get any worse. I¡¯m already a wanted man. What more can they possibly do to me?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want to find out. The mysteries of leveling growth, Classes, and Skills have long plagued some of the brightest minds in Densmore. Some people think that if they can just ¡®crack the code,¡¯ then they¡¯ll open the door to unlimited power. Some advice? Don¡¯t present yourself as a potential key to that door.¡±

    A measure of understanding dawns on me with his analogy. ¡°I¡¯ve often wished for a way to see how long it takes to level up, or just how strong I am . . . like that blasted mana-control test, but for Classes and Skills and relative capabilities of mana, or my strength and endurance, my potential and potency, and so on. I can see why it¡¯s sought-after. But I¡¯ll bet Casella has a method for it. He¡¯s not likely to share, though. He already refused to teach me how to upgrade my [Manasight] Skill to peer into other¡¯s core space.¡±

    ¡°Probably for the best. Some secrets are best left alone,¡± Ezio murmurs.

    I scoff. ¡°Where¡¯s your scholarly curiosity? That sounds far too moderate for a creative researcher and exemplary academic like you!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just a [Scholar],¡± Ezio deflects, although he seems pleased by my compliments. ¡°Trust me when I say that the powers that be tend to frown on the general public acquiring too much information about other people. And I doubt Casella has a way to do what you say. He may be able to [Appraise] people¡¯s Class or Skills, but quantifiable investigation, or seeing into a person in more granular detail, is probably well beyond him. Trust me, I¡¯d love to poke at that new Skill of yours in greater detail, since something tells me we¡¯ve only scratched the surface of what it can do, but some things ought to remain a mystery.¡±

    I open my mouth to reply, but a knock on Ezio¡¯s carved mahogany door shatters the moment like a rock through a stained glass window. With a wave of his hand, Ezio activates the control room rune and unlocks the door. His [Secretarial Researcher] peeks his head through the opening door and announces in a voice that squeaks suspiciously like a mouse that there¡¯s a message from the Capital.

    ¡°For me?¡± I ask, swallowing as I wonder what new trouble I¡¯ve ended up in this time.

    He shakes his head, resetting his spectacles after they almost fall off his head due to his vigorous denial. ¡°I, ah, happened upon it a few minutes ago.¡±

    ¡°That is, Rakesh intercepted it and brought it to me with all urgency,¡± Ezio clarifies. ¡°He¡¯s a resourceful young man¡ªyou two would probably make a good team, if you need someone to assist with librarian work or heavy-duty data analysis.¡±

    Ezio paces over to his door with quick steps and thrusts out his hand. He accepts the offered missive, slips a few coins to Rakesh with a mumbled word of thanks, and shuts the door with an energetic shove just shy of a slam.

    Fingers twitching, Ezio breaks the seal on his assistant¡¯s message and unfurls the small scroll. His eyes scan across the content faster than most people can read a single sentence, lit by the soft glow of complex mana structures that indicates a high-level Skill at work. All the color drains from his face by the time Ezio finishes reading. He slumps down in his chair, fishes his silken handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes off the beads of sweat gathering on his brow. I¡¯ve never seen him so shaken.

    I start to stand up, but my legs are still shaking, so I slump back into my seat opposite from him again. I glance over at the message sitting on his desk, and raise my eyebrows, trusting that he¡¯ll interpret the unspoken question.

    Ezio composes himself, folds his handkerchief, and slips it back into his pocket. He stabs his finger down on the page and looks me in the eye. ¡°The chaos storms are coming back our way,¡± he announces, but from the way he looks at me, I know that there¡¯s more to the story. He takes a long sip of the remaining mana-infused wine. ¡°And the Royal army is following in their wake.¡±

    I frown. ¡°We¡¯ve known that war is coming. Why does the army matter?¡±

    ¡°Why does it matter?¡± Ezio splutters. ¡°Because, Nuri, Silaraon just became the front lines.¡±

 B2 C9: Court Comes Calling

    The royal army marches into town in splendid scarlet arrays. Only eight soldiers across to fit through the narrow streets, the columns stretch out into the distance, disappearing around a bend in the layout out of the city roads. The procession of Densmore¡¯s military might advances, shoulder to shoulder, never wavering or losing formation. The [Soldiers] move with eerie precision, in perfect lockstep as though an area-wide Skill is in effect. I flare my [Manasight], but I don¡¯t see anything obvious at work; they¡¯re simply that disciplined. Their red banners snap in the light wind, and the golden trim on their armor glistens like a burnished clockwork device in the hot, noonday sun.

    Our little crew, plus the [Merchant] Padouk¡ªI¡¯ve been keeping an eye on him since I returned, but he¡¯s strangely normal lately, which only makes me more suspicious¡ªcrowds together, jostling and bumping elbows in the tight space. We¡¯re all perched on a narrow balcony at Silaraon City Academy, courtesy of our friend Ezio, the [Scholar Nonpareil]. Like us, he¡¯s overlooking the proceedings with guarded interest. It¡¯s not often that a borderland city like Silaraon warrants this kind of official attention from the capital. I suppose that I am to blame for that, albeit indirectly.

    The rows of marching soldiers pour into the broad, tree-lined square in front of the city center. At some unseen signal, they split apart in perfect unison, four columns moving to each side. A massive, blood-red horse canters through their midst, tossing its head and snorting as though it¡¯s ready to charge the enemy. Seated on its back, a muscular, golden-haired man rides tall in the saddle, peering down at the crowd imperiously. He can¡¯t be bothered to even spare a glance at the administration buildings that house the local [Administrators] and minor [Lords] who run Silaraon. Compared with the glories of court, they don¡¯t matter at all.

    Ember clutches at her glass swords, now strapped at her side instead of on display in the studio gallery, and the weariness of someone who¡¯s seen too much creeps into her features. Her eyes are haunted, like she¡¯s watching her own funeral. She¡¯s not simply nervous like the rest of us; the set of her jaw reminds me she¡¯s experienced far more of the world than I have. Whatever¡¯s coming is nothing new. War and misery are inevitable; it¡¯s an old story told again with new characters, and she¡¯s grown tired of its recounting.

    Below us, a procession of wan-faced, wrung-out [Bureaucrats] scurry up to the royal army officer, bowing and scraping so much that I¡¯m ashamed of my own city. Are we so small in their eyes that we have to abase ourselves even further?

    ¡°Bunch of boot-lickers,¡± Ember scoffs, and although I echo her sentiments, I keep it to myself. I haven¡¯t earned the right to sound off.

    It¡¯s not often that I think about civic pride. Silaraon is my home, the only one I¡¯ve ever known, but I''m not involved in politics or community events. If the glass works were suddenly transported somewhere else, I probably wouldn''t even notice the difference unless my friends didn¡¯t make the journey. Aren¡¯t all cities the same? Some are bigger, some are smaller, but they¡¯re all still just full of people trying to get by. But in this moment, as I watch the best and brightest of our area bow and scrape to these outsiders, sourness twists my stomach. We deserve better. We have heroes, too.

    I hope you¡¯re all right, Tem, wherever you are.

    I can''t overhear their discussions from this distance, but based on the way the courtly officer towers over them, his presence smoldering and oppressive at this distance, the conversation doesn''t appear to favor the hometown crowd. I strain, pushing my senses to the limit, but the world is suddenly awash in a blinding, overbearing presence. The details below are utterly obliterated behind the domineering power emanating from the royal officer. He''s like the sun itself, and I drop my Skill before my mana channels are seared away into nothingness.

    I hiss in pain at the radiating displeasure coming from the unknown figure below. Even now, without my [Manasight] engaged, it¡¯s still a palpable, fearsome thing.

    ¡°Who is that?¡± Mikko says, awe in his voice. He¡¯s leaning against the railing, his hands gripping the horizontal cast iron bar so hard that it¡¯s creaking under his might. ¡°He¡¯s the most powerful presence I¡¯ve ever seen in my life! I want to be like that when I grow up.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± a new voice says. I turn toward the corner to see who¡¯s speaking. A shadow detaches from the wall next to me, startling me so badly that I jump and barely bite back a yelp. Mbukhe silently hands me a note, a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes at my response to his unveiling. His finely-honed stealth Skill is still too powerful for even my upgraded [Manasight] to pierce through when it¡¯s running passively, although if I focus I can sense his mana signature more clearly now than I did in the forest.

    How did Padouk see him? I ask myself again, glancing over at the [Merchant] who¡¯s in the middle of a lively conversation with Melina. There¡¯s no way he¡¯s remotely high level enough to match an [Inquisitors]¡¯s Skill. Perhaps he has a vague sense for knowing when a customer is around, I speculate, but I can¡¯t imagine it winning out against an [Inquisitor]¡¯s military-trained stealth specialization. I almost ask Mbukhe, but Padouk and Melina share the balcony nearby, so I bite my tongue for the third time today; I¡¯m proud of my growing restraint.

    Instead, I say, ¡°That will never cease to unnerve me. You can¡¯t resist a dramatic entry, can you?¡±

    ¡°Guilty as charged,¡± Mbukhe chuckles. His dark eyes never stop moving, darting around as he scans the balcony, the courtyard, and sweeps the rooftops. ¡°It¡¯s been drilled into me over the years. I blame Casella. He¡¯s a corrupting influence.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± Mikko demands. ¡°And what do you know about that soldier over there?¡±

    Mbukhe mutters an oath under his breath, his eyes narrowing and locking onto a single target for once. ¡°He¡¯s not a soldier. He¡¯s a [General], and a powerful one at that. [General] Tychicus is not a frequent battlefield presence. If he¡¯s coming here personally, then expect trouble.¡± He scratches the stubble on the top of head. ¡°Best if you don¡¯t get in his way, Nuri. I¡¯m confident that I might be able to slip one of his traps, if I had to, but he¡¯s stronger than Casella or I am in a direct confrontation. Far stronger. You¡¯ll stand no chance if you irritate him, even when your armor is finished.¡±

    ¡°How did you know about my armor?¡± I ask, only realizing after my question slips out that I ignored the important part of Mbukhe¡¯s warning. He looks as grim as Tem did in the Rift when he warned me about the behemoth, which is more of a moving natural disaster than a monster. ¡°Oh? So he¡¯s firmly in the Second threshold?¡±

    Mbukhe smiles softly. ¡°It is my business to know about everything, Nuri. Your armor? Intriguing, although I do not say that in official capacity. Keep iterating, and I may know some buyers down the road. As for Tychicus? His [Lieutenants] are at the Second Threshold. The man himself is one of only a handful in the entire realm who have broken through into the Third threshold. He could end most border wars single-handedly. Do not antagonize him.¡±

    I blink innocently. ¡°Why are you looking at me? I¡¯d never dream of¡ª¡±

    ¡°Someone gag him, quick!¡± Mikko interjects.

    Lionel and Avelina both move to slap their hands over my mouth. I step back and swat their hands away like buzzing flies, shocking myself with my speed. The surprise on their faces tells me that I¡¯m not just exaggerating things. I¡¯ve noticed that I¡¯m more physically fit after my threshold advancement, but I¡¯m so much faster than I realized that it catches all of us off guard.

    ¡°Whoa, Nuri! You¡¯re not lying to us, are you? You didn¡¯t re-Class into a [Warrior], or maybe a [Scout], like your missing hero?¡± Melina asks, her eyes sharpening as she peers at my quick hands and martial stance.

    ¡°No, he is still a [Glassworker],¡± Mbukhe says offhandedly. ¡°Congratulations on your strong advancement, by the way. This strength and speed are simply the results of holding so much mana in his body all the time.¡±

    Melina startles. ¡°You can see his Class? And you know he¡¯s past the first Threshold? How? You should not be privy to that information.¡±

    ¡°The whole world lies bare before me, child,¡± Mbukhe says sternly, but he winks at me when she swallows hard and looks away.

    ¡°Well, will you teach me how?¡± she finally asks, capturing the flitting remnants of her courage like a firefly in a bottle.

    He shrugs noncommittally. ¡°Sign up as an [Inquisitor]. Five years of training after your re-Class, and you¡¯ll know far more about people than you ever wanted to before. But remember, knowledge is a two-edged sword: the more you know, often the less you like the people whom you once considered friends.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re used to that,¡± Avelina says, elbowing her sister. ¡°That¡¯s no different from living with a twin. Mel probably knows me better than I know myself, but she still loves me.¡±

    ¡°Most of the time,¡± Melina replies, laughing when Padouk gives her a scandalized look and a reproving shake of his head..

    ¡°I wish I could say that I came here for a social visit,¡± Mbukhe says somberly, interrupting the laughing and teasing. ¡°I have information for you, Nuri. [General] Tychicus didn''t want to risk running you off if a different [Inquisitor] appeared, so I was selected to deliver the news to you. You''re wanted for further questioning regarding your association with Tem Cytekin.¡±

    ¡°I have to come with you now? Is that an order?¡± I tense up, glancing around the balcony to see if I have any avenue of escape, but trying to run or hide from Mbukhe is a fruitless endeavor¡ªand he and I both know it.

    ¡°No, but stay close by. When they send for you, don''t run, or you''ll only make things worse. Casella and I laid the groundwork to exonerate you, but it''s out of our hands now. But Nuri? Tell them the truth. These aren''t field agents; they¡¯re used to the ugliness that is Capital politics, and kindness is an utterly foreign concept to them. If they catch you in your lies, you''ll wish you''d never been born.¡±

    =+=

    The rest of the day passes in solemn silence. My friends and I watch the proceedings with considerably less interest than we had before Mbukhe¡¯s dire warning. His note is still burning a hole in my pocket, but I don¡¯t dare read it until I¡¯m at home and certain that no one is watching my every move. That night, we gather at Mikko''s house, since the rest of us only have small cabins or apartments to our names. His father and mother dote on everyone unrelentingly, heaping up our plates with every sweet treat known to man.

    ¡°You should have given us more warning,¡± Mikko¡¯s mother, Kirsi, says. She levels the most loving glare imaginable at me from across the table, her arms crossed as she takes a brief break from piling dessert on Lionel¡¯s plate. There¡¯s a soft, warm look in her eyes, yet it¡¯s simultaneously as unyielding as stone. It''s the kind of reproving look only a mother can give.

    I smile back at her, touched by the concern. Idly, I wonder if it''s some sort of mysterious, universal Skill granted to mothers upon the birth of a child. Or maybe they get an entire set of Skills: [Mother Knows Best], [Detect Lies], [Feed the Troops], and so on. I have to admit that it feels nice to be worried over, though, and the icy grip of worry on my heart over the incursions and imminent interrogations thaws out a bit.

    ¡°This is more celebration than I could ever need,¡± I insist, gesturing around the room to my gathered friends and adopted family, who are stuffing their faces with sweet rolls and cake, content to celebrate in each other¡¯s company. ¡°What more could a man truly ask for?¡±

    ¡°We would have prepared gifts,¡± Reijo says gruffly. ¡°At the very least, let me get you a grooming kit for your facial hair. You''ve done an admirable job growing it out; now it''s high time that you take more dignified care of that luscious beard.¡±

    We slip into easy laughter, and I let out a happy sigh as the mead flows freely and the desserts continue to pile up. After all we''ve been through lately, a chance to just kick back and relax is priceless. My eyes wander around the familiar room, taking in the stenciled outlines of blue flowers on the wall, and the bright pops of yellow where Kirsi has hung new curtains over the windows. On top of the long, cherry wood buffet, three vases from my early days in the hot shop stand in a place of honor. They¡¯re not my most skilled work, not by a long shot, but Kirsi claims that they¡¯re her favorite. They''re proudly displayed on an intricately cast, triple-tiered iron stand. Mikko''s work. It¡¯s a gift from the forge, and a double monument to their two sons¡ªit hits me again that they truly think of me as family.

    I wipe my eyes surreptitiously, and then stand up and gesture with my glass, still half full of the delicious mead. ¡°After my Class advancement, I¡¯ve earned a brand new Skill,¡± I announce abruptly. ¡°And I''d like to give a brief demonstration followed by a team exercise.¡±

    ¡°Another one?¡± Lionel yells loudly, his cheeks flushed from too much mead. He ducks his head in embarrassment when Reijo makes a show of covering his ears. ¡°You¡¯re on a roll, Nuri! Is that four Skills now? You¡¯re gonna run out of room to store them all in that shriveled little soul of yours. Seriously, though, congratulations!¡±

    I glance around the room and waggle my eyebrows mysteriously, enjoying the looks of surprise and intrigue on my friends¡¯ faces.

    Kirsi leans over to kiss my forehead. ¡°Nuri! You truly have been holding out on us. After all this time with only your initial Class Skill, you¡¯ve earned three new Skills in one year? Come on then, my boy, let''s see what you can do.¡± The lattice of laugh lines around her eyes deepen and crinkle as she smiles at me kindly.

    I resolve in that moment to come visit more often, ashamed that I''ve been so obsessed with my projects and my drive to advance that I haven''t made time for my family. They might not be blood, but they love me all the same. They deserve better.

    I clear my throat. ¡°Melina, take notes please. Ezio will be most displeased if we don''t document the range and amount of materials. He¡¯s already lectured me about it once.¡±

    ¡°Oh? You got a distance skill?¡± A note of excitement creeping into her voice she leans forward, her notebook materializing so fast I can¡¯t even follow where she¡¯s got it stored. Her pen is poised above the page, and a sheen of mana coats her eyes in preparation of analyzing the Skill so she can properly take notes.

    ¡°Perhaps we should get a metal baking sheet before I proceed. I''m afraid things might get messy, and I''d rather not burn the table,¡± I say.

    ¡°You mean, burn the table again?¡± Mikko interjects with a snicker.

    I laugh at his mother''s eye roll. ¡°Don''t worry, I''ve outgrown my childish impudence, although I can''t make any promises if Avelina starts slinging flames everywhere. She¡¯s a real firecracker.¡±

    ¡®That''s fair,¡± Avelina says, grinning as she traces her name in the air with tiny jets of fire, a mischievous, wild glint in her eyes. ¡°You never know when I might start feeling inspired.¡±

    Kirsi bustles off to the kitchen and fetches an old, scratched metal baking sheet. It¡¯s worn and covered in a deep, bronzed patina that it¡¯s earned over years of loving use and thousands upon thousands of cookies. She pushes some of the platters to the side of the table to make space for the baking sheet, and plonks it down in the center of the table with a resonant clang.

    ¡°Reijo, please clear the plates and make some room for them to get to work! I''m anxious to see what they come up with,¡± Kirsi says, helping her husband clear aside the meal that they prepared together. Their decades of practice together are on display as they make quick work of the cleanup, working in tandem like musicians playing melody and harmony to the same song.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Once the stage is set, I back up to one end of the room, standing in the corner by the doorway to create the most distance possible to the table. It''s roughly four paces, which should be about close to the edge of my range. I point at the table dramatically for effect, concentrating on the metal plate and flexing the new Skill, [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach]. The name sends a thrill of pride through me every time.

    Maintaining a firm grip with my willpower, I transmute a portion of my mana¡ªthe raw energy of the world¡ªinto a small batch of glass. This time I imagine that the glass is threaded through with gold, and sure enough, the glass comes out a distinctive ruby red.

    Gasps of shock and a smattering of applause greet my demonstration. Melina leaps to her feet, her chair squeaking across the floors as she pushes it back in her haste to take a closer look. She practically lunges for the glass, a flash of mana coursing through her as she activates her composition Skill. It only takes her a moment to confirm what I already know, but it still brings a smile to my face when she renders her verdict.

    ¡°How! The batch of red glass is completely pure. There are no sediments, no leftover detritus, no mistakes in the ratios¡ªit''s ready to be worked as is. Nuri, this is incredible!¡±

    ¡°Thank you, thank you.¡± I fold my hand across my heart and take a small bow. ¡°Now, who wants to demonstrate our attempt at a combined Skill, now that we happen to have some glass on hand?¡±

    ¡°What''s the recharge time like?¡± Melina asks, still prodding at the glass and analyzing it with her combination of glass-working and research Skills. I really ought to arrange for her to study with Rakesh and Ezio.

    ¡°The recharge time is the downside right now,¡± I admit. ¡°It takes nearly a full day before I can use it again.¡± I frown in annoyance at the restriction on the Skill. ¡°I hope that over time, as I rank up the Skill, I can reduce the time it takes to fully restore its energy. If I can practice it and eventually achieve the ability to use the [Glass Forge] at the beginning and end of the day in the studio, for example, then it will be far more useful for completing specialty work. Conjuring up all the hard to find glass will earn a pretty penny. Combined with my best Skill, [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds], I could probably get around most of my budgetary constraints for the time being.¡±

    ¡°I knew investing in your glass research was a good idea,¡± Avelina says smugly.¡±

    I wink at her, and then turn to my adopted mother. ¡°Now, what''s your favorite small decoration or household item?¡±

    She answers instantly, not hesitating in the slightest as her eyes light up. ¡°I absolutely adore fluted wine glasses. Be a dear and make me a matching pair, Nuri?¡±

    I grin at my friends. ¡°All right, we have our commission. Lionel, have you made wine glasses before, or fancy goblets at least? Everyone ready?¡± Eager nods meet my questions, so I flourish my hands and point at the glass. ¡°Avelina, light it up!¡±

    Her blue-white flame roars to life as she holds up her index finger and points it toward the air just above the metal baking sheet. Her sister activates her own set of Skills, lifting up the batch of glass into the air. She manipulates it slowly, turning the glass at an even pace so that Avelina can bring it up to temperature in a controlled, uniform manner. Their coordination is impressive, but it¡¯s to be expected given their years of experience sharing a workbench.

    ¡°The rest of us have to catch up to your control,¡± Lionel comments, voicing my thoughts. His brow is creased in concentration, and he¡¯s leaning his elbows on the table as he squints at the slowly-melting glass. His entire being is wrapped up in studying their technique, although he doesn¡¯t have any variation of [Manasight]. Maybe I should have them all practice, so they can see the inner workings of our Skills in action?

    I wait for him to sigh and lean back in his seat before I speak again, not wanting to break into whatever line of thought that has him occupied. ¡°How are you coming along with practice, Lio? Any luck with extending your range? We all need to improve¡ªnot just you. Don¡¯t feel down about yourself.¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°No, but I asked Ezio about it while we were visiting. He thinks that a focus glove could work for me, like we discussed, but he doesn¡¯t know where he can get one easily in the next few months. With the rumors of war, prices have shot up through the roof, and supply chains have been disrupted all across Densmore.¡±

    ¡°Maybe Padouk can help source one,¡± Melina suggests brightly. Her concentration on her task doesn¡¯t waver, but a slight smile graces her lips.

    ¡°Who¡¯s this, now?¡± Kirsi asks, her eyes sharpening like a hawk that¡¯s just caught sight of its prey. She edges closer to Melina, but I don¡¯t miss the way she keeps her distance from the glowing glob of glass hovering above her beloved table top, taking care to avoid any possibility of getting burned.

    ¡°A foreigner who¡¯s stealing our women,¡± I say flippantly, earning a snicker from Lionel and a smack on the shoulder from Kirsi.

    Mikko¡¯s mother follows up the cuff with a kiss on my cheek. ¡°Be polite, Nuri. I know it doesn¡¯t come naturally, but try for my sake.¡±

    ¡°Would you look at that! It¡¯s time for Lio to do his part in the team project,¡± I reply with a wink, sidestepping the question. It won¡¯t buy me much time. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s already planning on cornering me later and interrogating me until I tell her everything¡ªanother impressive Skill that mothers everywhere seem to share¡ªbut we really are on a time limit to complete the project before our mana runs out.

    Right on cue, Lionel steps closer, squinting against the heat and flaring light of the hot glass. He gathers his mana, pushing it to his fingertips as he begins to imprint a basic shape on the prepared glass, in accordance with his cloning Skill, and I activate my [Manasight] to oversee the process. Lionel¡¯s projected spellform still leaks worse than an old ship that hasn¡¯t been patched up in years, but the amount of practice he¡¯s put in shines through. The intensity of his mana has started to shift toward a purer, stronger rank of the Skill, and I¡¯m sure that before long he¡¯ll be able to stand two or three times farther away.

    ¡°Steady. You¡¯re still too far away. I need you to get a few inches closer,¡± I order, and nod in approval as he reaches forward until his hand is almost touching the glass. With a target for the Skill finally within his external mana-control range, the flow of mana stabilizes. Lionel¡¯s Skill latches onto the raw material, reshaping it and slowly molding the formless blob into a slender, elegant wine goblet.

    He¡¯s sweating and panting by the time it¡¯s done, still not adept at pushing the Skill past the limits of physical touch, but I can tell he¡¯s been putting in serious work to improve. We¡¯re not ready yet to perform any delicate distance work, but we¡¯re now a self-sufficient, mobile hot shop. Well, once a day, at any rate. And all we can make is a single glass or cup. But still! Progress is progress, however small.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± Kirsi breathes, staring at the ruby-red goblet as it spins in the air, annealing rapidly and held in place thanks to Melina¡¯s handy array of glass-making Skills.

    ¡°A few more minutes, and you can test it out yourself,¡± Melina says with a sweet smile.

    ¡°The glass will be ready tonight?¡± Kirsi asks, incredulous. ¡°Nuri always tells me that it takes a day or two for the work to set in. Can you really accelerate everything that quickly? Or has he been misinforming me all these years to buy himself more time to finish his projects?¡±

    ¡°Melina¡¯s pretty special,¡± I say with a laugh, ignoring Kirsi¡¯s teasing accusations. ¡°That¡¯s why she¡¯s got that Naftalian after her.¡±

    Melina turns to regard me with narrowed eyes. ¡°Nuri. Are you saying he just wants me for my Skills?¡±

    I shift to face her and shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I sure do! Our team is sunk without you and your Skills. As for Padouk? I don¡¯t really care why he wants you, as long as he doesn¡¯t steal you away. We need you more than he does.¡±

    Kirsi clucks her tongue and shoos me out of the room. ¡°Run along, boys. I want to hear all about this foreign heartthrob!¡±

    Whooping and teasing, I shephard Lionel and Mikko out of the kitchen while Kirsi and the Linas have some girl time. We join Reijo in his sitting room, where he¡¯s just gotten out a pipe and is tamping down some tobacco. He presents an extra few pipes to the group, but only Mikko takes him up on his offer, lighting up his own pipe as he sits down with his father. I enjoy the scent of pipe smoke, but I¡¯ve never gotten into the habit. It makes my head spin, so I avoid the practice. I don¡¯t mind their teasing that I¡¯m a lightweight.

    I settle into a tattered green chair with a satisfied sigh and kick my feet up on a nearby wicker footrest. ¡°I have to thank you, Reijo. You gave me good counsel when I was here last about seizing hold of my life and making my decisions count. I don¡¯t know where I¡¯d be without you. You¡¯re a life-saver.¡±

    He chuckles around the well-worn stem of his favorite pipe, then inhales a mouthful of smoke. He breathes out, his mouth in a round shape, and blue-grey smoke rings puff up into the air, some big and slow, and others fast and quick, passing through the center of the wider smoke rings. ¡°Ah, you¡¯d have figured it out in time. I have faith in you, Nuri. You¡¯ve always been a bright boy, if a bit mulish about doing things your own way.¡±

    =+=

    I wish the peace and quiet will last forever, but [General] Tychicus has other plans.

    An [Inquisitor] shows up at my door early the next morning, insisting that I join him for an audience with the army officers and intelligence committee. I take my time grooming myself and performing morning ablutions, my mind racing through scenarios, before I don my jacket and jog down the path toward the barracks. The royal army battalion has taken over the guardhouses while they¡¯re in Silaraon. Eminent domain has its perks.

    The [Inquisitor] hands me off to a pair of guards, who escort me into a dim, stone-wall room somewhere on the third floor of the barracks. Moments later, the [General] stalks into the room, an entourage in tow.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure this is the boy?¡± Tychicus looms over me, all gleaming armor and powerful muscles. He doesn¡¯t ask me any questions; speaking to me directly never seems to cross his mind. I may as well not exist, since I am neither military nor in the second Threshold. Instead, his question is directed toward an [Adjutant] who saunters around the square room in which I¡¯ve been sequestered, prepping privacy wards to keep our conversation hidden.

    Although, come to think of it, I¡¯m not sure anyone in Silaraon has the courage¡ªor the idiocy¡ªto spy on a court-appointed [General] with an army at his beck and call. Out here in the borderlands, he¡¯s practically a king, a royal authority unto himself.

    The [Adjutant] snaps a smart salute, turning toward Tychicus with an alacrity previously not on display. I catch sight of a hilt on his hip, and I remember that even non-combat specialists in the royal army could take me apart with ease. I have to watch my step here.

    ¡°Sir, the locals corroborate [Inquisitor] Casella¡¯s story, as dubious as it sounds at first blush. This young man is certainly the one who hired Tem Cytekin for a training expedition in the forest. Allegedly, he also entered the greater Rift with him, though no one has seen hide nor hair of the [Expert Counterspell Scout] since then.¡±

    ¡°And this . . . craftsman came out in one piece?¡± Tychicus quirks a single eyebrow.

    ¡°I went into the Rift with Tem. That¡¯s the honest truth, not an allegation,¡± I say more hotly than I probably should have. I blush, but I lift my chin and try to meet the [General]¡¯s eyes.

    He glances at me finally with a slight frown. He looks at me for the first time¡ªreally looks at me¡ªand the full force of his presence is suffocating. l flinch away at the sudden storm of ferocious heat pouring off him. My [Heat Manipulation] does nothing to shield me from the pain, and I stagger backward, a curse springing to my lips. It¡¯s like I¡¯m standing in the searing desert sun with no shade, burning away to a crisp.

    l grit my teeth, squeezing my fists in defiance as I try not to fall over. Swaying on my feet is all I can manage under his scrutiny, and I¡¯m unable to meet his gaze with a straight back and square shoulders.

    I¡¯ve been weighed and found wanting. Suddenly, I¡¯m a little more sympathetic toward the [Lords] and [Ladies] of Silaraon. Who can stand up to this monster in human flesh?

    ¡°Well, you have some backbone, I''ll give you that. Either that, or you''re too stupid to know when you''re outmatched.¡± [General] Tychicus breaths in slowly, then lets out a heavy, weary sigh. It¡¯s the sound of a man who¡¯s accustomed to being surrounded by idiots.

    ¡°Tell me, young [Glassworker], which creatures did you encounter in the Rift?¡±

    I struggle to take a breath, and the [General] evidently decides to take pity on me. He withdraws the smothering touch of his powerful presence, and I stand straighter, unconsciously clasping my hands together behind my back. ¡°Have you ever been in a Rift, Sir? It¡¯s difficult to find words to describe it. Passing through the void . . . it¡¯s like listening to the hiss and spit of a tea kettle boiling when the whistle isn¡¯t working quite right. There''s something fuzzing on the edge of your consciousness, a crackle and pop like burning pine full of pitch. Everything loses its definition¡ªthe entire world is a grayscale of not being.¡±

    I shiver, remembering the odd sensation, like being dragged bodily through a vat of cold vegetable oil. ¡°The void is slick. Everything feels too slippery, too intangible to hold. When we first entered the Rift, I thought I would cry when I saw the red rock and dirt. But stepping through that swirling portal wasn''t an escape. Tem and I immediately had to take cover.¡±

    ¡°Hide? From what?¡± [General] Tychicus demands. He¡¯s leaning forward, his hand on his sword hilt, and an undercurrent of violence swirls through the room.

    ¡°Overhead in the Rift, a behemoth floated through the . . . I would call what was in the sky cloud formations, but that''s not doing the chaotic, multihued wisps justice. We hid under a rock formation until it passed.¡±

    I pause and lick my lips. ¡°That thing was like nothing I''ve ever seen before. Like . . . like an entire mountain pulled itself up by the roots, and was just soaring above us in defiance of gravity. We were so small that it didn''t even notice us. It didn''t care about us in the slightest. Even if it had seen us, I don''t think it would have paid any attention to the puny humans in its domain. But I suppose that just made it all the more dangerous, since it could have settled down and crushed us into paste and never known the difference.

    ¡°After that? It¡¯s all a blur, Sir.¡± My breathing quickens, and my pulse flutters as I recall the terror and excitement of the Rift. ¡°We ran into a variety of creatures. A strange lizard twice the size of a horse, easily. Thousands¡ªno, tens of thousands¡ªof huge, scuttling, blood-red crabs. I thought they were going to swarm us and strip the flesh right off our bones.¡±

    ¡°And how did you survive?¡± [General] Tychicus asks. ¡°Against such overwhelming odds, I would think you stood no chance.¡±

    ¡°I didn''t stand a chance, not on my own. Without Tem, I would have died in the first few minutes. He did most of the fighting, while I distracted them when I could by freezing or heating the enemies. Mostly, we hid and ran. I didn¡¯t do much of anything other than try to survive and stay behind Tem. I thought we were going to die down there. But then he seemed to recognize something. I don''t know how he knew to find it. Perhaps he recognized some spatial anomaly he¡¯d experienced before. Anyway, he tugged me sideways¡ªI don¡¯t know how else to describe it, though implying normal directions is the wrong thing¡ªright into a maze. We slammed into a stone wall in the middle of deep darkness. It was there in the labyrinth that our escape began in earnest.¡±

    ¡°Surely you don¡¯t believe any of this nonsense,¡± the [Adjutant] scoffs. His hand twitches toward the rapier at his side. ¡°Should I teach him a lesson?¡±

    The [General] holds up a big, square hand, silencing his attending officer. He peers at me with quiet intensity burning in his eyes. ¡°What shape was the maze?¡±

    I held [General] Tychicus¡¯ gaze, and got the sense that he wasn¡¯t trying to trap me in a trick question. Maybe there¡¯s something about the way that I¡¯m telling the story that¡¯s convinced him of my sincerity. I nod after a moment, and an unspoken communication passes between us; Tem might say that we struck an [Accord], although no mana has sealed the oath. Nevertheless, the weight of something solemn settles over me.

    ¡°Tem explained the different kinds of labyrinth shapes to me,¡± I say. ¡°There are circles, rectangles, spirals, and so on. Ours was linear. A rectangle. But the closer we got to the control room, the more recursive it became. Loops, curves, dizzying spirals.¡±

    ¡°And did you enter the control room?¡± [General] Tychicus asks, a sudden urgency to his voice that has been absent until now. Before, he was all courtly composure, embodying the solid, unbroken chain of command. Now, his presence hums with anticipation.

    Sweat breaks out on my forehead, but I instantly burn it off with a deft touch of [Heat Manipulation]. I refuse to let them see my fear. What does he know? And what does he want?

    ¡°Yes, Sir, we entered the control room. I . . . I didn''t expect such extravagant architecture. It never occurred to me before that the wraiths are capable of artistry. The ones we fought outside the Rift¡ªor rather, the ones Tem fought while I hid¡ªwere more akin to monsters. They were strange beings of smoke and anger. But once we got into the labyrinth itself, they acted more human than I''d ever expected.¡±

    [General] Tychicus¡¯ eyes turn cold. ¡°The boy is definitely telling the truth,¡± he declares in his stentorian tones, and immediately his [Adjutant] and secondary [Officer] salute and get to work. Clearly, they¡¯d been waiting for the go ahead to proceed with the next stage of [General] Tychicus¡¯ plan¡ªwhatever that might be.

    ¡°I need you to tell me everything you learned down there. Anything that you may have seen in the control room, or taken with you, could be vital to turning the tide of war. Don¡¯t hold anything back. The information you provide could save lives, boy. My personal [Adjutant] will speak with you now. I have an army to command.¡±

    And with that, [General] Tychicus sweeps out of the room, trailing lines of mana behind him that''s so thick that it coalesces. The after-image of his passing hangs in the air for nearly half a minute after he¡¯s gone, emitting smoldering, sparking fury.

    ¡°This way, please,¡± the [Adjutant] says smoothly, taking me by the elbow and ushering me to a side room for questioning. My body responds mechanically, obeying before I even think to put up any resistance, and I smile warmly at my new friend as he asks me very kindly to tell him everything

    A mental Skill? I wonder suddenly, rousing myself with an internal snarl of anger. As much as I despise manipulation, I don¡¯t dare refuse his questions. All I can think about is how I¡¯m going to get out of here alive. If they find out that I have the PPP. . . .

    Mbukhe said not to lie to them, and I certainly don¡¯t want any of the common [Soldiers] to die because I¡¯m too much of a coward to admit what I stole from the labyrinth, but I have a premonition that I shouldn¡¯t share the details. Something isn¡¯t right about any of this, and I want to get to the bottom of it before I commit to telling them anything else.

    We reach our destination¡ªa small, square room without any windows, with a plain, rough-hewn table and two chairs, illuminated by a single mana lamp¡ªand the [Adjutant] begins to question me and take notes. My mind races, turning over escape schemes as we talk, but I discard them all as too fanciful. Abruptly, a thought hits me, and a plan begins to form. My lips curl up as I suddenly know how I¡¯m going to get out of this one.

    I¡¯m going to use the best deception known to man. I¡¯m going to lie with the truth.

 B2 C10: Friend or Foe?

    Time spirals into an indeterminate blur as the [Adjutant] leads me through my story again and again in exacting detail, questioning me about timelines, locations, even smells and shapes. My tongue is dry from lack of water and hours of talking, and my brain feels fuzzy after jumping back and forth between so many topics, but the interrogation never stops.

    My mana is locked away by some technique borrowed from the [Inquisitors], my Skills out of reach while I undergo questioning. It¡¯s unnerving, but I have to remind myself that we¡¯re not actually enemies. We¡¯re all more or less on the same side, even if I don¡¯t know if I can trust them personally.

    The raven-haired [Adjutant] waves his notebook in my face. ¡°People lie, Nuri the young [Glassworker]. They lie all day long, in a hundred small ways to make themselves look better. Thankfully, I have a Skill that allows me to transcribe what I hear into exact notes. I never make a mistake; I never get any information wrong,¡± he brags.

    ¡°If people lie, though, then aren¡¯t you just recording lies?¡± I ask, unsure why he thinks that perfect accuracy combats misinformation.

    ¡°Perhaps. That¡¯s the funny thing, though. A simple truth is easy to repeat. If I ask you what your name is five different times over the course of the day, you¡¯ll get it right each time. If you make up an elaborate story, or try to omit an inconvenient detail, however, you may have a harder time sticking to the lie after the fifth or sixth time I ask you to describe it to me. Variation in a recounting is often a dead giveaway that you¡¯re hiding something.¡±

    I nod slowly, collecting my thoughts. ¡°But if I were trying to lie to you, then now I know to be on guard. Doesn¡¯t that defeat the purpose?¡±

    The [Adjutant] doesn¡¯t answer for a long, tense moment. He simply flips through his little black notebook as though looking for a particular phrase or sentence. Finally, he looks up and clears his throat. ¡°If I gave you a shield and told you to stop a blow from [General] Tychicus, could you do it? Successfully, I mean.¡±

    A short, bitter snort escapes me before I can remind myself to show some decorum. ¡°Not a chance. A [General] is too high-leveled, and he has both far more fighting experience than I do and a combat Class,¡± I say, putting the pieces together as I work through the implications aloud. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re saying that even giving me a shield to defend against you¡ªin this case, letting me in on your strategy¡ªis irrelevant, because you¡¯re that much stronger and smarter than I am that it doesn¡¯t matter?¡±

    ¡°Precisely,¡± the [Adjutant] replies with a serpentine smile on his slim, aristocratic face. ¡°Now, remind me again the color of the crabs you fought?¡±

    ¡°Crimson,¡± I answer automatically. ¡°Although, honestly, we didn¡¯t really fight them. We ran away and hid.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ve said before, craftsman. I think we¡¯ve long since established your cowardice,¡± the [Adjutant] says dryly, still scratching away in his notebook as his Skill takes effect.

    ¡°You would have done the same,¡± I scoff. ¡°There were too many¡ªa flood that carpeted the ground and covered the entire horizon. Fighting them would have been suicide.¡±

    The [Adjutant] gives me a blank look. He raises his eyebrows and hums in the back of his throat, clearly unimpressed. Before I can defend our actions, he dives back into his notebook to pull out more questions. He¡¯s constantly referring back to wording and phrases that I¡¯ve forgotten I even said, needling me for details or trying to catch me in traps of inconsistency. My eyelids keep fluttering closed, and I start awake to the scent of burning flowers, although I don¡¯t remember feeling tired this morning.

    A small bouquet of flowers, haphazardly arrayed in a cheap, blue glass vase¡ªI could make one far better, I can tell in an instant¡ªare beaded with tiny drops of water. One of them is seared away to a crisp; the blue-grey smoke is still swirling in the air in lazy circles. The rest of the pale flowers bow down over the rim of the vase. They reach for the ground, suspended from light green stems, opening into blossoms like that look like bells or perhaps inverted trumpets. The white petals deepen to a pinkish shade, unfurling into multiple, delicate folds.

    The [Adjutant] snaps his fingers in front of my face, and a burst of mana accompanies a sudden rush of clarity. I sit up straight, unable to look away from his gold-flecked eyes¡ªlike a rodent freezing underneath the terrifying stare of a snake.

    ¡°Describe to me again exactly how you know that foul void beast was communicating with you. That seems speculative at best, don¡¯t you think?¡± His voice booms, and he spits out words faster and faster as he grows more irate. ¡°Wraiths aren¡¯t sentient. They kill and pillage and destroy. Talk of communication or friendship is foolish. No, it¡¯s downright dangerous! The wraiths are our ancient enemies, not neighbors with whom we occasionally argue about fencelines!¡±

    ¡°They built the labyrinth, didn¡¯t they?¡± I ask cautiously, unsure how much I should risk his anger. ¡°They can¡¯t be completely mindless.¡±

    The [Adjutant] sneers. ¡°You think they¡¯re like people? That they¡¯re just strange-looking folk who are sometimes allies, and sometimes enemies? Bah! You¡¯re even stupider than I thought, boy. Now, I need to know exactly what Tem said and did within the labyrinth. I grow tired of hearing you repeat the same dull tales over and over again.¡±

    I rub my tired eyes, stifle a yawn, and nod, wracking my brain for the right words. I reach again for the cup of water that the [Adjutant] had delivered to the room. My mouth feels like it¡¯s been stuffed full with wool. Speaking is becoming laborious. When I hold the cup up to my trembling lips, however, only a single drop of water dribbles from the cup. I frown, blinking. I appear to have drained it dry already. Huh. I don¡¯t remember that.

    My tongue is stiff, stuck against the roof of my mouth. I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to work the moisture back into my tongue and cheeks and lips. We¡¯ve been talking for hours¡ªhaven¡¯t we? I can¡¯t remember.

    I can¡¯t remember.

    Panic sets in as I realize that I¡¯m losing control of my own mind. There¡¯s nothing I can do to fight back, though, not really. I¡¯m heavily out-leveled and out-Classed. I bite the inside of my cheek until blood flows, and the sudden shock of pain brings me back into control. We¡¯ve been going in endless circles as we discuss and debate the intricacies of the labyrinth, the Greater Rift¡ªapparently we entered a Greater Rift; there are smaller, safer varieties¡ªand, of course, the hot topic of the day: the wraiths. What information is he trying to wring out of me?

    The Greater Rift itself doesn¡¯t seem to hold terribly much interest to the [Adjutant], but the labyrinth and its denizens? That is a different story. He¡¯s abyss-bent on learning everything there is to know about its construction, its citizens, its weapons¡ªand, most of all, its various weaknesses. My best guess is that he¡¯s preparing for an invasion.

    The thought of the portal prognostication device I¡¯ve sent off for safekeeping makes me guilty. I could tell them how to predict the opening of the next Rift. I could be a hero and give them the key to ending the war. The royal army might be able to take the fights to the wraiths before the void creatures know that they¡¯re in danger.

    Unbidden, the face of the scared wraith attendant in the control room springs to mind, and I swallow hard. Tem¡¯s words in the Labyrinth filter back to me: Invaders deserve no mercy. Simple folk guarding their homes? Well. If I kill them in their sleep, then that makes me the invader, doesn¡¯t it?

    Conviction building, I open my mouth before I think things through. ¡°I¡¯ll defend my home, but I refuse to be party to genocide.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be foolish, Nuri. You had no compunctions about fighting those big cats, did you? Oh, don¡¯t look so surprised! Of course we looked into your past. Wraiths are no different from the shadow jaguars. They are all just monsters in the end.¡±

    ¡°What does this have to do with Tem? Can I go home yet?¡± I ask, all too aware of just how petulant my voice sounds.

    ¡°Why, anxious to get away?¡± he asks, his voice deceptively mellow in contrast to the radiating fire of his golden eyes. They¡¯re dilating beyond human dimensions, the pupil narrowing to a vertical slit as mana seethes within. ¡°You aren¡¯t trying to hide something, are you?¡±

    I flinch as a spike of guilt over hiding the PPP hits me. I shrug weakly and try to look as innocent as I can.

    A cruel, thin smile spreads across the [Adjutant]¡¯s face. He chuckles, soft and low and with a twisted sort of delight that sets me on edge. ¡°Ah, ah, ah, as I thought! Hiding something, are we? Young man, I believe that I should let you know that I am no mere [Assistant] to the [General]. My background is with the [Inquisitors]¡ªand from the way your cheek twitches below your left eye, I see that you¡¯re already familiar with my brethren. So believe me when I say that I know for certain that you¡¯re hiding something.¡±

    My breathing accelerates, and I shift in my chair, my gaze darting about the small room and searching for a way out. I half-rise from my seat, but the [Adjutant] moves before I do. I can¡¯t even try to run; escape is futile given our power disparity.

    He slams his hands down on the table between us and leans forward, teeth bared in the richtus of a snarl, like a feral creature mad with disease and hunger. On his lips, the words that I¡¯m hiding something aren¡¯t a question, but rather an accusation.

    ¡°You¡¯ve kept something back from me. From me! You thought you could pull the veil over my eyes, but I always win in the end, boy. Tell. Me. What. It. Is!¡±

    His demand slams into me like pummeling fists, and I cry out involuntarily, shuddering and clutching the side of my head in pain. I open my mouth to answer as crushing heaviness builds in my chest, a need to answer his command, and the swirling energy confirms that he¡¯s using a Skill on me.

    My own mana feels sluggish, like brackish water just out of reach on the other side of a dam. I can¡¯t flare my [Manasight] into active observation since he¡¯s done something to seal away my Skills. Yet I¡¯m certain to the core of my being that the [Adjutant] is infusing each of his words with mana¡ªwith his sheer presence. For all I know, [Tell Me What It Is] is the name of a mental Skill he leverages for interrogation. I can¡¯t hold out much longer, but I make a show of resisting for a brief moment.

    The more I fight back, though, the harder it is to withstand his Skill. Something tugs at the base of my skull, like a hook through a fish¡¯s lips. Pressure builds until my ears pop. Bile burbles up from my gut into my throat and threatens to explode out from my mouth.

    The pain ramps up at an excruciating pace, and it¡¯s a blessed relief to finally scream out the answer I¡¯ve held in mind firmly for our entire interrogation session¡ªor as firmly as I can in my compromised mental state. ¡°I stole a beast core! It¡¯s hidden under my bed at home.¡±

    ¡°Now, why would you hide such a thing from me?¡± the [Adjutant] asks me in a wounded tone, his hands pressed against his heart theatrically. He¡¯s still clutching his black notebook as he stares at me with those mesmerizing, predatorial eyes.

    My voice cracks under the strain of my single-minded answer. ¡°I kept it in hopes that I could create a masterwork one day, or perhaps sell it if it takes me too long to learn how to mana-imbue glasswork.¡±

    ¡°There, there, dear Nuri,¡± the [Adjutant] croons, like some [Bard] at the local pub trying to earn some extra coppers from the ladies in the audience. ¡°That wasn¡¯t so hard, now, was it?¡±

    He waves a hand, and a second cup of water abruptly unveils itself on the table where it was hidden behind an illusion spell. I reach out greedily, grasping it with both hands and lifting it to my lips like a [Drunkard] suffering through delirium tremens. I simply can¡¯t stop shaking as I gulp down the water. When I¡¯ve drained the second cup down to the last drop, I slump forward on the table, heaving a sigh and resting my forehead on the rough-hewn wood.

    ¡°So dramatic. No one begrudges you some greed,¡± the [Adjutant] says testily.

    I sit up, swallowing as I try to break the hypnotic stare of my questioner. I cringe back in the chair, laying on thick the part of the cowardly snitch, and not particularly pleased at how easily I slip into the role. ¡°Please, don¡¯t take it from me. I¡ªI need it more than you do! It¡¯s my ticket out of here.¡±

    ¡°You think you¡¯ll have a shot at keeping your grubby paws on something that valuable?¡± the [Adjutant] scoffs. He slams his palms down on the table again with a concussive blast that makes my ears ring. I blink back tears, no longer acting as I whimper and huddle in my seat. There¡¯s a nimbus of black fire flickering around his head that I¡¯ve seen before, and I¡¯m not eager to finally find out what it can do. He could utterly destroy me without breaking a sweat.

    ¡°Please,¡± I beg, my voice high and reedy with desperation. ¡°I¡¯m not wealthy. I don¡¯t have a chance of progressing much further in my Class without some sort of funding. I didn¡¯t think it would hurt anyone to keep it a secret.¡±

    ¡°Ah, you didn¡¯t think it would hurt anyone. Of course not.¡± My questioner¡¯s voice goes soft and dangerous. ¡°No one ever stops to think about the implications. And you may even be right in this case, Nuri. A beast core is expensive, but not essential. But what if you had been hiding something else, something critical to our war efforts, however? Your selfishness could cost an untold number of lives!¡±

    ¡°What are you going to do with me?¡± I ask, not faking the warble in my voice. I slide down in my hard wooden seat and will myself to disappear under the force of his disapproval.

    ¡°That depends on how willing you are to work for your country,¡± the [Adjutant] replies, tapping his chin with his finger.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I have much to offer,¡± I say hesitantly, not wanting to lock myself into any arrangements that I¡¯ll regret. Serving Densmore isn¡¯t high on my list right now, not until I can get to the bottom of what¡¯s going on with Tem, the wraiths, and the tangled snarl of capital politics. I¡¯m not sure who to trust.

    ¡°No, no you don¡¯t have much to offer,¡± he agrees, more readily than my ego likes to hear. ¡°Yet you can make high-quality glass crockery and ornaments, yes?¡±

    I nod, sitting up straight again as a bit of my professional pride resurfaces. ¡°I¡¯m likely one of the most skilled crafters in Silaraon, despite my youth.¡±

    The [Adjutant]¡¯s trademark, nasty smile snakes across his face. ¡°Excellent. I believe we can come to an equitable understanding, then, you and I. You have nothing to fear, as long as you hold up your end of the bargain.¡±

    =+=

    By the time the [Adjutant] lets me go, our heavily one-sided deal finally struck¡ªa deal I have no real intention of fulfilling¡ªthe lengthening evening shadows shroud the world in velvety silence. I stagger back home, push open the front door with a protesting creak, and collapse into bed. The day¡¯s events replay through my mind on repeat, and I try to look for gaps in my narrative armor. Did I sell the story well enough? It¡¯s too bad I can¡¯t copy the [Adjutant]¡¯s note taking Skill. Perfect recollection sounds useful, although it doesn¡¯t apply very well to my profession. Melina or Ezio could benefit from it, certainly.

    I groan and lift my head as I remember that I have work to do before I embrace the bliss of oblivious sleep. As expected, someone¡¯s already been to my cabin. My bed is a disheveled mess of thrown-off covers and twisted sheets, and the frame is canted out from the wall, left off kilter from when the [Adjutant]¡¯s agent ransacked the place. I know without looking that the beast core I¡¯d stored underneath it is gone for good. I sigh. Part of me regrets the loss of my first beast core, given to me by Tem Cytekin himself before he disappeared, but the overwhelming sensation I feel right now is giddiness.

    They let me go! Any sense of loss is subsumed in a rush of relief, tinged with a touch of glee at getting away with my plan. I¡¯ll have to double-check that nothing else is missing, but as far as I can tell, I managed to side step the [Adjutant]¡¯s Skill. I¡¯ve successfully hidden the more important omission from my story.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Mbukhe¡¯s warning springs to mind. I¡¯m grateful to have allies, I think to myself as I tidy up the mess and shovel a bit of dry bread and dipping sauce into my mouth. Not all [Inquisitors] are fearsome, corrupt, or harboring ulterior motives. Casella and Mbukhe are kind and friendly, and I owe them for the message they delivered. As instructed, I destroyed his note the day before with a burst of [Heat Manipulation], burning the letter after reading it.

    I¡¯m still somewhat paranoid about their friendship, as fair-minded as they seem. What if everything they¡¯ve done so far is just a ploy to get me to trust them? The [Adjutant] rants and raves, uses his intrusive mental Skills on me, and then they would seem far more reasonable by comparison. Maybe it was all just a trick to get me to tell everything to Casella and Mbukhe. Am I falling into their trap?

    I don¡¯t know if I can trust them, but if Mbukhe¡¯s note is accurate, then it makes me even more determined to dig in my heels. I have to get to the bottom of what¡¯s going on before I cast in my lot with anyone. I review again the words that are branded in my mind:

    He¡¯s alive. Trust no one. Tell them as much as you can for your own sake; they¡¯ll know if you lie. We¡¯ll be ready for you after. The sun rises in darkness.

    He¡¯s alive. Could they be more cryptic? Who? Tem?

    ¡°And what does that last line mean?¡± I whisper to myself, still puzzling over it as much as I did the day before. I¡¯ve never been the best at deciphering riddles, and I¡¯m not sure how much I should share with Ezio or Melina to try to get their input. I know they¡¯re already implicated by virtue of association with me, but making them more active participants in escape feels like inviting them to place their heads on the chopping block. Treason is such an ugly word, and I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m truly betraying my country, but I doubt [General] Tychicus will see it that way.

    I pace back and forth across the floor, surveying the single room cabin. The combination bedroom, living room, kitchen, and dining room that makes up the singular indoor living space of my home isn¡¯t much, but it¡¯s mine: a symbol of my independence and a promise of growth.

    The floorboards are worn down from years of heavy foot traffic. The previous occupants clearly had no sentimental attachments or drive to improve the place. Why would they? I¡¯m sure they were all transients like me, looking for something better. No one¡¯s taking the time to refinish the floors, paint the wall, or add a flash of color like in Kirsi¡¯s home. There¡¯s nothing particularly warm or nostalgic about my little cabin; no deep-seated connections or undying loyalty. So why do I feel so choked up at the thought of leaving?

    Nonetheless, I¡¯m committed now. I can¡¯t stay here and risk that the artifact I stole from the wraiths makes its way into the wrong hands. Once again the thought haunts me. Why am I so certain that the royal army is the wrong hands? Before my interactions with the wraith in the labyrinth control room, I would have gladly led the charge myself to destroy the threat against hearth and home. After all, I grew up reading about [Heroic Generals] and [Justicars], dreaming that I could make a name for myself. I¡¯ve always thought of myself as loyal to [King] and country. So why am I balking about giving the royal army a tool that could help them end the war before it even begins?

    I drag my body through the motions of getting ready for bed, feeling like a dirty dishrag wrung out after a day of scrubbing plates. I prepare myself slowly, trying to keep up the facade that I¡¯m devastated over my loss. It¡¯s best to act as though I¡¯m under surveillance around the clock from now on; I don¡¯t believe for an instant that the [Inquisitors] are done with me already. I¡¯m the only real link they have to the strange goings-on of the Rifts, so it would be foolish to assume that they¡¯re not going to keep eyes on me.

    But all that I can think about as I get ready to sleep are Tem¡¯s words about invading someone else¡¯s home. If Tem, who has likely spent more time in Rifts than anyone alive, thinks the wraiths are people, then I¡¯d be foolish not to listen. If there¡¯s any chance of coming to a more equitable solution, then I don¡¯t want to give up on it now. And if Tem¡¯s alive, then how come we haven¡¯t heard about it? What does Mbukhe know that the rest of us don¡¯t?

    I lower myself down to the bed with a soft groan, closing my eyes and burying my face in the pillow. These are questions for another day. For now it¡¯s time to sleep and to approach these increasingly complex series of puzzles with fresh perspective and new energy.

    Once I return to my bed, though, I slip under the covers so that I can hide the grin that¡¯s building. I may have lost the beast core, but the portal-locating artifact is away from here, sent off for safekeeping hidden amongst an otherwise mundane shipment of glass items that Ezio¡¯s [Researcher] friend ordered. We¡¯ll need to recover the box eventually, but Ezio is certain it will be in his cellar; the [Researcher] doesn¡¯t throw away anything, ever, and he likely won¡¯t dig into the false bottom of the box. I don¡¯t think the [Inquisitors] will track down our shipping histories.

    As for the [Scholar Nonpareil] cracking under the strain of interrogation? Ezio has assured me that he has mental resistance Skills based on his Class. Apparently, avoiding academic bias is so difficult that there are several specific Skills granted just for dealing with the mental strain. Even if they question him, he¡¯ll hold strong. I¡¯m more likely to implicate myself than he is to betray my trust.

    I was skeptical of Ezio¡¯s plan at first, despite his assurances that the man never wasted anything. Once I found out that the [Researcher] was none other than the author of the biology piece about seashells, I understood that it was simply the man¡¯s nature to gather as much of everything as he could, and to never, ever let go. Otherwise, he would have been far more economical with his words in his research paper. Based on the way he writes, we have nothing to fear about throwing out a box, I think again with a chuckle.

    Still, depending on how thorough the [Inquisitors] are, it won¡¯t take much to realize that Ezio has been helping me on a number of projects. He knew Tem before I did, although they have purely professional, academic connections; perhaps that¡¯s enough to absolve him. If they want to track down any of Ezio¡¯s compatriots, though, then the [Researcher] will be easy to find. He¡¯s only a few townships removed from Silaraon, preferring the bucolic surroundings to the bustle of city life.

    I massage my temples with the index and middle finger of each hand, trying to stave off the headache that¡¯s been brooding ever since I struck a deal with the [Adjutant]. Theoretically, I have to make him any commission for glassware he asks, at no charge, for the duration of the army¡¯s stay in Silaraon. I growl at the thought, but at least it¡¯s better than rotting in prison.

    Tomorrow¡¯s a big day. It¡¯s time to get some sleep and hope that I haven¡¯t made a terrible choice that¡¯s doomed us all by not sharing everything I know. I snuff out the candle with a burst of [Heat Manipulation], roll over, and drift off into troubled slumber.

    That night, I dream of fire and war. I walk a torn up battlefield, surrounded by the ashen, accusing faces. Thousands of young, dead [Soldiers] are staring up at me from where they lie in pools of blood, their faces frozen in the mask of death. Despite their unmoving lips and lungs that no longer draw breath, I can hear them screaming. Their myriad voices chorus together, a mournful, vengeful refrain: You could have saved us!

    I don¡¯t sleep very well the rest of the night.

    =+=

    The next day, I shake off the shiver-inducing nightmare and head into town to enjoy my day off from the glassworks studio. It doesn¡¯t take an astute [Social Expert] or an [Analyst] to pick up on the hunched postures and strained faces of Silaraon¡¯s population. People are worried about the war, and it shows in the bags under their eyes and their hushed, furtive voices. We rarely see much in the way of official support from Densmore, and an entire battalion of soldiers, well over a thousand strong, has many people on edge.

    ¡°You¡¯d think that we¡¯d find the Royal army¡¯s presence reassuring,¡± I mutter to myself as I make my way to my destination for the day. ¡°If anything or anyone can stave off a threat, it will be the military who¡¯s trained to fight against both men and monsters.¡±

    Yet it strikes me that before the army arrived, we could shake off the strange anomalies in the sky as nothing more than natural phenomena. Rumors of an Invasion? We can scoff and call them unfounded rumors, or the incoherent, doomsday mutterings of unhinged conspiracy theorists. Now, there¡¯s no denying what¡¯s happening. The army has stolen people¡¯s ability to lie to themselves, and they hate the [Soldiers] because of it.

    By noon, I¡¯m sitting in one of my favorite spots in a little courtyard in a cafe, tucked into a corner of the patio. Vines climb up the trellises behind me. Overhead, the sky is a pale blue, like a robin¡¯s egg, with only a few high, wispy clouds marring the perfect heavens. Despite the heat, this spot is comfortable, shaded by the flowering vines and positioned just right so that the gentle east wind cools the dining patio.

    I¡¯m sipping on a tall glass of tea mixed with crushed ice, and for once I¡¯ve let my [Heat Manipulation] go dormant so that I can enjoy the interplay between hot and cold. I¡¯m waiting for my guests, neither of whom know I¡¯ve invited the other one, although the surprise will be rather short lived. I¡¯m still not sure if I can trust Padouk, but I suspect I¡¯ll need his connections before this is through, even if he is from a neighboring nation.

    Besides, if they¡¯re going to accuse me of treason, then I might as well go all the way and involve non-Densmore citizens. It¡¯s like an all you can eat buffet, I think to myself: if you¡¯ve already paid the price of admission, then you might as well heap everything onto your plate and then into your mouth. There¡¯s no point in moderation if at all costs the same in the end!

    Amusing thoughts aside, I need the quiet warmth of a summer day after the soul-sucking drain of the interrogation yesterday. There¡¯s something restorative about the tranquil outdoors. Breathing in the fresh air, I let my gaze wander around the cobblestones, enjoying the diamond patterns that the sunlight through the lattice casts on the ground. Off to the side, I see that a little colony of ants has made a home in the corner of the patio, taking advantage of whatever food the patrons of the cafe drop in order to keep their little hive well supplied.

    They¡¯re marching in a long, wavering column, like a tiny black thread weaving its way across the loom of the ground. Their destination? Small pile of crumbs, presumably left over from one of the cream-filled scones that the cafe specializes in¡ªa treat that I fully intend to indulge in once my guests arrive. The ants¡¯ little antennae waver as they communicate down the line and more ants scurry forward to carry off their treasure to the hive. I snort softly. Is that even how they communicate?

    ¡°Maybe I can ask Ezio¡¯s biology friend,¡± I mutter to myself. Usually, I don¡¯t pay much mind to my lack of formal education beyond the basics. But lately, as I rub shoulders with an increasingly elite crowd, my unrefined academic nature is becoming a liability.

    A strange, almost earthy mana signature appears on the edges of my mana perception. There¡¯s a faint sense of pulsing, almost like the bearer is searching for a response, sending out waves of delicate energy on a regular basis. Isn¡¯t that how bats see the world? I wonder, proud that I¡¯m not entirely ignorant of biological functions.

    I turn my chair, shifting to look over my shoulder. A brief moment later, Padouk emerges through the cafe doorway. He strides straight toward me with purposeful steps, as though he knew exactly where I was. As he grows closer, the pulses of mana increase in frequency, taking on clarity as I recognize him as their source. Perhaps that¡¯s how he sensed Mbukhe previously?

    I stand up and nod in his direction. ¡°Thanks for joining me, Padouk. Is that a Skill that allows you to sense your potential customers?¡±

    A small shock runs through him for a moment, stiffening his muscles and turning his face blank. He recovers almost instantly, smiling at me wrly. ¡°Ah, I forgot you have acquired a form of [Manasight], my new friend. Yes, the Skill is almost exactly as you described. In fact, I have an array of Skills that allow me to¡ªhow shall I say it?¡ªuncover objects of interest. And, yes, my intuition begins to buzz at me in the presence of a potential sale. Buying or selling, it¡¯s all the same to me! Each serves to grow my Class and help me gain levels. I¡¯ve gotten stronger almost exclusively through barter and trade.¡±

    I nod in understanding, since his explanation only confirms my suspicions. I glance up to the roof of the cafe, then lean to the side to peer around the vines, but no one is there. I can¡¯t sense any stray mana signatures, either. I lick my lips and lean in a little closer. ¡°Do you sense anyone nearby? I mean, besides the chefs and waitstaff. Is anyone . . .¡± I trail off, and begin again in a soft whisper. ¡°Is anyone watching us right now, but trying to stay hidden?¡±

    Padouk¡¯s eyes narrow slightly. He grunts, and shoulders past me to take a seat in one of the black, cast-iron chairs. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to get involved in Densmore¡¯s tangled politics. I was under the impression that this was a good faith meeting.¡±

    I cross my arms, hook my own seat with my foot, and pull it back out from the table before spinning it around and sitting on it backward, leaning against the backrest. ¡°You expect me to believe that you only visit so often because of Melina? You¡¯re up to something, and I¡¯m going to get to the bottom of it. So don¡¯t give me any lines about staying out of politics.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I care for your tone,¡± Padouk says, but he doesn¡¯t gainsay my accusation.

    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as neutrality for what¡¯s coming next,¡± I say. ¡°You think the wraiths care about the distinction between Densmore and Naftali?¡±

    ¡°I prefer to deal with the threat at hand instead of worrying about an ominous future,¡± Padouk says with a mild smile, his pleasant [Merchant]¡¯s demeanor back in place. It doesn¡¯t last long, however. He bolts upright, glaring off at the entrance to the cafe as another familiar mana signature makes its way near. ¡°Why did you drag her into this?¡± Padouk snarls. ¡°That¡¯s a low blow, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s already part of this. I¡¯m telling you, Padouk, no one is exempt from what¡¯s coming¡ªwhat¡¯s already here. Friends stick together; she helps me, I help her. You may think that you have a nice little thing going, but we¡¯re a package deal.¡±

    ¡°You think whatever you¡¯re up to is going to help her? Your high-minded words are all well and good under normal circumstances, but you¡¯re dragging her into harm¡¯s way. Don¡¯t play games with other people¡¯s lives.¡±

    An instant later, Padouk abruptly shifts again. His entire face brightens, and he rises smoothly from his seat to offer an elegant bow to Melina as she enters the cafe patio in her customary work overalls and singular white ponytail.

    ¡°Nuri!¡± she exclaims with a grin. ¡°I never took you for the romantic type. Setting up a date like this is unusual for you. What kind of tricks do you have up your sleeve exactly?¡±

    ¡°More than you can count,¡± I say, returning my friend¡¯s grin with an impish smile of my own. ¡°But for now, let¡¯s just enjoy ourselves. Today¡¯s lunch is on me. All I¡¯m looking for right now it¡¯s good time with dear friends.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s not overstate things,¡± Padouk says, his tone teetering on the edge between forced politeness and frosty distance.

    ¡°Padouk! You wound me! Of course we¡¯re dear friends. In fact, in some ways, you and I are more intimately acquainted than Melina and you are, since we¡¯ve shared mana together.¡± I waggle my eyebrows at him, and Melina blushes furiously.

    The awkwardness between us slowly melts away as we sip on more tea. The waiters whisk away our empty glasses, replacing them with full drinks freshly prepped in the kitchen, and set out a hard-crusted bread that¡¯s exceptionally soft and warm and fluffy on the inside.

    They bring us little bowls and dipping oil to go along with the bread, and keep us well supplied while we wait for our main course of spiced meats and vegetables skewers. I¡¯m always amazed at how unobtrusive they are: they fade into the background, out of sight and mind, and yet invariably appear at precisely the right moments to bring us what we need. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s their Class-based Skills at work, and it¡¯s fascinating to me to consider all the ways mana can be manipulated into endlessly flexible forms and patterns.

    ¡°When we¡¯re done here I do want to go for a walk,¡± I say. ¡°We¡¯ll bring some scones and have dessert as a picnic. I¡¯ve been meaning to take a walk through the woods, along the stream Tem and I explored before the Rift. I¡¯d love some company along the way.¡±

    ¡°Sounds marvelous,¡± Melina says, her smile dazzling as she regards Padouk. ¡°This is such a good idea! I¡¯m honestly impressed that you came up with it, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure whether to be flattered at the compliment, or feel offended that you sound so incredulous about it,¡± I say with a laugh.

    Her eyes sparkle mischievously, a trait she shares with Avelina. ¡°A little bit of both is appropriate.¡±

    Padouk says nothing, still regarding me in silence. Strangely, I find his discomfort over Melina¡¯s involvement encouraging, since it speaks of personal investment. If he¡¯s just a spy for Naftali, then he¡¯s potentially useful to help me escape, but he¡¯s not someone I can trust. If he¡¯s genuinely interested in one of my friends? Perhaps that¡¯s a shared foundation upon which we can build something more lasting.

    After a delicious meal, I tip the wait staff extra, and we depart for the woods with a box of scones. Much to Melina¡¯s dissatisfaction, I refuse to let them eat while we walk. She manages to look so disappointed that I break down and describe the clearing I have in mind. ¡°I promise it will be worth the wait when we¡¯re streamside, surrounded by wildflowers.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll enjoy the pristine, scrumptious experience, surrounded by nature and far from the press of humanity,¡± Padouk says acerbically, staring at me out of the corner of his eyes while he walks arm in arm with Melina. His sarcastic streak actually makes me like him more; it reminds me of the ways Lionel, Mikko, and I always tease each other. Like brothers.

    ¡°I do hope we won¡¯t be interrupted. I was hoping for a nice, quiet, private setting,¡± I say, catching Padouk¡¯s eye to let him know that, yes, I¡¯m referring to his various [Merchant]¡¯s Skills for identifying potential buyers, and that I¡¯m counting on him to act as watchdog for our group.

    ¡°So far, it seems we¡¯re all alone,¡± he confirms, a note of somewhat forced cheerfulness in his voice. ¡°Are we almost there? I¡¯m drooling just thinking of those scones!¡±

    I nod curtly. I don¡¯t need him to like me. I just need to know that we¡¯re safe.

    ¡°What¡¯s with all the mystery?¡± Melina asks, laughing at my stony-faced expression. ¡°You have something on your mind, Nuri? Don¡¯t let it eat at you. Out with it!¡±

    I shake my head, strangely reticent to speak up now that I¡¯ve begun the process. I focus on one step at a time, not replying until we reach the little clearing I had in mind. It¡¯s not far from the city, only a quarter hour¡¯s walk or so, but I still feel far too close to the [Inquisitors] and the rest of the army personnel.

    I spread out a blanket that I¡¯d brought in my travel sack, invite Melina and Padouk to take their seats, and at long last pass out the promised scones. I wait to speak until they take their first bites, letting the sweet cream bring blissful smiles to their faces before I deliver the difficult words.

    ¡°Remember how Tem was accused of treason? Well, it¡¯s my turn next. All of us need to get out of Silaraon, perhaps for good,¡± I say quietly. Melina¡¯s eyes go wide, but I press on in a rush, tripping over the words in fear that I¡¯ll lose my nerve if I don¡¯t get them out all at once. ¡°We need to flee while we still can. We¡¯re not safe here, and it¡¯s all my fault. I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    Melina cuts me off with a sharp wave of her hand. ¡°We¡¯re with you, Nuri. There¡¯s no need to apologize. But why ask us? Surely Ember has better Skills to help you escape.¡±

    ¡°Not this time,¡± I say. ¡°Padouk, do you think you could arrange passage for us? We¡¯re going to be on the run, and we¡¯ll need someone with experience traveling unfriendly roads.¡±

    Melina puts a hand to her head, massaging her temple. ¡°Nuri, as much as I love him and know he¡¯ll help out, Padouk is a [Merchant], not a [Caravan Captain] or [Armed Escort]. He¡¯s a law-abiding man, not a [Smuggler] or [Mercenary]!¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless, I share many of their Skills,¡± Padouk interrupts a bit sheepishly. ¡°I¡¯ve done my fair bit of sneaking, and I may have dabbled in, ah, the occasional contraband. He¡¯s right to ask me for help; I¡¯m probably your best bet to escape.¡± Ignoring the pointed look from Melina, he turns to me and rubs his palms together, warming to the idea. ¡°I know several hidden paths we can take, safe from observation. Now, let¡¯s get down to the fun part: how much you¡¯re willing to pay for my services!¡±

 B2 C11: An Unusual Proposal

    When I return home, still shaking from the adrenaline of speaking my escape plans aloud, I find a little note pinned to the front door. It¡¯s from the Silaraon City Academy, stamped with their official initials: SCA. There are no other markings on it other than my name. I slip inside my little cabin, tear open the wax seal, and scan the contents of the odd message. With a start, I discover that it¡¯s from Rakesh, not Ezio.

    I¡¯ve come across something of interest to you. Can¡¯t say more. Meet me at SCA ASAP.

    Ho? Now that¡¯s surprising. I tap my chin as I think over the implications of his message. I have enough irons in the fire right now, as Mikko likes to put it, but there¡¯s something about the cryptic nature of the note that intrigues me. Maybe I¡¯m just getting into the excitement of secret plans and daring escapes.

    I¡¯m still not sure if I¡¯m under active surveillance, but after a brief moment of deliberation, I decide to take a risk and visit the Silaraon City Academy before the day is over. Tomorrow, I¡¯ll be back at work. Normal school hours will resume at the SCA. This is my best chance to learn what¡¯s got Ezio¡¯s young [Secretarial Researcher], Rakesh, so excited.

    By the time I arrive at the distinguished grounds of the academy, the warm summer air of the afternoon is already fading into memory. The skies are now overcast with a pallid, unnatural film that occasionally pulses through with color, like the sheen of a soap bubble or an oil spill on water. I frown, looking up at the chaotic storms. They¡¯re circling back around Densmore, which explains the army¡¯s push to make Silaraon their base of operations. The guards at the SCA¡¯s gate are looking up, too, their expressions split between fear and resolute determination. I nod to them as I march through the entryway, although I curse my lack of foresight under my breath for not bringing a light jacket. The evening walk back to my cabin will likely prove cold and blustery.

    I see myself up to Ezio¡¯s office, since I don¡¯t actually know where Rakesh works. He¡¯s young enough that he probably still lives in the academy apartments, but I¡¯m unfamiliar with the way to the dormitories, and I don¡¯t feel like talking with strangers along the way. My best bet is to ask my friend and mentor for directions. The thought of calling Ezio my friend, and truly meaning it, brings a smile to my face. If Ember never put us in touch, my life would have turned out radically different. I should tell her thank you before I leave.

    As always, contemplating my departure puts a lump in my throat, and I miss a step on the stairways up to Ezio¡¯s office. This is the only home I¡¯ve ever known. I¡¯m no longer a baby fledgling in the nest, I tell myself sternly. It¡¯s time to spread my wings. I brush away the stray depressing thoughts as I arrive at the [Scholar]¡¯s office moments later, knock on Ezio¡¯s door, and slip inside when he answers with a feverish look of excitement on his face.

    Ezio beams at me. ¡°Nuri! I didn¡¯t expect to see you so soon when Rakesh said he couldn¡¯t find you. I take it that you got his note?¡±

    ¡°I should have known you were in on the conspiracy. I¡¯m always the last to know about anything,¡± I say, shaking my head woefully in mock dejection.

    ¡°Yes, well, knowing things is what we do! At least you get to do things that matter. All we do is read dusty old books and come up with theories. Ever realized we envied you? Hm?¡± Ezio says, looking down his nose at me in a professorial way for a scant second before he returns to sorting through a haphazard stack of papers. I know he¡¯s happy, lost in his research, and I can¡¯t help but think that the envy goes two ways. I don¡¯t have the mind for it, but sometimes I wish I could spend all day learning and thinking, instead of making things and getting into trouble.

    ¡°Fine, fine! We each have our specialities,¡± I allow, my lips quirking up into a small smile. I have to admit, it¡¯s nice to feel envied¡ªit¡¯s a sign of how far I¡¯ve come that someone whom I respect wants to be like me. ¡°Although, I do wish I had more time to study with you. I¡¯m not as well learned as I¡¯d like to be. My schooling never quite agreed with me, and I didn¡¯t put in the time to learn to love academics. I regret that, some days.¡±

    Ezio folds his hands together, a kind smile on his face. ¡°Learning is an entire lifetime¡¯s journey, my young friend. Some start early, some start late¡ªbut there¡¯s no reason why you can¡¯t put one foot after another and see how far you get. There¡¯s no telling where you¡¯ll end up!¡±

    I nod gratefully. ¡°Thank you, Ezio. I appreciate your encouragement. You¡¯ve done so much for me already, and I¡¯ll always be indebted to you. I can¡¯t imagine what more you and Rakesh have to offer.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll call him in. This is as much his find as mine. He deserves to be the one to tell you the fascinating news,¡± Ezio says, warming to the topic at hand. He taps on one of the many runes inscribed on the top of his desk, and a faint, resonant chime rings out. I¡¯m not entirely sure how the esoteric system works, but Rakesh apparently gets the message, since he lets himself into the office a few minutes later. He¡¯s huffing heavily, sucking in air like he ran the entire way as soon as received the arcane summon from Ezio, a stark departure from his usual decorum.

    ¡°Nuri! You¡¯re never going to believe what I¡¯ve found!¡± Rakesh practically shouts. His cheeks are flushed with the exertion, or perhaps excitement, and the sheer level of energy the normally staid [Researcher] is putting out is infectious. I find myself swept up in his enthusiasm, my heart beating more quickly at the thought of some big revelation.

    ¡°Ah, ah! Wait until we have more privacy,¡± Ezio cautions, holding up a finger to forestall Rakesh, who¡¯s pulling out a pile of notebooks from his book bag.

    Ezio pulls up his full-powered wards, his fingers flicking between the control runes on his desk in a rush of complex movements. The light through the windows dims, and a heavy feeling settles over us, locking out scrying and listening spells. He claps once in satisfaction when he¡¯s done, licking his lips as though he¡¯s about to indulge in a tasty treat. I suppose, for the [Scholar Nonpareil], esoteric knowledge qualifies as the juiciest of morsels.

    ¡°Now, we have a few leads on a rather delicate topic, but I have run into dead ends and I¡¯ll need more time to put all the pieces together. I had hoped to present you with personal notes from a [Master Glass Smith] to help you progress on your crafting path, but I simply can¡¯t afford the [Secure Information Broker]¡¯s exorbitant fee to keep following the clues I¡¯ve dug up. It¡¯s like trying to prise a gem from a dead man¡¯s hands.¡±

    Ezio trails off with a sad sigh, and only now do I look closely enough to notice the heavy, purple bags under his eyes, and the too-bright, almost feverish look on his face. Stubble grows on his hollow cheeks, unshaved for at least three or four days. He¡¯s on a mission, and I suspect he¡¯s burning through academic Skills to stave off sleep and continue his breakneck research pace. It hits me again how much he¡¯s expended on my behalf.

    ¡°Don¡¯t burn yourself out on my account,¡± I say, although his peeved expression makes me think I¡¯ve misstepped. ¡°I mean, I truly appreciate what you¡¯ve done, but please don¡¯t feel compelled. Almost everything I¡¯ve learned lately that¡¯s worth knowing is thanks to you. You¡¯re a good friend, and I feel guilty over how much time and energy you¡¯ve invested into me. I can¡¯t repay you.¡±

    He waves off my deflection, suddenly grinning again. ¡°Young man, it¡¯s a privilege to help my students. And no information is hidden for long! They didn¡¯t account for my best assistant. I did all the legwork, but Rakesh figured out the rest. Now we¡¯re just catching you up to speed, so don¡¯t worry about me burning out.¡± He leans closer, his breath hitching before he blurts out the words that explain why he¡¯s insisted on warding the office before continuing. ¡°We believe we have found a Master for you to study under. But you¡¯ll have to earn your spot.¡±

    While I¡¯m reeling from the revelation, much to my friends¡¯ delight if their sly grins are any indication, Rakesh elbows me in the ribs and chimes in. ¡°How do you feel about traveling?¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    I glance at Ezio, who doesn''t respond, leaving me to mull over how much of my current predicament I want to share with Rakesh. I take a deep breath, puff up my cheeks with air like a squirrel hoarding acorns, and then let it out in a long, slow breath. ¡°Funny you should mention it, but I¡¯ve been meaning to get out of town anyway. It may not be safe for me to stay in Silaraon much longer. What do you have in mind? And how in the abyss did you happen to track down a glass Master, anyway?¡±

    Rakesh smiles even wider than I thought possible, almost unbearably smug. It¡¯s likely not often that he gets to brag about his academic accomplishments to someone outside of the SCA. ¡°Now, that¡¯s a fascinating story. But let¡¯s start with a question for you in return. Are you up for a challenge? If you want to study with this teacher, then you¡¯ll need to win a competition to prove your glass skills.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, but I can¡¯t guarantee that I¡¯ll win without knowing more about the nature of the competition,¡± I say, my mind still spinning between the dangers of escaping town and the sudden allure of a new, unexpected goal that I want more than anything.

    Rakesh rubs his palms together, an affectation that he¡¯s clearly picked up from Ezio. Like teacher, like student. ¡°We¡¯ll cover the entry fee if you agree to help me with glass projects in the future, much like you and Ezio are developing glass armor together.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s an entrance fee?¡± I turn toward Ezio, shifting my weight from foot to foot. ¡°But nothing comes for free. What do you get out of this if I win? I already owe you for¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just shut up and listen for once in your life,¡± Ezio scolds, although not unkindly. ¡°Let us do something nice for you if we want to, Nuri. Besides, if it works out, then we¡¯ll receive our due rewards in time.¡±

    ¡°Now that I''ve completed my undergraduate studies,¡± Rakesh says, jumping in before I can muster up further protests, ¡°I receive an annual stipend for my graduate research project. This year, I would like to make an investment in your future in exchange for writing an academic journal paper about the experience. Naturally, I expect some remuneration.¡±

    ¡°You want to document my learning process? How does that help you as a [Researcher] or a student?¡± I say, frowning at his business proposal. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t follow. It seems like a poor investment. I¡¯m still not sure I¡¯ll be able to pay you back, even if my glass armor is more popular than expected..¡±

    ¡°How confident are you in your glass skills?¡± Rakesh answers, catching me off guard.

    I cross my arms, eyeing him uneasily as I try to figure out where they¡¯re going with this. But my professional pride won¡¯t be denied, so I lift my chin and look him in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m the most talented traditional glassmaker in town. With my new Skills? I could probably open my own studio and pull business away from Ember, if I wanted to burn bridges.¡±

    ¡°If you''re as good as you say you are¡ªas good as Ezio and I think you are¡ªthen I''d like to sponsor you in a competition. You win, you¡¯ll be able to pay me back threefold. If you lose?¡± Rakesh shrugs his bony shoulders, lifting them up by his ears. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll still be able to present my research methods to my professors. Ezio¡¯s my sponsor, and he already approved this as my capstone project, so I¡¯m not taking much of an academic risk.¡±

    I copy his exaggerated shrug, earning an eye roll. ¡°All right, let¡¯s say we move forward with this arrangement. What do I need to do?¡±

    ¡°The winner of this competition earns the right to bid for his own glass studio and teachings from a mysterious benefactor. Winning one of the various local competitions doesn¡¯t guarantee that you¡¯ll get the reward, but it ensures that you¡¯ll get to bid for the grand prize.¡±

    ¡°Wait, there''s bidding after the competition? I¡¯m not paying more money to buy studio time, even if it¡¯s with a Master. How exactly are you supposed to afford that with your student stipend¡ªno offense, but I don''t think academy students are particularly wealthy.¡±

    Rakesh laughs. ¡°None taken. You¡¯re not bidding with money to buy time directly; you¡¯re bidding with ideas. Winning gives you a token that¡¯s apparently inscribed to present your entry to an exclusive circle of clientele. As discussed, I¡¯ll pay your entry fee to the competition. You still have to win, and then trade in your winnings for a glassworks proposal. The best proposal of the bunch will secure funding to commission the piece.¡±

    ¡°So, winning the glass competition is just the first step. Then I have to present the best proposal and hope it¡¯s enough for them?¡± I snort. ¡°Who came up with this system? Probably academics. Too much brain power, not enough common sense.¡±

    Ezio wags his finger at me for the backhanded compliment ¡°There are little competitions happening all across Densmore¡ªthe contest has been open for nearly a year, but we still have a little time before the deadline. Originally, I discarded the challenge as a possibility for you, but that was before two key developments: first, your Skill set, [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds], and second, Rakesh¡®s impeccable research. If not for his help, I never would have realized the true value of the challenge.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡± I ask, rolling my hand in the air to motion him onward with his story.

    Ezio pauses, looking at me with disappointment. He digs through his papers until he finds a flyer, shoving it at my face. ¡°Studying with a Master, Nuri! That¡¯s not in the rewards list.¡±

    I blush furiously at my display of slow thinking, hiding my reaction by burying my face in the flyer and skimming its contents. ¡°Right. Where¡¯s the studio, though? This doesn¡¯t say. I¡¯m happy to get out of Silaraon, but if this takes me to the capital, I¡¯m not doing myself any favors.¡±

    ¡°No one knows,¡± Ezio says mysteriously, lowering his voice for effect. ¡°No one except for my brilliant [Secretarial Researcher], that is. He cracked the code!¡±

    ¡°So . . . we don''t actually know where the studio is?¡± I ask, caught between intrigue and skepticism. The sparse details make me dubious, but Ezio and Rakesh are sticklers for doing their research. If they vouch for the competition, then I can probably trust that it¡¯s legitimate. I scratch my nose, lost in thought for the span of a few heartbeats, and finally give voice to my next question. ¡°What makes you so certain that I''ll be able to win with my proposal?¡±

    ¡°Because, my dear Nuri,¡± Ezio says with a downright sinister chuckle, no longer able to contain himself, ¡°we are going to cheat!¡±

    ¡°Cheat?¡± I splutter. ¡°That''s the surest way to get kicked out of the competition if they catch us¡ªcatch me. Why would you even suggest such a risky move?¡± My eyes narrow in suspicion. ¡°What else do you have? You¡¯re holding out on me still.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, Nuri, have you ever heard of the Glass Lion of Densmore?¡± Ezio asks me. He shakes his head. ¡°I don''t even know why I¡¯m asking¡ªof course you have! It¡¯s one of the relics of the Kingdom. Every child learns the tales of Densmore¡¯s legendary glass protector.¡±

    I burst out laughing. ¡°You want me to make a small-scale replica of the Glass Lion of Densmore? You¡¯re out of your mind! Even if I pushed my [Architect of Unseen Worlds] Skill to the maximum, I don''t think I could transmute enough glass to make it look convincing. And that''s only the start; I lack the ability to imbue mana into my work, despite my best efforts to suss out how to make that work. How would I ever copy the effects of an artifact like that?¡±

    ¡°Finished yet?¡± Ezio asks mildly. His eyes are still twinkling with merriment, which makes me think he''s got another trick up his sleeve.

    I nod meekly and flop into one of his overstuffed easy chairs, kicking my feet up on the ottoman while I wait for the rest of the big speech. Surely they''ve gotten a better plan than this.

    ¡°Now, riddle me this. What does the Glass Lion, that venerable protector of the palace, have in common with the soaring stained glass windows of the State Building?¡±

    ¡°Uhh, nothing, as far as I know,¡± I respond eloquently. ¡°What are you suggesting?¡±

    Ezio simply smiles and nods. ¡°And how about those beautiful, deadly glass swords that Ember wields? What do they have in common with, say, the Singing Azure Rod that the head of the [Menders] order uses to enhance their healing magic? Any clues yet?¡±

    ¡°Aside from the fact that they''re all made out of glass?¡± I ask with an edge to my voice. I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth and trying to rein in my irritation. ¡°Why bring up all these works of great Masters of the past? I can''t build any of them! What''s the point of even discussing them if I can''t model my proposal after any of these masterworks?¡±

    ¡°Think, Nuri,¡± Ezio chides, resting his fists on his hips, his lips pursed as he stares down at me in my sprawling seat.

    I shrug finally, fiddling with a curio Ezio had left out on his desk, filling it with mana in different intensities to make it glow in different colors. ¡°They¡¯re all masterworks. Is that what you''re getting at?¡±

    ¡°Precisely!¡± Ezio beams at me like I''m a prized student, even though we both know I''m excruciatingly slow to answer. ¡°But more than that? They''re from the same Master. But that''s a secret known only to a few, and one we can use to our advantage.¡±

    ¡°How? They¡¯re nothing alike,¡± I blurt out, my natural aversion to coincidence rising to the fore. ¡°There¡¯s no way that they came from the same studio. The Glass Lion alone has guarded the palace for over a century. How could you figure out something like that? I''ve never heard any rumors of a mystery Master crafting works all over the kingdom for generations on end. Wait. Does this mean the swords really are masterworks?¡±

    ¡°Indeed! That¡¯s what started us on the right track, actually. I¡¯d asked him to look into the origin of the blades, and I never expected the wealth of secrets we uncovered. As for the rest of your questions? That''s where Rakesh proved his worth. Remember, he is a particular type of [Secretarial Researcher], with specialized Skills for collating and analyzing information. He uncovered the links between the various masterworks, and also figured out the location of the mysterious studio.¡±

    Ezio claps his hands twice, and a shimmering projection spins into view above his desk. He nods toward his assistant. ¡°Rakesh? This is your moment to shine.¡±

 Cutting room floor & a reading recommendation

    ¡°How did you find all this information?¡± I ask, still wary it¡¯s all an illusion.

    Ezio¡¯s eyes spark with the enthusiasm of a scholar invited to ramble on about his favorite topic. He pulls a few heavy, hidebound books to the center of his desk and makes a dramatic show of blowing off layers of dust. ¡°Allow me to connect the dots!¡±

    I throw my hands up, palms out, and laugh. ¡°No, no, forget I asked! Let¡¯s focus on what¡¯s important.¡±

    ¡°This is important,¡± Ezio sniffs.

    ¡°Very well. Can you tell me in under half an hour?¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    When Ezio hesitates, I chortle in amused vindication.

    ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible, young man,¡± Ezio grumbles.

    I just grin and say, ¡°You had a speech all planned out, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Ezio shakes his head ruefully, a good natured grin tugging at the edges of his lips. ¡°I feel downright judged! But, yes, Rakesh and I had prepared a presentation.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± I say, relieved that I¡¯ve dodged the onslaught of convoluted research details. If I know Ezio at all, he¡¯s come up with an absolutely genius way of verifying his hunch. But I¡¯m not a [Scholar] or [Researcher], and I¡¯m just not interested. I nod to myself, convinced that skipping the information is preferable, then do a double take. ¡°Wait. Rakesh is on board with the presentation, too? That changes everything. I¡¯ll listen to the whole thing if it¡¯s a group project.¡±

    Ezio makes a sour face, like he just bit into a lemon. ¡°I¡¯ve taught that whelp everything he knows.¡± He shakes his head and sighs in resignation. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll let him do the honors.¡±

 B2 C12: Never Underestimate the Power of Research

    An overhead view of Densmore spreads through the space above Ezio¡¯s desk, marking out the cities and topography of the country in intricate detail. A gleaming map of mana made manifest, the illusion magic pulses once, like a firefly at dusk, before settling and taking on solidity. As the light-map fades from eye-searing brightness to simply scintillating, Rakesh steps forward, deftly taking over the Skill as he paces back and forth in the office.

    I sink into my [Manasight], gawking at the display. I follow the threads of magic, observing the combined Skill in rapt fascination as the flows of mana transfer from Ezio to Rakesh. I¡¯ve never seen a combination quite like this before. The way my team and I use our glass Skills together is like an assembly line. We each have a role to play to produce a final product. This is more like two [Drivers] directing a carriage pulled by a massive team of horses: each person holds separate reins, but they give intent and directions in unison. It¡¯s mesmerizing to watch the two work in tandem.

    ¡°When Ezio first asked me to look into Ember¡¯s swords, Nuri, I mistakenly assumed that I wouldn¡¯t find much to support the assertion that they¡¯re masterworks. How many of those are simply floating around Densmore unverified? Yet, the more I looked, the more I found evidence to support that assertion. A good [Researcher] may start with a supposition, but he never allows his assumptions to color the evidence, so I quickly discarded my bias. To my surprise, they¡¯re not only legitimate, but I was able to find references to their commissioning over forty years ago in Cape Netainbie.¡±

    Rakesh pauses his speech for a moment, gesturing to the map and highlighting a city as far away from the capital as we are, but on the other side of Densmore. Presumably, this is the aforementioned Cape Netainbie, which I¡¯ve never heard of before. I just smile and nod, and that seems to be enough.

    ¡°I have copies of the [Image Mage] imprint-pictures, as well as a press release article from a newspaper if you¡¯d like to drop by later to take a look. I still can¡¯t quite figure out how they made their way into your father¡¯s possession, and now Ember¡¯s but I imagine it¡¯s a fascinating tale if Ember is ever willing to share.

    ¡°Once I verified their origin, I started looking for additional unaccounted-for masterworks in Densmore. As you may imagine, the list is pretty sparse. Most of the registered creations are still in use by their original owners, or inherited by the next generation. After all, most people who are wealthy enough to afford a masterwork aren¡¯t in the business of letting assets slip through their fingers!

    ¡°Three weeks of mostly fruitless research netted me two other glass masterworks on my mystery list. Worse, the first one hardly counts, if the accounts can be believed. It appears to have been lost during an alchemical fire, an accident that melted bedrock and enchanted metal alike. Nothing was recovered from the workshop.

    ¡°The second missing glasswork artifact, however, is far more intriguing: an enchanted illusionary communication array. Technically, the linked mirrors are a pair, not a single item, although I refer to the entire object as a singular artifact precisely because they are connected. As much as it pains me to admit it, I¡¯m unfamiliar with the exact properties of magic that allow them to project a likeness of a person across vast distances. How they transmit sound as well as image is an intriguing¡ªand valuable¡ªsecret. Obviously, they¡¯re intended for use together, but only one of the fabled du Maurier Glass Mirrors still remains in the capital. No one knows what became of the other half, although I came across a most fascinating clue while trying to track down the clues surrounding its disappearance.¡±

    Rakesh trails off and fixes me with an expectant stare, and the silence starts to grow unbearable before it dawns on me that this is an interactive talk, not a dry lecture. I take the bait. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan? When do we leave for the next treasure hunt?¡±

    ¡°Ahh, no adventures just yet. We have more research to do first,¡± Rakesh replies, with a bright note in his voice when he says research.

    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to hear how it turns out,¡± I say, and I mean it. I¡¯m glad that someone likes information and studying, even if it sounds overly tedious to me. As Ezio is fond of saying, there are all sorts of paths to power. Rakesh and I are taking radically different routes, but neither one is more legitimate than the other. In the end, the only imprimatur is success.

    Rakesh nods fractionally. ¡°You¡¯ll be happy to hear that a familiar name popped up rather frequently while I was scouring the annals of history for clues about what happened to the other half of the glass mirror. Any guesses who that might be?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an easy one,¡± I say, sudden excitement bleeding through. ¡°Tem referenced a top secret way to communicate with his team in his autobiography¡ªhe had permission to declassify the existence of an artifact, but not its details or method of communication. His team used it on a mission once in Golvin. In fact, it was the very mission that led to their nickname: the Mage Killer Brigade.¡±

    I sigh softly. ¡°He always hated that name, he told me. Said it made them sound like mere butchers with a vendetta against magic, rather than specialists adept at mapping, infiltrating, and occasionally putting an end to threats against the realm.¡±

    An impish grin briefly cracks the veneer of the aloof [Researcher] that Rakesh maintains most of the time. ¡°I¡¯ve read that one, too,¡± he says, catching me off guard. He doesn¡¯t seem like the type to get into spy stories. ¡°To be honest, I thought Tem¡¯s book was heavily fictionalized. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that some of the artifacts really did exist.¡±

    I lean forward eagerly. ¡°You think one of his old teammates might still have it? Could we use it to try to find him? Maybe he¡¯s trying to communicate with us from the other side of the Labyrinth! Or is it only possible to use it as a linked pair? I guess it doesn¡¯t simply pick up any attempt to communicate from a distance.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± Rakesh said slowly, drawing out the words as his forehead creases in thought. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s likely, however. Anyway, let¡¯s stay on topic. I¡¯m not done yet with my monologue!¡±

    Ezio and I share a look. He quirks an eyebrow, and I let out a quiet chuckle at the way his face furrows comically. ¡°Aren¡¯t villains supposed to monologue?¡±

    ¡°Hmph! Let me have my moment,¡± Rakesh grumbles.

    I wave Rakesh onward, curious what else he has to say. His story is just getting good.

    ¡°You know, the SCA isn¡¯t noted for its largesse,¡± Rakesh continues. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s to be expected. As an academy in a borderland City, we admittedly lag behind the universities in the bigger, wealthier metropolitans in central Densmore. Thankfully, our humble academy has made one splurge, although it didn¡¯t come from their own coffers. A few generations ago, a wealthy local [Lord] made a generous posthumous contribution to the Academy so that the SCA could subscribe in perpetuity to the national Index of news, unusual information, and research papers.

    ¡°The Index is our greatest asset. Most of the [Scholars] and [Researchers] here use it only to check each other¡¯s work, or to keep in touch about banal issues. I freely admit that there¡¯s value in peer review. But I prefer to use my Skills to analyze hidden trends and informational anomalies. I collect and correlate data, particularly from primary sources, and activate my Skill [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities].¡±

    ¡°And that led you to a discovery?¡± I ask, more curious than ever to understand how his mana abilities work. They¡¯re well-suited to his line of work, as befits his Class, but they¡¯re all so different from what I¡¯m used to that they seem more, well, magical. I can adjust heat, summon a bit of glass, and shape it into other bits of glass¡ªall things that a non-Classed crafter could also achieve, if more slowly and with less flash.

    What Rakesh does seems like he¡¯s cheating, though. Surely no one has the patience or insight to meticulously comb through details and match just the right ones together, piece by piece, until a complete picture emerges, without relying on Skills. That sounds horrifying. I shake off the errant thought, and nod toward the mana map. ¡°What else did you find?¡±

    ¡°What did we find? Ah, yes!¡± Rakesh says excitedly, resuming his frantic pacing. ¡°I looked up all the old press releases related to the presentations of these various glass masterworks. They were spread out all across the country, over several generations, but one thing always stood out¡ªthe shipping crates.¡±

    I frown, feeling lost. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow. Isn¡¯t a crate just a crate? How else would they deliver the glass? We always pack up our deliveries in soft straw and ship them in a crate. I¡¯ve never seen anything unique or notable about them.¡±

    With a wave of his hand, Rakesh summons more phantasmal apparitions, pictures drawn from the [Image Mage]¡¯s imprints of the deliveries. The scenes are captured in exacting detail, as though I¡¯m standing right there watching it happen in person. Rakesh jabs his finger at the rotating display. Mana sings forth from his channels, and the shipping crates are highlighted in shimmering gold while the rest of the scene fades into obscurity.

    I shuffle forward, squinting as I studiously try to make out the differences in the pictures. Or, more accurately, the similarities between the lit up crates. They do seem to bear remarkable resemblance to one another, but isn¡¯t that to be expected? On a whim, I activate my Skill [Architect of Unseen Worlds] to try to gain insight into the construction of the various crates, but no matter how much mana I pour into the ability, nothing happens.

    I growl in frustration. My shoulders slump, and I release the mana-intensive Skill with a twinge of disappointment. I should have known that I needed something physical to analyze in order to get any tangible feedback, but still, the failure grates on me.

    ¡°So . . . what am I looking at, exactly?¡± I finally ask, admitting defeat.

    Rakesh inhales deeply, then spits out another rapid-fire explanation without pausing to take another breath. It¡¯s a dizzying cascade of words that has to be another Skill at work¡ªthat, or the mania of a man wrapped up in the heady intoxication of ideas. ¡°My breakthrough started with the shipping routes. Now, I recognize that there are major centers of traffic. Densmore¡¯s postal services operate on the classic hub and spoke paradigm, after all. They¡¯re not reinventing design principles. So, in a sense, all shipping traffic is bound by the limitations of the system to pass through one of several hubs. But each of these glassworks shared a route.

    ¡°When I reviewed available shipping manifests, one of my passive Skills began to tingle. [Epiphany of the Scholar] vibrated slightly, like a buzz in the back of the mind. At first, I worried it might be a false positive, so I pressed on and looked at other distinctives, not wanting to fall into the easy trap of failing to do my due diligence. None of the criteria I¡¯d laid out had any actual correlation, however: the delivery timelines overlapped poorly, the material composition of the various pieces differed wildly, the colorations and designs were all over the place, the actual function of the artifacts had nothing to do with one another, and so on.

    ¡°No, the only thing any of the masterworks have in common is a small shipping station in the Western peaks region: Kalhue. The town itself is unremarkable. It¡¯s only serviced by a few transportation routes. I believe they hold the key to unlocking this mystery, however. While the details of the shipping addresses are not in the public domain, the type of shipping crates are listed in both ship and carriage manifests, strangely enough.

    ¡°Did you know that Densmore lacks any real standardization or regulation when it comes to the containers in which freight is transported? No? Ah, well, I¡¯ll try not to let your lack of familiarity with the subject dampen my enthusiasm; I suppose shipping crates aren¡¯t a general topic of discussion over dinner at the pub. Nonetheless, it¡¯s a fascinating detail, and one that served to ¡¯crack the case,¡¯ as they say.¡± Rakesh makes air quotes with his fingers, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

    I grin at his excitement. He¡¯s really getting into the spirit of the story. Maybe he would have enjoyed becoming a [Thespian] instead of a [Researcher].

    Rakesh continues his torrid verbal offensive without pause, gesturing while speaking at an unrelenting pace. ¡°All I had to do was look up the dominant lumber type of the various cities which feed into that shipping hub, based on the trees that grow best in those agricultural zones, and it readily became apparent that each of the masterworks could be traced back to a single point of origin in terms of where they were packed up and shipped off for delivery! A simple deduction, really, once I had the right details.¡± His smile grows sly. ¡°Any guesses?¡±

    I shrug, about to protest that I don¡¯t know much about what he¡¯s researching, but Rakesh doesn¡¯t seem like the kind of person to barrage me with questions that I¡¯m not equipped to answer. I twiddle my thumbs absently, running through old legends I¡¯ve heard before while I try to come up with an answer. ¡°The fact that you want me to guess makes me think that maybe there¡¯s some sort of crossover with the popular rumors of hidden Masters of glass. If that¡¯s the case, then I suppose it comes down to either the cities of Acondia or Mellanlange.¡±

    Ezio pats my shoulder. ¡°Geography is not your strong point, Nuri. Those cities are both along the Southern Coast, not in the mountains. Remember, he specified the Western peaks.¡±

    ¡°In my defense, Rakesh only asked me to guess. No one said I had to actually get it right!¡± I protest. ¡°Besides, something tells me that if it were that easy, then someone would have figured it out a long time ago. What else did you find to support your assertion? You don¡¯t seem like the kind of person to jump on the first theory you hear and not look for supporting evidence.¡±

    ¡°Astute observation,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°There¡¯s far more to this puzzle than just the lumber used in the crates. Yet in this case, the reason they all shared a shipping hub is because they came from the city itself! They didn¡¯t originate elsewhere; the crates are a speciality product of Kalhue. Yet, as I said, knowing the locale is only half the battle. There¡¯s a diverse population of over forty-thousand in Kalhue, despite its relatively out of the way location, and I don¡¯t feel like knocking on each door to ask if a secret master of glass is at residence. Such crude heuristics are not my forte.¡±

    Ezio and Rakesh share a quiet chuckle, as though Rakesh has told a joke, but I don¡¯t get it. I don¡¯t even know what the word heuristics means. Academics. What a weird bunch.

    ¡°There are four more key details to consider, however,¡± Rakesh says, clearing his throat as he prepares to launch into further explanation.

    ¡°Only four?¡± I interrupt with a grin, unable to hold back from playful sarcasm. ¡°I appreciate that you¡¯ve cut it down for my sake.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. The original presentation was far more in-depth, but Ezio said we had to keep it at a twelve-year-old¡¯s comprehension level,¡± Rakesh says without missing a beat. He is so matter of fact with his delivery, maintaining a perfectly neutral face, that I¡¯m actually hurt a little. Teasing and the occasional jab I enjoy, but this is straight-up murdering my pride.

    I shake my head, and finally manage to mumble, ¡°My gratitude for your thoughtfulness.¡±

    ¡°First and foremost,¡± Rakesh continues blithely, seemingly unaware of the carnage he¡¯s leaving in his wake, ¡°I reviewed Densmore¡¯s rare metals production. You know better than I do how important materials are to the formation of various types of glass. There are three main warehouses across Densmore that deal in the rare earths that are necessary for more unusual colors and compositions. One of them is located here.¡±

    Rakesh points to the interactive map again with his elegant, scholarly fingers, and the view zooms down at a nauseating pace, going from a blinking dot to a full-fledged, bustling town a bit smaller than Silaraon. ¡°This is a production facility roughly a half a day¡¯s journey away from Kalhue, based on the average daily pace of freight wagons or caravans. The others are more easterly, in the great plains before the landscape fades into the desert. It seems like a logical conclusion, then, that it¡¯s easier to source materials locally. At the very least, it¡¯s cheaper than paying shipping and tariffs to import from several provinces away.¡±

    The map zooms out again, then shrinks down to a quarter of its original size, superseded by a newspaper clipping. I squint and just make out text gleefully proclaiming infighting among one of Kalhue¡¯s leading aristocratic Houses, but I don¡¯t have much context to understand who¡¯s involved or why it¡¯s relevant to me.

    Rakesh rambles onward, undeterred by my confusion. ¡°I must admit that the second and third reasons are inextricably tied together, but I¡¯ll try to clarify my line of thought. Legal squabbles are always ugly when family is involved, but this involves a side branch of the family auctioning off studio space, which is advertised as ¡¯a haven for artists working with all mediums, whether visual or auditory, written or performative, mundane or magical, corporeal or ethereal.¡¯¡±

    I snort, unable to hide my derision. ¡°They really covered all aspects of creativity, eh? Let me guess¡ªthey have a hot shop or glassworks in the design studio?¡±

    Rakesh blink owlishly. ¡°Er, yes. How did you know?¡±

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°I¡¯m not actually lacking in mental capacity. I¡¯m just not a [Researcher] or data specialist,¡± I reply a bit more smugly than necessary, picking up the pieces of my shattered ego. Small victories. ¡°You¡¯re explaining why this location makes sense for the glassworks. I¡¯m just speeding up the talk a bit.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. And that leads into my third point: bank statements!¡± Rakesh proclaims.

    ¡°Bank statements?¡± I scrunch up my nose. ¡°But those aren¡¯t public record. The other pieces of information make sense, since you can find them in the Index, and it¡¯s very impressive how you¡¯ve puzzled out the answers, but how did you get access to their financial information?¡±

    A modest smile creases Rakesh¡¯s face. ¡°Ordinarily, you¡¯d be right. Thanks to the estate sale, however, certain details have been made available to the bidding public that otherwise would be kept under wraps, for the sake of full disclosure. As for the rest? Well, I have my ways. Let¡¯s just say that there¡¯s far more money flowing into that business than a simple glassworks studio can account for, even one attached to a creative space trading in the ¡¯ethereal¡¯ arts, whatever that may mean.¡±

    His excitement boils over, and he starts to pace vigorously back and forth along the length of the office again, despite Ezio¡¯s frown of disapproval as he scuffs up the new carpet. ¡°I double-checked their taxes against Ember¡¯s Glassworks. Now, I know that their shop is twice as large as yours, and probably has higher-paying clientele. Even assuming that they make five times as much profit per sale, though, the numbers still don¡¯t add up! They¡¯re paying nearly fifteen times as much in taxes compared to what your glass works studio pays. That¡¯s simply not possible if they¡¯re only selling cups and bowls and vases, unless my market analysis is completely off-base. And if I may boast, as indecorous as it may be, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the case.¡±

    ¡°No, no, I¡¯d never accuse you of such sloppiness,¡± I murmur, holding up my hands.

    ¡°Thank you, Nuri,¡± Rakesh says gravely. ¡°Your vote of confidence means a lot to me. I¡¯m certain they have produced artifacts and masterworks there. There¡¯s no other way to account for the sheer volume of cash flow.¡±

    ¡°Eh, I don¡¯t know about that.¡± I shrug one shoulder. ¡°Couldn¡¯t it just be a front for the little lordlings? A money-laundering scheme is less grandiose, but probably more common than an actual hidden master at work.¡±

    Rakesh looks stricken, and I instantly regret my cavalier attitude. He was so proud after my compliment, and now I¡¯ve cut him back down. Would it kill me to think before I blurt things out? I¡¯m not a very polite friend.

    ¡°That¡¯s an excellent point,¡± Rakesh admits, running his fingers through his hair. He turns toward his mentor. ¡°Ezio? Your input here is invaluable to me. Have I overlooked a far simpler explanation in my rush to explain everything with a grand narrative? My anti-bias Skills aren¡¯t as ranked up as I¡¯d like. I know yours are more potent. I thought I¡¯d adequately ruled out incidental details, but perhaps I¡¯ve been looking so hard for correlation that I¡¯ve erred. Could you review for me once more?¡±

    Ezio laces his fingers together in front of his waist. He tilts his head to the side, his lips pressed together, and his eyes grow vacant. A flurry of mana ripples below the surface, but for once I can¡¯t make out the shapes of the spellforms. After a long moment, he stands up straight and smiles. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. Trust our process, Rakesh. Trust the conclusions we¡¯ve reached. We¡¯re working with good data, and we¡¯ve ruled out false positives as much as we can. I don¡¯t think you should second-guess yourself now. It¡¯s only human to doubt, but don¡¯t let it cloud your mind.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± Rakesh says, his eyes growing misty before he blinks away the tears before they can form and regains his composure.

    I cough, growing uncomfortable with the sudden revelation that I¡¯m not the only one with insecurities and inadequacies. Ha! Even my deficiencies aren¡¯t special!

    Rakesh squares his shoulders, his resolve firming up as he meets my eyes. ¡°Last point in my theory. No one lives forever, although breaking into the third Threshold apparently doubles or even triples the average lifespan of a human. Most Crafters never reach those exalted heights, however. Few reach the second¡ªfor example, we only have a few citizens in all of Silaraon, regardless of Class, who have achieved that distinction. Masters of a craft may have relatively high levels, but they aren¡¯t guaranteed to surpass the second Threshold. That means we won¡¯t need to look through centuries of history.

    ¡°Working off the theory that these disparate glass masterworks all came from the same glassworks studio, I determined that we have to look at a roughly eighty to one-hundred year time frame, and then match that against the known lifespan of various noteworthy glassworkers.¡±

    ¡°Let me guess. There¡¯s a famous glass smith in Kalhue?¡± I ask, wondering why we didn¡¯t just lead with this detail and save us all a lot of time.

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Rakesh says, a slight twist to his lips. ¡°In fact, there¡¯s no record of a master or of an established smith there at all. But how could that be? It¡¯s impossible that a professional glass studio earning that kind of income is made up solely of interns and apprentices. They¡¯re hiding something. I¡¯m sure of it!¡±

    I frown, struggling to see his point. ¡°Then why talk about lifespans? You don¡¯t have an actual crafter to analyze. How is it relevant?¡±

    ¡°Ahh, the heart of the matter,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°Remember the family squabble I mentioned earlier? One of the members of the minor branch of the House was a known dabbler in various arts. He set up the competition while on his deathbed, and he passed away earlier this year.¡±

    At my dubious look, Rakesh holds up his index finger to ward off further doubt. ¡°This is where things get interesting. He¡¯s the same [Viscount] who used to sponsor the glass studio. The dates of his birth and death line up nicely with the timelines for the various masterworks we¡¯ve discussed, although he never took credit for any of the glass artifacts. He acted as a rich benefactor or patron, not as an artisan. Admittedly, If this were the only detail, then I¡¯d continue to doubt my conclusions, but Ezio and I have stumbled upon a secret during our research.¡±

    ¡°A secret important enough for more privacy wards than the bank can boast?¡± I ask as I glance again at the array of runes on Ezio¡¯s desk. ¡°How did you afford all that, anyway?¡±

    ¡°A gift from a mutual friend,¡± Ezio says softly.

    I bounce on my toes, a sudden burst of excitement making standing still impossible. ¡°I knew it! Tem trusted you with a lot, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Just so,¡± Ezio murmurs, confirming my suspicions. ¡°Thus, it¡¯s only right that I pay back his investments by helping his last student. Nuri, you may want to sit down for this last bit. It¡¯s a weighty secret indeed.¡±

    Something about Ezio¡¯s tone makes me take his warning seriously. I pull over one of the overstuffed chairs and perch on the edge of the seat, waiting for the final revelation. Thankfully, Ezio doesn¡¯t disappoint.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ve uncovered an Inheritance. The ¡¯little lordling¡¯ as you put it was no mere patron of the arts. He may have been eccentric and reclusive, but I believe that he was looking to pass along a set of Skills to the next generation. Think what that would do for your work! You could catapult ahead by two decade¡¯s worth of intensive practice and training. More! This could put you among the upper echelons of Densmore¡¯s elite. You could seize any destiny your heart desires with that kind of power.¡±

    I suck in a breath, incredulous at the thought of obtaining an Inheritance. It¡¯s just an old legend that crafters like to talk about when they¡¯re dreaming of becoming a true Master. Then the memories of wandering around in something as legendary as a shattering Rift crash over me, and I reconsider my skepticism. ¡°After everything I¡¯ve seen recently, I suppose I shouldn¡¯t feel so shocked to learn that artisan Inheritances are real. You aren¡¯t just paying me back for being an annoyance, right?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s real,¡± Ezio confirms, his voice firm and brooking no dispute.

    My heartbeat speeds up. I¡¯m having trouble seeing straight, dizzy with the intoxicating rush of implications. I push it all away, practicing the breathing Tem showed me in the Rift, but hope is building up within me, so potent that if it goes sour it will feel more akin to poison than joy. If this is just a joke, I might cry.

    ¡°That still doesn¡¯t change anything,¡± I say bitterly, not willing to embrace the hope just yet. ¡°Your speculation doesn¡¯t guarantee that there¡¯s an Inheritance. And even if it¡¯s real, why would they give it to me for winning some competition?¡±

    Ezio and Rakesh exchange glances. ¡°The estate is up for auction after his passing, including the studio of the arts, and the family is hopping mad about it because it¡¯s not for sale in the traditional sense. There¡¯s some legal wrangling that needs to be sorted out, but that¡¯s where opportunities abound.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not exactly legal scholars,¡± I protest. ¡°And if it comes down to an auction, then how am I supposed to bid successfully? I had to give up the beast core from the Rift to keep the [Adjutant] off my case. Even if I still had it, I don¡¯t think it would be enough value compared to an entire estate. We¡¯re not rich, so what am I missing? I know you two are way smarter than I am, but it seems like there¡¯s a hole in this plan.¡±

    ¡°Normally, I would agree with you,¡± Ezio says. ¡°In this case, however, only glass workers are permitted to bid for the workshop. You don¡¯t stand a chance for the rest of the estate, but for the part that matters, we may be able to win. I mentioned earlier it¡¯s not for sale in the traditional sense, because the [Viscount]¡¯s will expressly specifies that money cannot exchange hands. The only way to bid is to submit a crafting proposal.¡±

    ¡°But how exactly am I supposed to gain this mysterious Inheritance just by winning the right to the glassworks studio?¡± I interrupt. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I bid on, oh, I don¡¯t know¡ªthe library or something? Surely, if we want to find more details about this mysterious Master, then we need information. I don¡¯t even know how it works. Do I read about his works, or start making things in the glass studio, assuming I win, and hope that I earn a Skill by taking over the Master¡¯s absent role in the hot shop?¡±

    ¡°Rakesh? Why don¡¯t you show him our secret weapon?¡± The pair of conspirators turn toward each other, grinning so hard I¡¯m scared their lips will fall right off their faces.

    ¡°Secret weapon? Is this related to your earlier claim that we¡¯re going to cheat?¡± I ask, still unwilling to harbor hopes of such an incredible transformative gift. ¡°I don¡¯t understand how you think I¡¯ll get away with that. Unless you know one of the judges, or have a way to manipulate the results, how do we guarantee that my offering will be up to par?

    ¡°An astute observation, as always,¡± Ezio interjects dryly. ¡°May I take this part?¡±

    Rakesh inclines his head toward his teacher. ¡°Be my guest, good sir. After all, it was your research that determined this particular detail. My skills only got us so far; I had the general outline, but you were able to fill in the shape and colors to finish the final puzzle.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, you¡¯re going to make this,¡± Ezio says, thrusting out his hand and manipulating the presentation again. A simple glass pyramid springs into view made up of triangles of various colors, and I step up to take a closer look.

    Each of the pyramid¡¯s four faces is defined by a particular theme¡ªone side is covered in hues of red and pink; another one is orange and yellow; the third is all blues and greens, while the fourth is periwinkle and indigo. There¡¯s nothing particularly fancy looking about the pyramid as it¡¯s rotating in place, showing off its various faces and points. The only thing that stands out to me at all is that there are no seams or joins; the entire structure is smooth and cohesive, clearly crafted by a deft touch.

    I scratch absently at the back of my head. ¡°Am I supposed to know what this is?¡±

    ¡°Allow me to expound upon the matter,¡± Ezio announces grandly. ¡°This, my friend, is the product of meticulous research. It¡¯s a prototype work of the master who made your swords and the communication mirrors, and it¡¯s your ticket to greatness.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s to say the others won¡¯t make the same thing, then, if it¡¯s such a certain bet? And aren¡¯t you putting the cart before the horse? I still have to actually win a local competition to get in. I¡¯m very good for my age, but what if someone more established than I am also enters the competition?¡± I¡¯m repeating myself, and I know it, but my chest is constricting and making it hard to breathe because I want it to be true so badly.

    ¡°Then I suppose you¡¯ll just have to practice hard,¡± Ezio says grimly.

    I grind my teeth, but I know he¡¯s right. Still, too many questions niggle at my mind for me to feel comfortable with their explanations so far. ¡°If he¡¯s dead, then who¡¯s judging? What else do you know? How will recreating something he supposedly made be enough to convince the judges that I¡¯m a suitable inheritor of his studio and Skills?¡±

    Just saying the words aloud brings an enormous grin to my face, despite my misgivings. I don¡¯t care how goofy I must look at the moment; the thought of gaining such a tantalizing legacy is way too tempting for me to moderate my reactions. I turn toward the duo of researching fiends and plead my case. ¡°Tell me that we can win. Don¡¯t get my hopes up for nothing. Please.¡±

    Rakesh waves his hand above the table, a look of intense concentration on his face, and a torrent of mana pours out of him. It gushes forth, a geyser of raw power, and coalesces into a wireframe image of an intricate golden goblet hanging in the air. ¡°Do you know this work?¡±

    A jolt of recognition runs through me. ¡°Ember makes all of us study that. It¡¯s the work of a [Glass Smith] in the Grand Ile region. She said she apprenticed at one of their schools when she left her adventuring days behind.¡±

    Rakesh wipes his forehead dramatically, miming great relief. ¡°Good, our sources weren¡¯t incorrect. We¡¯re fairly certain that you already have the right fundamentals to impress the judges there. They may even recognize their lineage in your work and approach to the craft. I was able to find references to this by utilizing the Index and my specific research Skills. It¡¯s amazing what you can discover if you just know where¡ªand how¡ªto look.¡±

    I sink back into my chair, taking in the density of details and information that my friends have tracked down. ¡°That is incredibly impressive! Out of curiosity, Rakesh, how much do you know about wraiths? Could you research them for me? I want to check some of the information Tem and I discussed in the labyrinth, but I can¡¯t seem to find answers anywhere.¡±

    A flicker of silver and gold mana shines across Rakesh¡¯s eyes, brilliantly weaving into his irises and sclerae until the natural colors fall away completely. The shimmer of magic transforms his eyes into shining, starlike orbs. A moment later, he lets the Skill fall dormant, and the threads of raw magic dissipate. ¡°We have three hundred seventeen books in the library currently that mention wraiths. Of those books, I have read one hundred four, but most treatments are incidental at best. Not much is covered in formal research. Surprisingly, there¡¯s not much in the Index, either. Some of it appears to have been redacted.¡±

    Unease slithers through my gut. ¡°Can you ask for a library swap from another Academy? I have so many unanswered questions, and your unique Skill set might be my best bet if I¡¯m ever going to uncover the truth.¡±

    Rakesh hums. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do, but no promises if the Index is so sparse. Certain topics are more sensitive than others, and thus subject to more oversight. I may need a royal license to look into this further.¡±

    Something about the restricted nature of the information makes me shiver, and I resolve to leave the topic alone. For now. ¡°We¡¯ll come back to that another time. Meanwhile, can you tell me where the competition is held? Grand Ile, I presume?¡±

    ¡°Got it in one, Nuri,¡± Ezio says, confirming that I have a fair bit of traveling ahead of me.

    I rub my palms together. ¡°Excellent. Then let¡¯s make a plan. While we have a few months until the estate sale, if I read the press clippings correctly, I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯m still under a deadline. I need to get out of Silaraon, not to mention finish my full suit of armor as quickly as possible if I¡¯m going to be a royal target. [General] Tychicus is breathing down my neck, and I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have much time to waste.¡±

    Ezio eases himself back in his seat. He taps his fingertips together, staring up at the ceiling. ¡°You¡¯re serious about leaving?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how I could possibly stay in Silaraon right now. Not with the Royal army on my case. I¡¯m not safe here. Not after they condemned Tem as a traitor.¡± I fix Ezio with a stare. ¡°How long until you and I are next? Besides, if you want me to compete, then I can¡¯t stay here.¡±

    Ezio nods in approval. ¡°Good. I¡¯m not trying to convince you otherwise. Obviously, I want you to try to compete in the Grand Ile local tournament. I simply want to make sure that you have the conviction to see things through. This is a monumental change for you, Nuri. Who knows if you¡¯ll ever be back. You might find you miss Silaraon. Don¡¯t take this lightly.¡±

    ¡°If I stay here, then I¡¯ll be stuck under the thumb of the Royal army for as long as they are in town,¡± I say hotly. ¡°I need to get out now, while I still can. Imagine if they decide to take me with them back to the Capital for further questioning! I don¡¯t feel like languishing in a dank, forgotten prison there for who knows how many years while they deliberate over whether or not I¡¯m guilty by association with Tem.¡±¡¯

    I grimace, angered anew by the way they¡¯re dragging his name through the muck and mire. ¡°You and I both know that Tem wouldn¡¯t do anything to harm the citizens of Densmore. He¡¯s being run out by that new mage faction. I¡¯m almost certain they set him up. And if they have enough clout to take out a famous [Scout], then what chance do I have? They will probably find me a rather inconvenient loose end. You know what happens to loose ends? They get snipped off.¡±

    Ezio purses his lips together, giving me a searching look. ¡°What do they hope to gain from going after you, Nuri? If you run off, then that¡¯s as good as admitting guilt in their eyes. My hunch is that it will make them more likely to hunt you down. I¡¯d be willing to bet that if you stay in town and keep your head down, then you¡¯re less likely to show up on their agenda. Are you sure that it¡¯s worth the risk to flee?¡±

    ¡°You should get out, too,¡± I urge him, my nerves fraying as I consider his fate. ¡°I¡¯ve seen what horrors await in the Rift. The battalion that [General] Tychicus brought with him might not be enough to stem the tide of beasts in the Rift, let alone invading wraiths. It¡¯s a start, and I¡¯m sure he¡¯s powerful, but I can¡¯t help but think that he¡¯s been set up to fail. What if this is a ploy, part of the same game that the mage cabal are playing with Tem?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t follow,¡± Ezio says, sounding a bit peeved. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that now is the time for crazy rumors or seeing conspiracies behind every move. We¡¯re trying to help you obtain a rare Inheritance, not bandy about wild theories.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the best way to gain public support?¡± I ask, reframing the conversation. ¡°When the Royal army fails and Densmore¡¯s citizens are terrified, then they can move in and finish the job. They get to look like heroes, saving the day, and it will further cement their case against people like Tem¡ªthey¡¯ll blame him for causing the invasion in the first place! Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s suspicious that Tem¡¯s team, who actually have the abilities to stop them, were disbanded prior to all of this happening. By the time the [King] realizes that he¡¯s been duped, he¡¯ll be primed for a coup. It¡¯ll be too late to change things.¡±

    ¡°That sounds a bit extreme, don¡¯t you think?¡± Ezio chides, raising his eyebrows at me.

    ¡°Maybe. But how are we supposed to stay safe if we¡¯re caught up in this web of intrigue? We¡¯ll be crushed without regard¡ªcasual collateral damage,¡± I growl.

    Ezio rubs his chin. ¡°A few weeks ago you were convinced you and your friends would be able to hold the line against a wraith Invasion. So, which is it?¡±

    ¡°We simply wanted to defend ourselves against any incursions that break through. I want to protect the people I love and respect. An actual Invasion is far beyond us. Besides, defending is vastly different from invading. Do you really think that my theory sounds too far-fetched to be plausible? I¡¯m convinced that [General] Tychicus wants to enter any Rift he can find, tear open a way into the labyrinth, and invade the wraiths¡¯ homeland. But he doesn¡¯t have enough men to take over an entire enemy realm. He¡¯s getting in over his head, despite his personal power.¡±

    ¡°A discussion for another time,¡± Ezio finally replies. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on the competition for now. If you¡¯re determined to get out of Silaraon and try for the Inheritance, then give it your all. Stay the course, Nuri. We¡¯ll back you up.¡±

    I nod at him gratefully. ¡°So, we¡¯re in agreement for our next steps?¡±

    ¡°I have one stipulation. If you leave, take me with you,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°I could write my thesis from here, safe from harm, but nothing beats first-hand experience. If you become as famous as I think you will, then this is my chance to add my name to the Index.¡±

    I shake my head at the thought of Rakesh in the middle of the intrigue, [Inquisitors], and Inheritance, but I can¡¯t deny he¡¯s got a useful set of Skills. ¡°Very well. You¡¯ve earned it. Pack your bags; we leave tomorrow at midnight.¡±

    We strike hands, and the pact is sealed. The only way forward is out.

 B2 C13: The Great Escape

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    When Mikko and I reached adolescence and obtained our Classes, his parents warned us that most activities requiring the cover of darkness weren¡¯t worth our time. We didn¡¯t always listen, but I still remember their warnings against making unwise choices. As I sneak out of the back window of my little cabin, a quarter glass before midnight, I hope that our escape from Silaraon is one of the rare exceptions to their sensible rule.

    I can still picture the amused glint in Reijo¡¯s eyes as we complained about a strict curfew. His voice echoes in my mind: Nothing good happens in the middle of the night. Trust me; I¡¯m an expert in bad choices and harsh life lessons. That¡¯s how I got all this grey hair!

    Smiling fondly at the memory, I crouch down behind the little outbuilding near my cabin, taking stock of my surroundings. The late summer night is surprisingly chilly, given the warmth of daytime, and my breath fogs in front of my face. I hunch over and take off, slinking along the path low to the ground, and moderate the warmth of my breath with a restrained application of [Heat Manipulation]. I don¡¯t want my breath to continue to fog up, just in case it¡¯s visible in the crisp night air.

    Another fear drives me, too: I have to keep my Skill use delicate and slow in hopes that no one is tailing me. If there¡¯s an [Inquisitor] with [Manasight] or something similar, then my imagined watcher might notice the flare of a mana Skill at work. Magic is a two-edged sword, and I don¡¯t want to cut myself through carelessness, metaphorically speaking.

    I flit from tree to tree, sticking to the deep shadows. There¡¯s only a faint sliver of a moon out tonight, which helps me feel hidden, swathed in the darkness like a cloak, but my breath still catches in my throat at every rustling leaf. I can¡¯t shake the tremor in my hands. What if I¡¯m laid bare before tracking Skills that my unknown pursuers might possess? If they¡¯re following me, then there¡¯s likely nothing I can do to escape notice; all my precautions are just theater to make myself feel better.

    That still doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to go galumphing through the forest like a galoot. No sense making their jobs easier. Get hold of yourself, Nuri.

    A tense ten minutes passes more slowly than I¡¯ve ever imagined possible as I creep from one moss-covered tree trunk to the next, feeling my way through the sparse forest like a rodent trying to hide from a hawk.

    Is this my life now, on the run and jumping at shadows? I don¡¯t like it. As much as I hate to think about it, part of me wonders if the anxiety is worth the trade off. When does it end? When will I let myself enjoy the very freedom I¡¯m pursuing? My gut twists, and I cut off the line of thought before it festers any more. I can¡¯t live in constant fear of discovery. That kind of paranoia will poison every joy and accomplishment in my future. I won¡¯t be able to focus and do my best in Grand Ile if I¡¯m always looking over my shoulder, afraid of being caught.

    Twin emotions war within my breast. I pause behind a particularly gnarled tree trunk, my fingers brushing the whorls and hard ridges of the bark as I contemplate my current behavior. I¡¯m sneaking about like a rat, a vile, hidden creature in love with the shadows. The act itself makes me feel guilty, although I know my cause is right. Isn¡¯t it? I can almost hear Tem¡¯s voice in my head. Nonetheless, actions define you. Feelings follow.

    Underneath the quivering fear, however, a second sensation starts to rise. The strident drumbeat of adventure pounds in my chest, resonant among my rib bones. A thrill races through me, and I shiver¡ªnot from dread or the chill of night, but from the rush of adrenaline. I¡¯m more than a sneak. I am more than a thief. I clench my jaw, my resolve growing. I am the hope of a far off peace, of ending this war bloodlessly. I need answers, but I¡¯m more interested in healing the realms than destroying them.

    I can build something new, something better. That¡¯s the impulse that drives me onward now. After all, I am a budding [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. Although the way forward remains hidden to me, I will find a path. I nod slowly to myself. I will find the truth of the world, and I will build something new from the old.

    The soft hoot of an owl behind me makes me flinch in fear. My breathing jerks to a halt, and every muscle in my body locks in place, rigid with terror at the bird call. I collapse to the loam of the forest floor, pressing myself against the roots of the tree, my face buried in the soft, wet leaves still left over from last fall¡¯s shedding. The mold is thick around the tree trunk, musty with the smell of age and decay.

    I will my body to be silent and still and small, as though I can make myself invisible by the sheer force of wishing hard enough. I¡¯ve always made fun of the storytellers and bards who use hyperbolic language. Instead of laughing at the phrase, ¡°his skin crawled right off,¡± I¡¯m all too keenly aware in this dark, terrifying moment exactly what they mean. I tense up, awaiting the inevitability of the end in case it was a signal from an [Inquisitor] instead of just a bird¡ª

    And nothing happens.

    After a long moment, I raise my head and look around. Quiet woodland sounds wash over me, but otherwise all is calm. I risk a quick scan with my [Manasight], and my beating heart finally grows tranquil again when I return no sign of mana use. I am alone, pursued only in my inner thoughts.

    I continue on my way to the rendezvous site, no longer confident, but still committed to my task. Wariness is exhausting. Capture is worse.

    To my great relief, the others are early. They¡¯re already waiting for me when I reach the meeting site. The entire team is here¡ªour last-minute inclusion Rakesh as well, his face grim but resolute¡ªand they¡¯re sporting packed bags and traveling clothes. They¡¯re all outfitted in practical clothing for a midnight escape, clad in dark tones and doing their best to camouflage their mana signatures.

    We look like a right proper bunch of ruffians. I grin madly at the sight of my comrades, and once again the siren song of adventure hums in my chest. We¡¯re off to save the world, and we look stylish while we¡¯re doing it. What more could we ask for?

    Padouk loads our gear into his wagon with practiced ease, and our bags seem to fairly fly into nooks and crannies among his wares. I recognize a Skill in action, but he keeps fine control over his mana, and there¡¯s barely a glimmer to give him away while he activates the ability. Soon, all of our gear is packed in without any wasted space or time, and strangely, the wagon still seems to have room for more. A solid, useful Skill for a [Merchant] on the go.

    We set off at a brisk pace, but despite our haste we make little noise. Even the horses are quiet. I squint through the darkness, studying the horses as best I can. Padouk has wrapped their hooves in some sort of sackcloth, and it muffles each footstep as the beasts of burden haul us out of town and down an old, winding goat path. Rather than the clop-clop of hoof beats, all I hear is the soft, muted patter of their plodding, like gentle rain on a rooftop.

    The steady rhythm is hypnotic and strangely comforting, as though it¡¯s telling me that everything will be all right in the end. You¡¯ll make it out safely. You have nothing more to fear. My breath is shaky as I fight off another surge of adrenaline. I desperately wish I could believe that all is well, but until we¡¯re in Grand Ile, I won¡¯t rest easy.

    No one speaks for another few hours, keeping our peace until we¡¯re well out of town. No one seems willing to risk conversation in case it gives away our position. We finally stop by an old stream bed, long since dried out. The sandy walls of the gully are crumbling and provide poor footing for us while we scramble down to the bottom. The wagon lists to the side, sliding on the loose scree, and I clench my fists in helpless fear.

    At a commanding phrase from Padouk, however, the horses and the wagon stabilize and right themselves. The wagon and all our gear inside it lowers down securely to the old creek bed, as sure and precise as though guided by ropes and pulleys.

    ¡°Neat Skill,¡± I say, nodding in the [Merchant]¡¯s direction. ¡°I¡¯m always curious to see various Classes in action. It¡¯s exciting to see so many different routes to power. Ezio and Tem both drove that point home, but it¡¯s fascinating to see a tangible reminder like that.¡±

    My voice sounds too loud in the stillness, but people seem relieved that I deem us far enough from the city to relax rather than remain tense and suspicious. By speaking aloud so nonchalantly, it¡¯s as though I¡¯m giving permission for everyone to lift our self-imposed vows of silence. Sensibly, the team keeps the chatter down to a bare minimum, but everyone¡¯s breathing easier, a tacit admission that we¡¯re out of immediate danger. With the suffocating weight lifted from our shoulders, everyone subconsciously picks up the pace, and soon we¡¯re moving along at a light jog.

    ¡°I¡¯m not picking up any mana signatures. I¡¯m fairly confident that we¡¯re out of the worst of it, but let¡¯s keep on guard just in case,¡± I say it to the team. I turn toward our guide, smiling at the confident, competent presence he projects as he strides through the night. ¡°How about you, Padouk? Have you sensed any potential clientele nearby? Or are we truly alone out here in this vast wilderness?¡±

    The crafty [Merchant] shakes his head, glancing around him in a quick survey of our surroundings before committing to a final answer. ¡°Nothing so far, Nuri. I think we¡¯re happily solitary for the moment. Keep your eyes open, though. That goes for all of us. We¡¯re not out of the woods yet¡ªno pun intended.¡±

    A faint ripple of laughter spreads through the group at the shameless pun, bolstering our morale. Everyone seems to be taking our escape in stride, although Rakesh¡¯s face is slick with a buildup of sweat, which shimmers on his forehead in the scant moonlight. The poor [Secretarial Researcher] is breathing more heavily than I would expect given our rather light exertion up to this point, but perhaps it¡¯s not fair to judge his fitness against our own. We¡¯ve been training like madmen for the last few months, but I wasn¡¯t exactly a paragon of athleticism before my time with Tem inspired me to temper my body the old fashioned way.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I know Rakesh spends most of his days at the Silaraon City Academy, his head buried in a stack of books, but an hour or two of walking shouldn¡¯t put him out of breath this quickly, right? Maybe I would have felt the same before my recent exercising. It¡¯s hard to say. I watch him from the corner of my eye, trying not to stare and make him feel more uncomfortable than he already appears. He¡¯s clutching his pack, his fingers relentlessly throttling the padded straps around his shoulders, and I feel a rush of sympathy as I realize he is utterly terrified.

    I slow my pace slightly, dropping back to match Rakesh stride for stride. For a while, I simply look around the forest, admiring the old growth of massive tree trunks thick with ivy. As we settle into a comfortable march, I catch his eye and quirk a half-smile, just enough to let him know that we¡¯re in this together.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re so composed,¡± Rakesh says, shaking his head. His shoulders are hunched, and he¡¯s trudging along like a prisoner on a one way trip to the salt mines. ¡°I¡¯m a nervous wreck! I envy your bravery.¡±

    ¡°Bravery?¡± I snort, which makes him glance at me sharply, as though I¡¯ve offended him by minimizing his worry, and I wrestle down a spike of guilt. ¡°I¡¯m just as nervous as you are, Rakesh. I don¡¯t think any of us have a clue what we¡¯re doing. We¡¯re all out of our depth, so don¡¯t feel like the odd one out. None of us have ever done anything quite like this before, but we¡¯re a team. Whatever happens next, we succeed or fail together. There¡¯s no need to be afraid.¡±

    Slow, percussive clapping echoes through the night. I spin around, craning my neck and squinting to see the top of the creek bed in the dim starlight. A man in the unmistakable garb of the [Inquisitors] looms over us. He stops clapping and launches into a speech.

    ¡°How touching. My deepest apologies, deserters, but it¡¯s simply not true that there¡¯s no reason to be afraid. [Behold, I Am Come]. [Tremble in my Presence]!¡±

    My mind stutters and freezes up at his audacious words, fuzzing and going white with sudden, catatonic terror. My limbs refuse to move when I try to turn around and run. My legs and arms are heavy and leaden, caught in the grip of his bombastic sounding Skills. I bite the inside of my cheek, falling back on old tricks to free myself from the trap, but the Skill doesn¡¯t break. I shake, falling to my knees and pleading incoherently for him to spare us, although some rational part of my brain knows that I¡¯m suffering from some sort of fear-based mental attack and that it¡¯s not natural to wallow in abject terror.

    A dozen men step forward from the forest on all sides, encircling us in a net of heavily armored [Inquisitors]. Their leader lifts his helmet¡¯s visor, revealing his face. He bares his teeth in a wolfish grin, and while the Skill fades, I still shudder at the sudden surge of power churning in his unveiled mana signature.

    He leaps down to the sandy bed, landing in a small explosion of dirt and rocks, sticks and old leaves. He flashes me his savage grin once more, then turns to Padouk without another word for me, as though I don¡¯t matter to him in the least. And maybe I don¡¯t. The royal army is used to dealing with bigger prizes by far.

    ¡°Your blood price, [Merchant],¡± the [Inquisitor] leader calls out, tossing a small leather bag at Padouk. The clink the bag makes when Padouk catches it leaves no doubt that he¡¯s been bought and paid for with royal coin.

    With a stiff bow, Padouk disappears the money bag into a hidden pocket in his cloak. He speaks in a low, ominous tone. ¡°[Threefold Investment: Reap What you Sow].¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Melina screams now that we can all move on our own accord again. She clutches at his vest with her hands, her face contorted into a mask of rage as she glances back and forth between the [Inquisitors] and her beau. ¡°Let him go. Tell me that this is all a mistake! And you! I trusted you, Padouk! Why are you doing this to him¡ªto me?¡±

    Padouk shrugs Melina off, backpedaling quickly away from the distraught [Gaffer]. He opens his mouth as though to respond, his face sad and shaded in the bleak moonlight. Then his features harden into something harsh and desperate. He sneers and turns away on his heel. His strides don¡¯t falter as he retreats toward the wagon, leaving Melina wailing in anguish, all alone in the dirt.

    Just before he reaches the horses, he whirls back around, his jaw working heavily as a complicated series of expressions run across his face. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to understand, Melina. Everything is simple and easy for you. But I¡¯m a [Merchant]. I always take the [Superior Deal]!¡±

    While everyone is caught up in the drama, I leap up and yell for my friends to run. No one moves, though, and in the next breath I nonsensically tell the [Inquisitors] that they have nothing to do with anything, babbling as I search for a way to save them from sharing my fate.

    ¡°Please. Just let them go,¡± I beg, trembling at the sight of my friends roughly bound and chained. The squad of [Inquisitors] have already slapped mana-suppressing collars on Avelina and Mikko, which is probably a prudent move on their part. Ava would burn them in an instant, although Mikko doesn¡¯t need his Skills to crush them with his hulking hammer.

    I sink back down to my knees, listless and weak. I huddle in a ball on the rocky dirt of the river bed, and my head slumps down to my chest. I watch our brief hope of freedom slip through our fingers, but I can¡¯t look away. A strange sense of gratitude burns in my heart. My friends are here for me. They all knew the risk, but they came along anyway. Somehow, the certainty that I have good friends¡ªno, family¡ªblunts the sting of failure.

    ¡°Some dreams die before they¡¯re even born,¡± the captain of the [Inquisitors] grates at me in his rough voice. He explodes into motion, moving so fast I only see the flickering afterimage, and kicks me in my back. I slam down face first into the dirt, cutting my forehead on a rock and blinking back tears. Twigs and old leaves tangle in my beard, and I¡¯m spitting up dirt.

    He wrestles my hands behind me with inexorable strength. My struggles are so useless it¡¯s almost comical. He slaps cold chains on my wrists. Once again I writhe in his grasp, fighting to wrench myself free, but he¡¯s pressing down on me with more weight than humanly possible, his knee twisting into my spine with unrelenting pressure.

    With a grunt, I go limp, surrendering to the inevitable truth of our failed escape. We¡¯ve been captured; no amount of indignation or struggle will change that reality. As my face grinds into the dirt, it¡¯s all I can do to hold back a wicked grin.

    =+=

    A flare of blinding light makes my eyes water. I¡¯m still blinking away tears, trying to see where I¡¯ve awoken after the [Inquisitors] put me to sleep with a suppressing Skill, when I hear a voice that I recognize all too well. The [Adjutant] and I are far from friends, but after the uncomfortable intimacy of our interrogation session, I¡¯d know the sound of his voice anywhere.

    ¡°Did you really think my eyes and ears are so blind and deaf? Ahhh, I can see it in your eyes, taste it in your fear, Nuri.¡± He smiles mirthlessly, and my vision clears enough to see the cruel twist to his thin lips.

    He shakes his head at me. ¡°You really believed that you could slip away under the cover of night. You actually thought that you, a young crafter barely across his first Threshold, could outwit the best the [Inquisitors] have to offer. Densmore suffers no fools; yet somehow, you had either the boldness or the stupidity¡ªI can¡¯t tell which one is less embarrassing¡ªto challenge the might of the royal army. That tells me that something else is afoot. It tells me that you are more than what you seem.¡±

    A lie springs to my lips, and I¡¯m about to spew misdirection in hopes of wreaking havoc with the [Adjutant]¡¯s recall Skills. Before I can get a word out, however, he flings out a palm, and a dense weave of mana closes around my mouth, clamping down and silencing me. We stare at each other in the flickering torchlight for a moment before he cracks a wan smile.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother with dissembling, Nuri. Right now, I¡¯m actually inclined to be charitable. Do you know why? No? It¡¯s because there¡¯s more to you than meets the eye. Don¡¯t ruin things for yourself by acting churlish. The less you say right now, the better. Do we understand each other well enough? But trust me when I say that I¡¯ll gladly give you enough rope to hang yourself if you insist on being pigheaded.¡±

    ¡°Please just let me go,¡± I say when he releases the silencing Skill. I discard the grand lies and speak simply from the heart, although I doubt he¡¯ll be moved. He¡¯s a cold snake, this one. I stare down at the ground, refusing to meet his hypnotic gaze in case he tries to influence me unduly. ¡°Honestly? I just want to be left alone.¡±

    The [Adjutant] snorts in derision. ¡°Left alone? There¡¯s not a chance of that happening anymore, Nuri. No, you¡¯re valuable to me now. That¡¯s why I¡¯m taking you with me. I can¡¯t wait until we depart this forsaken patch of wilderness in the wastelands and return to proper civilization in the capital.¡±

    I flinch. ¡°What do you mean, leaving? What about the war? You¡¯re taking me to the capital?¡± I ask the [Adjutant] in a jumbled daze, the words spilling out all on top of each other as I try to process the news. Panic rises in my chest like the off-gassing of fumes from a furnace, making me light-headed and weak. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything useful. Please believe me. I can¡¯t help in your war. I just want to be left alone¡ªI had to get away.¡±

    ¡°Then you should have simply followed through with our deal,¡± the [Adjutant] snaps. His velvety tones disappear, and he crosses his arm and glares at me through narrowed eyes. ¡°We aren¡¯t staying long in Silaraon, as I said. A month or two of fighting, at most, until we beat back those bloody wraiths. Then you would have been released from service while the [General] marched back to the capital to be feted and honored by all the adoring crowds.¡±

    The [Adjutant] breaks off with a shake of his head, a strangely intense gleam in his eyes as he examines me. ¡°Do you know why that can¡¯t happen now? You pulled one over on me. I don¡¯t know how you did it, Nuri, but somehow you sidestepped my best Skill. I¡¯m not even angry. Oh no, not at all! No, I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s much worse for you. I¡¯m intrigued, you see. So now I¡¯m taking you back as a gift to my mentor. She¡¯ll enjoy pulling you apart and extracting all your dark little secrets. By the time she¡¯s through with you, you¡¯ll wish you¡¯d died in that Rift.¡±

    He turns abruptly, stalks out of the cell with the torch in hand, and slams the heavy iron door behind him. The door clangs shut ominously, plunging my world into darkness.

    I grope blindly through the pitch blackness until I find a wall. My fingers slide across the rough stone surface, following the lines of the bricks. I reach the corner, counting my paces, and turn to trace out the rest of the little cell. Two short paces in each direction. Barely enough space to stretch out for sleep. No bed that I can find, just a thin blanket in a corner next to a chamber pot. No chair. No food tray, either.

    I grimace at the thought of stinking up the place by being forced to use the chamber pot like an uncouth barbarian, but at least it will serve to keep guards away. I suppose the lack of plumbing in this wing of the barracks works in my favor. They won¡¯t like the smell any more than I do, but I¡¯ll learn to adapt.

    No windows. No way to tell where I¡¯m held in the barracks. I grind my teeth, annoyed that I¡¯m working with hardly any information. Escape feels unlikely, but that doesn¡¯t stop me from taking stock of my situation and formulating a plan. I have no intention of going to the capital, at least not on the [Adjutant]¡¯s terms. I punch one fist into the palm of my other hand. If I go to the capital city one day, then it will be my choice. I refuse to dance to someone else¡¯s tune.

    I breathe in deeply to clear my mind, and start to put together the few details that I know. I¡¯m in an old, interior room, devoid of plumbing, so it¡¯s probably in the basement of the original construction. There are service lifts in the back, if I remember, still in use for deliveries. If I can make it past the iron door, then the lifts will be my first destination. All I have to do is deal with the pesky guards.

    I inch forward with my hands outstretched, and bump into the door. My Skills are still restrained, but I can faintly make out its composition if I strain to use the analytical portion of my [Architect of Unseen Worlds] Skill. I slow my breathing, focusing on controlling the faint, sluggish vestiges of mana in my system, and begin the slow work of understanding and then unraveling the door.

    They may have captured me, imprisoned my body, and drained away my mana, but my mind is free. They can never take that away from me. In the darkness, my grim smile grows.

 B2 C14: Imprison the Body, Free the Mind

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    My attempts to subvert the iron door don¡¯t take me very far. My captors have clearly woven in some sort of enchantment to make the door more resistant to magical intrusion, and combined with the pitiful trickle of mana refilling my pool currently, the challenge is too much to overcome. The door isn¡¯t impervious, but it¡¯s close enough.

    I stretch my hands above my head with a groan, then knuckle the small of my back and press forward until I hear a satisfying series of pops from my spine. Hunching over the door for the last few hours isn¡¯t exactly comfortable, but I hope my efforts will pay off eventually.

    The sudden sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside my cell fills me with a rush of trepidation. I scurry back into the corner near the chamber pot, huddling into a defensive curl scant moments before the door bangs open.

    My eyes squeeze shut, warding against the harsh light that¡¯s sure to accompany my new annoyance. I cover my face with my hands, and little by little, I flutter open my eyelids, letting my vision adjust to the illumination levels before I respond to the boot nudging my ribs.

    ¡°Get up, kid. You wanna eat, or not?¡±

    I shift myself upright, hissing in a sharp breath as my hip cramps up while I try to stand. I¡¯m way too young to feel this stiff and sore. I open my eyes all the way, now that I¡¯ve started to adjust to the light again, and take in the heavily-muscled, scarred [Soldier] offering me a little wooden tray with a bowl of thin broth on it.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I mumble, suddenly embarrassed. He¡¯s not a devious enemy, just a military man who¡¯s been tasked with keeping watch over a brat. This is probably punishment for some slight infraction. Making him annoyed isn¡¯t in my best interest.

    I gulp down a mouthful of soup, then raise an eyebrow when he doesn¡¯t leave. ¡°Sorry. Thought you were here to interrogate me. I¡¯m good now.¡±

    ¡°Gotta watch you. Make sure you don¡¯t do anything stupid,¡± the [Soldier] grunts. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna try, right? Neither of us have the energy to put up with this, am I right?¡±

    I guzzle down the rest of the bowl of soup, belch, and pat my tummy. It¡¯s not very tasty, but I¡¯ll take whatever they offer me at this point. I have to keep my strength up. ¡°Right. This is all just a big misunderstanding. I¡¯m sure the [Adjutant] will let me go soon. Until then, I¡¯m a model citizen, I swear.¡±

    The [Soldier] takes the bowl back. He hawks up a wad of phlegm and spits it into the chamber pot behind me in disdain. ¡°Sure, kid. A misunderstanding. Heard that one before.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious!¡± I protest, suddenly indignant. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything¡ª¡±

    He headbutts me before I can get any further, dropping me to the ground like a sack of grain. I whimper, rolling bonelessly on the floor while he chuckles. ¡°Nothing personal. But I¡¯m not interested in getting caught up in the [Adjutant]¡¯s schemes. Bad for my health.¡±

    He bangs the door behind him without another word, leaving me alone in the dark once again. I¡¯m starting to get tired of terse conversations and slammed doors. Is everyone from the capital surly and unstable? No wonder Tem wanted to get out.

    I wonder how he¡¯s doing these days. According to Mbukhe, Tem is still alive, but I can¡¯t help but think it odd that no one else has said anything about it. Surely the same group that put out the announcement about his treason would gladly trumpet the fact that they apprehended their target. Why the silence?

    I roll over, wrapping myself in the threadbare blanket in the corner, and decide to get some sleep. I have no idea what time it is, but I¡¯ll need to keep my strength up for whatever comes next. A full belly and a clear mind can only help.

    Rest eludes me, however. All I can do is think about things out of my control. The last line of Mbukhe¡¯s note about Tem plays through my mind again. The sun rises in darkness. What does it mean? Is the sun a person? Code for Tem, perhaps? Or is it an idea, a concept? Maybe it¡¯s a representative of hope.

    A spike of irritation hits me as I¡¯m contemplating the note I got from Mbukhe. Where did that pair of [Inquisitors] disappear to, anyway? I thought they were going to help me, but for all I know, they¡¯re the ones who sold me out when I tried to escape. Or maybe Casella was the only one on my side, and Mbukhe turned him in when he realized his partner had gone rogue. Is that why I haven¡¯t seen the big man since he dropped me off?

    ¡°Paranoia isn¡¯t a good look on you, Nuri,¡± I mutter to myself.

    Reflexively, I tap into my [Manasight] to see if anyone¡¯s spying on me. To my surprise, the Skill flickers to life; I actually have enough mana regenerated now to leverage my abilities if I need to use a Skill. A moment later, [Manasight] sputters out, and I chide myself for the waste. If I¡¯m going to get out of here, then I need to gather my resources and stick to the plan. My best bet is using [Architect of Unseen Worlds], but that¡¯s my most mana-hungry Skill. I need to bide my time and not waste mana indiscriminately before the Skill is ready.

    I sit back down, yawning. My jaw pops, and I wince at the crack of pain. Rubbing my cheek muscles, I regulate my breathing and try to draw in more mana. The resistance makes me feel like I am trying to drink thick pottage through a thin straw, but I do sense a slight uptick in the rate at which I can harvest ambient mana.

    I¡¯m not sure if the restrictions are fading and need to be reapplied, or if they didn¡¯t have time to set up a perfect seal to keep mana out. Maybe they think I¡¯m too weak to do anything useful with the tiny trickle of regeneration available to me right now. I snort softly. I wish I could deny that it¡¯s true, but that would be self deceiving.

    Satisfied that I have a workable plan, as tenuous as it may be, I finally drift off into an uncomfortable, troubled sleep. By the time I wake, my reserves are somewhere around thirty to forty percent. Estimating is the best I can do; not for the first time, I wish that I had a way to quantify mana and other information.

    The mana control test hurt like a swarm of fire ants, but quantitative verification of my vital statistics is so important that I know I¡¯ll do it again at every opportunity to check my growth. Numerical values for my mana pool and other attributes? Now there¡¯s an idea that sounds fantastic¡ªtoo good, in fact, for someone else not to have tried it first. Maybe Rakesh can help me with that in the future, assuming he¡¯s not caught up in the fallout from our escape plans gone awry. I feel bad for the poor [Researcher].

    I stretch out, slowly feeling for the walls with my toes and fingers. I¡¯ve long since pulled off my boots; it may not be much, but it¡¯s a small act of defiance. For some reason, it makes me feel good to exert some measure of control¡ªI¡¯m declaring that I¡¯m not held against my will, but that I¡¯m as comfortable here as I am in my own home. I¡¯m in charge of my own actions, even if it¡¯s only the stupid boots.

    I touch the cold stone on either side of my small cell, savoring the sensation of shivering. Since I¡¯m trying to conserve mana, I¡¯ve resisted the urge to blast away discomfort with a touch of my [Heat Manipulation]. At my current rate of regeneration, I still have a couple hours to go before I can realistically activate [Architect of Unseen Worlds] for long enough to obtain any useful information about the door and its locking mechanism.

    Without a window or clock, I have nothing against which to judge how long I was asleep, so I¡¯m content to wait until after breakfast before I make an attempt. That way I¡¯ll have a reliable touchpoint to base my rough guess about how much time has gone by, assuming they feed me on a regular schedule. I don¡¯t want them to barge in when I¡¯m halfway through the attempt, so it seems safer to wait for the hours between breakfast and dinner.

    Their stinginess in not feeding me lunch is working against them, I think with a grin as I stretch out my body in the silence, meditating in the dark and preparing for my jailbreak attempt. I¡¯ll have plenty of time to work through my Skills and map out the structure and composition of the door, assuming that its anti-mana-intrusion enchantments don¡¯t completely block my most complex Skill: [Architect of Unseen Worlds].

    By the time breakfast finally arrives, I¡¯m cranky, stiff, and my stomach is growling like a Shadow Jaguar. My earlier buoyant attitude is curdling into something more sour, and I realize that I¡¯ve overshot their sense of responsibility. My assumption that they at least keep a regular schedule around here is dashed, if my stomach¡¯s intense rumbling is anything to go by.

    I sit meekly in the corner when the big [Soldier] shoulders the door open, not risking his wrath. He¡¯s less genial than I initially assumed, and I¡¯m starting to get the inkling that relying on my assumptions and first impressions is a good way to get myself in trouble. This time, he sets the tray on the floor with a clatter that spills a quarter of the broth, snickering in a cruel-hearted way that I recognize is endemic to truly stupid, small-minded individuals. Taking out frustration on me makes him feel better, apparently.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I mumble between sips of the soup. We¡¯re not friends, but a little gratitude can go a long way. Maybe he¡¯ll be slightly less inclined to kill me if he catches me during my escape attempt. It¡¯s not a very likely hypothesis, but it¡¯s all I¡¯ve got at the moment.

    ¡°Slow down,¡± he grunts. ¡°Gonna make yourself sick.¡±

    Huh. Maybe he¡¯s my friend after all. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯m just hungry.¡±

    He spits on the floor. ¡°Don¡¯t care. Just don¡¯t wanna clean it up if you make a mess.¡±

    I stifle the urge to chuckle darkly, not wanting to draw his ire again. Nope. Nevermind. Not friends. I won¡¯t make that mistake again. The thought of us sitting down for tea or a picnic together amuses me, but when the [Soldier] collects the empty bowl and leaves me alone with his customary slammed door, I remember that it¡¯s not a laughing matter. I¡¯m on my own, locked in this cell, and the sooner I figure out a way to escape, the better.

    =+=

    ¡°Shattered glass and blistered fingers!¡± I snap, swearing in the hot shop vernacular. I shake my hand, hissing in pain. The feedback from the failed mana Skill stings like a giant hornet on a mana-induced rampage. The mana spellform has collapsed before, but never this bad, and I¡¯m losing my resolve to keep trying. I groan, flexing my fingers and working the feeling back into my arms, fighting off the suffocating pressure of discouragement.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    I kick the door to vent some anger, although I don¡¯t dare kick the iron very hard for fear of breaking my toes. It¡¯s a symbolic gesture, but it still makes me feel a little bit less frustrated. This is my third attempt of the day to force my Skill into the intractable door to my prison cell, and it¡¯s somehow going even worse than I¡¯d anticipated. I¡¯m not making progress or learning what to do next time. I¡¯m just bashing my head against a wall.

    ¡°Against a door, not a wall, you idiot,¡± I growl aloud. Absently, I note that talking to myself is probably a sign of a compromised mental state, but I¡¯m too worked up to care. I¡¯m tired of the dark, tired of getting nowhere.

    So far, my efforts have yielded nothing more than a pounding headache. All I have right now are vague impressions and from which materials it''s crafted. Sensing the inner workings of the lock is beyond me. Nor have I gotten any grasp of the mechanism that I''ll need to transmute in order to open the door and free myself from my cell.

    I sit down to take a break, allowing the boiling emotions in my chest to quiet themselves. I sink inward, imagining that the core of who I am is a lake beset by storms. The wild winds whip up the white capped waves, a fine, frothing frenzy of fury and frustration. With each breath, I imagine the wind becoming gentler, warmer, a life-giving breeze rather than a bleak maelstrom of destruction. The water fades from its harsh, monochromatic hues of jagged black and white, locked in an eternal struggle for dominance. Instead, it takes on shades of blues and greens, intermixed with the occasional muddy brown.

    In time, the tableau settles into a calm lake on a summer day, and at last the wide body of water grows quiescent. Back in my physical body once more, I let out a sigh that expels my cares and worries, telling myself that I am tranquil once more. It¡¯s a lie, but it¡¯s a nice one, so I choose to embrace it for the present.

    Right now, the only thing that comforts me is that they let my teammates go with nothing more than warnings. As far as I can tell, the royal army doesn¡¯t truly consider them persons of interest, which means that phase two of our plan should be well underway. Without me, I add in a rush of bitterness.

    None of that, I chide myself sternly. It¡¯s out of my control, so it¡¯s not worth worrying about anymore. In the meantime, I¡¯m of two minds about the way to proceed. I¡¯ve somehow gained two unlikely mentors in my short life¡ªthree, if I count Ember, although she¡¯s not as specialized as Ezio or Tem in their respective fields¡ªbut their probable advice in this sort of situation seems somewhat contradictory as I mull over my memories of their styles.

    Tem always encouraged me to push through, to keep struggling until I found the way forward. I appreciate that about him. Never give up, fight to your last breath, see things through, and endure when life gets hard. His advice is helping me finally grow up and become a man. He will always have my respect and gratitude.

    Ezio, on the other hand, while just as determined to find a solution when faced with a dilemma, often tells me to change my perspective. His approach is all about establishing a valid baseline, and then systematically changing variables. Sometimes, he even inverts the entirety of the scenario, starting fresh and looking at everything with entirely new eyes. It doesn¡¯t always feel as satisfying as smashing a problem to pieces, but the results are usually more elegant.

    I rub the base of my palms against my temples, relieving the mounting headache. In this situation, I¡¯m inclined to listen to Ezio¡¯s advice. His imagined words of wisdom rattle around in my skull as he pontificates about more creative ways to problem solve. Tem certainly has more real world experience with traps, locks, and general exfiltration techniques, but he¡¯s also a far higher level than I¡¯ll probably ever be. Unless I can magically jump an entire Threshold, then his methods won¡¯t work for me here. I¡¯m simply lacking the raw power to do things his way.

    Decided now, I take a deep, bracing breath, studying my nerves and clearing my mind from distractions. First things first. I need to establish the facts, and then run through my series of viable options. Wishing I could bring to bear Tem¡¯s level of power or expertise won¡¯t get me anywhere. I have to work with what I have¡ªwhich, admittedly, isn¡¯t much.

    Fact one: the big, iron door is unusually resistant to direct manipulation by mana-based Skills. Fact two: Although [Architect of Unseen Worlds] is my most powerful Skill by a long shot, it¡¯s heavily mana reliant. Fact three: [Heat Manipulation] can¡¯t get enough purchase on the door to properly cool it down to levels where I can shatter the lock like I did in the labyrinth. Fact four: at its current rank, [The Eternal Glass Forge] requires line of sight in order to activate extended reach, making the Skill highly conditional. Fact five: fighting a grizzled veteran of a [Soldier] is tantamount to suicide. I don¡¯t have any weapons, and even if I create a little glass shiv, his martial experience far exceeds mine. Direct combat is out of the question.

    As I turn over the possibilities in my mind, a new thought strikes me. Chances are low that the [Soldier] has any form of [Manasight]. He looks like he¡¯s invested in body enhancement Skills, not more arcane pursuits. He likely lacks even basic sensitivity to mana Skills going off in his vicinity. Can I use that to my advantage?

    I yawn, squeezing my eyes shut and stretching out. Perhaps I can leverage [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach] to create a batch of glass directly within the door¡¯s keyhole when the [Soldier] on guard duty opens the door for meal time. I¡¯ll wait until he leaves, and use my natural, preexisting affinity with the glass to shape it with my artisan skills, bypassing the door¡¯s anti-intrusion enchantments.

    Then the obvious problem with my plan smacks me in the face, and I let out a low growl. The key will already be in the lock, since he has to unlock the door to open it. I can¡¯t create any glass there, since the key will obstruct the very area I¡¯m hoping to fill. Ugh. Why didn¡¯t I think of that first? Of course I won¡¯t be able to create a batch of glass in an already occupied space. I can bend the world to my command with [Architect of Unseen Worlds], but I can''t completely subvert the immutable laws of reality.

    I slump back against the wall, drained of my brief burst of energy. As my momentum stalls and my enthusiasm drains, it¡¯s all I can do to keep from giving up entirely. I scowl and kick the door ineffectually again with my heel, not wanting to hurt my toes. I can¡¯t wait to get out of here. Prison really is the worst. Shatter it all!

    =+=

    Two more fruitless days drag by, at least according to feeding cycles. For all I know, they¡¯re only feeding me once a day, and my perception of time is completely skewed, but I¡¯d like to think I¡¯m getting breakfast and dinner on the regular. I¡¯m still no closer to cracking the code that will lead to my freedom, but my mood is improving anyway. It¡¯s either wallow in my misery, or embrace the quiet solitude and practice ranking up my Skills without any other responsibilities. Strength is its own reward, but the side effect of breaking free from prison is pretty attractive, too.

    The door yields its secrets to me by agonizing degrees. I still can¡¯t pierce its depths or get a sense for the lock, but I¡¯ve managed to map out a hand-sized patch of the outer layer. The ratio of conquered iron to implacable magical bastion is still daunting, but if the [Adjutant]¡¯s right about the estimated timeline of their campaign against the wraiths, then I should be on track to unlock the door¡¯s mysteries before I¡¯m hauled off to the capital.

    No pun intended, I snicker to myself.

    After breakfast on the third day, as the [Soldier] gathers my tray and turns to leave, I¡¯m hit by a moment of brilliant inspiration¡ªI don¡¯t have to analyze the enchanted door to figure out the lock. All I have to do is replicate the key.

    ¡°Err, do you mind swapping out my chamber pot?¡± I ask hesitantly, just as the big man slips the key out of the door, but before he bangs it shut in my face. ¡°It¡¯s, uh, rather full.¡±

    ¡°Tough,¡± he mutters, casting a queasy-looking glance at the offending pot. He waves his hand in front of his nose. ¡°Can¡¯t handle the consequences? Shouldn¡¯t have screwed up.¡±

    ¡°I know it¡¯s beneath you, sir,¡± I say, opting for the philosophy that flattery usually gets you further in life, ¡°but perhaps a subordinate or follower could fetch it on your behalf? A [Camp Aide], or the like? No one should have to live like a pig, rolling around in their own muck.¡±

    His scarred face softens slightly. He tosses the key in his hand a few times, then nods. ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯ll get one of the kids to do it. But you owe me, prisoner. And I won¡¯t forget it.¡±

    I clasp my hands together and dip my head gratefully, so relieved I don¡¯t have to act.

    ¡°Now don¡¯t bug me again,¡± the [Soldier] grumbles, pocketing the key and slamming the door behind him. His boots echo faintly from the other side of the door as he stomps down the corridor, presumably to find some poor fool to do his dirty work for him.

    I collapse onto my threadbare blanket, breathing raggedly as I release my Skill. Forcing the [Architect of Unseen Worlds] to analyze the key from such a distance, while still talking with the [Soldier] and acting nonchalant, utterly drained me. I¡¯m out of mana, and running on fumes, and the bloom of a headache in the base of my skull promises a full-blown migraine later.

    Splitting my perspective like that so that I could interact with the guard and also see the fine details of the key is not an experience I¡¯m keen to repeat. I know that I¡¯ll have to wield every tool at my disposal to get out of here, and that the surest way of ranking up a Skill is to push it as far and hard as it can go under adverse circumstances, but I¡¯m still not looking forward to the pain and discombobulation. I¡¯ve had enough of that lately, thank you very much.

    Clutching my head in my hands, I curl up in a ball and pass out. By the time I wake, the dregs of my mana have refilled, but my head still hurts. I shake it off, focusing on the important detail: I¡¯ve gotten an imprint of the key. Once I¡¯ve recovered enough mana to activate my Skills again¡ªprobably in another two or three days, since it will require my entire pool twice over to complete the work¡ªI can recreate the key¡¯s teeth and ridges.

    I still don¡¯t know how I¡¯m going to fit the key into the lock without the [Soldier] noticing, or turn the key once it¡¯s in place, but that¡¯s a problem for another day. For now, I¡¯m satisfied with my progress. I¡¯m one step closer to freedom, and I¡¯m proving that wielding glass is a viable path to power.

    I slip in and out of naps all day, drifting off during meditation as I recover my mana. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s just my imagination at play, but I feel like I¡¯m gathering my reserves more quickly than I was a few days ago. To my surprise, true to his word, the [Soldier] drags along a young boy when he brings me dinner. The kid plunks down a clean, empty chamber pot and grabs the old one with a sulky expression.

    He kicks me as he exits the cell, but I just roll my eyes. He¡¯s likely too young to even have a Class yet, and I probably wouldn¡¯t have reacted much more graciously at his age if I¡¯d been forced to clean up someone else¡¯s mess.

    My headache clears up after I eat dinner, and I¡¯m almost topped off after an entire day¡¯s worth of mana regeneration. I count to one thousand, as slowly as I can manage without giving in to the sheer, mind-numbing boredom, and press my ear to the door to listen for any activity in the corridor outside my cell.

    Silence is golden, or so the saying goes. Right now, I¡¯m inclined to agree.

    Grinning in the darkness, I focus my attention on the keyhole, even though I still can¡¯t quite feel it through the enchantments on the door. I hold the template of the key in mind while I activate [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach]. As before, the spellform fizzles out when I try to force it past my line of sight, but I still drop my forehead against the cold iron door with a grunt of frustration. I thought that visualizing the space might bridge the gap.

    The actual lack of sight doesn¡¯t matter; I¡¯ve already tested that I can summon a small amount of glass inside the cell even though I can¡¯t see. The problem remains the heavy, iron door and its anti-mana-intrusion enchantments. If I can just force my way past them, then my plan might still bear fruit.

    I lick my lips, tap my finger on the door right behind the lock, and get to work. So far, I¡¯ve been trying to peel back the enchantments, layer by layer, by understanding and transmuting the entire door. It¡¯s a rough, brute-force way of counteracting enchantments I don¡¯t understand, but given enough time, I¡¯ll remake the entire door and remove the enchantments in the process. Ezio would probably die of an aneurysm if he saw my methods, but I don¡¯t have a lot of fallback options right now.

    This time, I try to burrow my way straight through the door. I¡¯ve never forced my Skill to take on such a narrow shape, but it seems stronger for the compression, at the cost of heavily increasing the mental taxation. My focus wavers a few times, and I lament that I can¡¯t spare the concentration or the spare mana to observe the process via my [Manasight]. Correcting errors in the formation of the Skill when I¡¯m free-handing the metamagic like this is mostly error and little trial, but by the time my mana runs out, I faintly sense the lock.

    I go back to my spot on the floor, panting from the exertion and trying to work moisture back into my mouth. My entire body feels bone-dry, not just my channels, as though draining my mana pool sucked the vitality from my entire system. Nonetheless, despite the pain, a mad grin snakes its way across my face again. This is a proper challenge.

    I¡¯m growing and learning. My body may be imprisoned, but my mind is free. And as I lie there in the dark, trapped inside the four walls of my tiny cell, I¡¯ve never felt more alive.

 B2 C15: Escape: Redux

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    An entire day of feeding cycles goes by again before I¡¯m feeling strong enough to try creating a key via the [The Eternal Glass Forge]. I wait until after breakfast, just to be safe. Before I start, however, I need to get a clean imprint of the target: the empty space in the lock. I grope my way to the door, rest my palms against the cold iron, and quest outward with my mind. As always, I¡¯m met with a bulwark of resistance, but it seems like it¡¯s diminished since the first time I tried. Either I¡¯m getting stronger, or the enchantment is fading over time. I¡¯ll take either outcome if it helps me get out of here.

    I focus my senses on the spot I hollowed out previously, bullying my way through the place in the door where the enchantment is wearing thin, and push my Skill as hard as I can. My mana consumption spikes precipitously, draining my pool away at an alarming rate, but my consciousness forces its way through the last shred of opposition. I groan as I lose feeling in my fingertips and my head spins.

    The backlash slams me to my knees. My world tilts, and I hit the floor even as my mind vaguely notes that I did it. I made it through the door and into the lock. Instead of celebrating, I stagger to my feet, tottering about like a landlubber on a ship in stormy seas, and lean heavily against the door for support. This is way harder than I thought it would be.

    I¡¯m panting from the unexpectedly nauseating effort of contesting the enchantment, and just then, a wave of nausea hits me. I vomit all over the floor, wincing as I hear the ping of the foul liquid hitting the chamber pot. Somehow, that makes me angrier than anything else. That serving boy changed it out and I¡¯ve already ruined his efforts, I lament as I think over the pot¡¯s short-lived cleanliness.

    Breathe, Nuri. Focus. Take stock of the situation.

    Fighting my way through seems to have worked, but I vow to never push myself like that again unless absolutely necessary. Shattered stained glass! That felt even worse than the mana control test. Of course, with the way my life is going lately, I consider with a wry chuckle, it¡¯s as good as guaranteed that I¡¯ll find it necessary to push myself.

    My head finally stops spinning and my heartbeat slows. The beat is still elevated, but it¡¯s stopped pounding so hard that I¡¯m afraid the rushing thrum of blood in my ears is going to burst my eardrums. I try to gauge my mana levels, although my internal sense is far from perfect. It doesn¡¯t take long, though, to determine that I don¡¯t have enough mana left to even try my next Skill. With a heavy sigh, lean back against the wall and wipe the sweat off my hands.

    At this rate, I can¡¯t try again until after dinner is delivered. I was hoping to escape sooner than that, but as I pause to reflect on the situation, it strikes me that leaving under the cover of night is better. There¡¯s a higher chance of success if no one can see me sneaking away. I can¡¯t do this halfway. If there¡¯s a botched key stuck in the keyhole, then my surly, aggressive guard will know something is wrong. I¡¯ll have to bide my time, rebuild my strength, and make my big move when the time is right. I won¡¯t get a second chance.

    The boring cycle of sleeping and day-dreaming in the darkness begins again, carrying me throughout the day in listless solitude. I¡¯ve been hoping to hear the sound of footsteps for so long that when they come, I barely believe it. My heart speeds up again, thudding in my chest, and I¡¯m worried at first that my body¡¯s stress reactions will give me away. When the big, scar-faced [Soldier] shows up, scowling like usual, I just shake my head at my fears. Just look at him. I¡¯m giving him way too much credit.

    ¡°Pah! It reeks in here,¡± he mutters, spitting on the floor. ¡°What¡¯s the point of making that kid clean up if you can¡¯t even keep it tidy for a few days? Maybe you deserve to live like a dog. Doesn¡¯t matter. Won¡¯t be long now until we march out.¡±

    I scramble up to my feet in surprise, almost dropping the bowl of sour broth. ¡°Oh? Did we find a Rift? How¡¯s the battle going?¡±

    He shrugs his massive, armored shoulders. ¡°I don¡¯t get paid to think, dog. I get paid to hit things. Hard.¡± He shakes a fist at me menacingly.

    I get the not-so-subtle hint and shut up. I¡¯m not going to get any meaningful information from this lunk. No wonder they put him on guard duty and don¡¯t mind if he¡¯s talking to me. You can outwit someone all you want, but if the person is truly an idiot, then you won¡¯t get much of anything in the end. Trying to extract news from him is about as successful as trying to eat sculpted glass that looks like steak. The shape and color are right, but the experience is hollow.

    Great. Now I¡¯m drooling over the thought of eating steak again. After all these days of slurping down substandard soup, I¡¯m desperate for good food again.

    ¡°See ya tomorrow, doggie,¡± the hulking [Soldier] calls over his shoulder with a snicker as he departs. He¡¯s balancing the empty soup bowl on the tray that had held a dry crust of bread. He actually seems to think he¡¯s clever¡ªeither that, or he doesn¡¯t care a lick about what others think of him. As long as he¡¯s having fun, then that¡¯s all that matters. In a strange way, I almost admire him for it.

    I swallow the saliva building up in my mouth as I imagine a juicy steak or a perfect cutlet of fried chicken, and try to focus on the task at hand. No guards patrol down here in the middle of the night, at least not very often from what I can tell, so I should have the bulk of the night all to myself to puzzle out the lock and key. My mana is sufficiently restored to begin, but for some reason I¡¯m hesitating.

    ¡°If I fail here,¡± I whisper to my new friend, the warm, maternal darkness, ¡°then that¡¯s it. That [Adjutant] won¡¯t let me have a second try. He¡¯ll lock me up and ship me back in chains if I mess this up. There¡¯s no practice run, no slow progress to learn from my previous mistakes and make corrections¡ªthis is sink or swim, as the saying goes.¡±

    I grit my teeth, already sure that I¡¯m going to regret pushing myself this hard after the headaches of last night. My reserves are full, however, so I tell myself sternly to stop delaying and get working. As I shuffle over to the door to begin, I¡¯d like to think Tem would be proud of the willpower I¡¯ve developed.

    Once again, I compress the spellform to as tight and controlled of a beam as I can, imagining that [The Eternal Forge: Extended Reach] is burrowing straight through the weakest point in the metal door.

    I can barely sense the connection to the batch of glass I¡¯m summoning. Creating the glass required for the rough key shape feels like running in quicksand, or at least what I imagine running in quicksand must feel like. I¡¯ve never done it, but it¡¯s probably exactly like my progress: slow, frustrating, and feels like it¡¯s sucking me under with every step.

    With agonizing sluggishness, the glass coalesces from the other, taking shape within the confines of the lock. Raw potential¡ªmana¡ªis transmuted into a rigid physical form, but power like this comes at a cost. White hot pincers of pain lance through my head, right behind my eyes. I immediately ease off my glass creation Skill, not willing to incapacitate myself just before I try to make my escape.

    Sagging against the door, I gather up my wayward thoughts. Calm yourself. Breathe like Tem showed you. You¡¯re on the right track. Taking his advice for breathing during stress helps, and soon I steady my ragged breathing, clearing my mind and preparing myself for moving on to the second phase of the escape.

    My proof of concept is more or less a success. It¡¯s time for the next step. But as I run over the plan in my head, I realize I have no proper way to turn the key. The best I can do is hope that the key''s teeth are pushing in the right direction as I add more and more glass to the shape to mimic the turning of the key against the tumblers.

    I try to move the door as best I can without a handle, but nothing happens. I can¡¯t wiggle the door or get a good hold of it. As far as I can tell, the door still appears to be locked. I click my tongue in annoyance. I had hoped to preserve my mana pool, in case I ran into emergencies on the way, but it seems that I have no choice but to turn to my [Architect] Skill for the next step.

    Grudgingly, I activate my costly Artisan skill, extruding glass from the surface of the vaguely key-shaped batch that I¡¯ve already created and deposited in the keyhole. As best as I can, I try to copy the template of the key, and then extrapolate its movement through the lock mechanism. I push the glass outward, shaping it to follow the general trajectory of a turning key. It¡¯s all guess work, admittedly, but my mind¡¯s eye guides the process¡ªI mentally fly over the key teeth, shaping each one to the exact specifications of my template. I¡¯ve never done anything requiring this level of intricacy before, but magic bridges the gap between my lack of finesse and the goal I have in mind.

    The click the lock makes when it opens is the sweetest sound I¡¯ve ever heard in my life.

    =+=

    Wedging the unlocked door open proves far more complicated than I had anticipated, however. I can¡¯t get any purchase with my fingertips because the door is fitted so tight, and since this cell is created for solitary confinement, there¡¯s not a handle on the inside.

    I prod at the seam, seeking to find a gap or weakness, but I come up empty. I already know it can¡¯t be a perfect airtight seal, or else I would suffocate inside the cell. The goal isn¡¯t to kill prisoners, but to hold them. Thus, it stands to reason that I ought to be able to fit something underneath the door, or in the gap on the side by the lock. After nearly half an hour¡ªat least it feels about that long by my rough estimate, though time seems to lose its meaning inside my dark prison cell¡ªI give in and activate the [Architect of the Unseen World] once more to modify the glass dagger I had painstakingly crafted over the last few days.

    Once the blade is so slender that I can barely see it with my naked eye when I turn it to profile, I slide it between the door and the frame. As expected, I¡¯m able to slip the slender glass blade into the crevasse between the door and the frame, but it¡¯s still a tight fit.

    The next part is all untested theory. I lick my lips, shake out my fingers, and tamp down the nervousness building up inside. I pump mana into the glass, shaping its function by holding firmly in mind my intention of strengthening the glass. If all goes well, this will give me enough leverage to pry open the door.

    Mana pouring into the blade at a constant rate, I wiggle the door open by small degrees. I suppose I could have tried to transmute the glass into something stronger with [Architect of Unseen Worlds], rather than use the Artisan Skill only for reshaping the dagger, but I can¡¯t think of any glass-based material this thin that won¡¯t break under the pressure. It¡¯s essential that the blade doesn¡¯t snap halfway through; I can¡¯t afford to wait until morning to make more glass.

    Maintaining the slender blade¡¯s form and structural integrity by continually soaking it in a flood of mana feels like an obvious step, now that I¡¯ve done it. All the same, it¡¯s a revelation to me that it actually works. Perhaps this is the secret technique I¡¯ve been missing. It¡¯s so simple in theory, but horrendously difficult in execution. If I can master the process, then perhaps this is the way forward to learning mana imbuing.

    I don¡¯t even realize I¡¯ve been holding my breath until my fingertips get enough hold of the door to pull it the rest of the way free, and I let out a shaky exhale. I give myself a few minutes to adjust to the light, blinking in the harsh illumination of the wall sconces in the corridor as my soul sings within me. Freedom is so close I can taste it.

    I know from previous visits to the store rooms that the lights in the corridors down here aren¡¯t very bright, but right now the hallways look as bleak and unforgiving as the scorching noonday sun. I need time to let my eyes acclimate. Regardless, I¡¯m filled with fierce exultation as my plan comes together. The first big obstacle is officially behind me.

    Once I¡¯m feeling confident in my ability to handle the light levels, I stand up with a muted groan, stretching my body and taking stock of my meager belongings. I lack a proper weapon now that my glass knife is thinner than a sheet of paper. There¡¯s not much in the cell, and none of it is worth bringing with me¡ªno, wait. Use what¡¯s at hand. Waste nothing.

    I grimace and dump out the chamber pot in the corner, wiping as much of the refuse clean as I can with the threadbare blanket they gave me to cover my body while I slept on the hard floor. With two fingers, I gingerly pinch the cleanest spot I can find on the pot. It¡¯s a terrible weapon, but I have no time to find something better at the moment. Hoping I¡¯ll come across a more fortuitous opportunity, I creep down the hallway, heading toward the cargo bay.

    If it comes to a fight¡ªand I hope it doesn¡¯t¡ªthen perhaps a guard will gag on the smell of the chamber pot long enough that I can bash him over the head. At least the metal is sturdy; the pot is surprisingly well made, if plain. It¡¯s heavy, which is always a good sign of reliability. If I smack a [Soldier] with it hard enough, I might knock him senseless. I sigh, shaking my head. I¡¯m not very confident that my plan will be a rousing success.

    The air is cool and arid in the hallway, with dust collecting in the corner and coating the stone walls. The corridor reminds me of an ugly parody of the Rift¡¯s labyrinth, lacking the refined architecture and grand scale that the wraiths created. Ultimately, however, the labyrinth and this hallway each serve a similar purpose: they connect two discrete points by a stone passageway. This one is simply small and cramped and boring by comparison.

    Perhaps we aren¡¯t as superior to the wraiths as we like to imagine ourselves, I muse, then set aside my treasonous thoughts. Ideas like that are what got me here in the first place.

    Yet despite the basement hallway¡¯s cool, dry atmosphere, I¡¯m sweating profusely as one thought dominates the rest: What if I¡¯m discovered? I keep swiveling my head to look behind me, certain that I¡¯ll be found at any second. After all, the last time I sneaked about like a rat, the hawk caught me.

    This time, I hope to slip past its clutches. If cornered, I¡¯ll even fight back. I bare my teeth in a silent, determined snarl. It may sound like a hopeless struggle, but I¡¯m tired of hiding in the dark.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    =+=

    I slink up to the first intersection without incident. If I recall correctly from my few visits in years past, I still have three more turns and then a flight of stairs before I reach the cargo lifts. I have no idea how many soldiers might be posted along the way, so I have to remain vigilant. I¡¯m not convinced I¡¯ll be able to get outside without contact with the royal army.

    In my mind, I chide myself for almost calling them the enemy. They¡¯re not the enemy; Densmore is my home. I¡¯m a loyal citizen, or at least I always thought I was until Tem and I were branded traitors. Yet, for the moment, the army stands between me and self-agency. Until I understand more about the dynamics of the conflicts in the capital and the impending war with the wraiths, I prefer to stay unentangled. Why does taking time to learn and think and not rush to judgment mark me a traitor?

    Just because I¡¯m cautious about fighting the wraiths doesn¡¯t mean that I hold any ill will toward my country. I don¡¯t harbor resentment toward the average [Soldier] deployed to Silaraon. Sure, I dislike the [Adjutant], and I wouldn¡¯t mind punching my personal guard in the face, but those are only personal grievances. I still wouldn¡¯t wish either one of them dead.

    I straighten my posture and walk with a steadier pace. If I look like I¡¯m sneaking, then the soldiers are more likely to perceive me as a sneak. If I look like another of the nameless, faceless servants scurrying around a building of this size, then they¡¯re more likely to ignore me¡ªor send me on some nonsensical errand. In a way, that would be the best cover story I could come up with. The air of authenticity will lend far more Credence to my appearance then whatever I can come up with on the spot. I¡¯m not creative enough for that kind of make-believe. My artistic medium is glass, not spinning tales. Words are treacherous.

    My resolution falters when I hear the telltale, heavy tread of boots up ahead. Adrenaline spikes, and in a panic, I glance around for a place to hide. The hallway is long and bare, but I notice a small supply closet a few paces up on to my left. I dart over the door, which is mercifully unlocked, and slip inside scant seconds before the [Soldiers] come around the corner, laughing and boasting about their exploits at the pub. They must be off their rotation.

    Their voices are loud boisterous, brimming with surprisingly good cheer for [Soldiers] stuck on a deployment far from home and still waiting to see combat. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I would assume they were upperclassmen from the Silaraon City Academy out for a stroll, or a night out on the town before writing their annual exams.

    Somehow, their contentment and carefree attitudes rankle more than the naked hostility I¡¯ve endured from the other [Soldier], my unwilling guard. Why are their lives so easy, while mine is so complicated? It¡¯s cosmically unfair.

    Then I remember that war, and I realize with shock that they may never return home. The force of the shock is physical, like cold water to the face. I¡¯ve encountered plenty of risks lately, but only because I put myself in crazy situations. For all I know, these boys¡ªand they do sound young, if their voices are any indication of their ages¡ªwere forced into service. They may have been drafted without warning or recourse, swept up in a war not of their own choosing, sacrificed as grist to the sawmill of military might.

    With this sobering thought in mind, I find myself hoping that they return to their families. I can only pray that [General] Tychicus¡¯ all-out assault won¡¯t mean their downfall. Part of me feels profoundly guilty that they¡¯re here at all, as though this entire war is my fault for entering the Rift and disturbing the labyrinth.

    The clomp of their boots and chatter of their jovial voices fades down the corridor several heartbeats later, but I still don¡¯t open the door. If one of them were to glance back at random and see someone slipping out of a service closet, it would raise far more questions than I care to answer. Instead, I take a deep breath, calm my mind, and take a few minutes to build up the resolve needed for my escape.

    I hope I don¡¯t have to actually fight. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ll be able to bear the guilt.

    None of that now. Focus on the task at hand, I remind myself. Now that I¡¯m outside of the restrictive formation of my cell that inhibited mana harvesting, it feels incredibly good to bask in the faster regeneration outside. I didn¡¯t realize how badly I chafed under the limits. I may as well refill my capacity while I determine the next steps in my plan.

    The storage closet door is nowhere near as well fitted as the one in my holding cell, and enough light filters through the cracks for me to dimly make out some of the items and storage. I find a few old sets of standard-issue clothes that look more fitting to the place than the ones I¡¯m wearing. I toss them over my sleek black adventurer¡¯s outfit. Now I look the part of a simple serving boy. As long as no one looks too closely, I should be able to blend into the crowd of a busy camp preparing for war. I can still make a clean getaway.

    My only concern is that Casella strongly hinted that the [Inquisitors] are able to see to the core of a person, and may be able to determine my class at a glance. Somehow, I doubt there are too many glass makers out at this time of night, and definitely none serving as camp aides to the Royal army. They¡¯ll see right through my ruse¡ªliterally.

    Nonetheless, I hold my disguise before me like a shield against prying eyes, and boldly stride out of the storage closet. I keep rehearsing what I¡¯ll say and do if I run into any [Soldiers], but I¡¯m hoping I can slip out undetected. Too many things have gone wrong lately; surely I have built up some measure of good luck for once. I chuckle to myself, knowing that¡¯s not truly how life works.

    I reach the next two corners without encountering any guards or [Soldiers], and I¡¯m finally starting to breathe more easily. I can do this. The lifts are just up ahead, around the next corner and up a single flight of stairs. Only a few dozen paces until I¡¯m out of the barracks and on my way to freedom. I have a competition to enter, and I¡¯ve been away from my workbench for too long. It¡¯s time to get back to simple craftsmanship.

    Just past the third intersection, however, an unfamiliar [Soldier] stalks down the corridor. He¡¯s huge, as tall as my jailor, but easily half again as wide, with shaggy black hair that seems too long for army regulation. I duck my head in what I hope is a respectful manner¡ªnothing to see here; I¡¯m definitely not suspicious¡ªand press myself toward the wall so that I can squeeze past him on my way toward the lifts. For a brief, harrowing moment he says nothing, and I think I¡¯m free to go.

    ¡°Boy,¡± he barks at me just as I reach the foot of the stairs, ¡°I¡¯ve misplaced some of my gear in this forsaken backwater, and I don¡¯t feel like getting upbraided by my commanding officer. Go to the requisition station and get me a few replacement spears so the gear isn¡¯t checked out in my name. If someone¡¯s going to take the fall for it, it ain¡¯t going to be me.¡±

    I stutter, my mind blanking completely. Whatever cover story I¡¯d cooked up in my head flees completely. Frantically, I try to come up with a new plan, but I¡¯m the best at thinking on my feet. I don¡¯t improvise like Mikko. I hold up my chamber pot and shrug apologetically. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m otherwise engaged. I can do it after I¡¯m done replacing this.¡±

    I try to edge by him, turning sideways in the narrow hallway that his body is blocking at the moment. He shifts sideways, using his bulky physique to close off my escape path.

    I swallow hard. ¡°I¡¯ll help you in a moment, sir. I need to take this out for now.¡±

    ¡°Ugly and stupid is a bad combination for anyone, but it¡¯s worse in a servant,¡± he sneers, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword. His condescending voice lowers into a growl. ¡°Get me what I want. Now.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sir,¡± I say, my hands clasped on the chamber pot as I bend over in a deep bow, hiding the scowl on my face. ¡°But I¡¯m busy with more important matters.¡±

    As he swings his squarish head around to glare at me, I uncoil from my bow, smashing the chamber pot into his nose and staggering him backward in a spray of blood. I smash the pot against the side of his head once more, shattering it, and take off sprinting, not trusting that I¡¯ll win this fight if I stick around.

    Outrunning the roars of pain and outrage, I take the stairs three at a time, gaining the next level, and dash onto the wide cargo lift. Fear fuels me, spurring me on to greater speed. I spin the crankshaft as fast as I can, cursing under my breath as it creaks from the strain. The old cargo lift judders to life, inching upward so slowly that I am certain the [Soldier] will catch me before I can make it halfway between the basement and ground level.

    I chance a glance over my shoulder, and his murderous face appears from around the bend, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He unsheathes his short sword and charges, borne along by some unknown, martial Skill that accelerates him unnaturally. If he catches me, I¡¯m a dead man. In a panic, I hurl the razor-edged, thinned-out shards of my glass knife at him, but he cuts them from the air with contemptuous ease.

    I throw my weight into my movements, hauling on the crank harder than ever, and with another ominous groan, the lift rises high enough to cut off my vision of my enraged pursuer. Above me, the closed door of the docking bay looms in the darkness, tantalizingly close.

    With a terrific blow, the [Soldier] slams into the bottom of the lift. The force of the impact flings me off my feet, and I knock my head on the crank on the way to the floor. I lie there for a moment, sprawled out in a daze, until a new sound sends shivers through me: the keening screech of metal on metal. He¡¯s cutting the support cable, intent on bringing the entire cargo lift crashing down with me in it.

    I scramble to my feet, climb up onto the crankshaft assembly, and leap for the ledge of the doorway above. If I can grab hold and heave myself up, I ought to be able to force the door open and flee the barracks.

    I misjudge the distance in the dim half-light, and only my right hand grabs onto the ledge firmly. The fingers on my left hand slip, and I plummet back to the floor, flailing in the air. I land sideways with a bone-rattling smash that makes every nerve in my arm and leg go numb for a brief second. My vision flashes white with agony.

    I lie there, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, stupidly trying to figure out what just happened. How did I fall?

    A bellow from the angry [Soldier] shatters my stupor. A massive swirl of mana makes me sit up in alarm. He¡¯s preparing an attack, something that feels wrong and jagged¡ªout of place in a mere [Soldier]. I force myself to stand, swaying unsteadily as I balance on one leg and eye the cargo bay door, so close and yet out of reach.

    Whatever is going on is a mystery I don¡¯t have time to piece together. I have to get out, have to flee this place before I¡¯m embroiled in any further trouble.

    Hot, rancid breath and twisted whispers of malice sweep over my senses, overwhelming me when I try to open my [Manasight] and figure out what¡¯s happening. I drop the Skill instantly, feeling a sudden urge to scrub myself with soap. I¡¯ve never felt or even heard of that kind of sympathetic feedback through mana, and it throws me into an even deeper panic. Who is this man, and what¡¯s he doing here?

    The sensation rushes back into my arm and leg at that moment, hot and tingling, like a hundred tiny needles prepped in a kiln before stabbing into me. The pain is scalding and angry, and I let out a scream despite my need for stealth. I flex my hand, experimentally rest my weight on my foot, and nod sharply. I¡¯m not badly injured, just in pain. Nothing for it.

    Ignoring the pain, I climb back onto the crankshaft, ready myself, and expel roughly half of my mana through my legs in one go, empowering my desperate jump. Only out of my cell for ten minutes, and I¡¯m already running on the dregs of my resources, I note sourly, but there¡¯s no way around it. Venting mana to improve my physical output is horribly inefficient, which is why no one builds a path to power around it¡ªwhat good are one or two big punches, if you¡¯re useless afterward?¡ªbut it accomplishes my goal.

    My hands grab the ledge in a death-grip. I scramble up, harnessing my surging upward momentum, and plant my feet on the inside of the loading bay ledge. Fear and hope course like acid through my body. I squat down, grasp the handle with both hands, and throw my full weight into lifting the door. It rattles open, and as soon as it¡¯s waist-height, I fling myself outside, rolling on the stone slab and out of the way of whatever Skill is ramping up in intensity below me.

    Sweet, fresh air fills my lungs. I jump up to my feet and sprint away from the maelstrom of malicious mana. Arms pumping, I make it about a dozen paces away from the building before the terrifying Skill ignites. Behind me, the ground erupts, torn asunder in a rampage of unbridled fury. It¡¯s overkill for destroying the lift, but something tells me that the wielder isn¡¯t exactly sane.

    A monstrous mana signature expands outward. The pressure of the presence throws me off my feet as surely as the shockwave of the explosion. I slam face-first into the dirt, rolling across the yard with the combined force of the attack. Cries of alarm spring up around the camp as even the [Soldiers] lacking mana-sensitivity recognize his presence.

    It¡¯s not as overbearing as the [General] in all his glory, but it feels like he¡¯s on the verge of his second Threshold. Whoever this man is, he¡¯s not supposed to be here, and I best get out while I still can. It¡¯s a miracle that my sneak attack caught him so off guard at all, but I suspect that he was still veiling himself, reducing his power to try to sneak through undetected.

    I burst out laughing bitterly as I realize that he was probably just as worried about being found out as I was. We both had the flimsiest of excuses¡ªhe really said he wanted me to get him spears of all things? Ha!¡ªbut in the end, we exposed each other.

    In the midst of the chaos, I dash out of camp, my hood pulled up and my head down to hide my face. I flee past a small squad of grim-faced [Inquisitors], but they rush right by me without a second glance. They have far more to worry about than a simple man like me. And in truth, I¡¯m not their enemy, anyway. I hope they catch or kill the man who has the audacity to attack my city like this.

    Sunset has come and gone. I¡¯m running in the dark, dodging [Soldiers] as I head out of the barrack compound. I run out of the gates without anyone trying to stop me. I look like any other young kid trying to get away from a fight. Once out in the city proper, I angle my path to take me to Mikko¡¯s house. I need to get to my friends¡ªto my family.

    It¡¯s slow going, though, since I can¡¯t see much now that I¡¯m beyond the lit perimeter of the barracks. The stars twinkle dimly, giving me just enough light to see, but I¡¯m still nervous that I¡¯ll trip over a cobblestone or slam into something I can¡¯t see. I¡¯m out of my prison cell, but with a sinking feeling I realize that I¡¯ve internalized the fear it instilled in me.

    Ahead, light blooms in the night.

    I skid to a stop, my fists up, wary of another unknown element in a night full of surprises already, but then the figures unveil themselves. I recognize Casella and lower my fists, still on guard, but hopeful that he is truly on my side. Why bother to warn me if he¡¯s going to capture me and drag me back to the camp?

    Casella¡¯s rich baritone washes over me. ¡°Still so suspicious, my young friend. Good!¡±

    ¡°What are you doing out here? Are you following me?¡± I demand.

    ¡°In a manner of speaking, yes,¡± Mbukhe says, materializing from the gloom. He smiles in greeting. ¡°Wariness will hold you in good stead, Nuri. There are forces at play beyond you¡ªand beyond us, I must admit. We don¡¯t have much time. Take this.¡±

    A vague sense of deja vu hits me as Mbukhe hands me another private message. This is a full letter, however, judging from the thickness. I pocket it with a word of thanks.

    Casella steps forward, gripping my shoulder and looking me in the eyes. ¡°Good fortune to you, my young friend. Let¡¯s hope our trust in each other pays off, yes? Now, we have snakes to interrogate back at the barracks, assuming Tychicus leaves any alive for us. So let''s be quick about this. Look for Tem. We have too many eyes on us, but if you can slip out of the city and fade into the background, then you might be able to figure out what¡¯s going on without raising too much suspicion. Remember, the sun rises in darkness.¡±

    Those words again. I nod, though, shelving my suspicions for now, and clasp hands with each man before they blur into motion, their wings unfurling as they soar toward the barracks to put things aright.

    I turn back to Mikko¡¯s homestead, jogging again through the dark. Somehow, I can see better than before, and I activate my [Manasight] to confirm my hunch. Sure enough, the faint glow of a mana construct surrounds me, providing soft, golden illumination on my path. Thanks to their gift, I make good time, soon reaching their home.

    As I crest the last, low hill and see the house where I grew up after my parents died, my heart twinges. A pang of sorrow and fear hits me all at once. Can I really drag them all into this mess I¡¯ve made? Helping me leave town once is probably forgivable; we¡¯re young and they can say they were just helping out a friend. Leaving again after our capture might be going too far, however.

    ¡°Besides,¡± I mutter softly to myself, ¡°if I¡¯m going to stay unobtrusive and out of the way, then traipsing around the country with that merry band is a bad idea. We¡¯ll stick out anywhere we go. Best if I strike out solo.¡±

    Mind made up, I turn away from the house. I¡¯ll borrow some provisions from their cold cellar. I helped freeze their catches from hunting season, anyway, so they won¡¯t mind if I take some of the food. After I stuff some travel jerky into my pockets, and snag a wheel of cheese and few dried apples for the road, I leave and don¡¯t look back.

    Guilt that I¡¯m abandoning my friends and city during an attack eats at me, but I firm my steps and continue my escape despite my doubts. If the infiltrator at the barracks is an enemy, does this mean Silaraon is under attack? Casella indicated there was more than one attacker. Can I really abandon my city in their hour of need?

    I shake my head. Casella and Mbukhe will do far more than I can to fight back. And as much as I distrust the [General], he¡¯s worth more on his own in a fight than the entire garrison of guards. One more [Glassworker] won¡¯t turn the tides. I have other tasks to complete: a friend to find and a competition to win. No sense taking on other burdens I can¡¯t bear. Determined now, I square my shoulders, orient myself on the path to Grand Ile, and flee into the night.

 B2 C16: Life on the Road

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    The first day on the road is terrifying. I¡¯m constantly throwing glances over my shoulder in fear, wondering if this is the moment that the [Inquisitors] track me down.

    Each time the twigs snap under my boots, I flinch and dive for cover behind a tree. A scurrying deer, disturbed by my passage, almost gives me a heart attack. Once, I hear the passing of horses; I sink down to my knees, bending my head and awaiting the inevitable snap of a collar around my neck. It never comes, but I¡¯m still shaking at the thought of returning to that prison cell. I barely sleep that night.

    The second day out of the city proper, I¡¯m bone-weary, but my emotions are more stable. Despite the ragged edge of my exhaustion, the trauma of the last week seems less real. Listening to birdsong and feeling the warm wind on my face is restorative in ways I didn¡¯t even realize I needed. I¡¯m in a rhythm, steadily making my way toward Grand Ile. My pace isn¡¯t record-setting, but I have time. I¡¯ll arrive a few days before the competition, pick up the money that Rakesh sent ahead to the local bank branch, and get back to working with glass.

    Toward evening, I feel safe enough to whistle quietly as I walk. I stop for a few minutes underneath the spreading boughs of some flowering tree I don¡¯t recognize, watching the sunset and feeling the last, warm rays of the sun on my face. Things are looking up; I can¡¯t stay sad forever, afraid of my own shadow.

    On the third day later, I run out of meat. It¡¯s the worst thing that¡¯s happened to me so far, other than accidentally dropping the cheese during a harrowing river-crossing, I think with a grumble. Paranoia with food is better than peace of mind with nothing to eat. What am I going to do to survive on the road? I don¡¯t dare stop at an inn, not until I¡¯m far enough away from Silaraon to ensure that no one will know my face. I used to do glass deliveries for the shop as a kid, and it¡¯s possible someone will know who I am this close to the city.

    I trudge down a faintly-visible game path a hundred paces from the main road, hidden in a thicket of trees. I don¡¯t trust that I¡¯ll be safe in plain view. For all I know, the [Inquisitors] are all too busy dealing with the unknown attackers back at the barracks to spare me even a second of thought, but I¡¯m not taking any chances. I¡¯m slinking through shadows, reduced to scrounging for berries and digging for roots.

    Idly, I wonder how hard it would be to build a trap to try to catch a rabbit, only to realize that I can¡¯t cook it because I¡¯m too nervous to light a fire. The smoke would give me away, and I don¡¯t need that kind of attention. Besides, I¡¯m too skittish to stay in one place for that long. I¡¯ve got to keep moving if I want to give myself the best chance of escape.

    To add insult to injury, it begins raining just before noon.

    Soaking wet, eating a mushy handful of overripe berries, while hiding under the roots of a fallen tree¡ªthis is my life now. Looking back over my actions, though, I don¡¯t regret it. Which of the steps that led me here would I want to change? I can¡¯t think of any. It¡¯s not as though I¡¯m perfect; I can think of a thousand things, large and small, that I could have done better. Rather, the core choices, the credo that¡¯s driven me through each of the events of the last year, are the same ones I would make again and again.

    Shivering, I risk activating my [Heat Manipulation] Skill long enough to burn away the cold and dry out my clothes. I¡¯m still nervous someone will track me through mana use, but I¡¯m willing to take my chances. Freezing to death because I¡¯m afraid of someone monitoring my magic seems stupid. I need to deal with the problems right in front of me before I waste my time worrying about possibilities that I can¡¯t even prove.

    The berries are tasty, but too few. They¡¯re a poor meal compared with the meat I feasted on the last few days, but a far sight better than the gruel in the prison cell. I finish the last, juicy bite, lean back against the hollow of exposed dirt under the fallen tree, and take a moment to reflect on my current situation.

    I don¡¯t feel like walking in the rain. I¡¯ll find something else to eat later, but for now I have enough energy to indulge in a few Skills. I¡¯ve already used [Heat Manipulation] without drawing attention to myself, as far as I know, so I should be free to create a small batch of glass with my Skill [The Eternal Glass Forge].

    I hunker down, compressing the Skill the way that I did back in the cell, just in case I¡¯m under surveillance. I¡¯m probably fine, but I¡¯m simply not feeling confident lately. I don¡¯t want to end up back in the clutches of the [Adjutant] just because I got sloppy.

    Once I have enough glass to work with, I apply my [Heat Manipulation] and bring it up to the requisite temperature so I can begin shaping it. Without my normal tools, I use my hands as pincers, shielding the vulnerable flesh with my Skill to keep from searing off my skin. I don¡¯t have a large amount of glass to work with, so I go for intricate complexity as I decorate along the relatively small length of the heart-shaped pendant, using the observation half of [Architect of Unseen Worlds] to magnify my view of the project and work on fine details.

    The way I figure it, if I produce fancy-looking jewelry, then I can trade it in some small, out of the way village to earn money for food and lodging. They get a beautiful piece of custom glasswork, and I get regular currency before I hit more populated areas, where I¡¯m more likely to be tracked.

    If they¡¯re still after me at all. What¡¯s one random man compared with enemy attackers?

    Of course, if they think that I¡¯m part of the sabotage crew, then I may be in a worse spot than I was before. I force aside that thought, focusing on the work at hand. It feels good to work with glass again. I¡¯ve had a hectic few weeks¡ªmonths, really¡ªsince the mess with Tem began. Getting back to making things with my hands again is therapeutic. I¡¯m a [Glassworker] at heart, as much as I¡¯ve enjoyed dabbling in the adventurer lifestyle. That will never change, no matter how much of the world I experience.

    I finish the final twist in my pendant, then dump one quarter of my mana into [Architect of Unseen Worlds], transmuting portions of the pendant to different glass composites in order to give each component a different coloration. The finished result looks more like gemstones set in a golden mount than like something made out of glass, but that¡¯s fine with me. It will probably fetch more money that way.

    Tomorrow, when I can create more glass again, I¡¯ll shape it into a simple, elegant plate. Pale blue, I think, like a robin¡¯s egg, edged in gold trim. The next day, a matching cup. After that, a bowl to complete the set. If I¡¯m able to hold out long enough, then I¡¯ll double the place settings so that I can sell them to a couple. Newlyweds especially seem to love that sort of thing.

    Individually, the plate, cup, and bowl will sell for far less. As a completed set, it may earn me more than earrings or a necklace, but it will take six days versus one. In the end, it won¡¯t be as lucrative, but it tickles my fancy. I set the pendant aside, keeping it hot so that it can anneal even though I don¡¯t have a kiln. Melina¡¯s Skills would come in handy now.

    I sigh, stretch out my sore back and stiff neck, and curl up to nap while I wait out the rain. As long as I have enough mana, my [Heat Manipulation] should be able to sustain keeping the small area up to temperature. I¡¯ve never tested it like this while sleeping, but I¡¯ve kept it running all day while splitting my attention elsewhere. Isn¡¯t this a natural evolution of that process?

    It¡¯s just as well that I am limited by resources to only working on glass once per day¡ªit pushes me to get creative. But I wish I had no need to sell anything. I should be an honored guest in Grand Ile, surrounded by my best friends, prepping for the challenge of creating the finest glass creations I¡¯ve ever made.

    =+=

    ¡°Nearly ten days on the road alone, and I¡¯m only halfway to my destination,¡± I mutter to myself as I squint at a sign embedded in the ground beside a crossroads. Grand Ile feels like a far-off dream, but I squeeze my eyes shut against the burning sensation of exhaustion and frustration, and keep moving. I should reach a town soon, and I can stay at an inn tonight if my glass sells.

    One foot after another. It¡¯s the only way I¡¯ll make it through. A few hours later, just as the road signs promised, I approach a sizable town. I don¡¯t recognize its name¡ªI¡¯m far away from Silaraon, now, well past the limits of any maps I¡¯m familiar with from my delivery days. Chances are good that no one will know who I am, but I pull my cloak around me, adopt a bit of a slouch, and make my way through the queue to the gates with a hint of apprehension.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    The guards barely glance at me when I pay my entrance fee. I shuffle through, reveling in the freedom of anonymity. It¡¯s not until after I sell off my latest trinkets at a shop and check in at an inn that I breathe a sigh of relief, however. I¡¯m not sure how long it will take me to feel like my old self again, but for now my cautiousness is probably healthy. Probably.

    Dinner is included in the cost of a room, so I wash up quickly, change into a nondescript set of clothes that I purchased from a village a few days back up the road, and slip downstairs to eat. In the main room, I attract absolutely zero attention. Although it¡¯s safer that way, my pride is hurt a little bit if I¡¯m honest. No one knows who I am here. True, I¡¯m not a wanted man, but no one cares about me, either. I¡¯m well and truly alone.

    I crunch into the dark, hard-crusted bread that the waitress plops down in front of me, and nearly break a tooth. I grimace, sopping up some broth, and try gnawing on it again. When even that fails, I leave it to soak it in the thin stew filled with stringy bits of unidentifiable meat that passes for the main course. I swish down some ale, nibble on some dried-out cheese, and finally fish my bread out of the bowl before chewing on it again slowly. It¡¯s good for building up my jaw muscles, if nothing else.

    On my way out, I ask the barman if there¡¯s a glass shop in town. He gives me a blank, dead-eye look, so I don¡¯t push my luck. Perhaps this town simply lacks refinement. I won¡¯t hold it against them. Much.

    I settle up for my drink, slip outside, and jostle my way through the press of crowds in the street outside. Pedestrians shove their way past me without a second glance, and I definitely get the feeling that this town is less friendly than Silaraon. My original plan of paying for a day at a glass studio seems far-fetched, unless the artisans here are more charitable than the average citizen in this district.

    I duck into a cramped corner shop chock-full of miscellaneous goods and ask for the crafting quarter. The proprietor looks me over and seems to find me wanting. He sniffs, jerks his head back in the general direction of the inn, and goes back to his work.

    I decide I¡¯ll buy supplies for the road somewhere else.

    I¡¯m still annoyed at my ill treatment by the time I reach the artisan¡¯s district. The crafters quarter doesn¡¯t make any sense to me. Small shops litter the district, tucked in so tight that there¡¯s no room to breathe. No room to think. The street is clogged full of passersby of various levels of affluence and fashion, crammed in side by side. The almighty allure of goods and gold serve as the great equalizer.

    I surreptitiously check the wares they¡¯re carrying, but no one seems to have any pieces of glass. Is this entire city just an uncultured abyss of misery, a pustule on the nether regions of mankind? I spit to the side, then stuff down my distaste and keep searching.

    I walk past a leather-working shop, a cooper, and an ironworks. The last shop hits me with a pang of nostalgia as I suddenly miss my brother Mikko, and I blink away an unexpected tear. The longer I walk the streets, though, the more my heart sinks. Surely they have to have a glass studio somewhere in the crafter quarter.

    The broad streets begin to narrow out, although the sheer amount of people shopping doesn¡¯t seem to go down. I elbow my way forward, fighting the human tide, exploring side alleys until evening falls and it¡¯s too dark to see properly. Gas lamps flicker on once it¡¯s night, but I give up and go back to the inn.

    The next morning I¡¯m back at it, ducking into every store one by one. I can¡¯t stay in the city for longer than two days if I want to make it to Grand Ile on time for the competition, but I¡¯m determined now to figure out if there¡¯s a glass studio here. It might be the smallest hot shop in the world¡ªor even just a lampwork studio, which is more Avelina¡¯s domain than mine¡ªbut I¡¯ll be happier than I¡¯ve ever been if I can find one.

    Half an hour of fruitless searching later, I break down and start asking passersby. They are consistent in brushing me off. Their rudeness doesn¡¯t shock me in the slightest after what I¡¯ve seen so far from the townspeople, but it¡¯s still aggravating since it¡¯s wasting my time. A few kind souls manage to grunt and point farther down the street, so I follow their surly directions until I stand in front of a tiny door that advertises glass windows.

    I groan, caught between relief and amusement. That¡¯s not quite what I was looking for, but it appears to be the best that I¡¯ll get in this strange little city. The wood door is warped, and the paint is peeling off. It¡¯s so faded that I¡¯m not sure what its original color may have been. No sign of welcome hangs in the window. There¡¯s no bell to ring.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with,¡± I mutter to myself, squaring my shoulders and pushing open the door. To my surprise, the door opens to a rickety, narrow stairway. There¡¯s no display room with wares to peruse, no greeter at the door to welcome customers, no sense of propriety.

    ¡°Typical.¡± I cross my arms, looking up the stairs for a long moment at the dingy scraps of wallpaper covering the old, cracked plaster. I almost turn to leave before I chide myself for being a baby. I¡¯m here to practice my skills. If there¡¯s even a remote chance that this glass shop has a workbench I can borrow, then I need to swallow my pride. The worst they can do is say no if I ask them about a brief, mutually beneficial partnership, even if they don¡¯t look like a perfect fit for my needs.

    My boots squeak on each step with horrific creaks. I pause halfway up, deeply unsettled. Part of me feels as though I¡¯m stepping over the spines of the dead. This is a waste of time. I¡¯m better off just sleeping for the day and getting a fresh start in the morning. Once more I turn to leave, my footsteps torturing the treads of the dilapidated stairway.

    ¡°Pa! Pa, we¡¯ve got a customer,¡± I hear a reedy voice announce from upstairs. There¡¯s a note of anticipation in the young girl¡¯s tone, which makes me feel guilty about turning around and fleeing back to my inn.

    I stifle a sigh and trudge the rest of the way up to the second floor. A second door, in far better shape than the first, fitted with clear, even windows, stands halfway open. A sign above it reads Vicario¡¯s Windows. I slip inside to greet the girl whose voice I heard on the stairs.

    ¡°Well, ain¡¯t you a polite one,¡± she says when I offer a small bow. She rubs her nose with an ink-stained hand, then hops off her stool to stalk closer. ¡°Got a work order? Most don¡¯t come in person¡ªthey just send on ahead and we arrange drop off and installation.¡±

    ¡°Err, no,¡± I answer slowly, staring down at the petite, raven-haired child. She can¡¯t be much past nine or ten, but she radiates an air of authority, like a little queen in charge of the entire shop. It would be charming, endearing even, but there¡¯s a brittleness to her smile that sets me on edge.

    ¡°Gonna buy something? Or just stand and stare with your mouth hanging open like a big dummy?¡± she asks, and there¡¯s a sudden hardness that belies her energetic welcome.

    Her directness rattles me for some reason. I¡¯ve stood up to wraiths, weathered the wrath of a [General]¡¯s right hand man, and escaped from the royal army, but I¡¯m still caught off guard by this little girl. She¡¯s so jaded at such a young age that it makes me sad. ¡°Actually, I was hoping to speak to whomever is in charge of the production facility. Could you put me in touch with the foreman?¡±

    ¡°What makes you think that¡¯s not me?¡± she says, a thin smirk on her little, sharp-edged face. With her dark curls and pale, ashen skin, she looks sickly, but there¡¯s a mischievous light to her eyes that reminds me of Lionel. ¡°It¡¯s because I¡¯m a little girl, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    I snort. ¡°Hardly. It¡¯s because if this shop is anything like mine, then there¡¯s too much work to do to waste time greeting guests. No self-respecting worker plays with the books and smiles at strangers when there¡¯s glass to be shaped and money to be made. I¡¯m here to offer a trade of services that could profit us both. No gimmicks, just hard work.¡±

    Her smirk vanishes, replaced by a calculating look. ¡°You¡¯re all right, kid. Come on, let¡¯s go see Pa.¡±

    ¡°I thought you called for him when I was coming up the stairs?¡± I ask in confusion as I follow her through the front office space and into the back room, where the actual window work takes place.

    ¡°Ha! That¡¯s just to make sure no one tries any funny business,¡± she confides with a wink. Then she turns and gestures at the workbenches surrounded by [Apprentices] hard at work. ¡°As you said, he¡¯s busy in the shop. You like it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s certainly a . . . busy operation,¡± I say, fumbling for the right words. Everyone is bustling about, and there¡¯s a stack of windows leaning against the far wall that says they are making progress, but I can¡¯t see much rhyme or reason to what everyone is doing.

    ¡°Streamlined, I prefer to call it,¡± comes a new voice, similar in timber to the girl¡¯s, though in a much lower register. ¡°Now, what piqued my dear little Iriye¡¯s interest?¡±

    I turn to take in the foreman. He¡¯s twice as tall as the odd little girl¡ªno, her name is Iriye, I remind myself, not ¡°the little girl¡±¡ªand he shares the same dark curls and ashen face. He extends a hand, roughened with evidence of his work, and introduces himself as [Foreman] Vicario with a refreshingly pleasant smile. I recognize the name from the sign on the second door, although I wonder how people find the place without a sign on the outside.

    ¡°I¡¯m a [Glassworker],¡± I reply, not providing a name in response to his introduction. He doesn¡¯t prompt me for one, for which I¡¯m grateful. ¡°Passing through town and in need of coin in exchange for an honest day¡¯s work. I¡¯m willing to bet that I can do finish and detail that no one else in your shop can, although I don¡¯t know much about plain windows. If I can prove my worth, could I use one of your workbenches for the day?¡±

    ¡°Bold claim for someone who looks like he crawled out of the forest yesterday,¡± one of the girls shouts, and the other workers snicker. It reminds me of home, and a smile lights up my face immediately.

    I hold out both hands to the side, grinning madly. ¡°How about a wager, then? Your best against mine. Give me a challenge!¡±

 B2 C17: Challenge at Vicarioéˆ¥æªš

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    Dead silence greets my proclamation at first. The longer I look around the workshop and see all the blinking eyes and amused smirks, the more I get the sense that I¡¯ve badly misread the room. I already know this city isn¡¯t as polite as Silaraon, but the interactions I''ve had with Vicario and his daughter so far have led me to believe that they would welcome a flair for the dramatic. As raucous laughter reverberates all throughout the workshop, I belatedly realize that it appears I¡¯m mistaken.

    Vicario chuckles quietly, then lifts his hands to pat the air, silencing his little gang of [Apprentice] workers. He runs his fingers through his tangled mess of dark curls, raises his eyebrows expressively, and lets out a dry, wheezing laugh. ¡°Well you certainly don''t hurt for confidence. I''ll give you that, nameless [Glassworker]. Bombastic is a good look on you.¡±

    ¡°I can back up my confidence,¡± I say with a voice that sounds anything but confident in my own ears. I kick myself mentally for the tremor of uncertainty in my tone. The tepid response is taking the wind out of my sails, as Reijo likes to say, and now I¡¯m fumbling for the right words to get back on course.

    ¡°Seriously, I like your style,¡± Vicario says again. ¡°But I¡¯m already behind on orders for the week. I don¡¯t have the time to test out your Skills and try to integrate you into the workshop, even if you are as good as you say you are. And if you''re just passing through town, not sticking around? Not worth the investment. Now, if you ain''t buying, you ain''t staying. You hear me?¡±

    ¡°Five minutes!¡± I sputter, holding up my hands. ¡°That''s all I ask. Show me your hardest order, your most profitable wares, and I¡¯ll duplicate it. You can double your income on the piece without putting in another copper. I swear it. I¡¯ll . . . I¡¯ll even supply my own glass!¡±

    That catches his attention. Vicario leans back against a workbench, resting his elbows on the flat surface behind him. He rubs his chin with a calloused hand, considering me with eyes that suddenly seem too sharp.

    With a world-weary sigh he pushes himself upright. ¡°I¡¯ve indulged you this far. What¡¯s a few more minutes?¡±

    I grin and take a breath, about to tell him that he won¡¯t regret his choice, when he jerks his head toward the door. Iriye scurries over and slams it shut, turning the key and pocketing it before I can react. The expressions of the workers grow hard.

    I swallow hard. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want, but I¡¯m not looking for trouble. Please, just let me go.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Vicario says. He shrugs. ¡°You don¡¯t look like you¡¯re carrying much with you. Where¡¯s the glass you¡¯re going to supply? I¡¯m hearing awfully big words for a young man who looks like he¡¯s barely eaten in a week or two. If your Skills are so impressive, how come you¡¯re so obviously hurting for money? Nah, a man who knows what he¡¯s worth doesn¡¯t come begging around here. The rich and powerful avoid these parts. There¡¯s more you¡¯re not telling us. Explain.¡±

    I don''t think as quickly on my feet as Lionel or Mikko, and I¡¯m not sure how to answer without getting tripped up by my lie at a later date. My teeth click together audibly with the force of my clenching jaw. After two weeks of freedom, I¡¯ve gotten sloppy. There¡¯s a reason I¡¯ve stayed off the road. There¡¯s a reason I don¡¯t trust anyone. And now, just like that, I¡¯m a rat in a trap again.

    The panic must show on my face, since Vicario blows air out through his lips, making a sound like blowing bubbles in water. ¡°All right, family, I don¡¯t think he¡¯s with the watch. They tend to get angry or scared¡ªhe just looks sick.¡± He turns to me and winks. ¡°Had to know for sure. No hard feelings. Keep your secrets.¡±

    I clear my throat. ¡°Thank you. But I still want to make some glass, sir.¡±

    ¡°Sir!¡± Vicario hoots, slapping his hands together. ¡°Listen to those fine manners. All right, son. You asked for five minutes, and I¡¯ll give you at least that courtesy. But don¡¯t expect charity here if you can¡¯t pull your own weight.¡±

    I nod, trying to release the tense muscles in my jaw enough at that I can open my mouth and say thank you, but he¡¯s already striding off toward the back of the shop and not paying any attention to me. I scramble to keep up, dodging past workers putting the finishing touches on panes of glass or mounting them in wooden frames. They bustle around me, ignoring me completely now that Vicario has apparently deemed me safe.

    Following the [Foreman]¡ªI suspect his actual Class is more unconventional than that, but I don¡¯t dare pry any further¡ªI duck through a doorway that forces me to stoop down to half my height. I wonder idly if it was made with children in mind. Does Vicario employ adults at all? Or does he prey on the young and desperate, forcing them to work for a pittance?

    I keep the thought to myself. They seem well fed and relatively happy here, so I decide to leave the question alone. He¡¯s the first nice person I¡¯ve met in this gloomy town, and I don¡¯t want to cast aspersions on his character without any actual evidence.

    Once we¡¯re inside the storage room, Vicario angles toward a cabinet tucked away in the back left corner. He fishes through his threadbare, dull green vest, withdraws an iron key with a fake, red glass gemstone set in its handle, and slips it into the lock while humming a song.

    When Vicario turns the key, the lock clicks far more loudly than I expect; there¡¯s a bright, resonant tone that makes me wonder if there¡¯s an enchantment on the lock for added security measures. Maybe he really is showing me his most expensive wares.

    Intrigued now, I slowly weave and wend my way through the stacks of wooden frames and delicately packaged glass panes, taking care not to knock anything over. If there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned working in the glass shop, it¡¯s that our chosen medium is awesome, challenging, and fun to work with, but frighteningly easy to break.

    The great thing about glass, though, is that a mistake can almost always be fixed unless the project completely shatters. Your detail¡¯s not quite right? Apply some heat, smooth it out, and start over. Part of your sculpture cracks off? Simply get more glass, heat it up, and administer the fix. When the glass is cold and lifeless, however, after it¡¯s finally set and annealed, then it becomes rigid and unyielding in shape and form. All of a sudden, the same wonderful rule of fixing your mistakes no longer applies.

    Sometimes I wonder if it¡¯s a metaphor for life: while I¡¯m still young and relatively elastic, I have time to shore up my weaknesses, amend my shortcomings, and reshape the core of my identity and personality. As I grow older, and ossification inevitably affects me, then I¡¯ll likely become set in my ways. Intractable and unrelentingly flawed. I swallow. I¡¯ve come a long way in the last year, and I hope I keep growing, because I have a lot further to go before I¡¯m the kind of man I want to be.

    ¡°Still with us?¡± Vicario asks, shaking me out of my musing by snapping his fingers in my face.

    I blush and mumble a reply, but he just waves me off and holds up a complex scene of stained glass a little smaller than a dinner plate. The colors are vibrant, evidence of mineral infusing of all kinds¡ªiron, cobalt, and magnesium immediately come to mind¡ªas well as other materials that give the glass its colorful hues. The image formed by the glass itself is strangely pastoral for this dingy city, but it¡¯s pretty and oddly peaceful to look at.

    Vicario turns the glass to face me so I can take it in properly. Depicted in exquisite detail, the glass shows a plump farmer with a kind face. He¡¯s sowing seed in rich farmland, stepping over deep furrows in the soil as he toils under a burning sun. I¡¯m not familiar with this particular scene, but based on the reverent way that Vicario handles the glass, it appears to have some meaning to him that I can¡¯t suss out.

    ¡°This is my best,¡± Vicario says with uncharacteristic solemnity. He lifts his head up from where he was studying the piece, and his dark violet eyes bore into mine with enough intensity to make me flinch. ¡°I made this for a nobleman, years ago. I greatly respected him, but I didn¡¯t want to part ways with what I made. In fact, I loved it so much that I never delivered the order.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°I get it. Sometimes selling our creations is like giving away a child. There¡¯s no way that someone else will ever love what I¡¯ve made as much as I do.¡±

    ¡°Indeed! You seem to understand,¡± Vicario says warmly. ¡°Instead of keeping it for myself, though, it was a gift to my wife. It was the only thing that eased her pain before she passed. Its soothing and restorative properties are far more potent than it may appear at first glance. This is the pinnacle of my craft, made in tandem with a healer of some repute. I made the glass, while she provided the enchantment that prolonged my wife¡¯s life.¡±

    He gives me a wry smile. ¡°It¡¯s all I have left to remember her by. I have no intention of ever giving it up. Yet I¡¯m not a dishonorable man. Although it¡¯s been many years, I would surely love to deliver at least a facsimile of my work to the man who commissioned it. Tell me: do you think I am an evil man, young traveler, for stealing from him? Do you judge me from my choices?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think what you did was right, but I can¡¯t judge you, either,¡± I say slowly, shaking my head as I work through my conflicting emotions. I¡¯ve withheld things before, too. ¡°There¡¯s a lurking specter of ugliness deep inside each of us that rears its head at any opportunity. By judging you, I think I¡¯d only condemn myself for my own moments of selfishness. Now, enough talking¡ªlet me see what I can do to recreate this incredible work.¡±

    Vicario grunts at my response. His lips twist into a frown. ¡°Be that as it may, perhaps some of us deserve condemnation. Haven¡¯t you ever felt that way before? A world without any judgment seems like a free for all. It will only cannibalize itself and collapse under the weight of its own permissiveness.¡±

    I don''t really know what to say to that, so I just lick my lips and nod tentatively. Finally, I pipe up: ¡°I¡¯ll just stick to glass, if it¡¯s all the same to you. I¡¯m not much of a philosopher. I will say, though, that if I¡¯d known this piece was so complex I might have asked for five hours instead of five minutes. I hope you won¡¯t hold the timer against me.¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Take all day if you''d like, as long as you can come through and make a replica. We can finally collect on the second half of the commission. That will pay for half a year¡¯s rent in this old dump of a workshop.¡±

    I take the offered glass design tenderly, using my fingertips to cradle the lead frame. I¡¯m careful not to smudge the glass; the piece obviously means a lot to Vicario, and he¡¯s doing me a great honor simply by showing me the stained glass tableau and telling me the story behind it. I won¡¯t give him cause to regret his kindness.

    ¡°May I have a workbench for this particular project?¡± I ask. "I think I need to sit down so that I can properly focus on the work at hand.¡±

    ¡°Right this way, my mysterious young [Glassworker],¡± Vicario replies, a ghost of a smile on his hollow-cheeked features. He leads me back into the main workshop, shoos a few of his [Apprentices] out of the way, and clears off a bench for me with a clatter of tools.

    I nod in thanks, flare my cloak behind me so that I won''t sit on it, and perch on a work stool with as much gravitas as I can muster. I gingerly touch the stained glass, close my eyes, and activate my best Skill, the [Architect of Unseen Worlds].

    In a rush of power, mana spools out from me. My consciousness falls away from my body, rushing down through my hands to inhabit every little crack and crevice in the stained glass. I take a firm hold of the Skill, not allowing it to meander. I don''t have time for indulgent, languid exploration. I narrow my focus, diving into the composition of the glass and the exact shape of the wireframe. If I¡¯m going to copy the template of the design, then I need to know it in exacting detail. That takes time and intention.

    It¡¯s a strangely intimate process, delving into the depths of another crafter¡¯s work. By the time my Skill has grasped the essence of the stained glass, a lump is building up in my throat. I feel like I¡¯ve gained a new understanding of Vicario. This is a precious piece to him. My respect for the man grows.

    Satisfied at last with the results, I eventually release the inspection and analysis portion of my artisan Skill. As much as I love [Architect of Unseen Worlds], it¡¯s always disorienting to observe the world outside of my own head. Reintegrating my perspective with my body leaves me slightly off-kilter, and I take a deep, shuddering breath to clear my mind.

    ¡°Impressive attention to detail,¡± I say at last, nodding to Vicario, who dips his head in acknowledgement of my praise.

    I blink a few times, rub my temples, and switch over to using [Manasight] to try to get some insight into the peculiar properties of the healing enchantment. I won¡¯t be able to copy the healing effect, not without a dedicated Skill in that domain, but perhaps I can suffuse my copy of the glass scene with enough mana to offer some slight benefit. It¡¯s just a hunch, based on my still-unfounded theory about mana-imbuing, but I¡¯d like to think it¡¯s a promising lead.

    To my surprise, however, the stained glass piece is completely inert. There¡¯s not a trace of mana in the entire thing¡ªit¡¯s as mundane as the shoes on my feet.

    I school my face to remain neutral while my mind runs wild with speculation. I murmur a few more words of appreciation to Vicario, just in case I¡¯ve missed something. But I don¡¯t think I have. I suspect the touching story he fed me was just that: a story. He¡¯s just having a spot of fun at my expense, and I fell for it.

    You¡¯re an idiot sometimes, Nuri. Guess this is a good learning experience.

    ¡°Have any mana draughts?¡± I ask after an awkward pause. I keep my voice light, as if I still don¡¯t have any clue that things are amiss. ¡°My next Skills will drain me dry, and I don¡¯t want to leave the job half-finished now that I have a good feel for the piece.¡±

    ¡°Iriye, fetch our guest a draught. His work is building up a powerful thirst, even though it still looks like he hasn¡¯t done anything yet!¡± Vicario commands grandly.

    His daughter giggles. She scurries off to comply with her father¡¯s wishes, and I smile tenuously as the [Apprentices] shoot me dirty looks. One boy in a dark blue cap makes a rude gesture, but I just roll my eyes in response. I¡¯m certain that they don¡¯t often get to dip into the supplies, and envy is a bear. Mana draughts aren''t exactly cheap.

    Time for a show, I tell myself. I point toward the table next to the stained glass, and with a dramatic wrist-roll, I summon glass using [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach].

    The gasp of shock that ripples through the crowd of [Apprentices] is extremely gratifying, I have to admit. Perhaps it¡¯s petty of me, but I¡¯m tired of these kids underestimating me. When I was half their age, I could work circles around the lot of them, based on the quality of glass I¡¯ve seen so far. The shop here is focused on mass production. It¡¯s all utilitarian and basic.

    They¡¯re assembly line workers; I¡¯m an artist.

    Once I judge that I have enough glass to finish the scene, I switch off my Skill, panting slightly with the strain of creating so much glass in one go. In most circumstances, I downplay the effort that creating glass out of raw mana actually takes, but I''ve got an audience now. I want them all to know precisely how difficult and rare the Skill they¡¯ve just witnessed truly is.

    With a curt nod of thanks, I accept the little, elaborately-embossed glass bottle that Iriye holds out to me. It doesn¡¯t escape my notice that she kept it in reserve until I displayed a top-tier Skill, not that I blame her. I don¡¯t know if I would give a free mana draught to a stranger, either. A slight smile twitching on my lips, I salute my host with the bottle, pop off the seal, and throw it back, guzzling down the entire bottle in one go.

    Raw, latent energy hits my stomach in a rush of restorative power. The mana sublimates into my core, swirling through my veins and viscera before it makes the jump into my mana pool and fills my channels. I have to confess that I don¡¯t quite know how the anatomy of magic works, but somehow my physical body pumps the mana to my energy body. The intoxicating sensation of unlimited potential courses through me, and I let out a soft chuckle in amazement.

    ¡°That¡¯s some potent drink,¡± I say, shaking out my hands and breathing heavily.

    ¡°Careful. Don''t let it go to your head,¡± Vicario warns me. ¡°You have a lot of work ahead of you to pay me back for my investment. Fulfill your half of the bargain, and all is well. Fail? I¡¯ll make sure the magistrate remands you into my custody until the debt is paid.¡±

    I nod seriously, getting hold of myself. ¡°Give me a few minutes to top off, and then I¡¯ll put on a show you won¡¯t soon forget. I promise you that.¡±

    ¡°Looking forward to it,¡± Vicario says dryly. ¡°Your tricks are impressive so far. I¡¯d love to be able to conjure glass out of nothing. But I¡¯m still waiting for it to look like something I¡¯d want to buy, and that¡¯s where you¡¯re falling short at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Behold,¡± I intone ominously as I flex my mana, leaning on my first and most practiced Skill to pull the warmth out of the room in a rush and make them all shiver. I can¡¯t help myself; after the jokes they¡¯ve played on me, they deserve some theatrics. I apply [Heat Manipulation] again to melt the various glass types and ensure they are at a malleable temperature. With my bare hands, my skin kept safe by yet a third casting of [Heat Manipulation], I shape the rough outline of the scene.

    Vicario¡¯s violet eyes are bugging out of his head. I simply smirk in return.

    Once I have the general shape in place, I release [Heat Manipulation], gather up my mental energy, and pour myself into the transmutation abilities of [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. Straining the Skill to the limit, I superimpose the template I copied earlier over the rough shape of the scene, refining and completing the work I started shaping freehand.

    With a final, massive surge of mana, the piece is complete.

    ¡°By the abyss,¡± Vicario breathes. ¡°How are you poor? You should be rolling in silver¡ªno, in gold! This is the craziest thing I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    ¡°And it¡¯s one-hundred-percent real, unlike your little con,¡± I reply with a cheeky grin to let him know that I know his story is a ruse, but that I don¡¯t care.

    Vicario bursts into laughter, and so do the rest of the [Apprentices]. ¡°Can you believe he bought the whole side story? Methinks our young friend is a romantic at heart, if a bit soft in the head. At least he seems like a nice kid.¡±

    Apparently, it¡¯s not the first time he¡¯s played this prank on guests, since the other kids all start teasing me about the details of the supposed healing relic and the accompanying sob story about Vicario¡¯s beloved wife. At first it¡¯s funny, and I tease them right back, but the longer I think about it, the more uncomfortable I become.

    I sit back and stare at my finished stained glass, feeling a strange mixture of triumph, indignation, and embarrassment. I thought Vicario had entrusted me with something personal, thought he had bared his soul and expected me to assist in a complicated situation. The more I think about it, the more I realize how ridiculous it all was. How arrogant do I have to be to think that a random encounter with this businessman will give him the confidence in me and my Skills, sight unseen, to expect me to intervene?

    No wonder Mikko teases me sometimes that I act like I¡¯m the only hero in our tale, that everyone else only exists to be swept along in my grand drama. I snort, then wryly join the others in their laughter.

    ¡°Maybe you can sell the piece for extra if you tell the same story to the next poor fool,¡± I say, only realizing after I speak up that it¡¯s probably already part of the con. ¡°Rich folk will buy almost anything if it tugs on the heart strings.¡±

    ¡°Indeed! I knew you were a kindred spirit,¡± Vicario says with a wink.

    My rather jaded perspective of the world nets me my first moment of camaraderie in the window shop. The boy in the blue cap from earlier puts down his wooden frame to swing by my workbench and slap me on the back with a grin. ¡°Ole Vic got me, too, when I was younger. Had me crying in my cup right in the middle of the village square! Most embarrassing day of my life, getting snot all over myself in public.¡±

    The others snicker at him, but he just winks back. ¡°Know what, though? Turns out that people have a heart when they see an orphan boy crying. Most beggars only call out for alms; the few who make you feel guilty for not helping them tend to get the handouts. Turns out that Vicario did me a solid. I¡¯ve been running games with him ever since.¡±

    The last detail clicks into place, and I snap my fingers. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re all young! You can slip around unnoticed. Helps with the cons, I¡¯ll bet. Is that how you all got here?¡±

    ¡°Hey, now! We make an honest living these days,¡± a red-headed girl says. She sticks out her tongue at the first boy. ¡°Most of us do, at least.¡±

    I join in as their jeers turn into more legitimate laughter, and just like that, our friendship is sealed. They¡¯re not exactly saints, but nor are they rapscallions and ruffians. Vicario¡¯s helped them all leave behind begging and petty theft. Sure, they¡¯re not above a bit of embellishment to sell their merchandise, but they work with their hands and produce solid windows.

    I hop up on my workbench, clapping twice to get everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Thank you all for the help today. You¡¯ve been kind to me when you didn¡¯t have to be, given that I barged in here and made ridiculous demands.¡±

    A round of chuckles meets my declaration. ¡°I understand better your initial mistrust, but I¡¯m looking forward to our brief¡ªbut hopefully lucrative¡ªpartnership today. Thank you for your time and patience, from the bottom of my heart.¡±

    Rousing cheers wash over me when I sit back down. I blink back tears of gratitude. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve felt at home anywhere. That it¡¯s in a glass workshop of a sort is no real shock, but that I found friends among part-time con men certainly is a surprise.

    I shake hands with Vicario before he returns to his place of honor in the rear of the shop, and wish him well with selling the duplicate. Humming tunelessly to myself, I take a seat at the vacated workbench where I produced the stained glass. As he promised, it¡¯s mine for the rest of the day. Time¡¯s a wastin¡¯, I remind myself, so I roll up my sleeves, grinning at the possibilities, and get to work.

 B2 C18: Mana Imbuing

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    I¡¯m still several days ahead of my self-imposed travel schedule, given the entrance deadline for the competition, so I decide to see if I can try my hand at new techniques. An actual workbench with tools feels like an incredible luxury after my time roughing it in the woods.

    I brush each tool with my fingers, transported to my childhood. Nostalgia seizes me in an unexpected grip, and I drift back through my memory to when I first learned to use the tongs and shears, torches and blocks. My hands linger on the edge of the bench, feeling each pitted divot and cut. I envision my father, standing at his workstation, shaping dull rods of glass into something beautiful.

    A smile on my face, I lay out my tools for the day. I¡¯m not making anything too complex, at least from a glass perspective, which is good given the workshop¡¯s relatively sparse setup. They use glass to make panes, and that¡¯s about it. I don¡¯t have all the instruments I¡¯d normally use, but I still have more than I did on the road. Once I have the shape, my plan for the day is to pursue clues about mana-imbuing.

    My partial success with the mana-soaking technique that I developed in the desperation of my prison escape sticks with it. The extra strength of the glass after I shoved as much mana into it as I could manage makes me wonder if I can push mana into glass permanently. Perhaps this is the way that Masters learn mana-imbuing, I muse.

    I don¡¯t see any blowpipes out on the workbench, since usually the workers in the back are pressing the batch of glass into sheets, then trimming off the excess to make the panes fit custom sizes. They don¡¯t have much need to inflate glass bulbs to create windows. After a short search, I find an old metal rod, hollowed out to make a blowpipe, and get to work.

    Normally, glass knives are either created by fracturing a piece of glass, which produces an extremely sharp edge but is at the mercy of following fault lines, or knapping. I don¡¯t have the time or patience for either method since I only have one day to work.

    Instead, I¡¯m going to fold glass over on itself, heating and cooling it to temper it, while infusing it with as much mana as I can possibly handle. I¡¯m limited by my mediocre mana pool and throughput, but thanks to the mana draught I downed, I¡¯m still running on a surplus. Then I¡¯ll transmute the entire thing using [Architect of Unseen Worlds] so that it¡¯s stronger and sharper than it would be otherwise.

    So far today, my attempts aren¡¯t very successful; all I¡¯ve managed to do is feel guilty about taking so much of Vicario¡¯s glass.

    I¡¯m missing something. I know it. I resist the urge to growl and slam my fist down on the workbench. No sense in scaring my new friends. I settle for a soft groan, lowering my forehead to the worn-down wooden surface and indulging in a brief pity party.

    There¡¯s got to be some additional ingredient. I¡¯m missing a key step, something that will let me make the leap from throwing mana at glass to actually imbuing the glass with desirable properties. Simply pumping more mana into the glass isn¡¯t going to succeed. What I¡¯m doing now is akin to painting a house by throwing handfuls of paint at it from a distance and hoping for an even, aesthetically-pleasing application of color and design. There¡¯s no control or direction, no intentionality.

    ¡°Intent. Hm. Maybe that¡¯s it,¡± I murmur to myself in low undertones. But how do I convey intent with mana? I¡¯m not a [Magi] or [Enchanter] or [Thaumaturge]. I¡¯m a [Glassworker]. I make things with glass, both functional and fantastic. My medium is physical, tangible, not the raw powers of creation.

    Then my newest Skill, [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach] comes to mind, and I snort in amusement at my inadvertent oversight. I literally wield the power of raw creation now, although it is more utilitarian of a Skill than that description makes it sound. I don¡¯t imprint my will or intent on the world in grand ways. I just make a handy little batch of glass on the go.

    I flare my [Manasight] and reach for the aforementioned Skill, hoping I can glean some insight into how the process works, but it doesn¡¯t activate. With a groan I smack my forehead, mentally kicking myself for my stupidity. I¡¯ve already used it once today, in order to fulfill my boast that I could supply my own glass. Me and my big mouth. Would it have killed me to ask for some spare glass around the shop to transmute, since I had to rely on my Artisan Skill [Architect of Unseen Worlds] to complete the process anyway?

    My mind is whirling, stuck in an unproductive cycle of new ideas and self-recrimination. I¡¯m not getting anywhere, so I decide it¡¯s a perfect time to take a lunch break.

    I ask around the shop about places to eat, and next thing I know, I¡¯m ambling about the city alongside Iriye. We¡¯re on the way to a local bakery, which she insists has the greatest sweet rolls in existence.

    ¡°I¡¯m more interested in grilled meats or spicy vegetables,¡± I try to explain as we walk. I¡¯m normally a fan of going outside to catch some fresh air when I¡¯m stuck in the studio, but here the atmosphere is so dismal that I think I would have been better served to stay indoors. How do people live like this, with all the smog and pedestrian traffic? The city feels claustrophobic.

    ¡°You¡¯re not leaving until you try the rolls!¡± Iriye declares again, with greater conviction this time. She still hasn¡¯t given me a compelling reason why they¡¯re so amazing.

    I sigh and run my hands through my beard. ¡°What if I don¡¯t like sweet rolls? The frosting gets in my beard and makes a mess. Do you know how annoying that is to deal with when I¡¯m out on the road and can¡¯t bathe properly?¡±

    ¡°Pfft. So wash before you leave town, dummy,¡± Iriye shoots back.

    I chuckle. ¡°Hasn¡¯t your father ever taught you to respect your elders? Besides, I¡¯m going along with your plan. No need to get snippy. But I don¡¯t get it. The frosting on top makes the rolls sound more like dessert than dinner.¡±

    ¡°Duh! That¡¯s part of why it¡¯s so good.¡±

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°If you say so. What¡¯s so special about this place, anyway? I think you just like the long walk, so you can get out of doing more work,¡± I say, chuckling at Iriye¡¯s indignant expression.

    ¡°No. I just like the sweet rolls,¡± she says, scowling at me again.

    I roll my eyes. ¡°How do you even know where you¡¯re going, anyway? These streets all look exactly the same. It¡¯s all just dark grey, dull stone. Every storefront is run down. I don¡¯t see any street names listed. Do you just memorize how many intersections it takes to get from your shop to the cafe?¡±

    Iriye shrugged. ¡°What makes you think I know where I¡¯m going?¡±

    ¡°You want sweet rolls too much to commit to the joke that we¡¯re lost in your hometown,¡± I reply, sticking out my tongue at her. She¡¯s less than half my age, but somehow I feel like our maturity levels have flipped.

    ¡°Untrue. I¡¯m utterly lost,¡± Iriye says, completely deadpan. ¡°Alas. No rolls for us.¡±

    I resist the urge to flick her ear with my finger. I¡¯m not good with children, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s an appropriate response. Neither she nor her father would probably appreciate it. Still, her smug little expression tells me that she¡¯s going to continue messing with me unless the stakes are no longer in her favor.

    I cough, waving away the ever-present smoke rolling across town. ¡°Look, I¡¯m not going to pass up free food. You said you¡¯re paying for lunch. If we can¡¯t find the rolls, I¡¯ll just make you get me some greasy food at that roadside stand. Your call.¡±

    ¡°You drive a hard bargain, glass boy,¡± Iriye says. ¡°C¡¯mon. It¡¯s the next street over, up to the left. You¡¯re gonna change your mind about the value once you try that frosting.¡±

    Glass boy? You work in a glass shop, too, I grumble internally. Instead of engaging her any further, I clamp my mouth shut, tired of arguing with the pint-sized terror. We soon arrive at our destination, which features the first splash of color I¡¯ve seen in a while: a massive sculpture of a garishly painted sweet roll as big as Iriye all done up in sky blue and hot pink. A sign above the door reads Phantasmal Frosting Fun!

    Something about the attempt to alliterate offends me, but I bite my tongue and follow Iriye inside. The sooner we eat our sweet rolls, the sooner I can get back to the shop and rule out a few more failed methods to achieve a rudimentary form of mana-imbuing. Knowing what not to do is half the battle, right?

    The overwhelming scent of sugar in the air assaults me as soon as we enter the front door. I blink, waving my hands to try to clear the thick, hazy white cloud¡ªso much sugar is in the air that obscures my vision¡ªand cough a few times, trying to catch my breath.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be rude,¡± Iriye hisses, kicking me in the shin. She drags me forward, and I can see just enough through the glittering gloom to make out a countertop. Iriye hops up into a tall, spinning seat made of metal polished until it gleamed like a mirror, with a red leather stitched cushion on the top for padding.

    I ease myself into the seat next to her, eyeing the insane display of confectionary excess with extreme wariness. I lean over toward Iriye and ask in a conspiratorial whisper that¡¯s far too loud: ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s healthy to imbibe that much sugar in one go?¡±

    ¡°Young man,¡± a matronly voice rings out from behind the counter, ¡°you have no idea how much sugar you¡¯re about to eat. Don¡¯t speak out of turn when you¡¯re so woefully ignorant.¡±

    Before I can defend myself, a wave of mana billows out from where the voice originated. A middle-aged lady with a tight gray bun stands up, beaming at Iriye and waving her hands. The mana swirls, binds to the sugar in the air, and pulls back to the [Baker]¡ªat least, I assume that¡¯s the woman¡¯s Class; I still haven¡¯t figured out the [Inquisitor]¡¯s trick to reading Classes. The mana in the air mixes with the cloying cloud of sugar, drawing into a condensed ball in her hand.

    ¡°Welcome to the Phantasmal baking experience,¡± she says, smiling at me with a beatific expression. ¡°Observe, child.¡±

    Another wave of her hand, and a tray of freshly-baked rolls slides out of a slit in the wall and across the countertop. It stops directly in front of the waiting matron, and she inhales the steam from the piping hot rolls. ¡°Ahh. Perfect! Let¡¯s begin.¡±

    Iriye squeals and claps her hands together. She¡¯s positively bouncing on the stool, her toes resting on a metal ring halfway up the support stand since she¡¯s too short to reach the floor. ¡°Here it comes, glass boy. Watch closely! This is my favorite part!¡±

    I sense a surge of mana, and reflexively activate my [Manasight] to better understand what¡¯s happening. I¡¯m not as meticulous or scholarly as Ezio or Rakesh, but I do enjoy learning about various paths to power. Seeing what¡¯s possible with other Classes is always intriguing, so perhaps this little dessert detour will be instructive in unexpected ways.

    Then the Skill ignites, and my jaw drops open in astonishment. Mana races out from the [Baker]¡¯s hands, enveloping the sweet rolls. The mana splits apart, fanning out into a thousand narrow ribbons, each far smaller and more delicate than a human hair, barely visible other than the bright glow of unmistakable power.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± I breathe, then glance over at Iriye. She¡¯s also enraptured by the show, but it strikes me that she¡¯s too young to embrace her potential yet. I briefly drop my [Manasight] so I can watch the process unfold the way she¡¯s experiencing it, without a Class or mana Skills. I¡¯m amazed anew at the riot of colors closely mimicking the mana threads, but visible to the naked eye. There¡¯s not one Skill at work, but two: the mana threads and the light-show overlay for those without [Manasight], or any Skills at all it seems.

    I reactivate my [Manasight] so I can observe the true genius at work. Thrumming with latent energy, the mana threads form a criss-cross pattern across the tops of the sweet rolls, settling into the desserts and snapping into a grid. While I¡¯m still pondering what purpose they serve, another wave repeats the process, faster this time and with fewer theatrics.

    I lean forward, my hands pressed against the marble countertop, and I raise up slightly from my seat, staring at the show. After the first and second layers are firmly entrenched, the pace accelerates. Dozens, and then hundreds, of new mana threads entwine together in a dizzying array, faster than I can follow. The threads overlap and interweave in intricate precision. Layer upon layer builds up into a dense lattice formation.

    ¡°There, that ought to do it,¡± the matronly maven of mana behind the counter says. Her plump, rosy cheeks scrunch up with her kind smile. She claps, and the mana snaps into place. She gestures again, and the heavy ball of condensed sugar, easily as large as my head, rushes down, spiraling into the lattice formation on the sweet rolls. Every last speck of sugar disappears into the mana-construct on top of the baked goods, packing in so tightly that I¡¯m certain it¡¯s on the verge of exploding.

    ¡°Go on, try one,¡± she urges, sliding the tray closer to us. Iriye squeals again and scoops up one in each hand. Her face is aglow in anticipation, and I watch in sickly fascination as she devours them both in short order.

    My [Manasight] is running while she eats, and I sit bolt upright when I realize that some of the mana is somehow absorbed into her body. She¡¯s building up a mana pool before she¡¯s even converted her potential and achieved a Class! That shouldn¡¯t be possible, at least to my limited understanding of how the world works, but the evidence is right there in front of me, so I choose to trust my own two eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re paying for lunch, right?¡± I confirm with Iriye, who nods happily at my question.

    As she reaches for another, I swat her hand away and pull the tray over to me before she can snatch up more of the mana treasures. ¡°In that case, I¡¯m eating them all. ¡®Glass boy¡¯ thanks you for your generous contribution to his mana capacity!¡±

 B2 C19: Phantasmal Baker

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    To my chagrin, after the first sweet roll, nothing happens other than quicker mana regen. My first taste of the shockingly-sweet treat gives me a tiny boost to my overall mana Capacity, but the benefits don¡¯t continue as I stuff another of the rolls into my mouth. There¡¯s no massive boost to my mana pool, no way to circumvent the normal growth patterns. I push the tray back to Iriye and prop my elbows up on the table. With a sigh, I rest my chin in my palms.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the new fellow?¡± the proprietress asks, tilting her head toward me.

    ¡°Big shot glass maker. Helpin¡¯ at the shop,¡± Iriye says around a bite of sweet roll. Her violet eyes light up when I shove the tray of remaining sweet rolls toward her, and she promptly takes another two rolls, holding one in each hand.

    ¡°Seems like an emotional chap,¡± the woman at the counter replies. She dusts a spare bit of sugar off her apron, clucking her tongue at me. ¡°Looking glum after eating one of my desserts is practically against the law.¡±

    ¡°I thought it would do more,¡± I say, still staring at the wall behind her, not focusing on anything in particular. ¡°Based on what the mana did for Iriye, I was expecting a jump in my Capacity. That¡¯s what I need the most right now.¡±

    The [Baker] leans forward on the counter and pats my shoulder, a grandmotherly smile turning her face into a perfect manifestation of sympathy. ¡°Think you can cheat the rules, huh?¡±

    ¡°The rolls were good,¡± I say stiffly, not sure what she¡¯s implying. There¡¯s a sharp sense of perception underneath her mask of pleasantness that has me on edge around the smiling [Baker], as though she can see right through me. Mana control that precise and intricate doesn¡¯t develop on its own. My guess is that she has a fascinating history, probably with a class other than [Baker], but I¡¯m not about to poke my nose where it doesn¡¯t belong.

    ¡°Insincere flattery isn¡¯t allowed in this shop,¡± the [Baker] replies. ¡°Although I accept your praise, if it¡¯s freely given. Name¡¯s Maire.¡±

    I smile, hoping I look apologetic, but I¡¯m still wrestling with disappointment from the realization that I haven¡¯t found a magic shortcut. Maybe she¡¯ll tell me more if I give her a stage on which to perform. Experts love to impress when they have an audience who understands their genius.

    I let my shoulders slump, and indulge my curiosity just to see just how familiar she is with the terminology from the mana-control test. ¡°Pleasure to meet you, Maire. I just got excited when I saw how your mana-infusion helped Iriye prepare a nascent mana pool even though she hasn¡¯t developed enough potency yet to gain a Class. If I could make a similar jump, then that would help me immensely. My mediocre Capacity is holding me back in comparison with my other attributes.¡±

    Maire raises her eyebrows, regarding me more sharply than before. ¡°Where¡¯d you pick up this young man, Iriye? He¡¯s got fancy Skills if he can see how much mana you absorbed.¡±

    ¡°You have no idea,¡± Iriye says, babbling in excitement as she launches into a retelling of the show I put on earlier in the workshop. By the time she finishes her breathless recap, Maire is staring at me in a calculating way that reminds me all too much of the [Adjutant].

    Ezio¡¯s warning rings in my mind again. Many people have no scruples whatsoever about opening up a fascinating specimen to find out what makes the person tick. It¡¯s in my best interest to remain as unobtrusive and uninteresting as possible, although in this case I don¡¯t think it¡¯s possible to put the cat back in the bag. That¡¯s the problem with secrets. All it takes is one slip, and the secret isn¡¯t a secret anymore. Maybe I should have been more circumspect about using my abilities.

    ¡°All that talent is wasted on glass,¡± Maire says, fretting over Iriye and straightening out the crumpled collar of the little girl¡¯s frock. ¡°But we¡¯re dancing around the most important issue at hand. Let¡¯s ask the real question: what is your lack of capacity holding you back from doing, and why does that make you so despondent?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not really a matter of what it¡¯s preventing me from doing. I can wait in between draining my mana, and simply finish my tasks when I regenerate. No, it¡¯s a matter of who I am, of who I judge myself to be,¡± I admit, averting my eyes so I don¡¯t have to bear up under uncomfortable scrutiny. I never asked for her opinion¡ªwhy does she feel so free to butt in and offer it?

    ¡°So, more mana in your pool will, what, make you feel better about yourself?¡± Maire says, and there¡¯s something slightly pathetic about the way she puts it that makes me want to get all defensive. I wonder if she¡¯s provoking me on purpose.

    ¡°I know, I know,¡± I say, hastily lifting up my hands to forestall further admonishment. ¡°I don¡¯t need a greater Capacity to feel a bit of self-esteem. Chasing achievements is a great way to end up feeling hollow. That¡¯s not what I¡¯m doing. This is a matter of legacy.¡±

    ¡°My, my, and I thought you were merely proud, not blindingly arrogant,¡± Maire says with a rueful laugh that seems more genuine than her previous cheerfulness. It makes me like her a bit more, as long as it isn¡¯t a calculated move precisely for that reason. I don¡¯t appreciate manipulation.

    She slips off her apron and hangs it from a nearby brass hook on the wall behind the counter before turning to face me, her hands on her hips, silent for a while. She tucks a stray strand of grey hair back into the tight bun on the top of her head before she speaks up.

    ¡°A word of advice? Your kind is dangerous, my young friend. Reshaping reality to your whims the way that I think you¡¯re talking about¡ªin the sort of way that your great-great-grandchildren will still be sifting through the consequences¡ªrequires the right temperament. Are you prepared for that mantle of responsibility? As far as I can see, you¡¯re not keen on picking up another burden.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the pastries,¡± I say quickly, standing up and tugging on Iriye¡¯s cloak. ¡°We ought to get back to the shop, though. I will think about your advice. I appreciate it more than I know how to say. I promise.¡±

    Maire watches me with an odd mixture of hawk-eyed predatory fascination, and something that looks uncomfortably close to pity. ¡°You¡¯re young, yet. Don¡¯t rush.¡±

    I pause, poised to sprint toward the door. Before I leave Maire¡¯s shop, however, I turn back to the dessert counter and pull out a small, glass figurine of a woman hovering on a flying disk. The flying contraption is made out of a real silver coin, and the figure is held aloft on thin tendrils of glass so fine that they¡¯re almost invisible. I meant to sell it in town¡ªit took me two days of fiddling before I was happy with the result¡ªbut I haven¡¯t found the right buyer.

    I place it down next to the money Iriye left to pay for our meal and look up to meet Maire¡¯s challenging gaze. ¡°A tip. For your remarkable demonstration and timely wisdom. And one last thing: glass is not a waste.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps not. I hope it¡¯s worth it, whatever you¡¯re seeking,¡± Maire says. She lifts up the glass figurine, smiles at it faintly, and tucks it into her pocket. Her expression lightens, and she winks at me and tosses an extra roll to Iriye. ¡°Stay sweet, child. Until next time, ¡®Glass Boy.¡¯¡±

    =+=

    When we return to the shop, my mind is still reeling from the way that the [Baker]¡ªor perhaps Maire is actually a [Phantasmal Baker], I muse¡ªprepares the mana lattice. The sheer level of complexity that goes into the Skill prior to suffusing the mana into the dessert is daunting. I¡¯ve seen frosting prepared before. It¡¯s not much more complicated than mixing powdered sugar, butter, cream, and various flavors. The ingredients go into the mixing bowl and come out gratuitously sweet. End of the story.

    Yet the intricate way Maire creates the mana lattice, and then packs sugary frosting inside that lattice to a degree far beyond what should be physically possible, is playing tricks on my mind. Visions of copying a similar method and making a basic version of the lattice through freehand mana control runs wild through my imagination. Either I¡¯ve learned something new, or I¡¯m buzzing on a sugar high. It¡¯s hard to tell the difference sometimes.

    ¡°You were kinda mean to Maire, even if you made up for it in the end. You''re weird,¡± Iriye declares as she walks me to my borrowed workbench and kicks me in the shins, interrupting my glorious fantasy of becoming a mana maestro. She twists her fingers into the hem of her frock before returning to her front door duty. ¡°I wish I had a little flying angel like you gave her. Could you make me one, too?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do,¡± I say reflexively, then kick myself for the inadvertent promise. Kids remember careless words like that. To me, it''s a non-committal deflection so I can get back to work, but to her, it¡¯s a cherished hope. A done deal. Now I have to follow through, and I''m already pressed for time.

    I give her a little half-smile, and she skips back to her desk in the lobby with a big grin on her thin, severe face. Well. Change of plans. I won¡¯t let Iriye down even if it cuts into my iteration timeline for practicing mana-imbuing. Let no one ever accuse me of not having a heart.

    I ease onto my stool at the workbench and pick up the folded-over glass blade I made in the morning before our trip to the pastry shop. I turn it over in my hands and note the composition and shape. I squint along the length of the blade, making small noises in the back of my throat as I review my day¡¯s work. At initial inspection, all seems fine.

    Fine isn''t good enough for me anymore.

    I open myself up to the analysis half of [Architect of Unseen Worlds], bracing myself for inevitable disappointment. I take a deep, steadying breath as I prepare to examine my efforts with more critical eyes. It¡¯s time to see what really happened with the knife.

    My analysis Skill ignites, and my consciousness flickers down, through the structure of the glass knife. My assessment of the work immediately grows less sanguine. The form is good, but not symmetrical. I got impatient folding the glass so many times, and it shows in a few of the layers where the edges don¡¯t quite line up. Consistency is poor, as well; some of the layers are twenty to thirty percent thicker than others. Somehow, I left a thumbprint on the base, too.

    Pursing my lips and letting out an exasperated sigh, I release my Artisan Skill. On their own, none of these mistakes are terrible issues, but taken as a whole, the flaws worry me. Will the imperfections inhibit the flow of mana? Am I getting sloppy from lack of practice, or is this an inordinate level of critique for the work I¡¯m doing?

    I frown. I have to start somewhere. Maybe this will be all right for my first few attempts. If I can overlay a crude approximation of the mana lattice on top of the glass knife, then maybe it will accept more mana. Will I be able to cram enough mana into the structure, even with the tiny flaws and imperfections?

    Only one way to find out. I set the knife on the workbench, touch my fingers against the flat of the blade in hopes that contact will make the mana manipulation easier, and open up my channels. A flow of crude, uncontrolled mana slithers out in a gush of power, washes over the knife, and dissipates back into the ether without accomplishing anything.

    ¡°That went well,¡± I mutter. I sit back, rubbing my temples, suddenly glad that no one else in Vicario¡¯s workshop possesses [Manasight] to witness my abject failure at creating my own mana lattice. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s try that again.¡±

    The next few hours pass in a similar fashion, and as my failures mount, my headaches worsen. I push my stool back, cringing at the high-pitched noise it makes scraping across the floor, and go in search of some water. Vicario is missing, but the boy in the blue cap¡ªI never did catch his name, and he doesn¡¯t volunteer it now¡ªdirects me to a communal water bucket.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to get your own glass. Maybe you can make one out of magic,¡± he teases.

    I give him a flat look as I scoop up water in my cupped hand and tilt it down my throat. He just laughs and returns to his work.

    While I¡¯m recovering some energy and massaging the back of my neck, I go over what I¡¯ve learned so far. When activating a Skill, my mana control is improving. I can exert a measure of influence over the mana once it leaves my body, and physical touch is no longer necessary to compress or make minor alterations to the spellform. If I try to freestyle, however, and use mana externally in new ways, it all falls apart if I try to do more than extend a single tendril.

    ¡°I guess that means I start at the very beginning,¡± I say aloud, not speaking to anyone in particular. I don¡¯t like the answer, but there doesn¡¯t seem to be a way around it. If I want to copy Maire¡¯s exquisite formations, then I need to build a foundation first, not skip ahead and feel all frustrated when it doesn¡¯t work. Mana control takes time. I need practice.

    A clock chimes, announcing an hour left until the shop closes. I glance out the door at the lobby, where Iriye is coloring in a book and kicking her feet over the edge of her too-big seat. With an amused chuckle, I head back to my workbench, set aside the knife, and pull out a new batch of glass. It¡¯s time to make her a gift before she leaves for the day. I¡¯ll resume my mana control work after the [Apprentices] go home. Vicario said I could stay as long as I want.

    Speaking of the man, he¡¯s still missing. I look around for him again, but don¡¯t see where he¡¯s gone. He must have slipped out while we were away on our lunch break. It seems odd that he hasn¡¯t come back for a few hours, but I put it out of mind and finish the figurine for Iriye. Now that I know how I want to craft it, and I have proper tools at my disposal, I¡¯m able to complete the work a little before closing time.

    ¡°Make sure this goes in the annealer,¡± I remind Iriye, presenting her with the little figure of a dancing girl with wings. I made the eyes violet, just like hers, and she gasps when she sees the little detail. She flings her arms around my waist, squeezes tight, and scampers off to put the little keepsake in the kiln to anneal overnight.

    Shame I don¡¯t have Melina¡¯s glass Skills. She and Avelina would have fun bringing the kids here up to speed. They¡¯d have this place sorted out in a snap!

    I choke up a bit at the hug. Getting back to work for the last few minutes of the day after the unexpected emotional ride proves more difficult than I imagine. My preliminary attempts at lattice-work, simpler this time, still looks erratic. My spellforms balloon out of control. Mana flows in starts and stops¡ªsudden spurts rather than a steady stream. I finally get things under control and work on laying down wavering, criss-crossing lines to create the first layer of the lattice, but my momentum has dissipated. No breakthroughs today.

    All too soon, it''s time to pack up for the day. The [Apprentices] are hungry, and Vicario is reportedly on dinner duty back at their apartment. It doesn¡¯t surprise me to find out that he gives them all food and shelter in addition to teaching them a trade. He¡¯s a good man, although it still makes me a little uneasy that he¡¯s been gone all afternoon on some unknown errand.

    I make the rounds through the shop, shaking hands with my new friends and promising not to forget them. A few ask for pointers with glass, or suggestions for how to gain better Skills, and I do my best to pass along the advice I¡¯ve received from Ezio and Tem. I hope they don¡¯t hit a bottleneck like I did, although I assume Vicario will keep them moving in the right direction.

    Before they leave, a few of the older boys cluster around to see the small glass knife that I''ve made. They admire its cutting prowess¡ªI trim the extra length off my new leather belt with hardly any effort¡ªand tell me that I should stay and teach them. I wave them off, although the compliments are flattering. Weapons aren¡¯t my usual go to glass creations. I¡¯ve already sold off the matching plates, bowls, and cups, however, and I feel like I need a way to defend myself on the road. A knife is practical.

    The clock chimes again with the closing bell. The [Apprentices] pack up and bound out of the shop, rushing about with whoops and hollers. One of the older girls takes Iriye under her arm and escorts her out, leaving me alone in the shop. I wave farewell again to my new friends, surprised that they¡¯d entrust me to stay here with all the goods and equipment unattended, and turn back to my knife project with a soft chuckle at their exuberance. Time to make progress now that I have some peace and quiet.

    I open my [Manasight], surveying the slow progress from the day¡¯s work. The extra mana I¡¯ve managed to stuff into the rough lattice, following the frosting inspiration, is largely gone. A small remnant of the mana is still there, however, caught in the framework I made. Despite missing the bulk of what I poured into the knife, the trapped mana seems to have strengthened the blade considerably. I¡¯m not sure I could do it without the extra mana draughts, though, since my limited capacity is a real problem. Nonetheless, it¡¯s progress.

    Right now the mana lattice is shoddy and incomplete, allowing the mana to dissipate. I frown, annoyed at the wasteful process. I know I¡¯m losing an incredible amount of efficiency with this approach, but the added durability and sharpness of the blade is encouraging that I¡¯m on the right track. I¡¯ve got a long way to go, but the path is becoming clearer to me.

    ¡°They¡¯re good kids,¡± Vicario¡¯s voice rasps from behind me.

    I startle, knocking the knife off the workbench as my hands flinch. It hits the floor with a clatter and slides underneath a nearby workbench. Where did he come from? How long has he been standing there, watching me?

    ¡°Er, yes,¡± I stammer, hopping out of my seat. I nod in greeting, sidestep to the workbench where the knife disappeared, and crouch down to peek underneath. I can¡¯t make out anything in the shadows, so I reach my arm underneath the bench and grope for the knife, hunting around until my fingers close over the hilt.

    Vicario holds out a hand when I stand back up. ¡°May I?¡±

    I nod, passing him the knife handle first, and he holds it with the delicacy of a painter about to create a masterpiece. He twirls it across his fingers, testing its balance, and touches the edge against a slender rod of mundane glass. The blade shears through without resistance, which fills me with a burst of pride. There¡¯s no proper mana-imbuing or enchantment, but it can almost pass for a superior blade to the uninitiated.

    Shaking his head in admiration, the self-professed [Foreman] lets out a low whistle. The way he sneaked up on me in the shadows, utterly suppressing his mana, further casts doubt in my mind on his actual Class, but I¡¯m not going to pry. ¡°Pretty little blade. I wouldn¡¯t mind a few of these, truth be told. If you ever pass back through town, then look me up.¡±

    ¡°Take it,¡± I insist. ¡°I can make more. This is just a prototype, anyway. It¡¯s incomplete and lacking refinement. I¡¯ll do a better job next time I iterate.¡±

    ¡°Ha! I don¡¯t doubt your word, but maybe keep that sort of thing to yourself, my friend.¡± Vicario¡¯s eyes flash. ¡°Boasting like that will get you shanked someday. You make the rest of us look bad with that kind of talent, you know?¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve just been slacking,¡± I tease, trying to divert attention away from me.

    Vicario hums to himself thoughtfully. ¡°You may be right about that, my friend. Iriye and I have settled into a comfortable pattern. But comfort breeds weakness, or so I¡¯ve heard. Maybe it¡¯s time to push our Skills forward.¡±

    I shrug and say, ¡°You seem to be doing pretty well as it is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m doing something that matters to me,¡± Vicario replies. ¡°But I¡¯m not going to reach the second Threshold at this rate of progress. That¡¯s a young man¡¯s game, I¡¯m afraid. If nothing else, though, you¡¯ve certainly inspired Iriye to dream bigger. Thank you for that. She¡¯s never seen anything like what you did today.¡±

    ¡°Sure she has,¡± I protest. ¡°That [Baker] is incredible. Why doesn¡¯t Iriye want to follow Maire''s career path, if window-making isn¡¯t Iriye¡¯s thing? The sheer level of mana-control on display today¡ªmind-boggling! I haven¡¯t seen much like that below the second Threshold before. She reminds me of . . . of a friend of mine.¡±

    ¡°Rub shoulders with a lot of people above the second, eh?¡± Vicario says. ¡°Might want to keep that to yourself. Some friendly advice.¡±

    I blush furiously and go quiet. Me and my big mouth. He doesn¡¯t push the matter, for which I¡¯m grateful, but he looks surprisingly solemn. We¡¯ve both got secrets to keep, unless I miss my mark.

    Vicario stares into space for a long while, silent and brooding. He finally gives me a hollow smile. ¡°Hmph. Maire is retired, and she keeps a low profile despite the bright paint job at the shop. I¡¯m not sure Iriye has more than an inkling that her friendly grandmother-figure ranks among the most talented people I¡¯ve ever met.¡±

    ¡°You want to keep it that way,¡± I guess.

    ¡°For as long as I can, yes,¡± Vicario confirms. ¡°She¡¯s so young and innocent, for all she likes to act tough. I¡¯d like to keep her that way.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a good father to them,¡± I say awkwardly. Encouragement isn¡¯t my forte.

    ¡°I try,¡± Vicario says, smiling softly. ¡°Thank you for saying so. You know, Iriye never wanted to work with glass like her old dad. I guess I just don¡¯t impress her.¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t see behind the scenes. You¡ª¡±

    Vicario bursts out laughing, cutting me off. ¡°Don¡¯t be a boot-licker. I know the score.¡±

    ¡°I mean it,¡± I insist, meeting his intense, searching gaze. ¡°A family took me in when I didn¡¯t have anyone else, either. I appreciate what you¡¯re doing for these kids.¡±

    The hard lines on Vicario¡¯s face soften a little, and he nods at me. ¡°Likewise. Iriye might take an adjacent Class to yours after what you did today. I¡¯ve never met anyone on the creator path, even if it¡¯s still early in the process for you. Impressive stuff!¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t always like this,¡± I confide. ¡°A year ago, I had only a single, lesser Skill to my name. I was whiny and lazy, and it took people calling me out on my immaturity to wake me up to just how hard I have to work if I want to reach the pinnacle. I¡¯m not some supreme talent or anything. I simply started applying myself more rigorously.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Is that all it takes?¡± Vicario says, his violet eyes twinkling. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to wake up half an hour earlier tomorrow and not slack off after a pleasant lunch.¡±

    ¡°That, and a few fortuitous encounters in a Greater Rift,¡± I say with a straight face. It¡¯s such an absurd statement, though, that it makes my new friend laugh. He doesn¡¯t know that I¡¯m back to my old tricks: lying with the truth.

    ¡°Listen, it doesn¡¯t take a genius to know you¡¯re hiding something,¡± Vicario says. ¡°So I got you something. Enjoy your fresh start.¡±

    I shift half a step back, my hand instinctively reaching for my knife, but I¡¯ve already given it to Vicario. He holds up his hands, palms out to show they¡¯re empty, and the light of sympathy and understanding in his gaze makes me relax.

    ¡°I thought you were going to shank me with my own glass knife,¡± I say with a wink.

    He snorts. ¡°Nothing like that.¡± He hands me an envelope stuffed full of papers.

    I start to lift the flap to peek inside, and he slaps my hand with a hiss. ¡°Don¡¯t open that in here, and don''t tell me what it says. I don¡¯t know and I don¡¯t want to know.¡±

    My shock must be written all over my face, because in the next moment he relents and gives me an explanation. ¡°New name and credentials. Something tells me you need them.¡±

    In that moment, I realize that my brief partnership with Vicario is turning out to be far more important than I realized at first. My mouth flaps open and shut, but no words come out.

    His face crinkles into a slow grin. He seems to intuitively understand me. I haven''t told him where I¡¯m off to next, or why I can only stay in the city a day, and I¡¯m keeping my identity hidden by not offering him my name. Yet he doesn¡¯t hold it against me.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a bright future. Make the new start count,¡± he says, voice thick with emotion.

    I can¡¯t believe that I thought he was gone so long because he was worried that I¡¯m a mole or a spy. I had trouble focusing because I worried he was making arrangements to take care of me permanently. Now I¡¯m numb with gratitude, too overwhelmed to say anything.

    ¡°Surely this is too much. I''m not sure I''ll ever be able to repay you,¡± I protest when I finally find my voice.

    Vicario pats my shoulder and smiles. ¡°You¡¯re in some sort of trouble. No need to tell me. I ain¡¯t interested; I¡¯ve got enough of my own. But I¡¯ve been where you are, and I didn¡¯t have anyone to help when I could have used a hand. Just promise me one thing. If you never come back to our town, then find a way to pay my help forward. Find someone else in desperate straights, and make it right. I know I can count on you for that.¡±

    I tuck the envelope into a pocket inside my cloak for safekeeping, taking my time so that I can compose myself. ¡°I promise that I¡¯ll see things through. You have my word.¡±

    I¡¯ve never really given much thought to other orphans before, on account of growing up with Mikko and his doting parents, but Vicario¡¯s workshop inspires me.

    He seems to trust my sincerity. He shakes my hand and goes back to deposit some of the day¡¯s glass work into his safe, a whistle on his lips.

    I linger at the exit to the shop with my hand on the door. A part of me wants to ask if I can stay. Life with Vicario seems fun. I could help teach the [Apprentices], watch them grow into their Skills, and celebrate with Iriye when she Classes. Pride makes the corner of my mouth twitch up into a smile. It¡¯s not often that I¡¯m an inspirational figure to others. It feels good.

    Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wave goodbye to Vicario, push open the door, and drag myself back to my inn. I have too much else to do, too many tasks to complete. I can¡¯t afford a distraction right now. Still. It would be nice to stay somewhere where I¡¯m wanted.

    As I lie in bed that night, tossing and turning, I run through my checklist for saving the realm: Enter¡ªno, win¡ªthe glass competition in Grand Ile; impress the judges with my proposal for the second stage of the competition; earn an Inheritance, if it exists; advance my Skills and begin to plan for my first Masterwork; recover the PPP and explore Rifts until I can find where in the world Tem disappeared to; avert the war with the wraiths. . . .

    I wake up groggy the next morning, my list unfinished. I scarf down a hasty breakfast in the inn''s common room and leave town as soon as the gates open, eager to be on the road. I have a long way to go to reach Grand Ile, and I want to make sure I have time in the evening to work on more attempts at mana imbuing¡ªif that¡¯s actually what I¡¯m doing¡ªso that I have another tool at my disposal for the competition.

    I¡¯ll miss Vicario, Iriye, Maire, and the various [Apprentices], but I don¡¯t look back. I might lose my nerve if I do, and settle down here. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and lengthen my stride. Grand Ile awaits. Adventure is calling me. Onward. Ever onward.

 B2 C20: Knives at Dusk

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    For three straight days on the road, I don¡¯t stop to work on glass. Instead, I pass the time by practicing external mana control, starting with one strand and slowly working my way up to two. Weaving the mana strings together as I walk is headache-inducing, and sometimes I find myself standing still in concentration, my feet no longer cooperating, staring at a tree trunk uncomprehendingly.

    By the third night, however, I can braid three strands together and still maintain a slow walk. I doubt I can keep adding an extra line of mana per day, but I can improve my finesse and multitasking if I keep applying myself.

    Intuitively, I sense that I¡¯m close to my cap already, and I¡¯ll be pleased if I can push the limit to five at once by the time I arrive in Grand Ile. My hope is that I¡¯ll learn to walk at a normal pace again by the time I reach the city. I¡¯m concerned I will be late, so every few hours I alternate between a jog without energy control, and a sedate stroll with mana manipulation.

    I save up the glass batches I create with [The Eternal Glass Forge], wrapping the glass rods in a length of soft cloth for padding and stashing them in my travel sack. In the early evening of the fourth day, when I¡¯ve determined that my progress is sufficient enough that I can take a break, I risk a small, smokeless fire. I don¡¯t need the flames to melt the glass, but the light is helpful in the wan twilight. I still need to see. Besides, the warmth is comforting on my skin despite my reliance on [Heat Manipulation]. It hits me as a stark reminder: magic is grand, but there¡¯s no substitute for the real thing.

    Letting out a soft groan as I stretch my tired legs, I make myself as comfortable as I can in the grass and unsling my travel sack. I start the night¡¯s project by separating the raw glass into two roughly equal bundles. If my first experiment doesn¡¯t work out, then I¡¯ll take what I learned and try again. Maybe the second iteration will prove more suitable.

    With a surge of mana, I heat up the glass rods, melting them via a targeted application of [Heat Manipulation]. Temperature control comes to me so easily now; the shape of the Skill is familiar, like an old friend, and it feels more potent than ever. Perhaps I¡¯m close to ranking it up?

    I turn the rods slowly as I go, gathering more and more molten glass into a globe on the end of the rod. It¡¯s a technique better suited to the lampworking studio, but without a furnace and a large batch of glass, I¡¯m making do with the resources at my disposal. I¡¯ll heat up more if the current volume isn¡¯t enough to fold into a serviceable knife, but I¡¯m confident that I¡¯ve saved up enough for this project.

    When I deem the consistency acceptable, I spread out the globe with my bare hands. I stretch the glass, working it wide and thin like pizza dough. As always when I¡¯m without tools, I keep a firm grip on my [Heat Manipulation] so that I don¡¯t burn myself through contact with the scalding glass. Creating a thin membrane of extreme cold to act as a buffer and absorb the energy of the heat was tricky at first, but with practice I¡¯m finding it almost as easy as slipping on a pair of work gloves.

    Next, I fold the glass sheets, taking care to pay attention to the thickness of each layer by relying on my [Architect of Unseen Worlds] Skill. I only open myself up to the compositional analysis of the Skill, trying to improve my steady hands rather than merely rely on the effects of the Artisan skill set to shape the piece. Technically, the description seems like the Skill only transmutes the base material, but I¡¯ve been able to push the Skill to mimic shapes I¡¯ve previously mapped out.

    Tonight is all about practicing, though, so I don¡¯t mind failures along the way. I¡¯d rather develop the skills to create the glass knife through more traditional means, rather than use the Skills I¡¯ve picked up as a crutch. If I ever lose access to my Skills, or suffer under severe mana deprivation again, then I want to ensure that I have a way to continue working on my craft.

    Plus, Tem seemed to strongly hint that building a foundation apart from mana allowed Skills to become far more effective and powerful. It makes sense to me. Magic influences the world in preternatural ways, but the less reality has to bend, the more efficiently the magic can work. If I want to be a truly great glass mage, and not just a glorified trinket maker, then I need to put in the time to understand my craft to its fullest. Of course, to advance my Skills, I also need to use them; it¡¯s not an either/or scenario, but rather a both/and dynamic.

    For tonight, that means making the best knife I¡¯ve ever created. I focus as I lay down each new layer, thinking ahead to when I¡¯ll place the mana lattice over top of the blade. It occurs to me that if I plan for the mana infusing¡ªor is it actually imbuing? I¡¯m still not sure what I¡¯m doing with this mana technique¡ªthen I¡¯ll probably end up with better results. As I keep my end goal in mind, my process adapts to incorporate tiny grooves that will more readily interface with the mana lattice.

    I lose myself in the rhythm of folding, stretching, and smoothing the layers. I alternate the temperature, deftly switching between heat and cold to further temper the blade while I keep it soaked in mana. Time flows onward, and I continue working, lost in a fugue of inspiration.

    A low growl from the forest sends a spike of fear through me. I hold out the knife, still hot and incomplete, and spin to face the threat. I don¡¯t sense any hint of mana that would signal a monster, rather than a more mundane beast such as a wolf or bear, but that doesn¡¯t mean that I take the threat lightly.

    I pulse out a wave of cold as I draw in all the ambient energy with [Heat Manipulation], hoping to scare off whatever it is and avoid a fight. A yelp of surprise rewards my quick actions, and a heavy crash sounds from the trees as the creature charges away from the nova of cold air. Maybe one day I can blast out a cone of frost, like an [Ice Mage]. That would be handy!

    A branch of a nearby tree caught in the crossfire explodes, making me flinch. My heart slows down a bit once I realize that it was my fault for flash-freezing the branch. The sap inside must have expanded so quickly that it forced its way through the wood and bark. The sudden blast scared me, but it probably drove off any remaining predators in the vicinity. It¡¯s also a good reminder that I have to be more careful of indiscriminate temperature swings.

    I climb up a tree and lash myself to the trunk with a length of rope I bought in one of the few towns I¡¯ve visited. I settle in for the night, trying to put the excitement behind me, but I¡¯m on an uncomfortable branch with a knob that¡¯s digging into my thigh. I shift positions to gain relief. It¡¯s a far cry from my bed in the inn several days ago, but there¡¯s no going back.

    I¡¯ve nodded off and started awake a few times during the night before I realize I never finished the knife. I lean my head back against the rough bark of the tree with a dull groan. The glass has long since set, and the mana most certainly has solidified without my will and intent guiding the process. There¡¯s likely not any salvaging of the project. I¡¯ll have to spend another few days gathering up more glass before I give it another attempt, if I want enough glass for a second knife.

    To keep my mind off my disappointment, I run through my list of Skills and consider what I¡¯ll need for a training program to improve. I can try again tomorrow, but I might as well make use of my wakefulness now.

    Although my [Heat Manipulation] Skill hasn¡¯t ranked up yet to a Greater version, my heavy and unconventional use has pushed it to the precipice of further advancement. I¡¯ve sensed a qualitative shift in its power lately. I¡¯m not precisely sure how I¡¯m able to gauge the growth of my Skills, but I suspect it has to do with my constant, near-compulsive use of [Manasight]. I¡¯ve got more insight now into how Skills work. I can see the inner mechanisms of magic.

    Looking back to last year, I was probably on the very cusp of dropping the lesser prefix, I muse. I drop into my inner space to review the Skill structure, taking note of its impressive recursions and fractals. The encounter with the jaguars only hastened the rank up, but I didn¡¯t skip past years of accumulated practice.

    I¡¯m getting close to my next level, based on the sheer intricacy and size of the Skill matrix. Although it¡¯s a slow process, I¡¯m convinced that the way I keep pushing myself will pay off in the long run. It occurs to me that if I¡¯m diligent, then I can probably aim for the second Threshold sometime in the next twelve to fifteen years: it¡¯s not record-setting by any means, but it would still put me in the upper echelon of crafters in Densmore.

    The thought brings a smile to my lips as I drift off to sleep.

    =+=

    Life on the road is more boring than the adventure books of my youth would have me believe. I¡¯ll have to demand a refund from Camdyn, the old [Book Seller], if I ever return home to Silaraon. I haven¡¯t had any glamorous encounters or profound insights while communing with the beauty of nature. Instead, I¡¯ve got blisters on my feet and powerful body odor from lack of proper bathing.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s for the best my friends didn¡¯t join me,¡± I murmur ruefully as I cast a glance at the endless grasslands around me. The landscape is only broken up by the occasional small hill, or a few sparse stands of trees. Otherwise, it¡¯s flat and boring. This trek isn¡¯t as fun as I thought it would be. If people knew what adventuring was really like, no one would ever actually have adventures. Maybe it¡¯s better that no one knows what they¡¯re getting themselves into.

    I trudge onward. There¡¯s no way around the boredom. I simply have to push through to Grand Ile. I suppose there will be no lack of excitement once I reach the city and enter the glass competition, particularly if I run into complications. And the way my life is going lately, complications are inevitable.

    Each night, I go over the forged identity papers Vicario got for me, memorizing my new name and city of origin. I¡¯m not great at thinking quickly, but I¡¯m decent at taking in details and acting on the information. I¡¯ve still got several weeks before I have to report for the glass competition, so I¡¯m confident that I¡¯ll have a handle on my disguise. My beard is coming in full now. I¡¯ve decided to let my hair grow longer while I¡¯m in Grand Ile, as well, though I¡¯ll keep it all pulled back into a knot so that I don¡¯t get it tangled up in hot glass.

    Zebulun Ojulari. From Ryndl, a little village outside of Metolius. You¡¯ve probably never heard of it. Eclectic studies with a [Crafter-Magus], some small skill with a variety of mediums. Reclassing into a [Glass Smith] for the competition.

    I swallow the lump building in my throat. It¡¯s not a lot of information, but what if I forget it at a crucial moment? What if I freeze or fumble for words and it blows my cover? What if someone from Ember¡¯s glass studio decides to make the long journey to enter the competition and recognizes me? What if I¡ª

    With a growl, I banish the negative thoughts. I¡¯m not going to accomplish anything useful by worrying. All I can do is confidently introduce myself as Zebulun and do my best to win the competition.

    I¡¯m not sure how I can pay for the entry fee without Rakesh¡¯s advance, however. It makes no sense to go to the bank and claim to be Nuri Shahi if I¡¯m trying to hide my identity, but I was relying on getting that money. Without it, I¡¯m on my own. I¡¯ll have to create and sell something to afford the fee.

    I suppose that means creating two knives after all, one to keep and one to sell, I muse. I pause at the top of one of the few hills I¡¯ve seen along the way, knuckling my lower back until it cracks and pops. If I¡¯m going to create two knives¡ªor more, if my first attempts fail¡ªthen I need to pick up the pace considerably. I need to leave myself enough time to work on twice as much crafting as expected.

    In the spirit of going faster, I take a deep breath and charge down the other side of the hill with a whoop. My feet are flying faster than I normally can handle, alive to the thrill of the mad dash. Thankfully, I don¡¯t trip on a root or twist an ankle in a pothole, and I use the momentum to run for a while after I leave the rolling line of hills behind. I¡¯m not the fastest, but I¡¯m determined to reach Grand Ile.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Nearly a week passes before I¡¯m ready mentally to try again with the knife. I had enough glass, but something didn¡¯t sit well with me during my brief look at the interrupted attempt. I can do better. I have to do better.

    I¡¯ve collected double the amount of glass as before, but this time I have a better plan to ensure that the blade accepts the mana lattice. My mana control is improving as well, by small steps at least. I¡¯m going to take more care to temper the glass as I go, which means starting earlier in the day so that I don¡¯t run out of daylight so quickly. Last week, I almost had it right, but that predator disturbed me and I didn¡¯t see the job through. I¡¯m more prepared this time around.

    While I¡¯ve been running, slowly improving my pace, I¡¯ve also been practicing my external mana control. This time, I¡¯m convinced I will succeed with the lattice. Strong body, strong mind, I hear in Mikko¡¯s voice. I¡¯d like to imagine he¡¯d be proud of me if he could see me now, running halfway across Densmore.

    I make camp roughly a hundred paces off the side of the road, in a little clearing at the top of a small rise covered in wildflowers. I stopped for the day just after high noon. The knoll isn¡¯t particularly well hidden, but I haven¡¯t seen any travelers in a while. I¡¯m feeling more confident that I¡¯ll be safe, at least for several hours. I won¡¯t need a fire until tonight, assuming I still need light to see. I¡¯m still eating the same boring diet of dried apples, a cheese wheel, and chewy travelers¡¯ crackers, so I won¡¯t need to cook.

    I lay out my equipment and materials, stretch out my body, and take a quiet moment to still my mind. Steady hands require a calm heart, in my experience. Maybe when I¡¯m older, and I¡¯ve been through so many crazy adventures that nothing fazes me anymore, I can make glass under the most trying of circumstances. For now, however, I need pristine conditions to perform at my best.

    My excitement is almost palpable as I activate [Heat Manipulation]. The glass glows as it heats up cherry red, then glares white-hot, melting and spreading into a viscous globule in my hands. I impose my will on the glass, shaping and pressing it like I¡¯m kneading bread dough. A part of me misses the specialized tools I had access to back home, or even in Vicario¡¯s shop, but there¡¯s something primal about using my bare hands.

    I kneel down. As before, I fall into a creative trance. The sensations of the world around me fade away as I work. No more do I hear the songs of the birds trilling in the trees, nor the soft sigh of grass swishing around me as the wind caresses my face. The sun¡¯s warmth is subsumed in the fiery intensity of my [Heat Manipulation]. The contour of the soft dirt below my knees falls away from my consciousness.

    I am alone with my glass, holding the image of the blade that is to be firmly in my mind. All is heat and light, smooth surfaces and sharp edges. I am the conductor guiding the orchestra of creation. As the hours pass by, I remake the knife in exacting detail, working well into the night not out of necessity, but desire. Taking my time to get every detail perfect just feels right.

    I pause only to gnaw on a dried apple slice and to heat up a stack of sticks I¡¯d prepped in case I did need a fire; as the temperature rises precipitously, they burst into flame, illuminating my project so I can see better. Even with the compositional analysis of [Architect of Unseen Worlds], the extra light is helpful. I never want to create something blind again if I can help it; crafting the key back in the cell in the Silaraon barracks was the most nerve-wracking thing I¡¯ve ever done. If anything had gone wrong, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to see it or fix it, and I only had one shot at escape.

    I force my focus back on the present, swallow the last of the apple slice, and sink back into the act of creation. Once again, I¡¯m insensate to the physical world surrounding me. Glass is all. I revel in the work, lost in time. . . .

    With a blink, I sit up, breaking the spell. The fire is burning low, and I can barely see the glass in front of my face anymore. I send a pulse of mana into the coals, flaring them back to life as the heat washes over them. With a triumphant grin, I finish the last act of shaping the knife. It glitters in the firelight, and I nod in satisfaction at the gleaming, cobalt-blue edge.

    I examine it for flaws, inspecting it with as much precision as I can muster. This second iteration¡ªno, this is my third knife, I remind myself, including the one I gave Vicario¡ªis finally what I¡¯ve been looking for all along. I¡¯m excited to see if it will hold the mana required for the next step in the process.

    With my enhanced mana control, I interlace the strands of mana three at a time, forming an elegant patchwork that actually looks like a lattice instead of a formless glob of energy. I clamp down on my excitement; the surge of adrenaline is making my hands shake. I realize that drawing out tendrils of mana is not so different from pulling cane with glass. It takes practice and a steady hand, but it¡¯s not overly complex. Holding that analogy firmly in mind accelerates the process, and I feel more certain than ever that I am on the right track.

    I feed my mana into the blade, opening my channels and pouring in as much power as I can spare. I set the glass blade in the fire for warmth, but it¡¯s largely symbolic. My first Skill is keeping it warm with magic. I focus on maintaining my [Heat Manipulation] so that it will run all night and keep the heat up, rather than relying on banking the fire. Once the knife anneals, then I¡¯ll see if my mana soaking is bearing any fruit, but I already know that it¡¯s far better than my previous attempts. If this isn¡¯t true mana-imbuing, well, it¡¯s not far off, either.

    I¡¯m hopeful that the blade will come out stronger and sharper than normal. It¡¯s a simple, straightforward task, but it¡¯s harder than it sounds. My mind whirls as I imagine possibilities for the future, such as creating a mana repository in the blade so that it can store a condensed and more potent charge of my [Heat Manipulation], for example. If the knife bursts into flames in a fight, searing my target, whether man or monster, then that could turn the tides.

    With a wry chuckle, I focus on building up my skills one step at a time. I¡¯m not powerful enough for that kind of masterwork, not yet. Dreams are fun to indulge. Sometimes I revisit the notes I made about weaponizing glass way back in my early days. I still like my bomb idea, although the rest are still out of reach. I¡¯m a long way off from using Skills like [The Eternal Forge: Extended Reach] to force gruesome vitrification on my enemies. I¡¯ll start small and build up my foundation.

    =+=-

    When morning¡¯s rosy fingers pull back the dark, velvet curtain of night, I¡¯m instantly aware of two uncomfortable facts: First, my head is pounding from the worst mana-deficient headache I have ever felt in my life. Second, a bird pooped on my face during the night. The white goop is dried and crusted on my face.

    Nonetheless, these trifles are insufficient to dampen my enthusiasm about my knife.

    I untie myself from the tree, scamper down to the ground, and retrieve my prize from the dying embers of the fire pit. Thankfully, the grassy knoll didn¡¯t light on fire during the night, or I¡¯d be in trouble, I think with a bit of chagrin as I cradle my masterpiece in my hands.

    The blade is as wide as two fingers, and a little longer than my hand. As much as I might prefer fancy shapes, such as stylized leaf-blades, this time I restrained myself. Folding the glass into an elaborate form seems like too much work while I¡¯m on the road, so I¡¯ve eschewed any indulgences in favor of functional design.

    My only nod to fashion was infusing the glass batch with cobalt, giving the blade a telltale blue sheen. I don¡¯t know why I was attracted to that particular color, but it just seemed right in the moment. Perhaps I¡¯ll experiment with manganese or chromium in the future, since suffusing the frame with mana is more important than the material composition. I¡¯m not sure which type of glass will hold the most mana, but I make a note in my journal for future testing. If I can increase efficiency in the mana transfer, then the end result will likely improve.

    With a pulse of willpower, I snuff out any remaining coals, ensuring that my exuberance won¡¯t set any forest fires after I¡¯m gone. My [Heat Manipulation] may be getting stronger, but I¡¯m not going to be able to douse a raging firestorm from leagues away. I¡¯m not sure anyone could do that prior to the third Threshold, and even then, it¡¯s the kind of incredible display that you only hear about in legends. I¡¯m not ever going to reach that level.

    I pack up my supplies so that I¡¯m ready for the road, but before I depart, I want to test my shiny new toy. I glance around, mark out a nearby sapling about as big around as my wrist, and place the glass blade against the bark. The length of the knife¡¯s edge is more than enough to cover the diameter of the tree; if the knife is as sharp as I hope, then I can slice through the entire thing in a single slash.

    My breath hitches in my chest before I begin the informal sharpness test, and I swallow hard to steady myself. It will either work, or it won¡¯t. I have more glass. I have more ideas of how I can iterate and improve. So why am I so nervous?

    Before I can think about it any further, I push on the knife. It cuts through the tree with a bare minimum of resistance, snagging only on the heartwood for a single heartbeat. I apply a little more pressure, and then it¡¯s through. I dodge the falling trunk, laughing at myself for cutting it at a bad angle, although it¡¯s a slender sapling and wouldn¡¯t have hurt me too badly if it hit my head.

    I run my thumb over the sundered edges. The blade sliced through the tree so cleanly that it almost appears that I sanded down the surface of the cut. I still need to find a larger branch, preferably of hardwood instead of the soft sapling, in order to test the cutting properties against a target of greater difficulty. But for now, I¡¯m satisfied.

    I slide the knife into the top of my carrying pouch where it¡¯s in easy reach, taking care beforehand to wrap it in a tough layer of treated leather for safety. I shake my head in wonderment at its keen edge. I¡¯ll have to be careful not to lose a finger while wielding my new weapon.

    Part of me wants to set up camp here again for the day and begin work immediately on creating a second knife. I can learn from my mistakes, make minor improvements, and end up with an even more impressive result. I can probably make a tidy sum off selling this knife¡ªif I¡¯m lucky, it will even cover the entrance fee for the competition.

    I waver for a few minutes, caught between my excitement at trying out new techniques again, and the voice of reason that says I should scope out the situation in Grand Ile as soon as possible. For once in my life, I don¡¯t overthink it. With a final wistful glance at my campsite, I set off walking again.

    The next two days pass uneventfully. Even though I am off the side of the road, hidden in the thick grasses, I¡¯m seeing more travelers on the road. Their presence makes me hesitant to try to craft another knife right now. If I slip away into a fog of artistry again, I¡¯m vulnerable.

    I¡¯m running low on supplies, however, so I decide to stop at the next village I reach to fill up on food. I¡¯ll also be able to check a map and determine how much farther I have to go to reach Grand Ile.

    I have to be getting close, but I haven¡¯t seen the shift in terrain that I expected. It¡¯s all still an occasional stand of sparse forests breaking up the monotony of the open plains. Every few hours, the ground swells into a gently rolling hill. I haven¡¯t run into raging rivers and sheer, twisted cliffs, so I haven¡¯t entered the Howling Gorge region just yet. That¡¯s the region where Grand Ile is located, if I remember the brief geography lesson Ezio imparted after finding out how shameful my education was in that area.

    On the third day after I created my glass knife, I hear the roar of rushing water up ahead. My shuffling, lagging steps speed up, and I jog around the bend in anticipation of finally seeing a landmark I recognize. The glint of sunlight reflects off a mighty river churning through a canyon just ahead, and I skid to a stop. The drop off from level grassland to rocky ravine is so abrupt that it looks like a giant cut the land in half with an ax.

    Whitecaps and the ceaseless drone of angry water warn me that the river¡¯s current is beyond my mediocre swimming ability. I glance back and forth, searching for a bridge, but none is readily apparent from my vantage point a few dozen paces off the main road. I¡¯m still feeling too nervous to march openly on the roads, although it¡¯s probably overly cautious since I¡¯ve been stopping at villages along the way. My secrecy isn¡¯t very consistent, I suppose. I¡¯m not used to being a sneak!

    The road turns sharply to the right, heading downstream, so I shrug and follow the path. It occurs to me that I¡¯ll have to leave my concealment in order to cross a bridge, anyway. So, in a brazen move, I strut down the center of the road in plain view of anyone watching. I might as well get myself acclimated to the idea now, instead of acting strange and secretive when it¡¯s time to cross a bridge.

    Finding the bridge takes most of the day. The crossing itself is trivial, since it''s a massive, arched walkway wide enough for multiple wagons. I still don¡¯t understand why the trade route goes to the river, and then detours down to the bridge for another half a day of traveling, however. Why not adjust the road so it¡¯s all in a straight shot? I grumble to myself.

    Dusk is falling as I finally approach the sleepy town on the other side of the river, but the last rays of sunlight are still enough to see by. The town gates are a few minutes ahead. They¡¯re still wide open, so I won¡¯t have to try to sneak over the sharpened wood palisades. I pick up my pace to make sure I arrive before they shut.

    I¡¯m in good spirits, whistling as I walk. I can¡¯t wait to find an inn and take a bath. I hope they¡¯re used to smelly travelers, I think to myself, chuckling at the thought of them expelling me until I dunk myself in a public bath. I doubt it will come to that. Money overcomes almost every obstacle, in my experience.

    Faint screams reach my ears from up ahead. I dig my feet into the road, coming to a halt¡ªI¡¯ve unconsciously started jogging in my excitement about a bath and sleeping in a real bed¡ªbut now I¡¯m wary of rushing into an unknown situation. What¡¯s going on? Is the town under attack? While I¡¯m standing there in the middle of the road, frozen in indecision, an odd red creature darts out across the dirt road ahead of me.

    My mind stutters, refusing to recognize what¡¯s in front of my eyes. I blink and shake my head, but the honest to goodness monster doesn¡¯t go away. It¡¯s a Crimson Crab, like the ones I ran from in the Rift with Tem. What¡¯s it doing in the middle of the road, far from any Rift?

    I move forward until I¡¯m in range for [Heat Manipulation], drawing heat into myself and freezing the ground beneath the crab. Its movements grow sluggish with the blast of chilling air, and it can¡¯t escape when I draw my knife.

    I lunge forward, cleaving its head in two with the blue blade I created. I kick the body off the road and sprint toward the village. Terrified townsfolk stream out of the gates, yelping in fear, as a flood of the Crimson Crabs skitter out behind them.

    My hands are shaking in terror, but I don¡¯t stop running. Everything in me screams to turn around and flee, to save myself, but I push onward anyway. I¡¯ve fought them before. I have a weapon that will carve through their hard carapaces. I have a way to slow them en masse, or cook them in their shells, with the duality of [Heat Manipulation]. Turning away means condemning innocent people to death.

    So I run past the mothers and fathers clutching their children. I run past the terrified pet dogs fleeing the sharp pincers of predatory monsters. I run straight into the swarm, sucking in all the heat and freezing the monsters where they stand.

    My knife flashes cobalt in the dusky gloom as it descends. When I raise the weapon for the next strike, the knife gleams crimson. I baptize my new blade in blood.

 B2 C21: Crab Fight

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    Crabs swarm all around me. I¡¯m pulling in as much thermal energy as I can from the road in front of the village gates, but my [Heat Manipulation] Skill simply isn¡¯t powerful enough for a battlefield area of effect deployment. It¡¯s meant for finer, more directed applications of control, not grand gestures. Nevertheless, I press on, hoping I can push it into broader use, or at least a more violent direction whenever it next ranks up.

    The crabs¡¯ movements grow sluggish as they crawl through the extreme chill, pushing through the zone of cold, but it¡¯s not enough to stop them from advancing entirely. The flood of crabs keeps coming, chittering and snapping their claws. Malevolent eyes, like black coals of fire, burn from beneath heavy, crimson brows¡ªno vulnerable eye stalks on these crabs. They¡¯re armored killing machines, straight from the depths of the abyss.

    One nasty-looking crab skitters toward the front. It¡¯s covered in sharp, jagged barbs that make me gulp nervously; if it catches skin, it¡¯s going to tear out chunks of flesh. This particular crab charges at me, on the front line of the Crimson Crab army. It reaches my position ahead of its kindred, and I stomp on a shell in disgust.

    My boots aren¡¯t heavy enough to crack the tough chitin, and I lose my balance, leaping back to avoid a stab from its serrated claws. Cursing my stupidity for charging toward the pack, I twist away from a clacking pincer and kick another crab away from me. I backpedal as quickly as I can, staying a step ahead of the violent creatures, and finally get enough space to swing my glass knife. I sever the protruding face off the crab that charged out ahead of the others, reveling in the sharpness of the weapon.

    There¡¯s a terrifying level of intelligence in their gazes that I don¡¯t remember from the Rift, but then again, I never really looked all that closely. I simply fled when Tem told me to run, too terrified to stop and document the Crimson Crab in its natural habitat. I¡¯m no [Monster Zoologist] or whatever. After today, I can safely say that I¡¯ll never develop an interest there.

    Brandishing my glass knife in front of me, I crouch low to the ground, unsling my travel sack, and swing it at the crabs with my free hand. It doesn¡¯t do any damage at all, thanks to their tough armor, but it¡¯s heavy enough to blunt their momentum. Right now I need to buy time and space to use my blade. Between the zone of freezing cold and the constant, wild swings of my loaded pack, I stymie their assault.

    Whenever I see an opening, I lunge forward, stabbing up and down with my knife like I¡¯m hammering in errant nails. Three crabs die under the swift strokes of my blade, but it¡¯s only a drop in the bucket as more and more of the crabs scuttle out from the gates. As I continue my tactical retreat, I glance around wildly to try to locate the town guard. Surely someone is trying to kill the beasts? Not a single man or woman seems armed, however; I¡¯m the only one fighting.

    The vast amounts of thermal energy I¡¯ve absorbed via [Heat Manipulation] starts to burn inside me, feeling like I¡¯m immolating myself by igniting my mana. I raise my palm and blast out a beam of heat to roast the crabs in their shells, relieving the awful pressure building up in my inner being.

    The searing energy warps the air, turning my entire vision hazy with heat. When the scorching wave hits them, the crabs scream with a high-pitched wailing that sets my teeth on edge. It sounds eerily like a crying baby. I shudder, switching back over to the vacuum pull of absolute cold to slow them down. Mostly I don¡¯t want to listen to their shrieks anymore.

    My body moves mechanically, stabbing and slashing with my glass knife through pure instinct. I kill a few more, but the crabs keep coming. Is it my imagination, or are they getting harder to kill? Either their armor is tougher the longer they fight, or my knife is growing dull. I push away the worrying thought and keep slaughtering the monsters.

    A burly man runs up to my left, wielding a long pole three times as long as he is. His walnut-brown face is ashen under his thick, grey-streaked beard; his eyes are wide with terror. He doesn¡¯t approach as close as I¡¯d like, but he shoves the crabs back with his wooden pole. ¡°I¡¯ll keep them off you, lad, as long as you put them down for good!¡±

    ¡°Deal!¡± I yell, happy to have some form of help even if he stays back. I don¡¯t fault him for helping me from a safe distance. He and I are just as scared as everyone else, but we¡¯re the only ones doing something about it. In a way, I admire his courage. He¡¯s not a seasoned warrior by the looks of him, but he¡¯s here anyway.

    The maddening press of armored crabs pushes ever closer, threatening to crush me under the weight of dozens of blood-red monsters. I smash my travel pack into the vanguard, knocking aside the most imminent threat, and stab a particularly aggressive crab through the brain. I yank the blade free with more effort than I¡¯d like, whirl to the side, and cut off the pincers from another monster. My breathing grows quick and ragged, but I continue my violent retreat.

    The next wave of bloodthirsty crabs breaks through my cold zone just then, and I¡¯m too slow to dodge this time. A claw clamps onto my leg just above my boot. Burning agony races up my calf as the flesh rips. I stumble back with a scream, dropping my pack and clutching my leg.

    The crab swings around, chittering an unintelligible battle cry, and I pierce its head with my glass knife. A guttural moan rips from my throat as I tear the claws away in a bright spray of far too much blood. My blood.

    I glance around wildly, hoping that one of the fleeing villagers will lend us a hand, but no one approaches. They¡¯re all hovering at the edge of the fight, unwilling to commit, but unable to tear themselves away. I brace myself for impact as the swarm advances.

    Snaking in from the periphery of my sight, the big man¡¯s wooden pole strikes out twice in a row. The pole whistles through the air, faster than I thought possible for such a large, unwieldy weapon. The heavy blows don¡¯t do lethal damage¡ªin fact, they don¡¯t seem to hurt the Crimson Crabs at all¡ªbut they knock away the nearest crabs before I go down under the swarm of angry creatures. I almost sob in relief at the timely intervention.

    A second later, a big hand clamps down on my left arm, dragging me bodily away from the monsters. ¡°There are too many of the bloody beasts, stranger!¡± the big man shouts in my ear. His voice is melodic, lilting in a pleasant accent that I can¡¯t quite place. His volume raises further, and he addresses the crowd of escapees.

    ¡°Get to my boat! I¡¯m a [Barge Master], just passing through on my way to the Isles. I can take us to safety.¡±

    A wide-eyed girl drops a satchel as a crab bites into it. She shrieks and runs by us. ¡°We have to report this to the army!¡±

    One of the fleeing men spits to the side, his sun-weathered face growing stormy. ¡°The army? Those good-for-nothing fleabags can¡¯t find their own back ends on a good day. Only the [Mages] can save us now.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t pay my Claude no mind,¡± a woman interjects. She grabs my right arm and helps the [Barge Master] haul me to my feet. Together, we hobble back toward the river I crossed not long ago, staying just ahead of the swarm.

    ¡°Helena,¡± she introduces herself. ¡°I¡¯m Claude¡¯s wife. He lost two brothers in the service. Bad memories. Don¡¯t hold it against him.¡±

    I shoot him a sympathetic glance, then shrug off my helpers as a crazy idea takes root in my mind. ¡°Go!¡± I roar at them. ¡°Get to the boat. I¡¯ll hold them off.¡±

    The [Barge Master] hesitates for a moment, bless his kind soul, but soon sprints off after Claude and Helena. Praying I can buy them time, I turn back toward the Crimson Crabs with a grim set to my jaw. It¡¯s time for all my mana practice over the last few weeks to pay dividends.

    I plant myself in the path of the oncoming swarm, take a deep breath, and sink inward to grasp hold of my remaining mana. My emerging intent coalesces as I meditate on the aspect of sharpness. The hum of swirling energy is so potent that the power scores tiny cuts across the surfaces of my Skill structures. The virulent force wells up within me, and when I can handle it no longer, I blast out over three-quarters of my mana at once.

    The improvised attack discharges outward in a criss-cross array of mana tendrils, each finer than a human hair, straining my growing aptitude with external mana control to its absolute limit. The razor-wire mana mesh hits the oncoming crabs in a dazzling display of explosive energy, mincing apart every monster for half a dozen paces in front of me. I drop to one knee, my head pounding from the mana drain.

    The searing afterimage of the mana mesh¡¯s impact is imprinted on my brain. Blinking to clear my vision doesn¡¯t seem to help, so I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to rely on my [Manasight] to pick out the faint signatures of each monster. A low groan reverberates up from my chest when I try to form words. I spit out a ball of phlegm that tastes suspiciously like copper.

    My muscles are shaking, dull and non-responsive, but I tighten my grip on my knife and prepare to face down the last of the Crimson Crabs. A disturbance in my [Manasight] tips me off, and I fling myself to the left as a tiny blur of mana-activity zips toward me on the right. I lash out with my boot, kicking blindly, and I¡¯m rewarded by a thin, piercing shriek.

    My knife is swinging around before I even consciously will myself into action. The blade hits resistance. The shriek cuts off, and the knot of mana winks out. Success! A crazed sense of satisfaction brings a grin to my face as my mana-sensing plan works. I begin to hunt down the other crabs, chasing after their mana signatures to track them unerringly through the dusky cover of night.

    After I take out a few more, the other crabs skitter back, milling about just outside of the effective range of my [Manasight]. I¡¯m worried that they¡¯re just regrouping to prepare for another wave of attack, so I force my eyes open, squinting against the fading effects of self-induced blindness. Someone has to stop them. The townspeople will make it to the boat, no matter the sacrifice I have to make.

    ¡°[Mage]!¡± a hoarse voice shouts from behind me, and others take up the cry, clapping and whooping, cheering about their salvation. Excitement rippled through the gathered crowd, so powerful it¡¯s a tangible thing.

    I sag in relief, thankful for the impending rescue. I don''t know how a [Mage] responded to the threat so quickly, but it¡¯s excellent timing. Then it hits me with a jolt that they¡¯re talking about me. I laugh bitterly, my gaze locked on the ten or fifteen remaining crabs. The villagers have no idea that I can¡¯t repeat my ludicrously expensive mana trick, not with my mediocre Capacity, and they¡¯ve stopped running for safety. Now they¡¯re hollering encouragement, waiting for me to put an end to the incursion.

    I reach for the last dregs of my depleted mana, forcing the torpid remnants to flow into [Heat Manipulation] in preparation for one last attack. I¡¯ll take out as many as I can in one go, and then stab the rest. I might even survive this if the [Barge Master] helps me fight, I think as I shake with fear and adrenaline.

    I stagger to my feet, advancing on the horde while I gather my power. ¡°Fight for your homes!¡± I shout at the villagers, hoping to inspire them to reinforce me in the fight against the Crimson Crabs before I collapse.

    Only to stare in disbelief as the monsters flee.

    =+=

    A quarter of an hour later, my leg is bandaged up thanks to Claude¡¯s wife, Helena. She doesn¡¯t have a healing class, but in her own words, she raised three rambunctious sons, and keeping them alive was plenty of training for stitching up wounds. We¡¯ve cleared out this wave of crabs, but there¡¯s still sounds of fighting and fleeing in the city.

    I¡¯m chugging a half-empty mana draught, courtesy of the [Barge Master], Ashinga¡ªor Ash, as he prefers to be called. We are advancing in a slow march through town, hunting down stragglers. I am trying to stay topped off to counteract the precipitous costs of flinging around my mana without the appropriate combat Skills.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Fortunate indeed that you were passing through, [Mage Acolyte] Zebulun,¡± Ash says in his dulcet tones as we team up to skewer another crab.

    He, at least, recognizes that my mana pool is insufficient for a fully trained [Battle Mage]. Yet if he harbors suspicions, he keeps his peace. After all, I¡¯m too valuable as a walking, talking advertisement¡ªthe [Mage] savior who approves of Ash¡¯s wares!

    Night is falling, but the town¡¯s lights glimmer, turning on to illuminate the streets. We rush through the town under the artificial light, joining up with pockets of resistance. As the minutes bleed into hours, we round up the remaining threats, systematically dispatching them with my newly-crafted glass knife.

    Most of the villagers lack proper weapons, and my knife is the only threat worth much against the crabs, other than a huge sledgehammer wielded by a [Demolitionist]. He has an array of Skills related to breaking up stubborn foundations, and it turns out that they work wonders against the hardened chitin of the armored monsters.

    Our little band sweeps through the town, pursuing the last surviving Crimson Crab. Led by a valiant ¡°[Mage],¡± the villagers have found their backbone, or at least they are willing to herd the monsters into choke points with brooms, iron fire pokers, and frying pans. Ash and I team up to kill the crabs, slaughtering them with increasing effectiveness, albeit with far less flair than the muscular [Demolitionist], whose attacks vaporize the crabs in huge sprays of viscera.

    I¡¯m torn about revealing the truth of my newly anointed position, not wanting the villagers to lose their nerve if they find out I am not actually a [Mage]. I sigh. Perhaps they will follow the [Demolitionist] instead, but I don¡¯t want to risk it. I¡¯m not keen on perpetuating the lie about my abilities, either. I have no idea what the backlash might be if they find out I am unintentionally lying about my Class.

    I push aside my dilemma for now, panting as I pound down the pavement in pursuit of our prey. Up ahead to the right, the group of villagers led by the doughty [Demolitionist] cuts off the Crimson Crab¡¯s escape path. We¡¯re using a pincer formation to trap the last crab in an alley, forcing it into a dead end, and the irony of the tactic¡¯s name isn¡¯t lost on me.

    The cornered Crimson Crab raises its oversized, razor-sharp claws, clacking them at us threateningly. This beast is huge, nearly three times as large as the other crabs we¡¯ve fought, with a white band spiraling across its body. I wonder if that denotes it as the leader of the lesser Rift incursion. It seems more intelligent than the other monsters, and based on the swirl of mana I sense, it may be capable of casting magic.

    ¡°Attack incoming!¡± I roar as the mana spikes in my [Manasight]. I fling myself behind a corner, terrified by the potency of the gathering mana. It¡¯s strange to see mana Skills in a creature instead of a person, I think to myself as I peek back around the edge, curious to watch what happens.

    To their credit, the villagers scatter instantly instead of second-guessing my command. Their quick thinking saves lives as they dodge the spray of blood-red shards. Needles from the crab¡¯s shattered shell ping into walls and bury themselves a finger¡¯s length into stone¡ªeasily enough to shred a man to pieces.

    I shudder, glad that I didn¡¯t get caught in the blast, and charge forward while the big crab is still recovering from using such a powerful mana ability. The creature hisses, drawing itself up on its multiple legs to glare at me eye to eye. Its alien mana signature ramps up again, and its menacing eyes glaring at me sets me panicking. I falter, turning for cover, before I realize that the spell is sputtering instead of properly igniting.

    ¡°It¡¯s too injured for more magic!¡± I roar, dashing forward and waving my knife over my head to indicate that it¡¯s time for us to counterattack. Gaping chunks of the Crimson Crab¡¯s thick carapace are missing, blown away in its devastating, sacrificial assault. I¡¯m not about to pass up such a golden opportunity to finally finish it off.

    I stretch out my hand, summoning vehement heat, and lash out with as much mana as I can pour into my [Heat Manipulation]. My channels are burning with the strain of constant drain, but I down the rest of the mana draught Ash gave me and keep firing. The crab screeches as its exposed flesh chars and smokes, large flakes peeling off from the scorching temperatures.

    Ash runs up beside me, his barge pole at the ready, but the others are cowering in fear. It¡¯s hard to blame them in light of the horrifying attack we just witnessed, but I hope that Ash and I are enough to kill the creature by ourselves if the [Demolitionist] doesn¡¯t show up soon.

    Besides, a selfish part of me doesn¡¯t want to share the glory for saving the town. The pragmatic part of me thinks I should slip out while I can. I¡¯ve drawn too much attention already.

    ¡°Look out!¡± Ash shouts, shouldering me aside just in time. The crab¡¯s massive claws snap shut on empty air. Ash thrusts his sweeping pole forward, pinning the monster to the wall. Angry squeals and squirms erupt from the ugly, armored monster as it writhes in a vain attempt to escape. The big [Barge Master] strains, his arms and legs shaking to hold back the leader of the Crimson Crabs incursion.

    ¡°Finish it, Zebulun!¡± Ash hollers at me. ¡°Quickly, before my Skill expires. This thrust with my pole is meant to dislodge my boat if we¡¯re ever stuck in the river rapids, not hold back an abyss-spawned monster!¡±

    I duck a claw strike, looking for an opening. My hands shake, and I almost drop my knife. My heart is a runaway horse, the blood of its passing thundering in my ears.

    ¡°Die!¡± the [Demolitionist] screams, running out of a nearby alley and leaping at the crab. His sledgehammer flashes down, empowered by a glow of mana as he uses another one of his powerful Skills intended to destroy rock and stone, and I turn my head instinctively to avoid the spray of blood and guts sure to follow.

    Another flash of mana fills my senses just then, brighter and more sinister than the force from the [Demolitionist]¡¯s Skill. ¡°Stop!¡± I yell in warning, as the full extent of the crab¡¯s cunning is on display. It held back its final Skill, waiting for just the right moment to activate.

    The huge sledgehammer smashes against a geodesic mana-fueled shield that springs up around the king crab¡¯s carapace. The shield quivers with the force of the blow, and then the second half of the Skill ignites: the heavy sledgehammer rebounds back with the full force of the swing, right into the [Demolitionist]¡¯s face. He crumples up bonelessly on the ground without a sound.

    I gulp, staring at the purple and yellow bruise forming on the man¡¯s forehead. I hope he¡¯s still alive¡ªand I¡¯m glad that wasn¡¯t me! Good thing I didn¡¯t rush in recklessly.

    Marveling at the monster¡¯s strength, I advance as quickly as I can while still dodging the flailing crab legs. I¡¯m not interested in getting skewered. Holding my cobalt knife in an icepick grip, I pounce forward and drive the blade down onto the crab¡¯s head, aiming for the brain pan.

    The blade strikes true, piercing through the armor where the sledgehammer failed. The force of the stab breaks open the outer shell of the carapace, but the narrow tip of the glass knife chips off in the sturdy, mana-reinforced chitin.

    White-hot anger licks through me like flames. My vision fuzzes with the surging rage of my righteous indignation, and I hack at the Crimson Crab with every ounce of strength I have left while screaming at the beast. ¡°You! Broke! My! Favorite! Knife!¡±

    I dispatch it with another stab, finally dragging the edge through the tough, folded layers of flesh. Even with all the missing slabs of carapace, I¡¯m barely able to cut through the leader of the crabs. I grunt with the effort of hacking it apart, but don¡¯t stop until I¡¯m certain it¡¯s dead.

    I stand there, my chest heaving, and stare down at the mangled corpse of the Crimson Crab. The monster¡¯s mangled flesh shines with a terrifying luster in the harsh lamplight. It¡¯s a truly magnificent and horrifying beast of the abyss, far fiercer and harder to kill than the average crabs, with impressive defenses in addition to its spellcasting. The villagers couldn¡¯t harm this one at all¡ªand if I didn¡¯t have my new knife, it would have destroyed everything in town.

    ¡°I believe that is the last of them,¡± Ash declares, an easy smile on his broad face. ¡°This looks like the one in charge, no? A little beast king. Ha! Fascinating variant.¡±

    Helena and Claude tiptoe past the crab¡¯s corpse, their eyes bugging out of their head at the sight of its fearsome claws, and drag the [Demolitionist] away to safety.

    ¡°The trouble is far from over,¡± I say quietly, waiting until they¡¯ve left earshot. Even though no one else comes close, I keep my voice down so that I don¡¯t scare the others. ¡°These are not normal monsters; Crimson Crabs come from a Rift.¡±

    Ash recoils. ¡°By my mother¡¯s bones. I should have stayed home!¡± His eyes narrow as he considers me with an assessing gaze. ¡°Why not mention this sooner, Zebulun? We never should have come back to town. I¡¯ve heard rumors that Rifts are opening across the country, but I didn¡¯t put much stock in the idea. If the Rifts are real, though, then we need to evacuate everyone who can leave. Immediately!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a Greater Rift,¡± I reply, ¡°or else I would see far more mana fluctuations. And if we had left town, Ash, then how many more graves would the army have to dig when they show up in a week to check on the disturbance?¡±

    Ash flinches at the rebuke. ¡°As you say. We saved lives. What¡¯s done is done.¡±

    ¡°I should be able to close it,¡± I say, projecting more confidence than I feel at the moment.

    ¡°How? What do you know?¡± Ash asks incredulously. He leans closer, shielding us from the crowd with his big frame. He fixes me with a hard glare that¡¯s at odds with his soft, musical voice. ¡°I know you are not truly a [Mage]. You have impressive skills with mana, true, but a real [Battle Mage] is a terrifying, transcendent existence. You would not have needed our help to finish off those few monsters if you were what you say you are.¡±

    ¡°I never claimed I was a [Mage],¡± I say with a scowl. ¡°Besides, I seem to recall that you were happy enough to use the deception to sell more of your mana draughts.¡±

    Ash spreads his hands wide with an innocent look on his face. ¡°Ah, true enough, my new acquaintance. But I believe you mistake my intentions. I have no desire to unmask you to the masses. Rather, I am merely concerned that if there is indeed a Rift here, then you will not return¡ªyour combat prowess is simply not up to par. And I find that I like you well enough to not wish you dead. Ha!¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the most ringing endorsement of a friendship I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± I say with a wry chuckle. ¡°I admit, though, that I return your sentiment. Stay alive!¡±

    ¡°Good. That settles it: we are friends, now, not mere acquaintances. But these people are still endangered,¡± Ash continues seriously. ¡°I''m not prepared to take everyone on my boat. I simply don¡¯t have room to fit everyone; my draft won¡¯t handle that many people. They should flee as far from here as they can, however, at least until the army can move in.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Densmore''s army is otherwise occupied with their own Rifts. By the time they can spare the manpower, we¡¯ll either be dead, or have taken care of this on our own. I vote for the latter, particularly if you can load me up with mana draughts before I enter the Rift.¡±

    ¡°How do you propose to find this Rift?¡± Ash asks, rubbing his neck. ¡°I¡¯ve heard they''re notoriously difficult to locate.¡±

    ¡°True, if they haven¡¯t opened yet. Oftentimes, the membrane of reality thins out¡ªthe very fabric of reality is one loose thread away from ripping open. When the weave repairs itself, however, then that potential Rift dissipates, and finding it will be impossible. But in this situation? The damage is already done. The Rift stands open. All that¡¯s left is for entrepreneurs like you and I to walk through and claim our rewards.¡±

    Our conversation is interrupted by a swarm of cheering townspeople, who finally seem to believe that the last crab is dead. They drag off the corpse of the crab, adding it to the pile as I directed them earlier. If they sell the leftovers to the right buyer, then the monster parts are quite lucrative.

    While it galls me to pass up the money, I don''t have the space to carry it with me. And besides, I¡¯d rather not attract that kind of extra attention in Grand Ile anyway. Showing up with expensive monster parts will likely raise questions that I don¡¯t want to answer, not if I¡¯m working to distance myself from my identity as Nuri.

    ¡°Attention everyone,¡± Ash calls out, holding up his barge pole and waving it around like a flag. ¡°Our fine friend Zebulon has informed me that he needs to fight the source of the monster incursion and destroy it. Please return to your homes and hide. I will outfit him with merchandise from my boat, and assist in his endeavors. If you need extra wares during this trying time, then you know where to find me.¡±

    I snicker at his shameless advertising, but I stop as soon as I see the stricken faces of the villagers. The idea that it¡¯s not all over yet goes over like a dash of vinegar in fresh milk, curdling everyone¡¯s good mood. The streets clear out hastily, so I take advantage of the lack of people to speak freely as I accompany Ash back to his boat.

    My leg still hurts from where one of the crabs pinched me, but the [Barge Master] is true to his word and offers me healing tonics. They¡¯re not as potent as a dedicated [Healer], but they do take the sting away. I flex my leg experimentally, finding that I¡¯m able to move with less of a limp. It will have to do for now.

    Between the bandage from Helana and the salve and health tonics from Ash, I¡¯m more or less in fighting shape. There¡¯s no sense in waiting to enter the Rift. Who knows what else might spawn in the meantime. We can¡¯t risk dallying.

    I¡¯m not quite topped off with mana, despite the constant mana draught drinking while we cleared out the town. I grimace as I knock back another one. I¡¯m dreading the splitting headache I¡¯ll get from forcing myself to consume and use so much mana in one day, but there¡¯s no way around it.

    Outfitted at last, we jog around the outskirts of town, following the vague direction people seem to recall the crabs coming from. I flare my [Manasight] while we run, pushing the Skill as hard as I ever have before. Searching for a mana hotspot that will indicate the mouth of the Rift seems more reliable than guesswork. Theoretically, it should put out a blatant mana signature, which I can use to track it down.

    ¡°Getting close?¡± Ash asks, clearly still skeptical that I can find the Rift.

    I shake my head slowly, choosing my next words with care so that I don¡¯t sound like I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing¡ªalthough I really don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing. I¡¯m saved from giving an awkward answer, however. A blinding glimmer of mana catches my attention, right on the edge of my senses, and I turn to Ash with a smug smirk.

    ¡°Ah! Got it,¡± I crow triumphantly.

    ¡°Suspicious timing,¡± Ash says, but his good nature just makes me laugh. We round a bend in a street on the edge of town, and the shimmering portal manifests. The way his eyes goggle are worth putting up with the skepticism.

    ¡°You¡¯re certain that I can¡¯t entice you to join me by offering you a share of the treasures inside?¡± I ask one last time as we pause before the twisting portal in the air. The edges warp and waver, like reality is a soap bubble floating through the skies, far too fragile and ephemeral.

    I hope it doesn¡¯t pop.

    ¡°I might kick myself for my cowardice in the future,¡± Ash says, still shaking his head as he stares at the Rift, ¡°but I like my pretty face the way it is far too much to risk harming it. Good hunting, Zebulun.¡±

    ¡°Stay safe, my friend.¡± I wave a final farewell, and plunge into the Rift.

 B2 C22: Smoke

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    I plunge through the portal, entering the Lesser Rift.

    Stepping through a wound in reality never gets any less unsettling. No amount of familiarity or practice prepares you for the cold, oily feel of forcing your way through colliding dimensions. I¡¯m not sure that I want more familiarity with these unnatural scars, but if I¡¯m ever going to find Tem, then this practice is invaluable.

    I shudder on the other side, abruptly wishing that I had a bar of soap and a hot bath. The compulsion to scrub myself clean is nearly overwhelming. I rub the feeling back into my fingers, and my mind drifts back to the supplies on Ash¡¯s boat. When I¡¯m back out, I¡¯ll buy every cleaning agent known to man. If I return in one piece.

    Memories of my visit to the Greater Rift come screaming back, and I find myself ducking in fear, my eyes instinctively searching upward to scan the skies for threats. Nothing presents itself, and I recall dimly that even Tem was shocked at beholding the monstrosity floating through the skies. The chance of seeing another behemoth, particularly in this smaller, less dangerous Rift, is almost nil.

    Nonetheless, I slip behind a dull grey boulder flecked with black quartz and get my bearings. Breathing soft and low, I crouch down for dubious cover while I take stock of my surroundings, looking over the utterly alien black and green landscape. Where are the reds and oranges from the last Rift? I had no idea they possessed such variety.

    There. Something catches my eye off to the right. I stop my frantic scanning, locked onto the prone shapes that don¡¯t belong in the Rift. My hands are shaking as I approach, sick to my stomach with the certainty of what I¡¯ll find.

    Humans. Dead humans.

    I creep closer, on the watch for oncoming monsters, but even as my eyes roam around the environment to scout for threats, my attention remains fixed on the bodies of the fallen. They are wearing matching, pale blue robes. Scabbards with a simple crest: a river flowing through the outline of a sharp, deep canyon. Light armor to protect their vitals. I swallow hard. I think I¡¯ve discovered what happened to the missing town guards.

    Their armor didn¡¯t do any good against the Crimson Crabs. The metal is torn apart like a cheap tin can after a rabid dog chews it open to get a treat. Deep, bloody gashes cover them in patterns that are all too familiar¡ªthey match the shape of the claw cut on my leg.

    I count the bodies, closing their eyes and covering their wounds with the tattered edges of their cloaks. Five fallen. My own eyes squeeze shut for a moment as I honor the heroic dead.

    I wonder if they patrolled the town in pairs? The new thought energizes me, breaking me out of my sudden, morose bout of lethargy. Maybe this doesn¡¯t have to end in tragedy. If these brave men and women came in here to stop the monster incursion, operating as a six-person squad, then maybe there¡¯s one more guard still alive somewhere out here. He or she might need my help.

    I borrow a spear from one of the deceased guards, murmuring a few awkward words of apology for stealing from the dead, and march onward. From what I¡¯ve learned about Rifts since my first unwitting delve with Tem, there¡¯s usually a source of power deeper in the Rift. If I can find it and destroy it, then the portal will close shortly thereafter¡ªideally, I¡¯ll destabilize it but still have enough time to get back out.

    I tilt my head side to side, cracking my neck. I don¡¯t want to risk getting trapped inside. There¡¯s no other way to make sure everyone is safe, though. I have a task to complete.

    As I look for hiding spots, darting from outcropping to outcropping, I¡¯m struck by just how empty this place seems. Did all the monsters already invade the trading village? Did we already do the hard extermination work? Hope begins to blossom in my heart, but I cut it off at the roots. There¡¯s nothing more poisonous than dearly cherished hope that doesn¡¯t come to fruition. I have to deal with what is, not merely with what I want.

    Unlike the Greater Rift, this Rift doesn¡¯t feel as oppressive. I¡¯m able to breathe more freely. The sky is full of chaos above, but it seems strangely subdued. Perhaps a lesser Rift is limited, somehow, in a way the Greater Rift is not. That was vast, primordial, unbound. This is merely big and scary, but I don¡¯t get the terrifying sense that simply standing here puts my soul in constant danger of being devoured. That doesn¡¯t mean that I¡¯m not keeping watch for more monsters, though.

    Rolling hills to my left fuzz into mist. The world of the Rift ends over there. I am sure of it. Before me, rugged cliffs rise without the usual prelude of foothills. Unnaturally sheer and smooth, the cliffs appear impassable except for a narrow outline of a trail threading its way up the slope in endless switchbacks. I hope I don¡¯t have to walk that path.

    I turn to the right, taking in the vista, and stiffen in fear as my [Manasight] picks up a new threat. Crouching low, I sneak through the crags as I work toward a visual. I stop on the edge of a narrow canyon, surveying the Rift from my perch.

    A dog-like beast with hunched shoulders and spotted brown fur stalks by me. Its focus is elsewhere, however. It prowls through a tangled maze of sharp-edged ravines and jumbled boulders, its black, spikey mane standing up in a bristling display of aggression. I look ahead to track its prey, and the sight of a bleeding, shuffling figure in pale blue robes freezes me in my tracks as my heart skips a beat.

    Gripping my spear with the blade angled up and ahead of me, I break into a panicked run. ¡°Hey, ya big mangy mutt! Leave that guard alone!¡±

    Hackles rising, the monster turns to face me. A long snout full of curved teeth opens wide as its jaw distends. The pony-sized dog-thing¡ªperhaps a form of hyena, I wonder¡ªhowls with the lust of the hunt, then bounds toward me in high, arcing leaps. Its heavy muscles ripple under its matted fur as it launches over piles of stone and rushes at its new prey: me.

    I plant the butt of my spear in a crack in the stones, summoning my mana. Leveraging my burgeoning understanding of willpower and intent, my thoughts turn toward sturdiness and unyielding defenses. Maybe I can stop its charge.

    The mana feels slick and unresponsive, like I can¡¯t get hold of it to shape it to my will. Panic makes my hands shake at my repeated failure. I have no real resonance with the concept of an indomitable bulwark. I¡¯m not a [Shield Warrior] or a [Stalwart Defender]. Mikko would be a better fit to pull off a desperate move like this, despite not having a defensive Class.

    Gritting my teeth, I force a poor connection anyway. It¡¯s horridly wasteful and inefficient, but I don¡¯t have time to come up with a better plan. My mana spools out of my channels and suffuses the spear as best it can just before the slavering beast arrives.

    Snarling with instinctual superiority, the hyena glows with virulent, pulsing mana in my [Manasight]. Its Skill ignites, and it surges across the final several dozen paces between us in a terrifying flash, its maw wide with the anticipation of consuming me.

    I brace for impact.

    A massive boom echoes throughout the Rift. My entire mana pool gushes out of me like water dumped out of an upended bucket, draining me instantly. The raw, crudely-shaped energy funnels into the spear, momentarily strengthening it. The force of the collision rips the weapon from my grasp; as soon as it leaves my hands, it explodes into ten thousand splinters.

    The shockwave of the sundered spear flings me backward a dozen paces, flipping me over and smashing me into a rock. My chest compresses on contact, and dull snaps like twigs breaking underfoot sounds out as a few of my ribs cave in. I bounce into the air, hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from my body, and tumble away from the beast.

    Pain inundates my entire body. A white line of fire and torment traces along my rib cage, making each gasping breath pure agony. I fumble for my knife, recalling in a daze that I tucked away in my belt at the last moment before the hyena slammed into me and my world shattered into a thousand fragments of pain and confusion.

    I hiss in a sharp breath, forcing myself to crane my head and look, fighting off the wave of pain and nausea that accompanies the movement. The monster drags itself toward me on three legs. The last one is missing, torn from its body by the force of our collision. A gaping hole in its chest is pouring blood, but it¡¯s not dead.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    How? That¡¯s the toughest monster I¡¯ve ever fought solo. Despite the stabbing pain in my side with each ragged inhale, my breathing accelerates as the beast drags itself closer. I¡¯m still in the thick of things. Our fight¡¯s not over yet. I grip the hilt of my glass knife more tightly, watching the hyena¡¯s slow, inevitable advance, and prepare for the end.

    A flash of sky-blue catches my eye. A silver sword sings.

    Hope rises in my chest for one glorious moment as I watch the final guard¡¯s courageous attack. Then the blade bounces off the hyena¡¯s thick fur. The monster unleashes a low, rumbling growl and spins, lashing out at the guard with its intact foreleg.

    I wince, expecting a spray of gore, but the monster slips on the loose scree without the support of its missing leg, and the swipe goes wide. It resets itself with a snarl and strikes again. My eyes grow wide with shock; the guard sways like a flexible tree in the wind, her long blond hair trailing behind like the waving branches of a slender willow. She avoids the claws, smoothly flips her grip on the sword, and rams it point first into the monster¡¯s now-exposed throat.

    This time, the blade bites deep. An arterial jet of blood soaks the ground blue-black. The blood sizzles, eating at the rock where it lands. As before, the guard twists out of the way of the threat gracefully, not caught in the spume of the beast¡¯s lifeblood, and she crouches in wait, her hands lifted up in a martial stance.

    ¡°Run. Mana surging. It¡¯s gonna attack,¡± I croak as loudly as I can, forcing the words of warning out through bleeding lips and my bruised throat.

    She glances at me, surprise etched on her face, but she backs off from the monster as it gathers a final swirl of energy, ready to kill itself to take us out.

    A quick series of steps brings her to my side, where she peers at my tattered tunic and lacerated chest with concern. She probably thought I was dead already¡ªand truth be told, I¡¯m likely still on death¡¯s door. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, as though she¡¯s getting ready to run away and leave me to die. Then she growls, low and guttural. She gestures to the beast, points at her throat, and shrugs helplessly.

    ¡°I¡¯m out of mana,¡± I hiss at her between gritted teeth, annoyed at her dilly-dallying as I glance back at the hyena. ¡°Get us behind that rock. Shield us.¡±

    She nods curtly, grabs me under the shoulders, and drags me to the indicated rock only a moment before an explosion of mana ripples out from the hyena. The detonation is deafening; I slap my hands over my ears too late, wincing at the ringing. The suicidal blast shatters stone in the wake of its passing, sending stinging shrapnel in all directions and lacerating my face. Our rocky shelter cracks under the onslaught, but absorbs the worst of the explosion.

    As the dust settles, I instinctively reach for my [Manasight] to scan the area for additional threats, but nothing happens. I¡¯m drained bone-dry, as parched as a sun-baked desert, and I¡¯ve already used my last mana draught. I¡¯ll have to rely on this unknown guard to keep us both safe. Thankfully, she seems like the vigilant type, since she¡¯s still alive.

    ¡°What happened? Crabs hit your squad? How did you get away?¡± I ask. Part of me shies away from reopening such a raw wound, but I need to know what happened¡ªand if she¡¯s willing to help me finish the job. I¡¯m not in the right shape to close the Rift solo.

    A stormy look crosses over her face. She peeks over the rock to see what happened to the monster, then smiles at me grimly as she confirms it''s dead. She points to her throat, where a jagged, angry red scar looks newly-formed, and growls in frustration, shaking her head.

    ¡°Health tonic. Belt pouch,¡± I grunt, trying to roll over and reach the pouch pinned under my body. Every movement feels like raking hot coals over my fractured rib bones.

    The unnamed guard puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping my struggling, and unclips the pouch for me. She digs through it for a moment, withdraws two tonics, and tears up a bit as she stares at the high quality potion. A deep, rattling breath seems to stabilize her mentally. She bites on the cork and yanks it out with her teeth. With a hard glint in her eyes, she greedily gulps one of the precious draughts. Her hands are shaking as she downs the bottle, but by the time she reaches the end of the tonic, she seems to have regained control of herself.

    ¡°Ahh, many thanks, stranger,¡± she rasps, swallowing a few times experimentally with a hand to her throat. ¡°Bloody crabs overwhelmed us. Cut my throat. Drained the rest dry and left only empty husks.¡±

    Favoring me with a tight smile, she pops the top off the other tonic and gently tips it down my throat. I almost choke on the healing liquid, but fortunately I don¡¯t spit it out. The sharp knife edge of agony is slightly blunted by the healing tonic. I still need a [Healer]¡¯s ministrations, but I¡¯ll live. That¡¯s better than I expected a few moments ago, so I can¡¯t complain.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I gasp when I finish drinking. I squeeze my eyes shut, collecting myself for a few moments before I smile. ¡°If I may ask, how did you survive after all the crabs overran your team?¡± I ask, struggling to sit up with my back against the crumbling rock behind us.

    She takes pity on my feeble attempt and hooks me under the armpits again, pulling me to a sitting position. The movements are still painful, but the tonic mutes the worst of it.

    She steps back, hand on her hip. She sniffs. ¡°Got a Skill to stop bleeding. Had to burn my best Skill to flee, though. I wish I could have taken them all with me, but I was always better at running away than saving people.¡±

    ¡°You saved yourself. And you saved me,¡± I say quietly, hoping she won¡¯t take offense to my awkward comfort. ¡°I know it¡¯s not the same as saving your friends, but it means a lot to me all the same. If you don¡¯t mind me saying so, I haven¡¯t heard of a lot of town guards with Skills for getting away. You must be a specialist.¡±

    ¡°Not wrong. I wasn¡¯t always a guard,¡± she says, her eyes downcast. With one finger, she taps her left cheek, showing me a spiderweb of scars. ¡°Learned a lot about guards when I was on the other side of the law. Used to run away a lot. One day, I got in more trouble than I could handle. That¡¯s how I got my escape Skill, for all the good it did me.¡±

    She breaks off from her story, a sourness to her voice that tells me not to pry. I simply nod in encouragement, and we sit in silence for a while. For a long moment, she stares out over the Rift, not moving. When she meets my gaze, old troubles and forgotten horrors are stirring in the depths of her eyes, staring back at me. She smiles bitterly, then shrugs. ¡°Guards bailed me. They offered me a way to shape up. I took it.¡±

    ¡°I closed their eyes. I . . . I hope they find rest,¡± I offer awkwardly, not knowing what else to say about the other guards. Based on what she just told me, they were probably her friends, not mere fellow guards. My gut twists as I picture my own coworkers, Lionel and the Linas, lying lifeless in the sand. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d handle it half as well as she¡¯s handling it, whoever she is.

    ¡°My thanks,¡± she says. Her jaw works as she stares back the way I¡¯d come, a haunted expression on her face.

    ¡°I¡¯m Nur¡ªZebulun,¡± I stammer, forgetting my cover story for a moment. If she notices, she doesn¡¯t seem to react. ¡°Thank you for the help with that monster. I was a dead man without your timely intervention.¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you, Zebulun.¡±

    It occurs to me that I never asked her name, just brought up painful memories of the dead. I wince. ¡°Uh, please forgive my lack of propriety. To whom do I owe my debt of gratitude?¡±

    To my surprise, the guard snorts with laughter. ¡°Who talks like that? You some big shot from the capital? Name¡¯s Qiya. Friends call me Smoke, since I¡¯m hard to hit and slip away right when people think they¡¯ve got me. And you¡¯re the one who did most of the damage to that beast back there. I should owe you!¡±

    ¡°Does this mean I can call you Smoke?¡± I ask, testing the waters of friendship.

    ¡°Sounds like,¡± she agrees, seeming to regain some energy. She holds out a hand.

    I reach up and grasp her hand. ¡°Pleasure to meet you. I just met someone outside of the Rift named Ash. And I already have a mentor named Ember. I¡¯m not sure how I feel about this constant fire theme in my life right now, but you¡¯re all right.¡±

    Smoke scoffs. ¡°Sounds like it¡¯s just fated to be, Zeb.¡±

    ¡°Maybe so,¡± I acknowledge, nodding slowly. I grimace, shifting my weight against the boulder so I can speak without as much pain. ¡°Can¡¯t say I care for Zeb, but it¡¯s not the worst as far as nicknames go.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re stuck with it now,¡± Smoke says, offering me a fragile smile. I¡¯m not surprised to see her reaction. Anything to drive the bad memories away right now. Humor helps.

    ¡°Well, Smoke, here is the sum of it,¡± I say, laying out everything I know. ¡°I¡¯m not very mobile right now, but we can¡¯t stay here. If we¡¯re going to survive, and if your townspeople are going to survive, then we need to close the Rift.¡±

    She meets my eyes and nods. ¡°I¡¯m in. What¡¯s the plan, Zeb?¡±

    ¡°That . . . was easier to convince you than I thought,¡± I say with a small laugh. ¡°I was about to launch into a big speech to try to convince you. All right. We need to destroy the energy source that let the Rift latch onto our realm. Without the core¡ªa type of mana construct¡ªacting as a bridge between dimensions, it will destabilize and unravel in a matter of minutes. Help me find the core. I will destroy it. You seem like you¡¯re fairly fast, Smoke. You could get back out and tell everyone what happened.¡±

    Her jaw takes on a hard set. ¡°That¡¯s dumb. I¡¯m not leaving another person in this abyssal place. Let me help you back to the entrance and escape. Tell me where to go, and I¡¯ll destroy the, uh, target thing while you¡¯re tended by the town [Mender].¡±

    ¡°The core. We must find the core,¡± I remind her. ¡°Without it, any hope of living is just a forgotten dream.¡±

    ¡°If this is a dream, it¡¯s one I¡¯d like to forget sooner rather than later. So let¡¯s go kill that core,¡± Smoke says resolutely. ¡°What''s the secret to disabling it? Do I need impressive abilities like yours to stop it? Hope not. My Skills are all about evasion, escape, and quick movements. I¡¯m not fancy with grand magics, like you.¡±

    ¡°Ah, well, that is legitimately the first time anyone has ever called what I do grand," I say with an embarrassed half-chuckle. ¡°But the honest answer is that I have no actual idea. I was just going to stab it and hope for the best.¡±

    ¡°Wait. That¡¯s it? Stab the magic thingie and hope it works? That is absolutely the worst stinkin¡¯ plan I¡¯ve ever heard in my entire life,¡° Smoke says, crossing her arms with a shake of her head. She stares down at me in utter disbelief.

    ¡°What, do you have a better idea?¡± I challenge her, strangely defensive even though I¡¯m in full agreement with her assessment of my plan¡¯s validity.

    Smoke¡¯s cheek scrunches up as she grins at me with a lopsided smile on account of the scars. ¡°As it turns out, I do.¡±

 B2 C23: Mirrors

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    This is insane. I¡¯m going to die! I scream internally.

    Outwardly, I don''t say a word¡ªnot in a rare sign of restraint, but because my teeth are chattering too hard with the mad speed of our flight. We hurtle along, Smoke carrying me on her back. I can¡¯t get a word out edgewise. Instead, I¡¯m panicking on the inside, praying that against all odds, I¡¯ll survive this dash of death. She¡¯s cackling like a madwoman as she sprints along pell-mell, deeper into the Rift.

    I never should have listened to a thing Smoke said, I admonish myself for the tenth time. She is burning through mana at an alarming rate as we make use of her very best movement Skill: [Reckless Flight: Touch of the Fleet Footed Thief]. As she explained it to me, the Skill lets her steal the speed of an entity she¡¯s recently touched. The monstrous, brown-spotted hyena apparently counts, since she stabbed it, even though it¡¯s dead now.

    Boulders the size of a wagon zip under us as Smoke leaps, enhanced by stolen physical attributes, and my stomach lurches. A few scattered monsters startle as we fly past them, but none of them appear strong enough to warrant a detour from the core. We can deal with them later if they¡¯re barring our path back to the portal.

    I thought I was the crazy one for entering a Rift, I moan to myself. Turns out Smoke is completely nuts. Not only did she keep exploring after her team died, but she cooked up this crackpot scheme. Maybe we¡¯re mirror images of each other.

    Once my mana recovery kicked in enough, and I hit the minimum threshold to activate my [Manasight] in brief busts, I told her which way to go. We¡¯re heading there now, and I scan the Rift to confirm our trajectory. We¡¯ve drifted a bit, but that¡¯s not surprising at this speed.

    A brief tug to the left of her cloak corrects course, and I direct her toward the strongest mana signature I sense. Whenever I have enough mana to fuel [Manasight], I check to see the signature: it looks like a raging bonfire compared with the candles of the Crimson Crabs or the unknown hyena creature. It¡¯s the core. It has to be, the way it¡¯s blazing many times stronger than the rest of the Rift. I just hope we make it before I pass out.

    For a short while, we¡¯re going to fly across the Rift. My only fear is that the Skill won¡¯t last long enough to reach the core, destroy it, and then make it back to the portal. What if it runs out halfway, and we¡¯re stranded in here? Looking back, I should have told her not to use the Skill until we were fleeing. Ah well. Too late for that now. I¡¯m not always the best at planning.

    Wind howls in my face with the speed of our passing, drowning out the whimpers of pain I¡¯m unable to hold in any longer. I dig my fingers deeper, clutching fistfuls of Smoke¡¯s cloak as I try to hang on, but I¡¯m running out of strength as we speed along. My broken ribs are throbbing with pain, and it¡¯s all I can do to stay conscious right now due to the buffeting winds and lurches each time Smoke leaps. Even Casella didn¡¯t fly any faster than this.

    The glowing sun of power in my [Manasight] grows nearer, and I tug on her right side three times, the signal we agreed on previously to signal our arrival. Holding on with my injuries while moving at these speeds is nauseating enough already. Talking feels impossible. I¡¯m not sure I trust myself to speak right now, anyway.

    Smoke swerves to the right, almost losing her balance under the extra weight of bearing me up on her back. She leaps over a twisted tangle of dead branches, blackened and withered with extreme age, and dashes into a desiccated forest devoid of leaves.

    The trees are twisted, horrid things, like the gnarled hands of elderly ghouls with arthritis. They seem to reach out for us as we dash between the tree limbs. Smoke narrowly avoids their grasp, and I shiver at the thought of ending up in their clutches. We¡¯re close now; I don¡¯t want to die just as we reach our destination.

    With a final surge, we break through the treeline and emerge into an empty circle of bare rock underfoot. It¡¯s smooth and black, like obsidian polished until it shines. Glancing down, I see my panicked reflection staring back at me in horror from the mirror-like surface of the ground. I hastily look away.

    We¡¯re ringed in by the dead trees now. I shiver; it feels like we just stepped into a prison with bars of wood and rot. An eerie silence descends over the empty clearing. Without warning, my [Manasight] goes completely dark.

    In the center of the open space, an orb the size of my head glows, wreathed in spectral flames of silver-white. I point toward it, but Smoke is already dashing closer. There¡¯s no doubt in my mind that this is the Rift¡¯s core. Clearly, it doesn¡¯t take an expert to figure it out, since she¡¯s come to the same conclusion.

    Not that I¡¯m as much of an expert as I wish!

    ¡°Now what?¡± she asks, slowing down from her frantic pace and skidding to an awkward stop. She shifts me over to the side of her back, shimmies so she can loop an arm under my shoulder, and helps me to the ground.

    I clench my jaw in pain, enduring the movement until I can lie down. I groan, hesitating as the world spins around me. When I stabilize, I lift myself up to a sitting position and give her a weak shrug. ¡°No idea. We have to break its connection to this plane. That¡¯s all I know.¡±

    ¡°Hit it until it breaks. Got it,¡± Smoke replies, a hint of mirth in her voice.

    I nod in response, refusing to let my embarrassment at the lack of a real plan show on my face. ¡°Yep. That¡¯s about the sum of it.¡±

    She brandishes her sword, steps forward, and slashes at the pulsing orb anchoring the Rift¡¯s transdimensional magic. Grunting like an [Axeman], Smoke swings with both hands, like she¡¯s chopping down a tree. Her plain sword hits the core and shatters, sending shards of the blade flying in every direction.

    Yelping, Smoke twists between the sharp splinters of shrapnel, shifting like her sobriquet in the wind, and avoids taking a cut. When the shower of steel stops, she gives me a wry smile, holding up the broken sword. ¡°Looks like plan number one is a bust.¡±

    ¡°Looks like,¡± I reply, swallowing a sarcastic reply. That¡¯s just her bitterness talking since she lost her sword. ¡°I have a knife we can try instead. Here, you do it. I¡¯m not sure I have the strength right now.¡±

    I slip my glass knife from my belt, hesitating for a moment to glare at the notch missing from the tip of the blade, and hand over the weapon. ¡°This sliced apart those Crimson Crabs. I¡¯ve got a hunch it will do better than a mundane sword.¡±

    Smoke hisses in a sharp breath. She takes the glass knife from me reverently, cradling it in her hands. ¡°My thievery Skills are going off like crazy. Do you have any idea how valuable this thing is? Peh! You probably do.¡±

    I bite my tongue. I¡¯m not going to tell her that I made it on the road on my way into town, without access to a workshop. Oh, and I created the glass itself from thin air, relying on nothing more than the raw power of mana creation! Neat party trick, huh? I¡¯ll show you sometime.

    Nah. I don¡¯t want to look like a jerk. She¡¯s nice to me, but if I start bragging¡ªparticularly about things that could connect ¡®Zeb¡¯ to Nuri¡ªthen who knows how things will turn out. All that assumes we survive, of course. I¡¯d rather keep my friendly getaway runner.

    ¡°Here goes!¡± Smoke announces cheerfully, quick-stepping forward and driving the knife down on the core like the descending fang of a snarling beast. My mana-strengthened knife hits the core and skitters off to the side, scoring a shallow groove but not biting further.

    She tries again, cutting into the glowing globe with my knife. Twice she slams it down to no avail. On the third time, the knife punctures a half inch deep, but the victory is short lived. My heart constricts painfully as I watch my little masterpiece crack in half, leaking mana so potent that it¡¯s visible to the naked eye.

    ¡°So . . . what¡¯s plan number two?¡± Smoke asks. Silence stretches on for a time, and she finally nudges my foot when I don¡¯t respond. ¡°Zeb? What¡¯s our play?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know anymore. I need to think for a while,¡± I mumble, closing my eyes and trying to remember everything I¡¯ve read about Rifts. Nothing specific comes to mind, but it¡¯s hard for me to think while I¡¯m mourning the loss of my favorite knife. I gently slap my cheeks a few times as I try to focus. I can¡¯t seem to recall much other than vague impressions about mana.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I say, snapping my fingers and looking straight at her in excitement. ¡°We just need mana!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all, huh?¡± Smoke pressed her lips together for a moment. ¡°Your plans are getting worse the longer I know you, Zeb.¡±

    I mutter a defensive response, but Smoke snickers and waves me off. ¡°Just messin¡¯ with you, buddy. We¡¯re on a crazy adventure. Anything goes. So, what do we do next?¡±

    ¡°Mana is the key,¡± I repeat, my excitement rising. ¡°I think that I can overload the core and cause the spellform to unravel if I feed it enough energy.¡±

    Smoke¡¯s eyebrows raise. ¡°You can do that? Whoa. You really are a big shot.¡±

    ¡°Er, no,¡± I admit. ¡°That¡¯s entirely theoretical. And I¡¯m pretty much out of mana right now, anyway. But it¡¯s possible to disrupt Skills by under- or over-powering them, or by warping their matrix. I¡¯ve done it plenty of times by accident. It will be fun to try to do it on purpose for once! Either approach should work, although the scale might be beyond me. I¡¯ve never worked with this level of complexity, or tried to handle the power needed to sustain a Rift.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a good way to cook yourself. You lookin¡¯ to fry?¡± Smoke asks sardonically.

    ¡°It might not be the smartest idea I¡¯ve ever had,¡± I say, gritting my teeth as my cracked ribs remind me that we¡¯re running out of time to get out of the Rift. ¡°I¡¯m not sure we have a lot of options at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Have I mentioned that all your plans stink? ¡®Cause your plans stink, Zeb,¡± Smoke says.

    ¡°They¡¯ve gotten us this far,¡± I say with a cheeky grin, which earns me a wry half smile from Smoke in return. I puff up my cheeks, then let out a slow breath. ¡°I¡¯m not sure we can face another monster if we wait, though. That tells me that we don¡¯t have enough time to sit here doing nothing while I regenerate my mana. And, no offense, I¡¯m not confident that you have the requisite external mana control for this kind of complex operation.¡±

    ¡°No offense taken. I don¡¯t even know what that means,¡± Smoke says cheerfully. ¡°So, it¡¯s a good bet that I don¡¯t have the skills you need. That¡¯s why a team is essential. Everyone has a role. Mine is to run like all the terrors of the abyss are chasing us.¡±

    I snort a brief burst of laughter. ¡°That¡¯s a pretty good role. I¡¯m glad I¡¯m on your team.¡±

    Smoke ducks her head, her long hair obscuring her face as she blushes. Then she lifts her head and winks. ¡°Me too, Zeb. Now, what are you gonna do to fix up things? You said that spells break down if they¡¯re either over- or under-powered. So if you can¡¯t pump mana into the core, can you take it out instead?¡±

    I splutter. ¡°You want me to drain it dry?¡±

    ¡°Can you do it?¡± Smoke asks, her brows knitting together seriously. ¡°Or does that bring us right back to you frying yourself like a flock of chickens at a barbecue festival?¡±

    ¡°Do you have any idea how painful it is to take in non-native mana like that?¡± I mutter, shuddering as I recall the mana-control test. ¡°Once it¡¯s aspected to something else, absorbing mana feels like drinking a jar of whiskey full of razor blades.¡±

    Smoke elbows my arm. ¡°You got experience with that?¡±

    ¡°No, but I¡¯d take the whiskey over sucking in mana that¡¯s not my own. Besides, if I do try this cockamamie plan, there¡¯s one big problem. The mana has to go somewhere. I really would explode if I tried to store it all internally. That¡¯s just asking for all sorts of trouble.¡±

    Smoke twists her lips to the side, her eyes rolling up into a strange expression. She taps a finger to her lips as though she¡¯s trying to think of a plan. It¡¯s somehow both ugly and cute¡ªan oddly un-self-conscious gesture that makes me glad we ran into each other. She doesn¡¯t seem to care what people think about her. Or, if she does, then she hides it pretty well.

    She grins suddenly, her lips pulled back from the teeth on the left side due to her scars. ¡°Hey! I think I¡¯ve got it.¡±

    ¡°Oh? The escape artist and also the brains of the operation,¡± I tease. ¡°What¡¯s the plan? And make it good¡ªif there¡¯s an explosion, then you might go up in, ah, Smoke.¡±

    She snorts. ¡°Jokes aren¡¯t your thing, huh?¡±

    I give her a flat look. ¡°What tipped you off?¡±

    ¡°So, to destroy the core,¡± Smoke says, switching back to planning mode without missing a beat. ¡°Can you send the mana back out as an attack? Whatever you did to that big ol¡¯ dog was totally amazing! I¡¯ve never seen a beast torn apart like that. Could you attach yourself to the core like a big fat leech, suck out the mana, and then use it to do your explodey magic?¡±

    ¡°My . . . ¡®explodey¡¯ magic?¡± I repeat slowly, utterly dumbfounded.

    Smoke¡¯s eyes light up. ¡°Yeah! You stomped that dog. Blew a hole in its chest. Can¡¯t you do that to the core once you¡¯ve recovered some mana? Better yet, steal what you need from the core, and use that to blow it up! It¡¯s poetic, like a mirror image. Hey, you know, I¡¯ll bet you¡¯re a pretty talented thief, and you don¡¯t even realize it yet.¡±

    I laugh, incredulous that I¡¯m actually considering what she¡¯s suggesting. ¡°I think the only ¡®explodey¡¯ magic in that scenario would be me going boom. I¡¯d be human paste! I¡¯m not sure you have any idea what kind of mana capacity a core is capable of accessing.¡±

    ¡°And you do?¡± Smoke asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.

    ¡°I . . . I, uh, well. It¡¯s probably a lot,¡± I finish somewhat lamely, shrugging. I wince as the casual movement shifts my ribs and jagged, white-hot pain stabs into my chest.

    ¡°Sounds about right,¡± Smoke says, nodding agreeably. She squats down and looks at the core with a critical eye, humming to herself. ¡°But as you said, you don¡¯t have to hold it all inside. Let it flow through you while you do cool [Mage] stuff! Take in mana from one side, and push it out the other. Easy as breathing in and breathing out, yeah?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not actually a [Mage],¡± I say quietly. Instantly I regret giving away the information. If she talks with the townsfolk outside the Rift, she¡¯ll realize that I haven¡¯t exactly been forthcoming with them. Plus, I¡¯ve already told her that I know an ¡®Ember.¡¯ If anyone ever comes digging, then it won¡¯t take much to put the details together and figure who I am.

    ¡°So? I ain¡¯t a [Guard], officially. I can still do the job without the Class,¡± Smoke says. She turns to give me a sidelong look as though I¡¯m the dumbest person she¡¯s ever met. ¡°In fact, not having the Class lets me do things the other [Guards] can¡¯t do. It¡¯s useful to be multitalented.¡±

    Mulling over her words, I reach out toward the Rift core. I hesitate, and snatch my fingers back as though I¡¯m about to touch a hot stove. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can do this job.¡±

    ¡°Time¡¯s awasting. My Skill won¡¯t last much longer for the run back. Unless you¡¯ve got any better ideas, Zeb, then I say we try this,¡± Smoke says. ¡°A few minutes ago, you were ready for me to leave you here, to sacrifice yourself in order to save us all. So why are you suddenly shy about trying something that might hurt you? Big talk, small walk.¡±

    ¡°I guess I just don¡¯t want to die in the end,¡± I admit. I flick a little pebble away from where I¡¯m sitting, watching it bounce and skid across the ground. I avoid her piercing gaze.

    ¡°No one wants to die, Zeb,¡± Smoke snorts. ¡°But your offer was brave, even if it was kinda stupid. Maybe you should try it this way instead. What have you got to lose?¡±

    ¡°My life!¡± I sputter, sitting up and glaring at her with indignation.

    Smoke shakes her head. ¡°Nah. If it works, then I carry you back out and you¡¯re the hero of the whole town. If it doesn¡¯t work, well, then we¡¯re right back where we are right now: stuck in the middle of a Rift with no way to live. Seems to me that when you¡¯re choosing between dying and maybe dying, you choose the maybe every time. So, what¡¯ll it be?¡±

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    I rub my forehead with my fingers. ¡°You¡¯re insane, Smoke.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Now, are you gonna get started, or do I have to kick your butt until you agree?¡±

    ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s do this,¡± I growl, trying to work up my courage. I glare at the core, imagining that I¡¯m going to drain it to the last drop, but I can¡¯t help but whimper. This is going to hurt worse than the mana-control test, likely by an order of magnitude. I just hope this works.

    I drag my battered body closer to the core, questing out with my [Manasight] as I try to comprehend its composition and purpose. I don¡¯t have enough mana to use the analysis portion of my [Architect of Unseen Worlds] Skill, which seems like a squandered opportunity. Ezio will be envious when I tell him about this later.

    I hope he forgives me for not providing more robust analysis that could advance our understanding of the world, I think to myself, chuckling darkly at the thought of his outrage.

    After a few moments of watching the Rift draw from the core, I reach out and place my right palm on the pulsing surface of the globe. It reminds me suddenly of my glass mana orbs that I created for improving my mana control and practicing [Heat Manipulation]. An irrational part of me latches on to that comparison, and I tell myself that this is just more training. There¡¯s nothing to fear.

    The lie is too bold to truly comfort me.

    ¡°You may want to stand back,¡± I warn Smoke. ¡°I will do my best to vent off the mana as quickly as I can, but I don¡¯t have the control or the strength to guarantee your safety.¡±

    ¡°What about yours?¡± Smoke asks, looking at me askance.

    I rub my eyes, fighting off a headache. My voice cracks when I finally reply. ¡°Chances are extremely high that I¡¯ll end up splattered across the ground as it is. I¡¯d hate for you to turn into paste, too. You¡¯ve lost enough already. You deserve to get out alive.¡±

    Smoke gulps and glides away in a blur of speed. I hope her Skill lasts long enough to get us back to the portal, assuming that I survive. She hunkers down near the edge of the clearing, but doesn¡¯t seem keen on hiding among the trees. I don¡¯t blame her. Their gnarled branches creak and sway ominously, reaching for her even now.

    With a deep breath, I begin the insane work of draining an entire Rift dry. I focus on the pain in my side when I breathe, hoping it will bring me clarity in the middle of the mana-induced haze that I¡¯m plunging myself into momentarily. Nothing happens at first, but I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember how the mana-control test worked. All I need to do is replicate it here, and the mana should flow into me¡ª

    Overwhelming torrents of vigorous, turbulent mana roar through me in the next instant, inundating my already strained mana channels with caustic power. I scream and writhe under the torture, but I refuse to let go. If I stop now, I won¡¯t have the courage to try again.

    As the pressure builds up within me, I direct the raw mana through my pathways, point my left hand away from the core, and will the mana to rush forth in as many threads of energy as I can create. A dozen, a hundred¡ªand then thousands¡ªof strings of mana explode out of me in the most complex lattice pattern I¡¯ve attempted so far.

    The entire Rift groans, and the light flickers as though someone is blowing out the only candle illuminating a dim room. The energy fluctuations extend far deeper than mere lighting, however, and I heave up the contents of my last dinner on the road. The power courses through my body, sending me into agonizing convulsions.

    Intent is important, I scream internally. I grasp ineffectually at the endless sea of mana gushing through me and slam my mind and willpower against it in a vain attempt to shape it to my will. The power writhes like a living thing¡ªa shock eel made of raw energy¡ªand it bucks out of my command in a spume of explosive, untamed potency, spiraling out of my control as more and more energy surges from within the Rift¡¯s living core.

    My back arches. I scream in agony, an endless string of ululating sound and fury. The mana burns into me in an unrelenting deluge, raging through the Rift¡¯s core and into my right hand. It¡¯s too much, too fast. Trembling with the effort, I drag aside some of the mana, directing it toward my central mana pool instead of venting it instantly.

    The pressure abates, although the throughput is still blasting away at my channels. It¡¯s less painful if I let some of it accumulate, storing the latent potential and coiling the mana up within my pool. The mana lattice I¡¯m building snaps back into place, under my control once more now that the rush of power isn¡¯t obliterating all thought and intent.

    For a few blessed minutes, I¡¯m able to keep the entire system in balance. Mana roars into me from the Rift core, swirling into my overtaxed channels with turgid power. The energy flows split in two at my command, rushing along my channels. Within me, depending on the mana¡¯s destination, the energy either vents into the Rift in the form of a gigantic lattice and raw gouts of power, or packs into my inner world and fills my formerly-dry pool to overflowing.

    The pool swells up like a balloon, pushing my Capacity to new heights. Ezio¡¯s eyes will bug right out of his head when he sees my new results!

    ¡°I¡¯m doing it!¡± I shout at Smoke, craning my head to give her a manic smile.

    ¡°Keep it up, Zeb,¡± Smoke says, gesturing encouragingly. Her eyes are wide, however, and she keeps shuffling away as the mana blooms from my fingertips in visible arrays of light and heat.

    In mere seconds, I¡¯m fit to burst, and I try to pump more mana into the rapidly-solidifying lattice I¡¯m creating. As soon as I finish the structure, I¡¯ll dump more of the core¡¯s mana into the formation and hope it¡¯s enough to hold it all, however much that may be. If only I could see what I¡¯m doing, then this would all be far easier.

    My eyes fly wide open as a thought suddenly strikes me. I couldn¡¯t analyze the core with [Architect of Unseen Worlds] or watch the process in my [Manasight] previously. With the raging mana of the Rift¡¯s own core powering the Skills, however, I can diversify the mana¡¯s flow. My skills will act like a release valve to relieve the pressure. I¡¯ll use my array of Skills to shunt the flow in more meaningful ways.

    Gritting my teeth against the strain, I pour mana into each of my Skill structures, knowing without looking that they¡¯re lighting up brighter than the forge. I dip into my first and most reliable Skill, [Heat Manipulation], creating multiple layers of cold barriers around my body. I unleash the hottest wave of power I can produce once I¡¯m relatively sure I¡¯m not going to combust.

    The heat energy washes over the clearing with a wave of visible power that hurts even through the double-layer of cold I¡¯ve built around myself. It¡¯s enough to make the black stone at my feet ripple and waver.

    A fierce, wild joy curls my lips back in a feral snarl. I push [Heat Manipulation] further and hotter than ever before, watching in wonder as the swirling heat ignites even the air itself. With a growl of disgust, my hand points toward the hateful trees of the terrifying forest, and I pour even more mana into my Skill with vengeful delight.

    The roiling flames hit the dark, twisted limbs and set them ablaze. They shriek in agony, writhing in the orange flames. I shudder at the screams; I have no idea how they make noise since they don¡¯t have mouths, but I don¡¯t want to find out.

    Leaving [Heat Manipulation] running to burn through the disturbing forest, I turn next to my [Manasight], thinking I¡¯ll observe the flows of power. It flares to life, and I scream in terror as power assaults me. There¡¯s far more mana in the area than I¡¯ve ever seen in one place before, luminous and beautiful¡ªand stomach-churning. Every sight is a spike of pain through my head, and I scream again as [Manasight] burns out before I can release the Skill.

    Panting, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to get rid of the white-hot afterimages of mana seared into my mind. My ears are ringing, but I push on, although I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯ll throw up. My gut clenches in sudden fear that I¡¯ll never be able to use [Manasight] again. I never should have activated it with so much interference.

    I¡¯m sobbing, wild with the grief of a lost Skill. My mind can¡¯t handle the terrifying strain of so much power. I¡¯m quaking with disquiet, certain that I¡¯ve done irreparable damage to my mana senses. I¡¯d have better luck staring at the sun and trying to figure out how it works.

    I struggle to hold on to my control of the external mana, fighting against the rising tide of too much power for me to handle. I need to use every Skill! Now! I urge myself. But I¡¯m afraid of losing them all. I¡¯ve worked too hard for the few I have.

    Yet what choice do I have? I reflect bitterly. The mana is tearing me apart. I don¡¯t have any recourse. [Architect of Unseen Worlds] is my most mana-intensive Skill. I¡¯m scared to pour mana through the elegant structure of the fractal-covered Skill, suddenly sure that survival will mean saying goodbye. If [Manasight] is already obliterated, how much worse will it hit me if I use the Artisan Skill?

    Yet if I don¡¯t act now, I may not make it out of the rift. If I never take a peek at how things work, my unsated curiosity will eat at me for the rest of my life¡ªwhich will assuredly be short if I don¡¯t use everything I have, as much as I hate that conclusion.

    My chest heaves with effort. Each breath is a knife-thrust to my ribs. My tears are freely streaming down my face now, matting my beard. As my control stutters, I run through my list of ideas. It¡¯s all bad options and worse options. I need stability. I need something familiar. I need to work with glass.

    I draw more mana internally, away from the fizzling lattice, and turn to my newest Skill. I push [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach] as hard as I can, testing my theory that the distance limitations are intrinsically tied to my lack of mana Capacity and the quality and density of my internal energy. I¡¯ve never had a way to transcend those restrictions, but now I do.

    Forcing the mana from the Rift¡¯s core into my forge Skill, I begin to create. A fresh batch of glass extrudes up from the rocky ground a few paces to my side, springing into existence out of nowhere. The extra power is readily apparent; I finish creating the pile in half the usual time, and there¡¯s two or three times as much glass as I expected.

    With a flex of my will, I draw on more mana, pushing the distance farther. As before, I hit a wall. This time, however, it feels permeable, as though it¡¯s not a hard limit. Managing all of the various streams of mana at once is dizzying, but I force myself to focus on the task at hand. The Rift will give me as much mana as I can ask; now is the time to seize the power and harness it for my own purposes.

    I turn my head, my attention and intent drawing to a point on the ground next to Smoke. I redirect as much of the mana flow as I can from the lattice without allowing the mana matrix to collapse. It¡¯s not enough; I pull back from my other Skills, rerouting the mana and using the raw energy as a bludgeon against the previously unassailable wall.

    Faced with the battering ram of the Rift¡¯s mana, the resistance shatters. More and more mana courses through my Skill. Pillars of multihued glass spring up around Smoke, hemming her in with glittering bars of rare materials and making her leap back with a yelp.

    If I had the energy left, I¡¯d grin at the composition of the glass. On a whim, I went for the fanciest metals and minerals I¡¯m familiar with, creating glass composites that sell for ten times as much as regular glass. If I survive this, and Smoke can carry the batch of glass with us, then I¡¯ll be rich once I reach Grand Ile. I just have to live that long first.

    The pillars reach their final height, and the Skill expends itself. I sag forward, leaning on the core for balance. My legs are wobbling like a newborn colt trying to stand for the first time, but I¡¯m not ready to give up yet. I¡¯m not done draining the core. I need to use my most costly Skill if I want to finish the job, even if it means tearing it apart with the terrible flow of power.

    My tenuous control over the internally split streams of mana teeters on the brink. I shout and let go of my fear. Enough wavering! With a flex of my willpower, I finally activate [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds]. I turn my analysis toward the functions of the Rift¡¯s core rather than the flow of mana gushing forth from it, hoping that the glimpse behind the curtain won¡¯t tear my mind into pieces.

    Mana flows through the Skill structure, and in my inner eye the crystalline tower flares to life with silver-and-gold vibrancy. I divert as much power as I can from the core, pushing the Skill to its limit as I turn my attention to the Rift itself.

    The world flashes silver-white. The trees, the rocks, the pain¡ªit all falls away. My entire consciousness is drifting in a liminal existence, subsumed by the power of the Skill. Sound and touch have no meaning. I have no eyes here.

    I see nonetheless, and the sight is glorious.

    The core buzzes and vibrates with unparalleled intensity. No longer a small orb, it¡¯s vast and inscrutable, endless rings of interconnected silver honeycomb stretching off into eternity. Each of the rings pulses like a beating heart, moving and overlapping, sharing form and intent. It¡¯s the most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever seen.

    The Rift¡¯s living core is nothing like my Skill structures: they are strict, gleaming edifices, crystallized mana that harness mana efficiently. Yet for all their power, they are brittle and inflexible, fit only for a narrow purpose. The Rift¡¯s wild beauty looks like silver flowers against a velvet black background. The interconnected rings are growing, organic, adaptable. Alive.

    Trembling, I withdraw my awareness with a sense of solemnity. I am not meant to see the face of such alien beauty. I am not made for comprehending infinity.

    I am just a man.

    I don¡¯t belong here. The thought hits me with sudden clarity. This is madness. I should have waited, should have asked that [Demolitionist] to join me once he was recovered. Or better yet, I should have sent word to the army, and kept moving so I don¡¯t miss the competition in Grand Ile. I¡¯m just a [Glassworker]. I¡¯m not an adventurer. I¡¯m not¡ª

    My concentration shatters.

    Screaming, I lose control of my Skills. [Architect of Unseen Worlds] falters. Fails utterly. [Heat Manipulation], my old standby, gutters out, leaving me shivering in the sudden cold. I stare dumbly at the Rift¡¯s core as it continues to pump out liquid mana, an endless river of potential, with nowhere to go anymore.

    As more and more of the vast energy courses through me, my head spinning, I release the strands of mana that formed the latticework. I can¡¯t remember where I was in the pattern, but it looks more or less finished. It¡¯s a relief, since I can¡¯t keep up. It¡¯s too much, too much for me to handle!

    I dump raw mana into it, forcing it through the lattice formation and into place. The liquid power compresses as it fills the mana mold, condensing down into rough slabs that remind me of mana crystals. Vaguely, a greedy thought whispers that I will be rich if I bring the solidified mana with me.

    Without my Skills running, there¡¯s still too much power burning through me. I have to turn something back on. I growl in frustration, reach for [Architect of Unseen Worlds], and transmute the batch of glass at my feet that I created with [The Eternal Glass Forge], crafting a sword to replace the one Smoke destroyed.

    I¡¯ve never used it at such a far distance before, and the mana leakage is immense, but for once I¡¯m happy that it¡¯s difficult. I simply need to sink mana into something, and the waste of pushing my Skill at such a far remove is perfect. I don¡¯t have time for precise imbuing or mana soaking, but I still cram as much power into my creation as possible.

    ¡°Take the sword!¡± I shout at Smoke once it¡¯s finished, my voice raw and strained. I don¡¯t know if she hears me. I don¡¯t have time to find out.

    My blood is roaring in my ears. I drop to one knee, unable to keep up with the throughput any longer. Panic sets in as my channels burn and fray with the overload. Ezio¡¯s words echo through my mind, distant and full of terrible pity: Mana is like water in a way. It¡¯s necessary for life, but too much drowns you. Take care not to overreach, my young friend; you aren¡¯t meant to swim in deep waters yet.

    Mana begins to back up in my channels by the time I rouse myself from my stupor. I grasp for my Skills to vent the awful pressure before I burst apart, but the crystalline structures groan and twist under the onslaught of too much power flowing through me as fast and wide as a raging river. I fight, trying to force the issue, and a massive shockwave ripples through me from the inside out as mana pushes my Capacity beyond the breaking point.

    My mind stutters as a new form of pain lances through me. I vent mana out of my body as fast as I can, no longer caring where it goes, but my mana pool is tearing apart, overflowing with the mana I thought to steal for myself. I sink inward, examining the extensive damage, and for a brief moment the chaos of the world suspends, as though time itself grows still.

    Fractures appear across the surfaces of the Skills I pushed too hard earlier: my first and only friend for so long, [Heat Manipulation], is larger and more intricate than I remember¡ªit may have ranked up when I unleashed the maelstrom of fire against the forest. Nonetheless, it¡¯s all cracked, and I¡¯m fairly sure it will take weeks to heal with mana soaking.

    My heart sinks as I regard the rest of my Skills. My increasingly-useful [Manasight] looks like lightning struck it, slagging the edges and melting it down to scrap metal. Is it gone? Just as badly off is [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach], wrenched apart, inverted and laid open, sizzling in my inner sight like a funeral pyre.

    Even my precious Artisan Skill is twisted. I curse myself for going back to it to transmute the glass into a sword. I was right the first time to back off from using it quickly, and I tried hard to keep it under control despite the raging influx of mana. Even so, scars disfigure the entire Skill structure. It¡¯s pitted, covered with hairline cracks. It might recover in time, if I soak it in mana like my [Heat Manipulation] from so long ago, but I can¡¯t count on it for my competition in Grand Ile.

    Abruptly, my introspection ends. Time resumes its inexorable march. I slam back into reality.

    My overstrained mana pool fills up faster and faster, swelling and stretching, leaking into my body as everything falls apart. I can¡¯t keep up with the influx of energy. l can¡¯t see it anymore, not with my damaged [Manasight], but I can feel the bulging pressure as my mana pool exceeds its Capacity thrice over. My inner reservoir ruptures¡ªa horror I never knew possible¡ªand the backlash sears through my channels like poison in my veins.

    I desperately try to shove the mana out of my body before it kills me, but my control is a broken, limping thing. I drag the virulent power out of me by sheer force of will, venting it through my left hand, but it¡¯s not heeding my command.

    My right hand is still touching the Rift core, welded in place by the primal magnetism of the magic. Pulling the mana out of me is agonizingly slow. My connection to the mana feels distant, feeble, and faint, as though I am trying to drag a heavy wagon through knee-deep mud with a three hundred foot rope.

    ¡°Zeb! Are you okay?¡± Smoke calls, her voice frantic and ragged. She sounds far away.

    I can¡¯t spare enough focus to answer her. My world shrinks to a pinprick. Survival has a single path forward: I have to get the rampaging mana out of me before it eats away my heart and lungs. I strain, pushing the mana toward the connection between my right and left hands, toward the deluge of mana rampaging right through my chest.

    My nascent control over the flow of power still exists, thanks to my last few weeks of practice with external mana manipulation, but I¡¯m running out of strength. Every inch of me is shaking with exhaustion and pain. I use the pain as a mental anchor, seeking it to sharpen my focus, and heave on the free-floating mana within me one last time with all my willpower.

    Stinging like fiery nettles on bare skin as it scrapes through me, the mana finally connects with the main flow from the Rift core. All at once it latches on and mingles with the rushing river of the Rift¡¯s mana, whisked away like it never existed.

    Sobs wrack my body. All my work, all this pain, for nothing. Handling the flow of mana is like trying to drink in the ocean. I only have one chance. ¡°Run, Smoke!¡± I shout, and then I drink deeper than ever, abandoning all pretense of trying to safely route the power through my frayed, disintegrating channels.

    The torrential rush savages me, opening up a brand new channel through my ribcage, straight through me from hand to hand. The ocean washes through me in a flood. I am torn apart, burning out, a weak and wounded wretch.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Smoke. I can¡¯t do it!¡± I scream. I vent more and more mana out of my hand. It heats up, bursting into smoldering flames. The sheer amount of energy exploding out of my left palm sears my skin and sets the air on fire. The heat and pressure begin to dissolve my flesh, melting away ligaments and bone, and my thoughts fuzz into incoherence and torment.

    All that¡¯s left is the desire to destroy the core. With a final, desperate howl, I twist my body and point my mangled claw at the core itself.

    Mana seeks guidance. The words reverberate faintly in the far recesses of my mind. So I give the mana intent: the air vibrates with sharpness as I push my last fragments of willpower against the suffocating, all-consuming mana, mastering its flow. A blade of pure power emerges from the smoking stump of my left hand.

    The sharp-as-fractured-glass edge of the mana blade severs the core in half. My world explodes in silver-white light and pain. Unending pain.

    And, like a broken mirror, I shatter.

 B2 C24: Aftermath

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    ¡°Zebulun! Zeb, wake up!¡± a frantic voice screams in my ear.

    Who¡¯s Zeb? I wonder, flinching away from the shrill, panicked shriek. I groan in pain as the fire of my broken ribs is superseded by the inferno of my inner world. My eyes flutter open. I stare up at a young woman¡¯s concerned eyes, mere inches from my own. Her brows are pulled together in lines of worry, and her thin, angular face is covered with soot and ash.

    I¡¯m about to ask this stranger who Zeb is before I remember that I¡¯m using an assumed identity while I travel. She knows who I am. So why can¡¯t I remember her? There¡¯s no faster way to blow my cover story than to forget my own new name, so I switch up tactics and start asking more clever questions.

    ¡°Mwht ahppened,¡± I slur. My tongue feels heavy and woolen in my mouth, and my head is ringing, but at least I didn¡¯t rat myself out. I try to sit up. Immediately, the rush of blood makes me groan in pain and slump back down.

    ¡°You did some explodey magic after all,¡± the woman says. She dashes away a tear with the back of her hand, and I notice with a start that her cheek is a spider web of scars. ¡°I thought you were dead. Don¡¯t wanna lose anyone else in this hateful abyss.¡±

    I open my mouth to reply, but my muscles feel weak and my mouth is dry. My head lolls to the side, and my vision starts to go dark. I startle back awake, refocusing on the pained look on her face. I try to wipe away the spittle from my lips with my hand so I can ask her another question, but my fingers touch nothing. I can feel them, though. They¡¯re right¡ª

    My burned stump hits me in the mouth instead of my phantom fingers. I stare down at the burned, melted skin in horror, and memory comes rushing back to me. The Rift. The core. The luminous beauty of magic, burning me from the inside out.

    Smoke. Her name is Smoke. She¡¯s helping me.

    I work my jaw a few times, not meeting her gaze. I survey the devastation around us in all directions, fighting against the pain of my body waging war against me. My ribs feel like there¡¯s a knife stuck in my chest.

    I don¡¯t dare delve inward. I remember everything now. My Skills are all ash and salt. I can¡¯t bear to take a look. The outside is bad enough as it is: we¡¯re surrounded by flattened chunks of rocks blasted apart and scattered into rubble; uprooted trees, burned into ash; a gaping wound in reality where the core used to be. My head hurts looking at it, and I break off my gaze, unable to work up the courage to face life head-on at the moment.

    I wheeze several times, forcing myself to breathe deeply despite the pain, and my mind and body start to slowly stabilize. I run my dry tongue back and forth across the roof of my mouth until I feel like I can physically speak again. Even so, my words come out in an exhausted croak. ¡°Got anything to drink?¡±

    She rummages through the pack belted to her side and pulls out a small flask. ¡°Here, the last of my water. You¡¯ve earned it.¡±

    I take the flask in my right hand, but I struggle to hold it up to my lips to drink. My arm is shaking even though the water bottle doesn¡¯t weigh much. I sip the water slowly, trying to sort out my jumble of thoughts. Finally I meet her eyes again and start with the most important question on my mind. ¡°The core?¡±

    Smoke smiles at me, although her eyes are strained. Her shoulders tense up, and she regards me warily. ¡°Exploded. You did it, Zeb. You really did it.¡±

    ¡°Then why do you look so glum?¡± I say with forced cheer. What happened to her? Why is she staring at me like I¡¯m a monster? ¡°Guess you were right. I do have ¡®explodey¡¯ magic.¡±

    ¡°But your . . .¡± Smoke trails off. She swallows hard, pointedly not looking at my missing hand, and starts to pack up. ¡°We gotta leave. Things are getting bad.¡±

    I lift up my left arm and shrug, which sets my head spinning again. ¡°Nothing I can do about it right now. Let¡¯s get out of here. You get the sword I made for you?¡±

    ¡°The . . . what now?¡± she asks, turning back to me in confusion.

    ¡°I turned some spare mana into a sword since I had extra. To replace your old sword,¡± I say, gesturing with my right hand toward the general direction of the glasswork I¡¯d made before burning through [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds]. I take immense satisfaction in the look of excitement on my new friend¡¯s face.

    ¡°All the way over here? You¡¯re sure?¡± Smoke asks, her voice thick with wonder and barely-concealed fear. She walks where I indicated, turning in slow circles. Abruptly, Smoke crouches down, scrabbling through the ash and dust from the core¡¯s explosion. ¡°My Skill is going off! There¡¯s something valuable here, all right.¡±

    Her fingers dig down, sweeping away a surprising amount of debris. With a triumphant shout, Smoke picks up a long, sweeping sword. She brushes off the ash, revealing a wide blade inlaid with a golden-colored cat mid-leap. The hilt bears a matching engraving.

    The cat is a rough sketch, since I¡¯m not an accomplished artist, but even from here I can tell that I hit my mark. It looks a bit like her, with angular lines built for speed and eyes that flash when they catch the light. Thanks to the transmutation, the weapon barely looks like glass, but I¡¯m still nervous about leaving it behind.

    I grunt at my stupidity. One more connection to Nuri, rather than Zebulun. Could you be any worse at sneaking?

    When she closes her calloused fingers over the engraved hilt, the sword lights up faintly. I start to call out a warning in case the weapon is unstable. I crammed in so much mana from the Rift that it¡¯s as likely to explode as anything else. I never got a chance to test if it¡¯s safe.

    My worry fades a moment later. Smoke swings the sword about in exploratory strokes, a grin on her face. Little ripples of light trail in the blade¡¯s wake. It¡¯s almost as quick as she is.

    She runs the fingers of her other hand down the mirror-like flat of the blade, tracing the elegant length of the sword. Her jaw works, and she inhales a long, shuddering breath. When she speaks, her voice is a husky, regretful thing. ¡°If I¡¯d had this before, maybe I could have killed those crabs. My mates would still be here. No one would have¡ªI could have¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± I say reflexively, but she throws me a biting look that tells me to shut up and stop acting like an idiot.

    ¡°I know that, Zeb,¡± Smoke spits out. Her heated words don¡¯t seem aimed at me, though. She whirls, dashing toward the edge of the clearing and stabbing her new mana-forged sword into the gnarled remains of a smoldering tree. The blade buries a hand¡¯s breadth deep into the charred wood as she lets out a wordless shout.

    A moment later she¡¯s back, still moving more quickly than seems humanly possible while under the effects of her Threshold Skill. She sniffs, wiping her nose with her forearm. ¡°Doesn¡¯t make me hurt any less.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. If I¡¯d gotten here sooner, maybe I could have done something. I was on the road for a long time. Maybe I dilly dallied too much,¡± I say softly.

    Smoke glowers at me. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare try to take this moment away from me, Zeb. Ain¡¯t all about you.¡±

    For some reason, her outrage makes me feel better. I chuckle, then almost immediately clutch my ribs with my right hand. ¡°Fair. Let¡¯s get out here so I can find a [Healer]. You can yell at me all you want when we¡¯re out of this place.¡±

    ¡°Ready when you are,¡± Smoke says with a sloppy salute. ¡°Gonna need to carry you out, huh? Don¡¯t look like you can walk too well.¡±

    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± I reply with bravado, pushing myself up to one knee. My legs give out as I try to stand up the rest of the way. I flop sideways as my vision swims. My head spins around like rising smoke from a furnace whipped about in a windstorm.

    I thud to the ground on my side. My world goes dark for a moment. When I wake, Smoke is gripping my shoulders, her eyes wide.

    ¡°Zeb! We gotta get out of here right now,¡± Smoke screams, her face contorted in panic. ¡°It¡¯s all falling down around us. There¡¯s no time to waste. I''m sorry for how much this is about to hurt you, but we don¡¯t have any choice!¡±

    My addled mind is still making sense of her words as she scoops me on her shoulders and takes off like a rock hurled from a catapult. Thunder booms around us. The little hairs on my arms stand on end.

    Some distant, rational part of my brain tells me that I should be in pain right now, but I¡¯m strangely numb. The bounding, desperate flight shakes me around, but all I can do is gurgle out quiet, choking laughter. There¡¯s no mirth in it. It tastes like despair.

    I can¡¯t feel anything, only the absence of something¡ªthe phantom fingers on my left hand, the ache deep inside where my prized Skills resided, the ashes of my hopes for the glass competition in Grand Ile. Was it worth it? I ask myself. I wish I could say for sure.

    My head bounces harshly to the side as Smoke runs and everything goes dark again. When I wake again, I don''t recognize the area we¡¯re stumbling through. I hope we¡¯re on the right path, but I¡¯m not going to stop Smoke¡¯s heroic sprint so that I can ask if she¡¯s got directions. If I remember correctly, she¡¯s a resourceful, clever woman; she¡¯ll figure it out.

    =+=

    Smoke¡¯s incredible running Skill runs out about five minutes later, less than a quarter of the way back to the opening of the Rift. She assures me that she knows the way, thanks to another Skill for thieves¡ª[Exit Plan: A Hundred Ways of Escape]. That knowledge is little comfort when she stumbles mid-step and jars every bone in my body.

    Stars flash across my vision as we stagger to a crawl. Somehow, Smoke keeps me from falling off her back as she catches her balance, but I smash my nose and mouth into the back of her skull. The sudden drop in speed hits me like an angry mule kicking me in the gut.

    ¡°Why are we walking? Aren¡¯t we supposed to be running?¡± I ask Smoke with my hoarse, rasping voice as I hold my nose. My words come out in a wheeze. I¡¯m not sure if she can even understand me at all. I can¡¯t form my words properly, my body wracked with painful coughs.

    ¡°Sorry, Zeb,¡± Smoke says as she shifts me to the ground. She rubs the back of her head, and I feel compelled to apologize in kind. She waves me off. ¡°Nah, none of that. My passenger, my responsibility. Now let¡¯s rig up a travois and get you out of here. I can¡¯t run with your weight on my back without my Skill.¡±

    Ah. Her Skill ran out. I narrow my eyes at her. ¡°You calling me fat?¡±

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m just not very big. While my Skill is running, it doesn¡¯t matter. Without it, I¡¯m only a little slip of a woman. I¡¯m built for speed, not for hauling a heavy load.¡±

    ¡°Just be glad you¡¯re carrying me now. You might say that I was, ah, a handful of pounds heavier a little while ago,¡± I quip, holding up my left arm. The dark humor is a breaker, a sandbar keeping the rising tide of panic at bay.

    Smoke snorts, then frowns at me. ¡°How can you joke about that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s either that or cry,¡± I reply softly, my voice cracking at the end. I cough, spit out a wad of phlegm, and put my arm down. I¡¯m not able to look at the melted flesh any longer. ¡°A friend of mine taught me that. No matter how bad things get, he has a good attitude. I haven¡¯t seen him in a while, and the way things are going, I¡¯m not sure when I¡¯ll see him again. I guess I feel closer to him by acting a bit more like him.¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    ¡°I like that,¡± Smoke says, grinning at me with her crooked smile. ¡°Might have to steal that idea. I¡¯ll honor my mates that passed in here by copying their best qualities. That way, a little bit of them will live on in me. Thanks, Zeb.¡±

    She hums to herself while she ties her cloak into a little sled to drag me on, since I¡¯m still too weak to walk. My words seem to have buoyed her up; I don¡¯t have the heart to tell Smoke that it¡¯s all an act. I¡¯m putting on a brave face, but inwardly I¡¯m falling apart. How am I supposed to work with glass with one hand? How am I ever supposed to use magic again? My inner being is torn to shreds, my channels seared apart.

    Grand Ile feels like an impossibly distant hope now. I can¡¯t win a glass competition with only one hand. I¡¯m not sure I can even enter it at this point, let alone make anything worthy of consideration by the judges. This stupid, desperate plan is already a failure, and I haven¡¯t even reached my destination yet.

    Overhead, the sky rumbles ominously. The atmosphere charges up, as though a lighting strike is imminent. Smoke¡¯s hair stands on end. The threat of violence breaks into my pity party, scaring me back into my senses. ¡°Gotta hurry, Smoke. We aren¡¯t gonna make it at this rate.¡±

    ¡°Doing the best I can,¡± she mutters, hastily tying a last knot in the length of rope she¡¯s using to rig the travois.

    I gave her a funny look when she first unwrapped the rope from where she kept it coiled around her waist, but she grinned and told me that no good thief is ever unprepared. Right now, I¡¯m grateful for her foresight. Without her, escape wouldn¡¯t have been possible. I¡¯d be dead.

    Smoke tests her knotwork, grunting as she pulls it all a bit tighter, and nods at me. ¡°Just keep it together, all right? I know it¡¯s hard, but we¡¯re almost out. Trust me.¡±

    I let out a weak laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t have much of a choice, do I? Either trust you or die.¡±

    ¡°Nope. Not much choice,¡± Smoke replies placidly, although her eyes narrow.

    We¡¯re passing through a small copse of trees, and a quick bit of bladework transforms a few nearby saplings into carrying poles. Her new sword slices the trees into rough-hewn staves, cut down to just the right size. She helps roll me into position on the back of the little travois she made out of her guard jacket and the poles. She lashes me in place.

    We set out again a moment later. Smoke doesn¡¯t complain about the weight, but I know she¡¯s got to be feeling the effort. Each step jostles my ribs, but I bite my tongue every time I¡¯m tempted to complain. I should be dead right now, but by some miracle, I¡¯m alive. Smoke is doing her best to keep me that way. A bit of discomfort is nothing compared to that.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to trust you, Smoke,¡± I murmur. ¡°I want you to know that. Sorry I¡¯m grumpy.¡±

    ¡°Suppose you¡¯ve got a right to be grumpy. Now hold on tight. This is gonna be a bumpy ride, Zeb. Nothing I can do about it.¡±

    She takes off running again, this time without the empowered speed of her Skill. We¡¯re skimming along faster than I can run, but my stomach still clenches up with fear as the ground starts to sizzle and fall apart in great, smoking patches. It¡¯s disconcerting, watching as the world itself collapses.

    ¡°The Rift is falling apart all around us. Hurry!¡± I urge her onward through clenched teeth. What I don¡¯t add, what hangs unspoken and heavy and ominous between us, is that I don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to make it. I won¡¯t poison her hope by saying it aloud, but I can tell she¡¯s tiring, no matter what I say to encourage her.

    ¡°I think I see something up ahead,¡± Smoke says suddenly. She slows down, slips off the harness, and falls back beside me. She drops to one knee, squinting into the distance for a brief moment. She growls and turns to me. ¡°If it¡¯s a monster, can you throw some magic at it?¡±

    Tears well up in the corners of my eyes before I can master my composure. I shake my head slightly at Smoke. A terrible light of comprehension dawns on her face. She takes my right hand in hers and squeezes. Words of encouragement will ring hollow, but in that moment of sharp, aching grief, simply having someone nearby inexplicably makes me feel better.

    She heaves a sigh of relief. ¡°Looks like people. Maybe they finally sent someone through to check up on us.¡± She squints, shading her eyes with her free hand against the garish glare of the chaotic, flickering light. The Rift is steadily degrading, disintegrating into pieces around us, torn apart now that it has no source of power to anchor it to this plane.

    Idly, part of me wonders if this is all I¡¯m good for. Breaking and entering, killing whichever creatures stand in my way, destroying whatever I find. Will I ever be able to leave it all behind? A part of me wants to run away, to get back to glass and do nothing but create. I don¡¯t want to tear down; I want to build up. I don¡¯t want to break things; I want to be caught up in artistry and skill. I want to earn an honest living and toil by the sweat of my brow.

    I shake off my morose thoughts. ¡°I want to see. Help me up?¡±

    Smoke leverages me up to a sitting position. Standing is too much, but I can lean against her for support and see what she sees. Half a dozen men pick their way forward through the broken landscape. They¡¯re moving cautiously, wearing thick leather aprons and helmed with iron. Each one carries a hammer as big as my leg slung over his or her back.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s a local mining crew,¡± Smoke says with a relieved chuckle. ¡°Bet they thought they could get rich harvesting rare metals and gems from the Rift before it collapsed. Joke¡¯s on them. They better turn around now or none of us are making it out.¡±

    ¡°Can you signal them?¡± I ask, struggling to crane my neck and peek over the edge of the makeshift travois. I want to look at the group of miners she¡¯s talking about, as though seeing the people with my own eyes will make them more real.

    Smoke jumps up and down, waving and shouting at the top of her lungs. They all duck down, turning toward us, and a few bring their hammers to bear. Moments later, they¡¯re running toward our position, their hammers returned to their work harnesses.

    ¡°They¡¯ve seen us! They¡¯re coming for us now! We¡¯re gonna get out of here, Zeb. We¡¯re gonna go home.¡±

    I wave weakly as they draw near, but they don¡¯t return the greeting. They¡¯re not [Warriors] or any sort of martial class based on what I can see, but they look tough and capable. They have to be, to dare delving into a Rift. That, or stupid.

    Each member of the team carries a tool, but now that they¡¯re closer, I realize that only half of them have hammers. Others have drills or massive tongs. Regardless, their industrial, magitech-reinforced equipment looks like it can pack a serious punch. Faint wisps of mana wafts off the scripted hammer heads and drill bits, although if I try to focus on it, I instantly get a blinding headache.

    Stop trying to look closer, you idiot. [Manasight] won¡¯t activate. Not now, maybe not ever.

    A short, barrel-chested man pushes his way to the front of the group. He nods at me, and pulls off his helmet to reveal a heavy jawline and thick, bushy black eyebrows. ¡°I¡¯m Captain Raya. [Miner]. I¡¯d say it¡¯s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but well. Given the circumstances, that feels like a lie, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Aye, captain,¡± a few of his team chorus in unison. They follow his lead and take off their helmets. Most of them are sporting wild, unkempt beards, except for a woman who stands off to the side with her arms crossed. The lot of them appear stocky and resolute.

    ¡°Can you help us, Captain Raya?¡± Smoke asks. ¡°We¡¯re in a bad way.¡±

    Raya grunts, but he nods his head. ¡°Found the others. Glad you made it. Terrible thing to lose an entire crew.¡±

    ¡°Terrible to lose anyone,¡± Smoke fires back.

    ¡°True. Let¡¯s get you outside while we still can. Looks like this place ain¡¯t for long.¡±

    I fall back against the travois and let out a small whimper of relief. It¡¯s over. And against all odds, we¡¯re somehow still alive. They close ranks around us. A half dozen pairs of hands reach out for me. They hoist me up onto their shoulders and begin to march.

    Weariness and gratitude crash over me like ocean waves. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

    =+=

    ¡°You made it,¡± Ash says, his usually melodious voice hoarse. Deep bags hang under his amber eyes. His gaze roves across my bandages, and he heaves a heavy sigh. ¡°They tell me you¡¯ll live, most likely.¡±

    ¡°World can¡¯t get rid of me yet,¡± I agree. ¡°You¡¯re stuck with me.¡±

    Ash eases himself into a chair next to my bed in the healing ward, his joints creaking on the way down. He lets out an enormous, exaggerated sigh. ¡°Well, I am ashamed to admit that I almost left without you, Zebulun. But friends don¡¯t abandon each other in their hour of need!¡±

    ¡°I thank you for your steadfast loyalty. It came in handy inside the Rift,¡± I say, wheezing with the effort as I turn to face him. I grunt, holding my still-healing ribs gingerly.

    ¡°Are you fit to travel?¡± Ash asks, his brows furrowing. He nods toward my bandages. ¡°I¡¯ll not have you dying under my watch. My boat¡¯s not equipped for a funeral.¡±

    ¡°Not to mention that I can¡¯t settle up our debt if I¡¯m dead. I¡¯m sure you kept a bill for the borrowed goods,¡± I say, grinning up at Ash from the hospital bed as I try to cover up my pain with a poor attempt at humor. My head is spinning, and every breath makes my ribcage scream in agony. I¡¯m slowly mending, or so the [Healer] told me, but it doesn¡¯t feel like it when I sit upright.

    Ash slaps me gently on the shoulder. ¡°Ha! I like the way you think. Rest assured, young friend: my gifts to you were freely given.¡±

    I nod gratefully, swaying slightly before leaning on his arm for support. Even sitting up in the bed is making me woozy. He frets over me like a mother hen, looping his big arm around my back and holding me steady as I get my bearings. With his help, I lie back down in the bed, but he gives me a look of concern.

    ¡°I need to see the [Healer] for a few more sessions,¡± I admit. ¡°I may not be able to travel for a week or two¡ªmaybe more¡ªif I remain on foot, and that may be pushing it already. Might be able to lie down on a boat a few days sooner, though. Are you still willing to take me down river if it means a delay?¡±

    ¡°After you saved everyone?¡± Ash asks, sounding a bit scandalized. ¡°You¡¯re the town hero. If I help you now, they¡¯ll remember it for years when I come back through town.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re making good sales thanks to my endorsement. Glad to be of service, Ash.¡± I wheeze with the effort of talking, and we lapse into affable silence.

    Ash rings the service bell at my bedside to summon an [Assistant Healer]. His big eyes twinkle with mischief. ¡°Naturally, my friend. You¡¯re a veritable gold mine.¡±

    =+=

    Three days of fitful convalescence pass in a daze. I drift in and out of uncomfortable sleep. My body is on the mend thanks to the [Healer], although there¡¯s nothing they can do for my hand. I don¡¯t know if even the Singing Azure Rod can regenerate missing limbs. By the second day I can shuffle back and forth along the length of my room in the hospital ward, and I should be back to normal within a few more days. My mind is far from at rest, however, and I still don¡¯t dare catalog the state of my Skills.

    Even trying to draw in ambient mana burns like drinking acid, although I know it will help me heal in the long run. I practice external mana manipulation for extremely short periods each day. My level of control has improved drastically for the few seconds I can stand to let the energy of the world incinerate my channels.

    Nonetheless, I need to get moving soon. I don¡¯t know exactly how I¡¯m going to overcome my current predicament, but I have to try. If I don¡¯t make it to Grand Ile in time for the competition, then this trek has all been for nothing.

    That¡¯s not strictly true, I admonish myself, shifting in my bed and glancing at the clock. I am on the schedule to leave in an hour, after one last checkup, and it feels like an eternity to wait in place. My legs feel sore from the constant sitting and lying down; I¡¯m anxious to move around again. But I¡¯ve learned patience over the last few days, so I take a deep breath, ignoring the faint twinge in my side, and close my eyes.

    ¡°It hasn¡¯t been for nothing,¡± I whisper to myself, anxious to prove the truth of those words. I¡¯ve grown since my prison break last month. I¡¯ve seen more of the world, made friends, learned new skills, and discovered fascinating new applications for Skills I already have. I will get them all back one day. I swear it.

    My fingers delicately trace the bruised ridges left from my previously-fractured ribs, and I chuckle softly. I¡¯ve also learned more about my limits than I care to admit. It¡¯s probably healthy for me to learn a little fear, however. No, this strange journey hasn¡¯t been for nothing, even if all my dreams and aspirations of becoming a [Master Glass Smith] end here. I have to remember that.

    The [Healer] performs one last check and declares me fit to leave. Physically, I¡¯m back on my feet and in decent shape, though my body is still tender. My mind and spirit are still wounded, but I¡¯ll work on them in time. For now, I have a boat to catch.

    I insist on walking down to the dock by myself. I¡¯m sore from the healing magic, and my tortured muscles feel like dirty, wrung-out dishwashing towels, but my stride never wavers. Ash is waiting for me, as ready to be on his way as I am. He can¡¯t afford to linger any longer, not if he wants to make a profit on his goods.

    My farewell to the townspeople is awkward. A small part of me wants to stay, basking in the adulation. I¡¯m a hero here. They love me. I could join the guard and work tricky cases with my new friend Smoke. Once my Skills heal up, I could make money on the side by traveling back to visit Vicario, Iriye, and Maire during my time off, creating glass works together.

    I sigh. It¡¯s a fine dream. But it¡¯s not the path for me.

    We climb aboard Ash¡¯s ship. I offer Smoke a regretful smile when it¡¯s time to leave. She barely meets my eyes, and I¡¯m not sure I blame her. She¡¯s just lost all her comrades, and now her newest friend is leaving, too. I¡¯m not really sure what to do to make things better, though.

    Then she darts up the gangplank and squeezes me tight in a crushing hug. ¡°Thanks for saving my life, Zeb. You¡¯re always welcome here.¡±

    I hug her back awkwardly, blushing. ¡°I¡¯ll never forget that run, not until the day I die. You¡¯re remarkable, Smoke.¡±

    ¡°Well, don¡¯t expect I¡¯m going to make a habit of carrying you around like a big baby,¡± she says, trying and failing to smile. The joy on her face is brittle, revealing the pain lurking beneath the surface. ¡°Besides, I ain¡¯t never gonna find anything that fast again.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure,¡± I say, forcing a chuckle to try to lighten the mood. ¡°Hey, if I ever make it rich, I¡¯ll bring you a pet peregrine falcon so you can rank up your Skill in style. You¡¯ll run so fast that you¡¯ll blow the doors right off the houses!¡±

    She hooks her arm through mine. ¡°Promise, Zeb?¡±

    ¡°I promise,¡± I say seriously, meeting her gaze.

    Smoke steps forward and plants a kiss on my cheek. Then she¡¯s gone in a flash, moving too quickly for me to see her face¡ªalthough for a brief moment I¡¯m sure I see tears sparkling on her cheeks.

    My heart skips a beat, and I almost go after her. She deserves a friend¡ªand she¡¯s been an anchor of comfort in my sea of distress the last few days. I¡¯ll be back, I promise myself. But for now, I set my jaw and march to the prow of Ash¡¯s barge, staring out across the water. I¡¯m starting to hate farewells.

    I turn my face downriver, pretending I can see Grand Ile in the distance. Eyes on the prize. I let out a long breath. It¡¯s time for me to prepare for the next chapter in my life. It¡¯s time to return to glass. Let others deal with the aftermath of the Rifts for now. Me? I¡¯m off to Grand Ile, bound for my next great adventure.

    End Book Two

 Retrospective: Ritathon, Rest, Recommendations, Reviews

    I''ll be back next week with a proper chapter. Never fear. :)

    Congrats to all the Writathon winners! Check out the list here, now with some options for sorting by genre and type: https://www.royalroad.com/blog/48/the-list-of-writathon-winners</a>

    Writing 55,555 in 5 weeks is tough for a variety of reasons. Individual days aren''t too bad. I can sit down and bang out a few thousand words if I''m in the mood and the kids are all otherwise occupied. Stringing them together, however? That''s taxing. I don''t think I''ll participate in the next one, although it''s a good way to bring visibility to the story. The mental strain and the time requirements -- both for me and for my family -- just isn''t worth the tradeoff. Rest and relaxation with my family is essential.

    I''ve done Writathon (and NaNoWriMo) a number of times, and while I always finish, it takes something out of me to do it. I''m an amateur, an enthusiast, a lover of spinning tales. I am not a professional. For me, writing is a fun side hobby that I do in my spare time, not a business venture, and I want to enjoy it for years to come. Risking burnout and bad storytelling by writing too quickly doesn''t help writers or readers. Let''s not go down that path! I have a lot of plans for this story now that I''ve developed proper notes, and I want to see it through to the very end. We have a long way to go. I''m excited to share the journey with you all.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    While I''m taking a few days to recuperate from Writathon, might I suggest two courses of action? First, check out some of the great stories on this site and elsewhere! I''m a huge fan of Wandering Inn, Forge of Destiny, Virtuous Sons, Peculiar Soul, Inheritors of Eschaton, Mother of Learning, Immovable Mage, Steamforged Sorcery, Super Minion, and many others. What are some of your favorites? Leave a comment below with a recommendation, preferably from a lesser-known writer. I realize I listed a lot of big names and popular stories, so let''s hear about great tales that aren''t in the mainstream.

    Second, if you haven''t already, how about kindly leaving a review? Ratings and reviews help others trust that the story is worth their time. In a sea of so many stories, why choose this one? Group think isn''t always right, but if a story has many good reviews, readers are more likely to give it a try than if it only has a few mediocre reviews. And, let''s be frank: the first few reviews that show up for Delicate as Glass are less than flattering, and I''m afraid it scares off potential readers.

    That said, many of their critiques are fair and understandable, and I appreciate that they took the time to write up their thoughts. I still plan to find some time over the summer to do a light rewrite of the opening half dozen chapters or so based on the feedback I''ve received, but I''d like to think the story has grown significantly since those days. I even have notes now. Whew!

    If you are going to review, I''ll listen. I''ll never claim this story is perfect, but I take your feedback extremely seriously. Thanks for all the support!

 Book Three Chapter One: Grand Ile

    Book Three

    Days on the water are an odd mix of serene and life-threatening. Floating downriver during gentle morning sunrises, serenaded by birdsong, is restorative in a way that I desperately need. My bruised body and tattered soul feel like I was dragged at breakneck speed behind a runaway cart across broken, jagged cobblestones, but the warmth of the sun and the rocking of the boat are slowly stitching me back together. The gentle movement of the current and the breathtaking scenery are a soothing balm.

    Yet the river never lets us forget who¡¯s in charge.

    Shooting through whitewater rapids is at once terrifying and exhilarating. My eyes grow wide with quiet wonder as I stare up ahead at a roaring drop. There¡¯s nothing quite like the feeling of the river lifting our boat up as though we¡¯ve been plucked from the water by the hand of a formidable giant. The rush of sheer power contained in the elemental forces of the river makes me shiver as we¡¯re swept along like a leaf, pinging off gigantic boulders that should split the hull in two.

    If not for the constant use of [Iron Prow], Ash¡¯s passive boat Skill to keep us intact, I¡¯m certain that we¡¯d have broken apart already from the whitewater abuse. I still chuckle nervously as we approach this next drop. I¡¯m glad that Ash told me about his Skill. Of course, he waited until after I threw up our second time bouncing through a jumble of rapids. Knowing that we¡¯re likely not in imminent danger doesn¡¯t help my stomach, though.

    Every judder and impact rattles my teeth as we hit the churn. A man and woman in the front of the boat, one starboard and the other port, expertly push us side to side with massive poles, leveraging us away from head on collisions. Ash¡¯s Skill is holding the boat together so far, but there¡¯s no sense tempting fate and slamming into a rock we can¡¯t survive. I can see the sense in that. Even so, it only makes me feel marginally safer.

    We pitch sideways again and I nearly lose my balance, clutching at the boat railing with a hand that¡¯s no longer there. The boat catches the current, lurching and bouncing through the roughest patch of rapids so far. I take a calculating look at the angry spray of white foam, the surging whirlpool off starboard, and the sharp, fang-toothed rocks all around, and dart back inside my cabin. I hunker down in my bunk, shamefaced that there¡¯s nothing I can do to help, and pray we reach Grand Ile in one piece. The timbers of the watercraft groan ominously around me, but we make it through.

    By the time the worst of the shaking stops, I¡¯m huddled in a puddle of my own sweat. My stomach lurches as I look at the sheets, twisted into a knot in my right fist. My heart hammers in my chest even though we¡¯re back in calm waters. It¡¯s safe to go back outside, but I am far from ready to show my face above deck.

    The stench of my own fear fills the room. I untangle myself from the soaked bed sheets, looking down with dismay. I¡¯ll have to wash out my bedding again¡ªthankfully, this time there¡¯s no vomit caked on the covers and thin sheets¡ªbut I don¡¯t want to listen to the teasing from the [River Workers], [Ferrymen], and [Navigator] on board.

    Their words are all meant in good fun, but I¡¯m more sensitive than usual after losing my hand in the Rift. My mates and I razzed each other harder in the hot shop. So why do I hate their jokes? I wonder if it¡¯s because in Ember¡¯s shop, I knew it was all part of being on a team. We were family.

    Here, I¡¯m just dead weight. In the way. A maimed, unstable, off kilter ¡°Mage.¡±

    I may be quickly adapting to my new body, but I¡¯m off balance emotionally. The Rift took something out of me, something vital. All my burgeoning sense of purpose. All my Skills. All my confidence. Burned away in an instant.

    Nearly an hour passes before I pull myself together. What would Tem say if he saw me like this? Well. Maybe he¡¯d understand. He¡¯s lost things in Rifts, too, I tell myself. The indulgent thought rattles around in my mind for a moment. Then I snort, force myself to get up from my huddled-up position on my narrow bunk, and shake my head. He still doesn¡¯t wallow, despite his loss. I shouldn¡¯t, either.

    By the time I talk myself into behaving like a well-adjusted adult, I¡¯ve missed the dinner bell. I clean up my face, compose myself, and shuffle back above deck, content to get in some painful mana practice before I find my own food for the night.

    At the first taste of the burning, liquid fire that sears through my channels, I hiss in pain and let go of the basic mana circulation pattern. I brush up against the wreckage of Skills in my inner space, checking for damage. Only [Heat Manipulation] is semi-cohesive still. I thread the faintest trace of mana I can into the skill. With a weak pulse of energy, it activates, creating a cold zone around me for a few seconds before I cut the connection as the pain mounts.

    Satisfied that I¡¯m making small but agonizing progress, I let go of further notions of practicing my Skills. I¡¯ll get there. It won¡¯t be today, but I¡¯m not giving up yet. Instead, I look around the deck to see if there¡¯s any place I fit in. Is there anything I can do with my time on the boat when I¡¯m not simply admiring the scenery? I want to get back to being useful.

    I mostly try to stay out of the way, avoiding the rigging and the pole work, the hustle and bustle of workers with purpose. They have achievable goals; I envy them.

    Ash is busy commanding his vessel, so I try not to bother him. He¡¯s gone out of way to make time for me before, particularly during the dinner hour. I¡¯ve missed the opportunity tonight, but usually he invites me to share a meal with the other officers. I appreciate that he¡¯s trying to help me fit in. I just wish that he didn¡¯t have to try at all.

    I find a sturdy coil of hempen rope as thick around as my wrist, plop myself on top of the makeshift seat, and lean back against the weathered wooden side of the main bridge. Back on placid waters, the gentle movement and pleasant warmth of the sun conspire to lull me to sleep. I wake just in time to admire another sunset.

    The sky¡¯s painted in brush strokes of cerulean and pink, vermillion and apricot. My eyes drink in the vibrant colors of creation, and I enjoy the warmth of the fading sun on my face. My sour mood evaporates like paint fumes on a sunny day. Lying on my back, my hand nestled behind my head, I come to a conclusion. I never want to travel by foot again. Watercraft are the most beautiful invention humanity has ever come up with.

    =+=

    A few languid days later, we finally approach our destination. Just after enjoying the sunrise, I¡¯m interrupted in the mess hall by the big [Barge Master], who bounds into the cramped quarters with a huge smile on his expressive face.

    ¡°Zebulun, you may want to come to the foredeck,¡± Ash rumbles in his musical baritone. ¡°Grand Ile is a sight every man should see once in his life. You only get one chance to make a first impression, and if you wait till we¡¯re through the lock system and back down to the ground level, then you won¡¯t get to see the full majesty of the jewel of the island valleys.¡±

    I leverage myself up from where I¡¯m sitting and follow up out of the main cabin and mess hall. My bones and muscles have regained a semblance of normality over the last few days of travel, but I still keep my pace sedate as I join Ash. I don''t quite trust my body not to dissolve into pain and weakness, although I know it''s largely just in my mind. The [Menders] have done their best. I''m healing. Well, other than my hand, which is a total loss.

    I amble up to the front of the barge to stand next to Ash. Dramatically, he turns in a slow circle and gestures with both hands, as though his wide wingspan can embrace the entire world. ¡°Zebulun! Behold Grand Ile in all its glory.¡±

    The jaded, pessimistic part of me thinks this world has no more wonders. Surely there are no more surprises left after I¡¯ve seen the inside of two Rifts¡ªand lived to tell about it. What else is there to see in life? Thankfully, that part of me is just plain dumb.

    Before us stretches serpentine waterways as far as the eye can see. The green-blue water glitters like cut diamonds in the noonday sun. Rice paddies adorn the nearby cliffs and slopes, working their way up the side of the hills. In my mind, I can just see giants walking up the rice paddies, using the terraces as shimmering stairways to reach the clouds. The thought brings a tentative smile to my lips.

    My soul is shot through with unexpected melancholy and longing at the sight. The surface of each field glimmers like polished stained glass in all the colors of the rainbow. It reminds me how much I miss working with my hands, miss the surge of pride when my creative vision coalesces into the delicate beauty of glass. I push aside the sour feelings, turning to smile tremulously at my friend Ash. He¡¯s still grinning at me, an expectant look on his face.

    ¡°It¡¯s gorgeous,¡± I breathe, my voice instinctively soft, as though speaking too loudly will disrupt the natural beauty of the place. My presence can only mar the perfection here, if the Rift is any indication of my impact. I scowl, shoving away the self deprecating intrusion to my good mood.

    ¡°Yes. They do their best to keep it that way for all eternity,¡± Ash replies with a wink.

    I frown. ¡°You¡¯re saying that this is an artificial garden on an unimaginable scale? How? That doesn¡¯t seem possible.¡±

    Ash shakes his head. ¡°What you see isn¡¯t fake. Not really. It¡¯s a preservation of an earlier time, however. Nature and humanity, working in concert to produce something even greater than the sum of its parts.¡±

    I study the canyon walls with new interest. Tendrils of dark-green ivy creep along the cliffs. Every so often, one of the vines appears far larger than its running mates, swelling into an oversized cable as thick as a tree trunk. When I squint, I can just make out the truss work that supports the plant life. Wherever a tangle of lesser vines converge into a monstrous mother-vine, as I decide to call it, pale pink flowers bloom in bell shapes.

    Overhead, the skies are filled with wheeling birds. They¡¯re reminiscent of seagulls, but several times larger and marked with dark, dappled spots. The crew occasionally tosses scraps of food up into the air for them to fight over; not a single crumb makes it back down. The birds are frighteningly fast and agile in their pursuit of food.

    A few more birds emerge from circular caves in the cliff side that on closer inspection are too uniform to occur naturally. Nonetheless, there is still an expensive beauty that feels authentic, no matter that it is a meticulously cultivated look.

    Up ahead the first lock gate looms, bone white and unmistakably inorganic. It is a scar across the land, an ugly admission that not even the great city of Grand Ile can tame the rugged wilderness. And beyond the locks, the city.

    We will take the lock system down to the plains. I am looking forward to the experience. Or, I was, until the fabled walls of the city of Grand Ile rise into view.

    If not for staring at it with my own eyes, I¡¯m not sure I could believe the awesome height of the soaring city walls. How can the polished white stone, veined through with golden streaks, support its own weight? If the walls were laid down on their side, I doubted I could sprint from the base to the top in under a minute. The sheer cost of enchanting all that¡ªwith a frown, I turn to Ash and voice my disappointed conclusion.

    ¡°It¡¯s an illusion array, isn¡¯t it,¡± I say bitterly.

    ¡°Ha! Can¡¯t pull one over on a [Mage] in training,¡± Ash replies, winking back at me.

    ¡°How much is real?¡± I ask quietly. ¡°Or is it all a farce?¡± This is the city I''ve pinned all my hopes upon?

    ¡°Half or so, best as I can tell,¡± Ash says. ¡°But does it matter? The city is incredible!¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    I want to argue, want to deny that something so obviously false could be as amazing as Ash thinks, but then I remember that my glass pieces aren¡¯t real, either. They¡¯re still beautiful. I don¡¯t know where the line lies between artful and artificial, but I suppose it is possible for deceptions to hit close to the truth. After all, isn¡¯t that what stories do? Fiction helps peel back the layers of reality, allowing us to see with fresh eyes; done properly, it unveils truths about us and our world that we wouldn¡¯t see otherwise.

    Satisfied that I¡¯ve settled the debate in my mind, I survey the growing flotilla around us. More and more boats join the river, sailing in from side channels and tributaries. The river widens until I can barely see from shoreline to shoreline, and I suppose it¡¯s more accurate to call our current environment a lake, not a river. Up ahead, everything narrows down again for the lock system. Ash commands the workers to slow the pace, keeping an eye on the other boats and barges to make sure that we don¡¯t suffer any unfortunate collisions. I¡¯ve never seen so many boats in one place, but the traffic is only growing more congested as we approach the first lock.

    I¡¯ve never gone through a lock. The concept is simple enough, but watching it in person is fascinating. The boats ahead of us enter on level water, the gates close behind them with a clang of finality, and the chamber is sealed. Seeing the boats re-emerge hundreds of feet lower seems like magic at work¡ªas far as I knew, most locks lower or raise boats by a few dozen feet at the most. Perhaps there is dimensional magic at play? I wonder to myself, since they¡¯re leaping past enormous swaths of land.

    I don¡¯t feel like asking Ash, however. There¡¯s no point in embarrassing myself by revealing my ignorance in front of him while his crew is still nearby. He knows about my current condition, but the others still think I¡¯m an upstanding mage, and he¡¯s been kind enough to allow them to persist in that delusion. I don¡¯t need the kind of questions that will accompany the truth. Let them think Zebulun is clever and competent.

    After what seems like an eternity, our turn in the queue arrives. We glide forward, propelled by the long, sturdy poles of the [River Workers]. A few other boats and barges take a position near us, which makes sense given the volume of traffic heading to Grand Ile. From my understanding, most locks are smaller affairs. They admit a single watercraft, and only change moderate levels. Nothing in Grand Ile is reserved or scaled back, however. They seem to think that if they don''t go as big and bombastic as possible, then it''s not worth doing.

    I chuckle to myself. A smaller, safer operation is simply not fit for their illustrious city. Their romantic sense of grandeur appeals to me, if I¡¯m honest. I like their style.

    The water drains quickly once the gates are sealed behind us, although I don''t feel any lurches or indications that we¡¯re moving. The process is smooth, but impressively efficient as we sink lower and lower. Within a quarter of an hour, we¡¯ve traveled several hundred feet down the mountain. The lock disgorges us into the next reach of level water.

    Throughout the descent through the locks, I¡¯ve stood in the prow of the boat, shoulder to shoulder with Ash so that I can take in the sights and sounds. Two locks later, when the gates open, they reveal the prize I¡¯ve been waiting to see with my own eyes: the gates of Grand Ile. I lean forward on the railing, drinking it all in. The splendor on display on the way down so far pales in comparison however when we finally catch a glimpse of the entryway into the magnificent city.

    Most city gates bar entrance from caravans and wagons, horseback and pedestrian traffic. Grand Ile, however, as the name implies, is a city on the water. As a multiple-island metropolis, Grand Ile admits ships, boats, barges and all sorts of other nautical craft directly through its front gates. The fabled gates are tightly woven links of spiked metal, imbued with enough mana that they glow faintly even to my dull and battered senses. I don¡¯t need a Skill to sense something miraculous.

    With the rasp of heavy chains, audible even from our vantage point three locks away, the ponderous gates retract into a massive portcullis. The first wave of traffic inches forward as [Ferrymen] and [River Workers] push long poles against the sides and bottoms of the canal, propelling themselves forward and into the city. The progress is slow and orderly, with regular pauses as officials board each ship to question the occupants and examine the manifest. My scalp tingles, prickling with a wash of heat as I anticipate the questions they¡¯ll have when they look at my papers.

    Four hours pass before the line ahead of us is through the city gates. Yet when our turn finally arrives, I find myself wishing that I had more time. My emotions are a jagged mess, a jumble of conflicting fears and hopes. If any of the guards have a Skill to sound the depths of my being, my anxiety will be laid bare before them. What if they don¡¯t buy my story? What if Vicario¡¯s friend made a mistake with the counterfeiting?

    ¡°Papers,¡± a sharply-dressed guard asks, thrusting out his hand. His immaculately trimmed, freshly-oiled mustache forms a thin curlicue underneath his long, aquiline nose. His curly, dusty-brown hair peeks out from under his bronze helm, and I get the sense that it is meticulously styled. He seems to enjoy the flash and circumstance of greeting people to Grand Isle, despite the affectation of boredom.

    I fumble in my vest pocket, reaching across to my left breast pocket with my right hand. It takes me a few tries to withdraw my papers, and I flush with furious embarrassment. I am still not used to getting by with only one hand¡ªand if simply presenting papers to a city guard is this difficult, then how do I expect to manipulate glass in the hot shop without any Skills to help? I shove away the discouraging thought, give the papers to the guard, and mumble a muffled apology with a dip of my head.

    The guard¡¯s eyes flicker back and forth, alight with what I suspect is a Skill-enforced inspection. After only a cursory glance, he bundles the papers back up and hands them to me with a thin smile. ¡°Long way from home, Zebulun. I have a great aunt who moved to a city near your town, though. Metolius, right? She was crazy! Full of stories when she came back, but not many are very believable. Hey! Come to think of it, is The Loathsome Fly still a hot bed of rabble-rousing ruckus?¡±

    Panic grips my heart. Just my luck someone has information about Metolius, a city clear on the other side of Densmore. He clearly knows more about it than I do. I¡¯m not good at thinking on my feet, but a sudden thought bails me out, and I laugh ruefully. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Sir. My father always told me nothing good comes from that kind of establishment, and for once in my life I was smart enough¡ªor lucky enough, maybe¡ªto listen to him.¡±

    The guard chuckles and slaps me on the shoulder. ¡°Probably the better choice. Why are you here, anyway? Long way to travel.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m hoping to participate in the glass-making competition. My master suggested a few closer cities, but I thought I¡¯d take this chance to see the world.¡±

    ¡°Indulge while you can,¡± the guard said, nodding sagely. ¡°Smart of you. Well, Zebulun, enjoy your stay in Grand Ile. Welcome to the most beautiful city in Densmore.¡±

    I share a chuckle with him, pocket my papers, and resume my place next to Ash while we slip inside the gates of Grand Ile. As the din of commerce and the riot of colors inside the city hit us, I almost collapse, sagging against the railing of the ship in overwhelming relief.

    This is it. We made it! The journey to Grand Ile is the hardest thing I¡¯ve ever done in my life. I¡¯ve learned far more than I ever dared to hope, and lost far more than I ever feared. But I¡¯m finally here. I only hope it was all worth it.

    =+=

    The next morning finds me cursing my ill luck in the Rift. I managed to dress myself just fine. But tying my hair back from my face with only one hand is more arduous than I anticipated. Maybe it was a poor idea to grow it out. My fingers are dexterous from years in the hot shop, but this is challenging in ways I¡¯ve never had to overcome before.

    I fumble with the narrow strip of brown leather for another few moments before I give up and throw it down on the bed in disgust. I¡¯ll have to find another way to wear my hair if this isn¡¯t working.

    I trudge downstairs, determined not to give in to the defeat. I¡¯ll figure something out. For now, I¡¯m grateful to simply be alive.

    The inn in which I¡¯m staying is nicer than the ones in the last few villages and cities, with big, copper baths in the rooms. At first, I felt a twinge of guilt about spending the last of my coins on luxurious accommodations before I had a chance to sell off the few valuables I salvaged from the Rift. That feeling is short-lived, however, as I figure that I¡¯ve earned a reprieve after the horrors of the last week.

    A few questions later, my hostess provides me with a ready-made map that points me toward a shopping district, with a list of recommended stores already printed on the back of the thin pamphlet. I take it with a slight nod of my head. ¡°Impressive level of professionalism around here. It¡¯s a welcome change from the road.¡±

    ¡°Free of charge, lad,¡± she replies with a pleasant smile that looks well-practiced over her many years. Another guest greets her, and she whisks away with a parting wave and a flourish.

    Back in civilization, I think as I watch her go about her work with enthusiasm and grace. Her gray curls and lined face say that she¡¯s easily old enough to be my mother, but her brisk step and sparkling eyes as she bustles around with more energy than I have makes her seem youthful. She¡¯s in charge of the inn, presiding with matriarchal dignity, but she¡¯s not stuffy or aloof. Somehow, she manages to seem friendly, helpful, and utterly above the petty problems of her guests. The unfriendliness of some of the proprietors I met during my travels fades like a far distant memory.

    Map in hand, I stride outside to explore the wide, gleaming streets of Grand Ile. Half the city is waterways, and I may need to hire one of the thousands of little boats people use to traverse the city. Thankfully, there are plenty of broad, cobblestone avenues and busy streets that won¡¯t take any money to traverse as I move from large island to island. I suppose it makes sense, since Grand Ile means big island, anyway.

    Once I find the right shop, then I¡¯ll be able to barter away my treasures from the Rift to earn enough coin for the entry fee. I also need to arrange for my own set of tools, as well as pick up some new clothes. And obtain a hair-tie solution that¡¯s workable with a single hand. I snort merrily at the stray thought. Priorities, Nuri!

    A night of sleep has done wonders for my previously dour mood. I whistle as I walk from shop to shop, chatting with vendors and admiring their wares. It feels good to be back in a civilized place. Even the lesser artisans in a city this grand put out impressive work. If I¡¯m honest, Ember¡¯s shop would probably blend in with all the others if transported here. We¡¯re solid workers, but we aren¡¯t special.

    I keep walking, lengthening my stride and challenging my healed muscles. It feels good to walk briskly and not have to turn around after a handful of steps; I haven¡¯t been able to truly stretch my legs while on the boat. The artisan district flies by, but I keep moving. I¡¯m not looking for a reputable workshop, however. I need a place where I can fence some goods, no questions asked. The last thing I need to do is answer awkward and pointed inquiries about where I sourced the valuables.

    My right hand reflexively digs into my inner pocket, which is hidden under several folds of fabric to ensure that pickpockets won¡¯t have an easy time relieving me of my wealth. I¡¯m sure Smoke would laugh at my naivete if she saw my meager preparations, but I¡¯m doing what I can to stay safe in the city. I turn the malformed mana crystals in my fingers, resisting the urge to draw from the fragments. I¡¯m still not sufficiently recovered to risk that kind of energy flow.

    I wish things were different. I wish I could come here under my own name, rather than an assumed identity. I wish I didn¡¯t have to sell off these precious mana crystals, since they would come in handy if I could still use my Skills. The extra energy source would be helpful to practice what I¡¯m almost certain is the first steps for proper mana imbuing. I sigh. I wish I still had my hard earned Skills. I wish I had my beast core, too. Why couldn¡¯t my life be easy for once?

    A fragrant floral scent fills the air. I follow my nose through the crafter''s quarters, and emerge into an open plaza packed with a sea of colors. Flowers of all sizes, shapes, and hues fill the wide open market. The array of choices is dizzying, but I enjoy seeing the creativity of each vendor¡¯s offering. This is a city that prizes beauty. Silaraon has markets, but aside from the occasional glassware or painting, we don''t have an entire marketplace dedicated to lavish displays of excess.

    I''m still in the wrong place, though, so I move on even though there''s something about the artful arrangements that tug at my heartstrings. I¡¯d give almost anything to have the kind of quiet, anonymous life that I did before. I can''t believe I spent so much time complaining and pining after having an adventure. I had no idea how good I had it! Right now, the simple pleasure of stopping to smell the flowers is a luxury I can''t afford. One more thing I wish had turned out differently.

    In the end, my map is only useful if I want to play the part of an upstanding citizen. I have to wander away from the brightly marked shopping centers, the respectable corridors of cafes, and the purveyors of curios and fine art. I wander farther from the central river¡ªthe lifeblood of Grand Ile¡ªand make my way toward the murky pockets of existence that invariably spring up in the shadows. I suspect I¡¯ll find them tucked away near the massive city walls.

    Half an hour later, I run into the first sign of decay and the breakdown of the social order. A kid half my age huddles in a doorway, peeking surreptitiously out to watch the passersby. I may be guilty of stereotyping, but he seems like the kind of kid who will know where to sell stolen goods, likely after he¡¯s the one to steal them.

    I slip a slender clipping of silver from my coin pouch, angling it so that it catches the light. The reflection flashes in the boy¡¯s direction. I pocket it again, wandering slowly and peering into the scattered shops in between the claustrophobic huddle of apartments. As I walk by, I give him a slight nod and keep moving.

    Five minutes later, he catches up to me while I¡¯m admiring a swirling, dark grey cloak in a heavily-chained display case. He says nothing, just standing near me, wide-eyed just like I am with appreciation for the fine craftsmanship.

    ¡°Good sneaking cloak,¡± I grunt, gesturing toward the case.

    The boy chuckles. ¡°You could use it. Pretty obvious.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± I say easily, agreeing with his assessment.

    He shuffles a step closer. ¡°Whatcha need?¡±

    I stroke my beard with my right hand, as though weighing whether I can trust him. ¡°Gotta sell some stuff. No questions. Can you take me?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll cost you,¡± he warns, giving me a hard glare.

    I flip the clipping of silver to him, still mostly focused on the cloak. I don¡¯t need it, but I want it. If I earn enough from offloading the few mana crystals I brought with me, then I vow to come back and buy it. I could use a style upgrade.

    The street kid gives me a gap-toothed smile, vanishing the clipping too quickly for me to follow. ¡°Eyy! Of course I can show you. We take good care of paying customers. Welcome to Grand Ile, my friend.¡±

 B3 C2: New City, New Problems

    ¡°I could get more money selling you my dirty toenail clippings!¡± I grumble, glaring back and forth between the handful of coins on the countertop and the proprietor of the pawn shop. I¡¯m deep in the bowels of the city, caught up in a heated argument over the worth of my mana crystals. The pawn shop is a dingy, cramped affair, but there¡¯s clearly a don¡¯t ask, don¡¯t tell policy as regards the origin of the goods.

    The [Cutthroat Swindler], as I¡¯m sure his class must be¡ªhow else could he stand to be such a bold, unapologetic thief?¡ªcrosses his arms and snorts at me. He stands there in his frayed overalls, with his greasy hair slicked back, utterly unperturbed by my outrage.

    ¡°I don¡¯t buy toenails, but in this case you might be right,¡± he says with an easy laugh. ¡°I¡¯ll bet they¡¯re less disfigured than those lumps of rock.¡±

    ¡°Mana crystals,¡± I correct him immediately.

    ¡°Pretty rocks,¡± he repeats, chuckling at me again. He pulls out a dirty rag and polishes the countertop, whistling tunelessly as he works. ¡°You ain¡¯t the type to get your hands on the real stuff. These are shiny, I¡¯ll give you that. I even feel a chunk of mana in them, but they¡¯re rough, so they¡¯re probably a ripoff of some kind. That said, they¡¯re not gonna fetch much. I¡¯m taking a loss offering you this much, and that¡¯s because I feel sorry for you.¡±

    ¡°Why? Because of my hand?¡± I demand indignantly, holding up my left arm. I¡¯m still new to my condition, but I¡¯ve already grown tired of the pitying looks and awkward conversations. I¡¯m not whole anymore, but I¡¯m not useless, either.

    He rolls his piggish eyes. ¡°Nah. Don¡¯t care about that. I mean that you¡¯re clearly new to Grand Ile, and you¡¯re in the wrong part of town. If Baryl didn¡¯t rescue you, then you¡¯d be dead in a gutter somewhere, the way you were strutting around with your money pouch and shiny rocks on full display.¡±

    I shift away from the counter to put some space between us in case he tries to jump me. My right hand clutches at my side, near my previously injured ribs, where I¡¯m hiding the money pouch under the folds of my robe. ¡°I see. I didn¡¯t realize I¡¯d hidden the pouch so poorly.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± he replies with a wink. ¡°Just took a stab in the dark. Thanks for proving my point for me, though. You¡¯re a fat plum ripe for the picking. Try to relax a bit. Blend in by acting like you belong. Hear me?¡±

    Despite his calm demeanor, I back up another step, widening my stance. I¡¯m not giving up the last of my coins without a fight. I glance around in case anyone tries to relieve me of my money. I probably can¡¯t rely on fending them off physically, but I¡¯ve recovered just enough mana in my leaking core to blast off a single burst of [Heat Manipulation]. It won¡¯t last long enough to deter a truly determined attacker, but the searing wave of heat will likely give me enough time to make my escape¡ªalthough activating my Skills in my current condition will hurt me almost as much as it will hurt them.

    ¡°Relax, stranger,¡± the proprietor says, laughing as he leans on the counter. ¡°I ain¡¯t a thief. I work with a few, sure, but clients are off limits. Always. That¡¯s the secret to staying in business. Everyone gets a fair shake here.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Then why are you lowballing me for the mana crystals?¡± I snap back, peeved at how quickly my naivete is getting me in trouble. I should have picked a less grungy shop. This place is disgusting.

    He shrugs his heavy, sloped shoulders. ¡°Ain¡¯t much of a market for stones of this quality, honestly. Those who can use them effectively can likely afford to buy higher quality crystals with standard sizes, shapes, and strengths. Those who can barely scrape together a few coins for your lumpy, shiny rocks? Well, they likely can¡¯t get the full effect from the mana in here. So why sell it to them?¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s that your problem?¡± I ask. ¡°Coin is coin, no?¡±

    For the first time, the man¡¯s friendly demeanor slips. ¡°When you don¡¯t have much money, parting with it doesn¡¯t come easily. I¡¯m not going to take someone¡¯s food away by conning them into a malformed mana stone. Besides, if it doesn¡¯t work the way they expect, then they grumble about it to their friends. Bad for business.¡±

    A terse, bitter laugh escapes before I can help it. ¡°How charitable of you to look out for your clients. And what if I need the money to put food on my table? Are you going to deny me? If you really want to show the goodness of your heart, then help me out.¡±

    He exhales sharply, running his hand through his hair. ¡°Look, I¡¯d need to get these to an [Appraiser] first. That costs money, especially if it¡¯s one who knows how to keep tightlipped. So, if the rocks check out, then maybe I can make my investment back. If they don¡¯t? Then we¡¯re both taking a step back.¡±

    ¡°Fine, that makes sense,¡± I concede reluctantly. ¡°What do we do next, then? If you want me to front the cost, well, I can¡¯t afford it right now.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect so,¡± he says wryly, although his gaze slides down to eye the slight bulge my money bag makes under my tunic.

    I lick my lips as I debate how much information I should divulge. ¡°Surely you could find a buyer who¡¯s more interested in the content of the crystals than their uniformity. What if I told you that the mana is from a lesser Rift? Think you could sell it to a collector?¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°Sure. But how are you going to verify that?¡±

    When I hesitate, he sighs and shakes his head. ¡°No need to answer. If you had that kind of veracity or connections, then you wouldn¡¯t be here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not lying,¡± I insist. ¡°I just need to keep this transaction quiet. I¡¯m willing to swear to it before a [Notary] or other functionary who can detect lies.¡±

    He drums his fingers on the shop¡¯s countertop. ¡°Discretion I can understand. I¡¯ll see what I can get sorted. If we¡¯re able to agree on a cut of the profits, and you check out with a [Notary] or [Adjudicator], then maybe I can offer you a deal more in line with standard mana crystals. It¡¯s not a lot given what they¡¯d be worth, but I¡¯ll have to go to great lengths to find an appropriate buyer. I might still take a loss.¡±

    ¡°I want better than the standard deal,¡± I say, bristling as I imagine my hard-earned money slipping away. ¡°These are collector¡¯s items! Show me anyone else selling souvenirs from a Rift. Not many have ever stepped foot in one.¡±

    ¡°Picked them up yourself whilst on vacation, did you?¡± the shop-keeper drawls with a sarcastic bite to his words.

    I clamp my jaw shut, not willing to give away more information than I already have. With an inward curse at my clumsiness, I survey the store again, checking again for any hostiles or listening ears. While Ash and his crew could vouch for my story, I¡¯d rather not get them involved in this transaction. The less they know about me, the better, just in case things go sideways.

    He rolls his eyes. ¡°Fine, be that way. You got a place I can reach you once I have things in order?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Rather not say. I¡¯ll sit on your bench and wait.¡±

    ¡°What, leave you in my shop unattended?¡± he snorts. ¡°I think not.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind standing in the street while you¡¯re busy,¡± I offer.

    ¡°Bad idea. Never know what might happen,¡± he says, leaning his elbows on the counter. ¡°You really aren¡¯t from around here.¡±

    ¡°I can look after myself,¡± I start to protest.

    ¡°Nah. Bodies are bad for business,¡± he says with a wink.

    ¡°Maybe Baryl can be my lookout? He seems to have a sharp eye.¡±

    The shopkeeper gathers up his dirty rag and stuffs it in the front breast pocket of his overalls. He gives me a considered look, then shakes his head. ¡°I must be going soft in my old age. Look, it won¡¯t be today. I have to send out some feelers, make sure it¡¯s doable. Come back tomorrow afternoon and we¡¯ll talk.¡±

    I grin, unable to help myself. The prospect of earning enough to pay for my entry fee is intoxicating. ¡°Now you¡¯re talking! Deal. But don¡¯t try to short me. I¡¯m not dumb enough to take clipped coins, regardless of what you think about my street savvy.¡±

    ¡°Sure mark of an out-of-towner,¡± he says, pulling out a small copper and spinning it on the countertop. ¡°See this? Perfect condition. That¡¯s because Grand Ile, the bastion of glorious marvels that it is, makes sure we can¡¯t clip or sweat an officially minted coin.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be that hard,¡± I say dubiously. ¡°Every material has its weak points.¡±

    ¡°Nah. Some bigshot in the local treasury has a Skill to ensure that coins aren¡¯t tampered with in any way. Trust me. I tried when I was a kid. We all did. Can¡¯t be done, not unless you¡¯re powerful enough that you¡¯re the kind of person to pay with favors, not money. We don¡¯t walk in those circles, eh?¡±

    ¡°So exchange them for foreign coins, then mess with those. Easy,¡± I reply with more contempt in my voice than I should.

    ¡°Genius. Why haven¡¯t I thought of that?¡± he says, slapping his big belly and letting out a deep guffaw. ¡°Nah, ain¡¯t worth the trouble. You know why? Because everyone who does trade around here knows that a Grand Ile coin is worth something. Using our own coin is a sign that we mean business.¡±

    I cross my arms. ¡°I don¡¯t know that I believe you. My inn didn¡¯t care about taking foreign coins. None of the shops I looked at today said anything about only taking Grand Ile currency, either. Doesn¡¯t seem like a big deal.¡±

    He sighs wearily, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as though imploring the heavens about the unfairness of having to deal with simpletons like me. ¡°It¡¯s about reputation. We could use inferior coin, could sell broken goods, could cut corners. But we don¡¯t. That¡¯s why people come back here. You hear me?¡±

    I nod slowly. ¡°Sounds like I picked a good shop. I look forward to talking with you again after you¡¯ve tracked down some leads. In the meantime, perhaps you could point me toward a glassworks studio. I have further business to attend to in town.¡±

    He clears his throat a few times, running his hand through his greasy hair as though he¡¯s trying to remember where to find one. ¡°Ah, I believe there¡¯s a glass place five or six streets over, on the river-side. I¡¯ll call Baryl and have him take you there, as long as you promise to tip the tyke so I don¡¯t hear him complain later. He¡¯s an entitled little chap. Gets annoying when he goes on and on.¡±

    ¡°Deal,¡± I chuckle. ¡°I look forward to doing further business with you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, and give me the smallest crystal so I can use it to convince my contacts,¡± he says as I make my way toward the door.

    I turn back, my eyes narrowing as we lock stares. ¡°That sounds like a good way to never see it again.¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°No rock, no deal.¡±

    ¡°Then give me an advance,¡± I say, my mind racing through options. ¡°That way we each hold some surety. Acceptable?¡±

    ¡°Fine. Fair¡¯s fair,¡± he grumbles at me after a pause. ¡°But if you¡¯re trying to pull a fast one, best not show your face again in this part of town, hear?¡±

    ¡°I aim to sell the mana crystals. All of them,¡± I say, stressing the word all so that he knows I mean it. I match his gaze, keeping my voice as steady and even as I can.

    One side of his lips twists up into a half-smile. ¡°Good. I like a man with conviction.¡±

    =+=

    Stolen story; please report.

    Baryl, the [Watchful Urchin]¡ªa Class I never even knew existed before today¡ªleads me to the first workshop on our list. He¡¯s full of questions about where I came from and why I want to work with glass since I don¡¯t even have two hands, but I keep tight-lipped after my interaction with the pawn shop owner. I don¡¯t want to give away vital details in an unguarded moment. He doesn¡¯t seem bothered by my reticence in the least, however, which in my mind makes him the perfect travel companion.

    A few twists and turns later, we cross a rickety bridge that spans a narrow channel of dark, sludge-like water. It smells suspiciously like the sewer. Baryl holds his nose dramatically, and I copy his exaggerated movement and expressions, earning a chortle of amusement. He motions for me to follow, guiding me to a ramshackle brick building with dark plumes of heavy, coiling smoke rising from its five chimneys.

    I square my shoulders and make my way inside to plead my case.

    ¡°Sorry, don¡¯t have time or money for another [Apprentice], ¡®specially one without a left hand,¡± the gruff old [Gaffer] says before I¡¯m even onto my second sentence. He leans to the side, hawks up a gob of phlegm into a glass spittoon, and shouts orders to his team.

    ¡°I am a full-fledged [Glassworker], not an [Apprentice],¡± I say, indignation creeping into my voice. What is it with people doubting me today? ¡°I want to pay you for studio time, not beg for a measly position! I¡¯ve put in many years in a hot shop already, thank you very much. I just want a place to practice while I¡¯m in town.¡±

    The [Gaffer]¡¯s face darkens. ¡°What, think you''re too good to learn anything in my shop, ya cripple? Get out of here!¡±

    I scowl and stomp out, not dignifying his abuse with an answer. Some people are too stupid to even bother reasoning with. His loss. I could put his shop on the map if I promote it after winning the competition, I fume to myself as I slam the door on the way outside.

    Left stubbornly unsaid, even in the privacy of my own mind, is the nagging doubt that I¡¯ll never work with glass again. How am I supposed to turn a rod or mold the glass with only one hand? Worse, how am I going to be competitive without any Skills? I¡¯m back to only my [Heat Manipulation], but I can barely use it without searing pain. It¡¯s not worth the tradeoff unless it¡¯s an emergency.

    ¡°Where to next, boss?¡± Baryl asks me, interrupting my pity party. He¡¯s looking up at me with his big, gap-toothed grin, and there¡¯s an impish excitement in his eyes that I find infectious. How am I supposed to mope around when this kid is counting on me for an adventure?

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that your expertise? I don¡¯t know my way around town,¡± I tease, elbowing him in the shoulder gently.

    ¡°Don¡¯t exactly shop for glass often. Can¡¯t eat it,¡± Baryl responds gravely.

    ¡°Wanna grab food before we check the next place?¡± I ask him, somehow managing to keep the heartbreak out of my voice. ¡°My treat.¡±

    When Baryl brightens at my suggestion, I gesture toward a stall farther down the street with a blue wisp of smoke curling up from a grill, and he dashes off with an announcement that he¡¯s going to look over their menu.

    I follow more slowly, wondering how he ended up in such dire straits. Grand Ile is one of the richest cities in the entire world. If crushing poverty exists here, then what hope do any of the other places in Densmore have? Were there places like this back in Silaraon? There must have been. I just never knew.

    I¡¯ve pasted a smile back on my face by the time I catch up. The vendor is casting Baryl a rather suspicious look, but he dissolves into unctuous politeness when I pull out a foreign coin and plop it down on his table. Unlike the pawn shop proprietor, he seems to have no qualms at the thought of using outside money.

    We each pick a spicy mixture of vegetables wrapped in a delicate, almost gauze-like leaf that¡¯s translucent. I have no idea what it is, but it¡¯s a convenient way to hold the food. Looking through the leaf wrapping at the red peppers and sauteed onions dripping in sauces reminds me of gazing through old, smoke-darkened glass. It¡¯s hazy and indistinct, but there¡¯s something wistful about the experience that reminds me of home.

    ¡°Got directions to the next glass studio?¡± I ask around a big, juicy bite. We maneuver our way through the crowd and sit on the edge of a fountain made from the characteristic Grand Ile white stone veined with gold. The aesthetic reminds me that we¡¯re back in a nicer part of town.

    I glance over at my young guide when I get no reply. Baryl¡¯s eyes close in bliss while he eats, a look of sheer contentment on his face. He doesn¡¯t answer me when I ask again.

    I let out a soft chuckle, and then take another bite and chew happily. I don¡¯t blame Baryl for ignoring me. The food is just that good.

    =+=

    ¡°You¡¯re wasting our time. Bother someone else,¡± the [Foreman] snaps, waving at me to get out of the hot shop before I can even show off my skills. He turns back to his project, clearly putting me out of sight and out of mind.

    I march out in a huff, crossing off the third glass shop of the afternoon. No one is willing to give me a chance. I¡¯m having a harder and harder time fighting off the feelings of depression and loneliness. My entire self-identity is coming loose, like peeling paint flaking off an old, worn down shed. There¡¯s a deep disconnect now between who I think I am, and who people perceive me to be.

    Baryl is waiting for me out front, his little face screwed up in distaste. He kicks a pebble, bouncing it off the side of the studio windows. ¡°They¡¯re mean. Let¡¯s find somewhere else.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the plan,¡± I mutter, studying the map I got from the hostess at the inn. All of the glass shops I¡¯ve visited so far are a bust, but maybe one of the curio shops won¡¯t dismiss me out of hand. No pun intended, I think as I groan internally at the bad joke.

    I¡¯m growing increasingly desperate to find a place to practice my glass making skills, although my confidence is waning with each rejection. What if they¡¯re all right? What if I can¡¯t work anymore without my left hand?

    ¡°I don¡¯t like Riversiders. They always look down on us Wallsiders,¡± Baryl says, scowling.

    I look up, startled by his outburst as I realize that I¡¯m not the only one frustrated by how the day is going.

    Baryl swings his arms around him, gesturing at the gleaming white buildings, the streets scoured clean by an army of [Street Sweepers], the immaculate gilt lettering on all the storefront signs. ¡°It¡¯s too perfect here. They act like we¡¯ll ruin it just by walking by.¡±

    ¡°They might be right. Have you seen that pawn shop owner¡¯s face?¡± I say, winking at my young accomplice.

    Baryl bursts out laughing. ¡°Ole Rizzi ain¡¯t exactly winning a beauty pageant, I¡¯ll give you that one! But I¡¯m a little charmer. Who could dislike me?¡±

    I tip an imaginary hat in Baryl¡¯s direction, earning a smirk from the lad. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine how anyone could dislike you. Oh, and I never caught Rizzi¡¯s name. Thanks.¡±

    Baryl gulps, his eyes darting around. ¡°Oops. He doesn¡¯t like to tell people his name until he¡¯s gotten to know ¡®em. Don¡¯t rat me out.¡±

    ¡°Not a word,¡± I say solemnly. I pause a moment to give Baryl time to calm himself. Then I tap the map with my stump. ¡°I think I¡¯ve got a lead. Ready for the next shop?¡±

    ¡°I still think we should have stayed over Wallside,¡± Baryl grumbles at me, but he looks at the souvenir shop on the map, nodding to himself as he recites the names of the streets under his breath. ¡°Yeah, I can get us there. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    He takes off trotting down the street without waiting for confirmation, weaving in and out of the passersby with practiced ease. I have to jog to keep up.

    I keep a close eye on his hands, but it doesn¡¯t seem like he¡¯s pickpocketing anyone as we rush along. Instantly, I feel guilty for doubting him. Just because he works as a lookout for the shops doesn¡¯t mean that he¡¯s crooked. Maybe I¡¯m more like the Riversiders than I realized. We suspect anyone who looks or acts out of place.

    Fifteen minutes later and half a dozen bridges later, we reach a quieter, more upscale neighborhood. While the previous market district is well kept with the veneer of luxury, this area doesn''t need to flaunt its wealth; even a newcomer like me can sense that we¡¯ve wandered into a special place.

    The difference between this area and the rest of Grand Ile is immediately apparent. The ubiquitous white stone is missing, replaced by tailored colors and designs that complement the rest of the city rather than competing against the prevalent white and gold theme. There¡¯s an undeniable quality to the materials and craftsmanship of the houses and shops here.

    We¡¯re surrounded by a tasteful proliferation of nature: short trees trimmed into fantastical shapes, flower beds that spell out privacy runes, and a maze of water channels that separate all of the homes and businesses from each other. Space is always at a premium in a city, but here they have all the land and streams they could ever ask for.

    ¡°I think we''re in the wrong place,¡± Baryl says, slowing down to walk next to me. He pulls his raggedy jacket closer around his frame, as though he¡¯s shielding himself from view. ¡°People don¡¯t make things around here. This isn¡¯t a crafting sector. They don¡¯t need the money.¡±

    ¡°Art doesn¡¯t require a commercial reward,¡± I say, ready to launch into a lecture about art for art¡¯s sake, but Baryl doesn¡¯t seem convinced.

    ¡°Rich people are weird. If I had this much money, I¡¯d sit in a hammock all day and sip on fancy drinks. Or boss around my servants. Or do nothing at all!¡±

    I chuckle at his fervent response. ¡°What if you get bored? Then what will you do?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t!¡± he insists. ¡°Or if I did, I¡¯d take a trip. Sail down the river and go wherever I wanna. No one could stop me, because I could do anything I want.¡±

    ¡°Even make glass?¡± I ask innocently.

    His eyes narrow, and he looks at me with disgust. ¡°Fine. You win this round.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take a victory lap later,¡± I say, ¡°but for now I think we¡¯ve reached our destination.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡± Baryl asks, scrunching up his face and glancing around. ¡°All I see are houses. Doesn¡¯t look like a workshop. Where¡¯s the smoke? The shouting, crabby old men?¡±

    I nod toward one of the smaller, cozier buildings we¡¯ve seen so far in this neighborhood. It¡¯s set apart, standing alone on an island in the middle of the channel. A wooden plank bridge, painted red, leads from the street we¡¯re standing on over to the private island.

    I stride across the bridge, my stomach twisting in knots. ¡°Come on, Baryl. Let¡¯s check out our last hope. Maybe our luck will finally turn.¡±

    No one answers my tentative knock on the front door, and I avoid looking at Baryl. If he¡¯s anything like most kids I know, he¡¯s just dying to burst out and say ¡®I told you so!¡¯ at the slightest glimpse that his doubt is vindicated.

    I knock again, louder this time, and a faint voice calls for us to enter. I depress the latch, hold the door open for Baryl to enter first, and step over the threshold with a mix of hope and trepidation warring in my chest. If this last option is no good, I¡¯m out of ideas.

    The first room inside the door is a lobby that¡¯s larger than I expected. Based on the humble exterior, I imagined we were about to enter someone¡¯s home. Instead, we¡¯re greeted by a spacious, open display room, dominated by a red brick wall. In front of the brick is a polished wooden butcher block, on which a variety of finely-crafted glass pieces are proudly on display. Even to my dulled mana senses, they fairly sing with power.

    Off to our left, down a short flight of three double-wide stairs, a single workbench and a furnace make up the hot shop. An elderly woman with pure white hair and dark, piercing eyes sits in front of the bench. A globe of molten glass takes shape in front of her as she turns her metal blowpipe.

    She reminds me of Melina with an extra half a century of laugh lines, not to mention more experience working with glass. That seems like an auspicious sign.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be with you in a moment, my dears. Feel free to peruse the glass wares. If it¡¯s on display, then it¡¯s available for sale,¡± she says cheerfully, although she never takes her eyes off her work. With swift, deft twists of her wrist, she turns the glass, blowing into a slender hose at the end of the rod to keep air flowing. She pauses briefly once or twice to shape the glass with her bare hands¡ªa telltale sign of [Heat Manipulation] at work.

    There¡¯s something nostalgic and soothing about watching glass work performed well; for her, it seems like a passion, not simply a job. Before I even realize it, I¡¯ve shuffled down the steps to stand nearby and watch more closely. She doesn¡¯t seem to mind my presence, so I keep a respectful distance and observe her technique.

    As the nearly-finished vessel takes its final shape, I pick up a fresh glass rod from a cart next to the bench and hand it to her. I risk a spike of pain to briefly channel [Heat Manipulation] and bring the rod up to a matching temperature with the rest of the glass. It fuses right away, so that she can create a join on the cold point and safely remove the delicate vase from where the glass is still connected to the metal blow pipe.

    She completes the work without comment, then points toward a kiln and hands me the blazing hot vase. I balance it on my jacket, ignoring the burn marks, and wring out the last few drops of mana from my cracked channels to keep a cold barrier between the vase and the skin of my right hand, although the temperature control isn¡¯t perfect as my Skill sputters.

    I hiss against the pain, but I don¡¯t dare drop her work. I carry it to the annealer quickly, put it in with another dozen pieces¡ªranging from intricate tableware to fanciful creatures like a flying horse¡ªand return to take up an [Assistant]¡¯s position at her workbench.

    She points toward a graphite paddle as she grabs two more colored rods and begins the process of melting them in her hands. I hand over the shaping tool, ready to assist if she needs me to do anything else. We fall into a comfortable rhythm, working together easily without much need for direction or conversation. Her style feels comfortable. Familiar.

    Like home.

    Baryl stares, wide-eyed, as I help her complete three more works of art. The last one is a crouching lion, caught mid-snarl as he¡¯s about to leap at his prey. Mana surges forth from the [Glass Smith]¡¯s hands, transforming the statue into something so lifelike that I almost swear I can hear the faint echoes of the lion roaring when I put it in the kiln to anneal.

    Finally finished with her work, she picks up a cane, pressing on it to help her stand to her feet. She stretches, knuckling her back, and beckons for Baryl to come closer. ¡°Well, lad, if you leave your mouth hanging open like that, you may as well fill it with sweets, hm?¡±

    He scurries down the steps, still staring at her in awe. It occurs to me that he¡¯s probably never seen a proper artisan at work before. With a big grin, Baryl accepts the offered handful of candies, popping them all into his mouth at once, as though he¡¯s afraid she¡¯ll change her mind.

    She turns to look at me with her steady, glimmering gaze. There are depths there, an inescapable heaviness that says she¡¯s seen far more of the world than I have. I don¡¯t feel judged by the weight of her implacable stare, however. I feel like she¡¯s simply waiting to find out more before she renders a verdict. ¡°What are you boys shopping for, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Could use some studio time to practice while I¡¯m in Grand Ile,¡± I say shyly. I take a deep breath, fumbling for the words of my rehearsed speech as a dozen ill-fated scenarios play out in my mind. What if she¡¯s not happy with the way I jumped in to assist her? What if I can¡¯t afford the rates she charges for the studio? What if¡ª

    ¡°Fine. Make yourself comfortable. I¡¯m going to take a long nap upstairs. I expect to see something good in the kiln when I wake up,¡± she says, shuffling out of the room.

    And just like that, I¡¯ve secured a studio space. Step one of my master plan is complete.

 B3 C3: Old School Glass

    ¡°Baryl, can you hand me that rod?¡± I ask, gesturing toward a spare metal blow pipe. I don¡¯t want to reuse my host¡¯s. The ubiquitous hot shop staple leans at an angle, resting up against a cart replete with tools of the trade. ¡°I¡¯m not used to working without my other hand anymore.¡±

    ¡°Nah. I¡¯m enjoying my sweets,¡± he replies around a mouthful of candy, shuffling back up the three wide steps to the showroom. With a satisfied sigh, he flops down on a cozy, padded chair nestled in the corner.

    I set down the slender glass rods in my hand, slip out a coin from my pouch, and wave it in his direction. ¡°I¡¯ll buy you dinner on the way back to Rizzi¡¯s.¡±

    His ears perk up, and he starts to rise from his overstuffed seat. Then he pauses, settles back in, and makes a show of tucking his hands under his head. ¡°You¡¯ll have to offer more than that. I¡¯m fed and comfortable for once.¡±

    ¡°How quickly you take to the life of luxury,¡± I tease him.

    Baryl waves me off, closing his eyes and chewing on his candy, so I turn my attention to finding a solution to my predicament. I¡¯ve spent my time worrying about finding a place where I can practice, but I never bothered to think about what I¡¯m going to make now that I have access to a hot shop again. I¡¯m not ready for complex work, but I don¡¯t want to waste time practicing just the basics, either.

    Inspiration strikes me then, and I pick up a pair of tongs, clamping them down to the top of the work bench. I rest the slender glass rod through the upright fork of the tongs so that I can turn it with only one hand, and retrieve a torch hooked up to a thin set of flexible hosing. I turn the natural gas on first and ignite the torch, then ease in the oxygen until I¡¯m happy with the color and heat of my flame.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m starting with lampwork,¡± I mutter to myself in embarrassment. ¡°Avelina would be so proud if she saw me now.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Baryl pipes up. He rolls over onto his stomach, crossways on the chair, his legs dangling off the side. He swallows the last of the candy, props up his chin in his hands, and lets out a satisfied sigh. Now that he has finished his treat, he adopts the default expression of young boys at rest: boredom.

    ¡°A talented friend of mine. We used to make glass together,¡± I say absently, surveying the array of tools and glass materials to find what I¡¯m looking for.

    ¡°Oooh, you like her!¡± Baryl replies, hopping off his chair to skip back down the steps. He waggles his eyebrows at me.

    I chuckle and wave him off with my left arm; my right hand is still turning the glass in the flame, melting it down and gathering it into a globe. ¡°She¡¯s as liable to burn you as she is to make you a beautiful glass trinket. So, uhh, no. I¡¯m not interested, ¡¯cause I¡¯m not crazy! But she¡¯s a good sort to have in your corner.¡±

    Baryl picks up a spare bit of glass, experimentally tapping it on the workbench. I snatch it away before he shatters glass across the floor and we have to clean up the mess. He sticks his tongue out at me. ¡°How come you ain¡¯t working with her anymore? Could have saved a lot of time if we didn¡¯t have to look around for a new shop. You two fight?¡±

    ¡°Too many questions, my young friend. It¡¯s not safe to tell you,¡± I say solemnly as I return to turning my glass rod.

    He backs off immediately, retreating into himself with a stricken, all-too-knowing look that makes me wince. Of course he¡¯s no stranger to dangerous knowledge and bad scenes. I almost feel bad about dredging up bad memories, but his trauma is his own. I¡¯m not the one responsible for his hard lot in life.

    ¡°Now! I¡¯m going to make some glass. You¡¯re welcome to watch, but don¡¯t interrupt, or I may lose my other hand,¡± I say with a wink, trying to inject some levity back into the suddenly heavy atmosphere.

    Baryl¡¯s eyes widen fractionally. He nods and takes a seat on the bottom step, subdued now that I¡¯ve reminded him that I¡¯m not safe to be around simply because I¡¯m nice to him. Maybe I can make it up to him later by making him something out of glass. Maybe an animal? I¡¯ll have to consider if I have time to add in an extra piece while I work.

    First you should see if you can still make anything at all. Baryl is a working associate, not a charity case. Don¡¯t lose sight of the big picture just because he reminds you of Ifran.

    My stern warning to myself rings in my mind, and I suppress a frustrated sigh. I have no idea how to work without a second hand. I¡¯ve made plenty of glass without Skills to fall back on in the past, so that doesn''t bother me, but getting used to a new workflow is challenging. I have to alternate as rapidly as I can between turning the glass with my right hand, then pinning the rod in place with my left forearm while I manipulate the glass with tools held in the grip of my right hand.

    It''s ungainly, but workable. I''m not sure I''m ready to try the larger blow pipe and a bigger glass piece yet, though. They may be completely out of my reach at the moment. That''s why I opted for lampworking as a test run. Besides, I still need a solution to tying up my hair, so a little glass toggle is probably a good choice for a simple, small scale test. If I can manage to create a small oblong shape, and punch two holes in it, then I''ll be able to thread the leather thong through it in a long loop. My plan is to put the leather thong over my head like a necklace, gather my hair with my right hand, and wind the trailing edge around my left limb. If everything works out, then I can pull the loop tight through the two holes of the glass toggle. I¡¯ll end up with a rough top knot.

    It certainly won''t be the most impressive piece of glass I''ve ever made, but I need a proof of concept. As I alternate between turning the rod, gathering the molten glass into a small globe, pinning it in place, and manipulating my creation with the tongs and reamer, I fall into a familiar rhythm. I hadn''t realized until just now how much I''ve missed making something with my own hands. Making my glass knife on the road feels like a distant memory¡ªsomeone else''s fever dream, twice removed.

    A little over five minutes later, I finish the piece and twist it free from its glass rod. I spend another minute turning it slowly in the flames and smoothing out any imperfections left over from my awkward manipulation. Working with only one hand after relying on both hands for so many years is frustrating, and I''m far slower than I''d like to be. Nonetheless, I''ve proven that making a piece of glass is not impossible. I''m slow, and I''m lacking finer manipulation and dexterity, but that just means I need to learn patience. There''s no sense getting upset about things completely outside of my control.

    Well, I could have chosen not to go into that rift. I''d already cleared out most of the monsters, and between Smoke, the [Demolitionist], and the [Miners], the townspeople probably would have been fine until the army got there. Not meddling was definitely within my control.

    I shake my head to clear out the negative thoughts. I made my choice. Harboring regrets is a luxury I can''t afford. What''s done is done; all that remains now is to find a path forward.

    My conviction firmly in my mind, I stride over to the kiln in the corner and pop in the little glass hairpiece toggle I made. I squint, catching sight of runes etched onto the outside, and smile as I recognize them. The annealing process is accelerated, and I¡¯ll be able to take the glass with me when I go back to the inn tonight.

    ¡°What''s that little thing for?¡± Baryl asks, his nose wrinkling up. ¡°I thought you were some fancy crafter. That looks boring, like something I could make."

    ¡°You certainly could," I say, nodding in his direction. "Are you interested in learning how? I''d be happy to show you a trick or two."

    ¡°Not a chance! I don''t want to jeopardize my good standing with my new dealer.¡± He winks at me and I realize he''s talking about all the sweets that he got.

    ¡°Ha! Dealer indeed. Very well, that''s probably a wise choice if you want more candy. Although, haven''t you ever heard the saying that it''s easier to ask forgiveness than permission?¡±

    ¡°Forgiveness doesn''t come easy to the folk I deal with,¡± Baryl says, a stormy expression flitting across his face.

    ¡°I don''t think she''ll mind if you help me,¡± I say, although I have no idea what the resident [Glass Smith] will or won''t care about. For all I know, she only let me work with glass because she''s bored. Letting a dirty street kid touch her expensive equipment might be a step too far.

    Once again, Baryl shakes his head vigorously at my offer to teach him. He sprawls out on the steps and fakes a mighty yawn. ¡°You go on and do your thing. I''ll watch and tell you what a bad job you did once you''re done.¡±

    ¡°At least you''re honest,¡± I reply with a chuckle

    I gather more equipment, letting my mind roam through possibilities of what I might want to create. Grand Ile is a study in opposites: vast man-made structures, gleaming white and gold in the sun; exotic animals and verdant wilderness surrounding the sophisticated metropolis; an endless stream of gold flows through Grand Ile¡¯s gates in river trade, yet, just like anywhere else, the shadow of the city hide pockets of misery and suffering.

    I shake my head ruefully. I''m not sure I¡¯m skilled enough to capture the essence of this city''s dichotomy and opulence, but perhaps I can commemorate it one element at a time.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Humming to myself, I rummage through the drawers and bins until I find the ingredients I''m looking for, grateful this glass shop has enough resources on tap to suit my every whim. If I had to make the glass from scratch, using some of the more expensive constituent parts, the price and time commitment might make this project untenable. Clear glass is easy enough to come by. I hope that she''s wealthy enough not to miss the golden colors that I select for the rest of my piece.

    Once I have everything arrayed in front of me, I take the golden-colored glass to the furnace. I haven''t regenerated anywhere near enough mana to use [Heat Manipulation] for this project, not to mention that the pain of sustaining it that long would be unbearable. I''m trying to strengthen the skill and feed it much-needed mana so that it recovers its previous condition, but it''s a slow, laborious process. I don''t have the willpower to grit my teeth and suffer through the pain day after day.

    I''ve been down that route before¡ªthat''s how I lost a hand.

    No more heroic acts, I remind myself. No more shortcuts, or skipping important steps. I''m going to rebuild my skills slowly, meticulously, and correctly this time.

    The glass grows elastic and pliable as I turn it in the flames of the furnace. Although I''m not relying on my Skill to change the temperature around me, years of experience have created some sort of harmonic resonance between me and heat. I have, at the very least, a semblance of a sense of how hot the glass is without even trying.

    Soon, it reaches a sufficient temperature for me to work the glass. I hook one end of the long, hollow metal pipe under my left shoulder, balancing it with my right hand while I walk back to my workbench with the ball of glowing glass.

    ¡°Ready for an amazing show?¡± I ask Baryl, projecting an air of confidence even though my hand is trembling.

    ¡°Anything will be a step up from your last attempt,¡± Baryl says, sticking out a tongue at me. Yet for all his teasing, he dutifully takes his spot on the steps and watches me with rapt attention, curious to see what I¡¯ve in mind.

    First, I blow through the pipe, using a flexible hose with a mouthpiece to force air along the length of the pipe and into the bulb of glass at the end. It¡¯s awkward, turning the blow pipe with one hand, but I manage to keep it steady enough to produce the size and shape I¡¯m after for this particular piece.

    As always, gravity is both friend and foe. If I move too slowly, the glass will droop down, or even flow like candle wax and splatter on the ground. If I tilt the metal rod at a right angle to the floor, however, then I elongate the bulb of hot glass, as long as I maintain the discipline of turning at a steady, even pace.

    The golden glass flows down toward the ground, stretching into a long, slender tube as I turn the rod to make the upright portion of the lampstand. Once I deem the glass is long enough, I turn it around a few degrees at a time, pressing the sides flat with the paddle six times, until I have a hexagon-shaped pillar at the end of the metal blow pipe.

    I use my heel to hook the nearby cart and pull it closer. There¡¯s a shelf protruding from the side with a large, flat plate of dense glass on it. Inscribed across the top is a familiar script that produces a soft current of air that prevents glass from falling on it, up to a certain weight. Without an assistant to catch the part I created, I need somewhere safe to detach the glass without worrying about it shattering on the hot shop floor.

    With a quick tap, I break the prepared glass at the join between the pipe and the tube I¡¯ve made. The glass plate catches it on a bed of air, cradling it from harm. I wheel it to the side and position another cart near my workbench so it¡¯s ready for the next transfer.

    My world shrinks down to the glass in my hand, the heat radiating in waves from the half open furnace, the rhythm of the shop. I make two more hexagonal lamp bodies, falling back on a lifetime of work to ensure that each of the three are an even match, with clean, strong lines, and set them aside for later.

    I switch to the clear glass, creating delicate glass bulbs shaped like a ball dahlia. Holding the hollow rod steady while I work with the shears, tongs, and paddles to create the right shape is a challenge, but I pinch the end of the blow pipe between my torso and left bicep, squeezing it in place to keep from jostling my work too much. Without [Heat Manipulation] at my constant beck and call, I have to run to the furnace more often than I¡¯d like, reheating the glass to working temperatures in the blazing, glorious light of the superheated fire.

    My body is aching by the time I finish the eighteenth flower, six for each base. My right arm is shaking, unused to bearing the brunt of all the work, and my muscles are screaming to take a break, but I refuse to give in. I wipe off the sweat of my brow, focusing on the task at hand, and return to the lampworking station.

    I smile wryly at the terminology I¡¯m using in my mind. Working with a blowtorch instead of an oil lamp means that this is flamework, yet Avelina conditioned me to still call it lampwork. She liked to reserve the term ¡°flamework¡± for her own projects, since only she could shoot a jet of pure flames from her fingertip. Other people relied on oil lamps and gas torches for their work; she commanded the flames directly.

    I take a deep breath, clear my mind, and begin the delicate, demanding work of creating the graceful arms of the lampstand. I¡¯m modeling them on tree branches, ending in calyxes and flowers, and that requires patience and a deft touch so that they won¡¯t break as I add more and more forks and projecting twigs and flowers. My mind is racing ten steps forward as I work on the current piece, designing each of the leaves. They need their own character and history. They tell a narrative of nature, in their own way.

    I spin the slender glass rods through the torch, lengthening them and narrowing them as I go, caught up in a creative fugue. I slice delicate cuts into the surface of the glass in odd patterns with the tip of a knife, trying to emulate the rough, random texture of bark. Whenever the lengths of glass seem just right, I apply a sharp twist with the metal shears to make a set of angles in the branches, hoping that they look natural and unsullied by human hands.

    I¡¯m getting lightheaded from the work, but I press on until I¡¯ve completed all eighteen of the branches. I finally allow myself to pause then, breathing heavily and drenched with sweat. I¡¯m not used to long hours in the hot shop without the shielding of [Heat Manipulation], and the blaze of the furnace behind me is harsh and oppressive. Nonetheless, I only stop long enough to chug cool water from a pitcher and set of cups sitting on a counter along the wall, and then get back to work to make bases for the stands.

    I¡¯ll opt for a broad, geometric base to hold them each up. The floor-level will look the most industrial and artificial. The farther up the lamps go, the more they transform, growing into trees and flowering bulbs. I¡¯m not sure yet how I¡¯ll light them, but that¡¯s a problem for later. Maybe I¡¯ll get someone to enchant them, rather than relying on oil.

    My search through the materials drawers pays off when I pull out a chunk of white glass. I grin, glad I still have some of the gold left over from creating the bodies of the lamps. I¡¯ll mix in thin threads of the golden glass after I create the heavy bases out of pure white. The white glass veined with gold glass will echo the walls of Grand Ile itself.

    At some point in the process, Baryl falls asleep, huddled up on the steps without a pillow under his head. His little face softens into contentment, and it occurs to me just how young and innocent he is. He shouldn¡¯t have to work with thieves and swindlers just to feed himself. Maybe I can send him to Vicario¡¯s, I wonder after a while, although I know it¡¯s a long shot. Still, he¡¯s only a child. He deserves better than this.

    I stretch my neck, groaning as a pounding headache wreaks havoc on my shoulders and neck and the sides of my head. I¡¯m not finished yet, however, so I keep working on the lamps. I¡¯m fighting off the temptation to follow Baryl¡¯s lead, and stretch out on the floor for a nap, but I can¡¯t stop until the glass is annealing. Forcing myself to continue, l use fire and pressure to connect the bases and the bodies, the branches and bulbs, until three completed lampstands as tall as I am are ready for the kiln.

    I step back with a grunt, admiring my work. The branches each twist and turn in organic, intricate shapes, like the slender twigs of blossoming almond trees. The flowers almost look real enough to smell. I nod slowly to myself in satisfaction. The upper branches are a good contrast to the heavy, industrial look of the bases.

    Now I have to figure out if they¡¯ll fit in the kiln, I think as I eye the equipment dubiously. This shop caters to smaller pieces of high quality. Maybe I¡¯ve overshot my mark and made the lamps too large? To my embarrassment, my panicked suspicion is soon confirmed. Despite my searching, I can¡¯t locate a larger annealer.

    The tap of a cane coming down the back stairs draws my attention. I wipe off the worst of the sweat on my face, straighten my clothes, and try to look presentable as the stately owner of the glass shop emerges from her nap.

    Her eyebrows creep up when she sees the massive lamps in the middle of the floor near my workbench. She gestures toward them with her cane. ¡°Problem, boy?¡±

    ¡°They, ah, don¡¯t seem to fit in the kiln for annealing,¡± I say, my face flushing hot.

    ¡°Then do it by hand,¡± she says in confusion, her brows knitting together. ¡°You¡¯re not new to the hot shop. I shouldn¡¯t have to tell you how to handle hot glass.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have the Skills,¡± I finally admit, breaking eye contact and staring at the floor.

    She waves her hand at me dismissively. ¡°Rubbish! I saw you using [Heat Manipulation] earlier. Surely even at your level, you can automate the Skill to regulate the temperature as those strange trees anneal. I rely on the advanced variant for all my larger work since they won¡¯t fit in the kiln. You¡¯re not new to the Skill, so get to it. There¡¯s work to be done!¡±

    ¡°I . . . I can¡¯t anymore. I used to be able to do it, but now I can¡¯t,¡± I say quietly. A wave of exhaustion and shame crashes over me as I force out the words through grit teeth. I lean against the workbench, sagging as my legs give out.

    ¡°You used to be able to use a Skill? What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± she demands, her voice sharpening as she stares at me. Then she sighs wearily. ¡°I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter. You¡¯re in my shop, using my resources, so I¡¯ll not have all the glass go to waste. I¡¯ll take care of these trees before you ruin them.¡±

    Mana spools out from her, ensconcing the lamps in an opaque matrix. Immediately, the temperature stabilizes as she guides the annealing process far more adroitly than I can. She¡¯s freestyling her control, as far as I can tell, not using a Skill as a crutch, and I¡¯m amazed at how precise and fast her process seems.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I croak, my throat dry and closed off with sudden emotion. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I can ever repay you, but I¡¯ll try. Er, forgive me, I don¡¯t even know your name.¡±

    She smacks her cane against the floor. ¡°Ha! That¡¯s why I like you, assuming you¡¯re telling the truth. I¡¯m Lady Evershed, a retiree and occasional dabbler in glass. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m N¡ªZebulun, a traveling craftsman,¡± I introduce myself, wincing internally at my near slip-up. I¡¯m still struggling to remember who I¡¯m supposed to be. It would be so much easier to simply be myself.

    ¡°Hmph! You really don¡¯t know who I am, do you? How delightful.¡± Lady Evershed¡¯s eyes crinkle as she gives me a dazzling smile. ¡°Why don¡¯t we settle in for a little evening snack and get to know each other better? I¡¯m sure your little waif friend pretending to be asleep on my stairs won¡¯t protest at the prospect of food.¡±

    Baryl sits up. He dips his head toward Lady Evershed sheepishly. ¡°I¡¯d be right pleased to eat something, your Ladyship.¡±

    Her laughter rings out, bright and sparkling. ¡°You look like you haven¡¯t eaten in weeks! I¡¯ll have to send you home with extra sweets. Now, as for you, Zebulun,¡± she says, turning to frown at me, ¡°don¡¯t think you¡¯re getting off easily. I¡¯ve given you glass, a studio, and the benefits of my Skills. In exchange, I believe you owe me a story.¡±

 B3 C4: Lady Evershed

    My mouth goes dry. I glance around the studio, searching for a way out, but there¡¯s no graceful way to sidestep the conversation. Clamming up now will look suspicious and ungrateful, but I¡¯m supposed to keep my head down and stay quiet, not shout out my past to the world. From the side, I watch as Baryl buries his face in his palm, shaking his curly head at my awkwardness.

    I open my mouth, hoping I can stumble through a satisfactory story, but my words falter in my throat, cut off by my nervous indecision. Explanations die on my lips even as I form them. I stare at Lady Evershed, stricken silent like a lamb led to the slaughter.

    My host crosses her arms. ¡°Don¡¯t spit it out all at once, Zebulun. Slow down before you choke on your own words.¡±

    Her sarcasm cuts through my growing panic, instantly putting me at ease. She¡¯s been exceptionally kind, which has me off balance, but sharp speech is more familiar territory. I crack a wan smile, and my heart stops sinking in my chest. I can do this. I can tell a safe version of my story. I owe her something; I''m just not sure how much to reveal.

    ¡°I don''t think Zebulun is the sharing type,¡± Baryl says with an exaggerated wink, further breaking the tension.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a [Bard] or a [Storyteller],¡± I mutter, hoping they¡¯ll take my panicked silence for embarrassment and not an attempt to obfuscate the truth.

    Lady Evershed waves over with a tray piled high with desserts in a graceful display of mana manipulation, and gestures for us to eat. Baryl squeals and snatches up a sweet roll, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know that there¡¯s much to tell, to be honest,¡± I say slowly, sorting out my words as I try to ignore the inelegant chewing noises from my young friend. ¡°I¡¯m just a [Glass Smith] who¡¯s run into an unfortunate situation, and I¡¯m trying to rebuild from the ground up.¡±

    Lady Evershed takes her time pouring me a steaming cup of tea. The little cups are on brand for Grand Ile¡ªbone white with gold enamel that matches the motif of the walls. She sinks back into her chair, sipping on her own tea and staring at me over the rim of her cup.

    I groan internally. She¡¯s not buying my act, and now I¡¯ve made things worse by acting so evasive. Entangling myself in her affairs without arranging payment first is not the smartest thing I''ve ever done. A bit late now for drawing up a contract. I try to cover my nervousness by eating a sweet roll, following Baryl¡¯s example. It¡¯s good, but not as good as Maire¡¯s baked goods.

    The longer Lady Evershed fixes me with her stare, the more I squirm. The silence hangs over my head like an [Executioner]¡¯s blade. I find myself fidgeting, consumed with the need to unburden myself before it¡¯s too late. Too late for what? The intrusive thought makes me suspicious that there¡¯s a Skill at work to make me talk. It¡¯s more delicate than the brute force approach the [Inquisitors] take, and harder to resist since I can¡¯t quite identify the vector of attack. It feels like a gentler sort of compulsion: the soft, smothering weight of expectations; silk and lace and pretty things; complex social rules, rather than a hammer to the face.

    ¡°Take it one step at a time,¡± Lady Evershed says. ¡°Where did you train?¡±

    ¡°Ryndl,¡± I answer, all my hours of practice with the backstory of my false identity finally paying off. My breathing calms, and the words come mechanically now. ¡°It¡¯s a little village outside of Metolius. Not much to do there, as you can probably imagine. Anyway, my master is more of a generalist crafter, but he encouraged me to pursue glass since I seem to have a modicum of talent for it.¡±

    ¡°Such modesty,¡± she says flatly, draining her cup of tea and refilling it from the pot. ¡°But Metolius is a long way off. How¡¯d you end up here?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s certainly been an eventful trip!¡± I chuckle softly, as though reliving strange memories. ¡°My master suggested that I ought to see the world of glass and gain some exposure to a variety of different techniques,¡± I supply, pleased at how smoothly I¡¯m filling in the details. This sort of thing doesn¡¯t come naturally to me, but I¡¯m getting better at deception with practice. Not sure if that¡¯s something to be proud of, in the end.

    ¡°Try the vanilla wafers. They¡¯re the best you¡¯ve ever had, I promise,¡± Lady Evershed says, nudging the tray laden with sweets closer to me. She takes her own advice, nibbling at one with a look of sheer contentment on her face.

    Her non-sequitur steals away what little, halting momentum I¡¯m building up. I fumble over my words, trying to regain the line of thought I¡¯d begun. To cover my discomfort, I bite into one of the wafers, my eyes widening at the rush of flavor and mana. It¡¯s gently restorative, not burning in my channels as badly as harvesting ambient energy.

    Lady Evershed smiles at me in a grandmotherly way. ¡°Good, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    I nod and stuff another wafer into my mouth, only now realizing how much I¡¯ve craved the feeling of handling mana without fear again. I¡¯ll buy out the entire shop¡¯s worth of wafers if I have to in order to get my fix. The sensation soon seeps away, however, since my channels can¡¯t contain the mana. The energy disperses through my body, wafting into the ether after a tantalizing taste of normalcy, and I let out a soft groan of despair.

    ¡°You had your Skills when you left home.¡± Lady Evershed¡¯s words are a statement of fact, not a question, and I nod again. She tilts her head toward my left arm, cradled in my lap. ¡°You still had your hand, as well?¡±

    I swallow the last bite of wafer and brush the crumbs off my lips. ¡°Yes. I was whole and hale, Ma¡¯am.¡±

    She scowls at me. ¡°Feh! Don¡¯t call me that! It makes me feel even older than I am. Lady Evershed will do.¡±

    ¡°I was just a normal boy when I left home,¡± I say, and that part rings true within my soul. If I¡¯d never met Tem, never dared to plumb the depths of mana and mystery with Ezio, I¡¯d still be a simple, boring man.

    ¡°And now?¡± Lady Evershed prompts me when I grow quiet.

    ¡°Now I¡¯m a cautious, broken man. Wiser, too, I¡¯d like to think,¡± I say, still afraid to say much more. I feel like a child standing in front of a sluice gate of damning information. Opening the gate is irrevocable; I can¡¯t very well make water flow backward once released. Words won¡¯t fly back into my mouth once said.

    ¡°Cautious? Because of mistakes, or because you¡¯re in trouble?¡± Lady Evershed asks me as calmly as if she¡¯s commenting on the weather.

    I hesitate for a split second before replying, but it¡¯s enough that she frowns and nods at me. ¡°I see. How likely is this trouble to reflect on my shop?¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Mistakes,¡± I squeak out, but she¡¯s clearly not convinced. After a moment¡¯s wavering, my shoulders slump. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ve gotten into some trouble. The less you know, the better. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll have any problems by proximity, though, if I¡¯m paying for studio time.¡±

    ¡°And this trouble, it¡¯s related to how you, ah, lost all your Skills?¡± Lady Evershed asks, balancing her teacup on the edge of the seat and leaning forward to look me in the eye.

    ¡°No, not at all,¡± I hasten to assure her. ¡°Please trust me on that front.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Let¡¯s say I believe you when you say that you won¡¯t implicate me if trouble catches up to you. It seems naive, but I¡¯ll entertain the notion. I still want to hear how you managed to make such a colossal mistake as this without killing yourself,¡± she says, pointing toward my left arm.

    ¡°I only recently lost my hand and scarred my channels. My skills are broken from trying to handle too much mana,¡± I exclaim in a rush. ¡°I¡¯m trying to relearn how to work with glass, but it¡¯s slow and awkward. I''m clunky now without the use of two hands.¡±

    Lady Evershed raises a single eyebrow. ¡°If this is clunky, then you could probably open your own glass shop if you manage to restore the use of your Skills. You¡¯re young but talented, no doubt about it.¡±

    ¡°My thanks for the compliment,¡± I say, inclining my head. ¡°I¡¯m flattered.¡±

    She taps her cane on the ground, frowning. ¡°The loss of your hand is relatively simple to overcome, but if you can¡¯t even sustain [Heat Manipulation] long enough to anneal your work, then you¡¯re in trouble. How will you maintain temperature instead of running back to the furnace every few minutes? What if you¡¯re low on supplies? You won¡¯t be able to substitute your [Heat Manipulation] for a torch or power through a crafting session. At your current pace, you¡¯ll never be able to take more than one or two big commissions per day. That¡¯s hardly a sustainable business model, whether in tiny Ryndl or the sprawling metropolis of Grand Ile.¡±

    ¡°I certainly can¡¯t argue with your assessment,¡± I admit. I sip my tea to wet my lips before I continue. ¡°I can''t manipulate or infuse my glass with mana anymore, either, which means that I can¡¯t invest any of my glass creations with higher order concepts.¡±

    ¡°Oh? You¡¯re dabbling with preliminary mana-imbuing concepts already? Impressive at your age,¡± Lady Evershed murmurs, looking at me as though seeing me with new eyes. Her gaze sharpens. ¡°With or without a dedicated Skill?¡±

    ¡°Without. I didn¡¯t have anyone to guide me, so I was trying to figure it out on my own. It¡¯s not as easy as it sounds,¡± I say defensively.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s certainly not,¡± she agrees with a wistful sigh.

    ¡°I, uh, I do have a plan to fix things,¡± I venture, but stop short when she snorts at me.

    ¡°Details are not your forte, are they? I¡¯ll allow you to skip over the interesting parts of your tale for now, but don''t think we won''t return to this discussion after you tell me about your plan. If I''m going to allow you to use my studio, then I need to know more about when, where, and how you lost your Skills. That rates among the rarest of afflictions, and in my experience, attempts to fix the body and soul almost never have a happy ending.¡±

    I cover up the stump of my left arm with my right hand, reflexively feeling defensive. ¡°No, no, I can tell you about the details first, such as they are. Ah, well, there¡¯s really not much to it. I got ambitious. Overly confident. As I said, I tried to rank up some of my glass-related Skills by forcibly feeding mana into them. I drew far too deeply for too long. The energy burned my hand off.¡± I force out a strained chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m just grateful that all I lost are my fingers, not my head or my heart. Those are harder to live without, or so I hear.¡±

    Baryl snorts in undignified laughter, and I decide that I like having him around. It¡¯s about time someone laughs at my desperate jokes.

    ¡°By the ivory walls, Zebulun, where exactly did you find that much mana?¡± Lady Evershed breathes out. ¡°I don''t think I could leech that much power from a manaship if I drained its entire mana crystal. The more you try to evade my questions, the more certain I am that you are hiding something.¡±

    I swallow hard, but meet her gaze defiantly. ¡°I¡¯d really rather not say. It''s something of a delicate matter.¡±

    ¡°So much for details. Young man, I assure you that I have no use for your secrets,¡± Lady Evershed says with a smirk. ¡°I¡¯m only looking to verify that you won''t compromise my shop if I let you work here.¡±

    ¡°I . . . I can pay you for studio time. I have raw mana crystals,¡± I blurt out.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Baryl shouts, sitting straight up. ¡°Don¡¯t try to cheat Rizzi out of his cut. He¡¯s not the type to forget.¡± His gaze slides away, not meeting me eye to eye as his voice grows quieter and more fragile. ¡°And neither am I.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to cheat you, Baryl. I¡¯ll pay Rizzi¡ªand you¡ªfor your time and efforts on my behalf. I appreciate all you¡¯ve done. I¡¯ll just let him know that I¡¯ve found a buyer.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t agreed to buy anything,¡± Lady Evershed points out mildly.

    ¡°You sold me studio time. That means I owe you. I don¡¯t have much coin, particularly not in the official Grand Ile currency, so I¡¯ll pay you with raw mana crystals that I condensed from the core of a Rift a few weeks ago. Channeling its power is how I lost my hand, since you insist on details. You can ask Captain Ash for verification. He¡¯s a [Bargemaster] who helped me fight off Crimson Crabs and gave me passage to Grand Ile,¡± I explain, rattling off my points as fast as I can in hopes that she won¡¯t be able to gain anything.

    Baryl stares at me, open-mouthed, a spattering of crumbs on his lips. He blinks a few times at my story, then whoops. ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡±

    Lady Evershed regards me more coolly. ¡°Your fingers disintegrated while channeling the raw power of a Rift? Remarkable tale. You are doing quite well to work with glass already after that mishap.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. I worked hard to rehab on the boat ride down,¡± I say.

    To her credit, Lady Evershed¡¯s voice never wavers, although we¡¯re discussing something so preposterous that if someone else told me the story, I¡¯d suggest they need to be committed to a mental asylum. Yet her face remains calm and composed. She pauses only to take a sip of her tea, not to deride me or react to my outrageous account. Still, it doesn¡¯t take a genius to sense the undercurrent of disbelief in the room.

    ¡°You do realize that your yarn raises more questions than it answers,¡± she says at length.

    I nod. ¡°I get it. I do. But I promise that I¡¯m telling the truth. I¡¯ll pay you for studio time and do my best not to make trouble.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to review the crystals with my [Appraiser] before I agree to such a trade. Luckily for you, I have a good one on retainer,¡± Lady Evershed says.

    ¡°Must be nice to be rich,¡± Baryl mutters, shooting Lady Evershed a dirty look.

    ¡°That¡¯s acceptable. Here, take this sliver of one to begin analysis. I have the rest back at my inn, locked away in the safe for, uh, safekeeping.¡±

    Baryl snickers again at my unintentional attempt at a pun. I glance at him, and he shuts his mouth, then snatches another sweet roll and drifts away from the conversation.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make arrangements,¡± Lady Evershed promises after taking the finger-long shard of mana crystal from me. ¡°But I think we have more to discuss. What brings you to Grand Ile, of all places? Surely you could have learned about the craft closer to home.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°I¡¯m just wandering. I came to Grand Ile looking to practice glass and prepare for the upcoming glass-making competition.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re here for the competition? Of course you are,¡± Lady Evershed says sharply. She puts her teacup down with a clatter, her friendly demeanor evaporating like morning mist.

    ¡°Uh, yes? I traveled here in hopes of competing in the glass competition. That¡¯s the whole reason why I headed to Grand Ile in the first place,¡± I say, which is mostly truthful. I scratch at the back of my head awkwardly as her gaze grows ever stormier, and finally clear my throat. ¡°Have I upset you somehow? My apologies, I feel like I¡¯m lacking context.¡±

    ¡°You will swear on your life, before a [Notary] and [Investigator] that you didn¡¯t know who I am before charming your way into my shop and compromising the integrity of our competition,¡± Lady Evershed replies, her words clipped and forcible. She¡¯s simmering like a pot on the stove, on the verge of boiling over. ¡°Otherwise, you¡¯ll never set foot in my studio again. You¡¯ll spend the rest of your days rotting in prison for fraud. I swear it by the ivory walls.¡±

 B3 C5: Serendipity?

    You¡¯ll spend the rest of your days rotting in prison for fraud. Lady Evershed¡¯s words rattle about in my skull, echoing again and again. I groan internally. And things had been going so well.

    ¡°Fraud?¡± My brow furrows and my heartbeat speeds up at her accusation. I glance around the hot shop as though I¡¯ll be able to discover some clues to figure out what I''ve missed, but I¡¯m still confused. Where did I go wrong? I give up and shrug helplessly at our host, shaking my head in disbelief at my rotten luck. ¡°Lady Evershed, it appears you have me at a disadvantage. I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know what you''re talking about.¡±

    She stares at me, unblinking, her eyes like dark pools of icy water. ¡°You''ll swear before any official I demand that you don''t know who I am?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I insist, willing her to believe me. ¡°As I said, I¡¯ve never even heard of you before I got here. I''ve wandered around town all day, visiting glass shops and looking for someone who would let me have some studio time. Everyone turned me down so far. You were simply the last shop on the list, because I thought your studio would be too fancy and expensive, so I tried more mundane shops first.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure which offends me more: that you claim you don¡¯t know who I am, or that my shop was last on your list,¡± Lady Evershed says with an exasperated sigh.

    I wince. ¡°You were the only one kind enough to offer me use of your space¡ªand now I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯ve offended you without even knowing why.¡±

    Lady Evershed lets out a short, bitter chuckle. ¡°Young man, I¡¯m one of the judges of the glass competition. Which means we''re at an impasse.¡±

    ¡°A . . . judge?¡± I repeat dumbly, still not quite comprehending what this means for me.

    Annoyance glitters in Lady Evershed¡¯s gaze. ¡°Zebulun, listen to me carefully. Either you must withdraw from the competition, or I must recuse myself from judging. You have about five minutes to convince me why that¡¯s in my best interest, or else I¡¯m kicking you out of my shop and barring you from participating in the competition if it¡¯s the last thing I do. Swear to me that you had no designs on compromising the competition or gaining an untoward advantage.¡±

    Her outrage suddenly makes sense to me. My heart hammers in my chest. ¡°You think I''m trying to rig the competition? That¡¯s preposterous!¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be the first time,¡± Lady Evershed snaps. She taps her cane on the floor in a quick, staccato beat. ¡°I should have known better than to let a stranger work in my shop. An oversight on my part. You¡¯re jeopardizing my integrity if you enter the competition.¡±

    My mind leaps back to my conversation with Ezio and Rakesh before I left Silaraon, and my lips twist into a bitter smile. Somehow, this feels like cosmic justice for their assertion that we''re going to cheat our way to victory. I groan and rub my forehead with the fingertips of my right hand, a headache building as I consider the inconvenience this will cause me. ¡°I promise I just want to practice before the competition. I''m not trying to rig anything or scam you.¡±

    Lady Evershed gazes at me imperiously, her gaze drifting down my arm and resting on my burned-off hand. ¡°You seem to have probable cause.¡±

    ¡°Ugh, you''ve got me there,¡± I admit. I let out a snort of laughter. This is all so ridiculous that I don''t know what else to do. I pick up the tea cup in front of me, turning it in my hand as I examine the delicate filigree, admiring the way the light catches the gold. ¡°I see how this must look from your perspective, but I swear to you that we¡¯re simply the victim of happenstance. You and I are both afflicted.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. So you mentioned. You searched all day in the hot sun, your heart sinking as you realized no one wanted you. You checked for a glass studio that would take you in, but none of the others were remotely interested. My studio was the last on the list¡ªyour final, desperate hope. What terrible misfortune! What a turn of good luck! Seems like a tale designed to tug on the heart strings,¡± she points out.

    ¡°I can¡¯t deny how it looks, but I''m happy to swear to whatever you ask before an official.¡± My voice hardens, and I start to pace. ¡°What I cannot do, under any circumstance, is withdraw. This competition is all I have left. You¡¯ll have to step down.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not! I will not give up the prestige of presiding over such an august assembly of artisans,¡± Lady Evershed cracks back, her voice just as unyielding as mine, although she seems far more relaxed about the entire thing. It occurs to me that she has considerably more practice at showdowns than I do.

    She holds out her cane, barring my path so I¡¯ll stop pacing, and nods toward my seat. As soon as I sit down, she continues speaking. ¡°I have been involved in the planning and preparatory work for this competition for over a year. Why should your desperation invalidate my legitimacy? I¡¯m not backing off simply because you¡¯re down on your luck.¡±

    ¡°Who says that desperation drives me?¡± I challenge her, glaring at Lady Evershed with a growing sense of indignation. Something inside me snaps at the injustice of it all. I¡¯ve worked hard to get here, risking life and limb to reach Grand Ile, and I¡¯m tired of feeling like I don¡¯t have what it takes. ¡°I have a plan. I¡¯m going to win this whole shattered competition.¡±

    Lady Evershed scoffs. ¡°Not if word gets out that you¡¯ve been working with one of the judges on the side, you won¡¯t. You¡¯ll be disqualified before you even set foot in the hot shop.¡±

    ¡°Then keep it a secret,¡± Baryl says sagely, edging back into the conversation. ¡°We¡¯ll slip out and you can pretend that you never saw us. It¡¯s not like you actually need the money for Zebulun¡¯s studio time. You¡¯re the richest person I¡¯ve ever met!¡±

    I gesture at Baryl, hoping to shush him; he pointedly ignores me. I try to catch his eye and shake my head, but he turns back to the snack platter, stuffing the last sweet roll into his mouth.

    ¡°Ordinarily, I¡¯d agree with you that we could simply sweep this all under the rug and just pretend we never met. Unfortunately for you, as one of the highest-profile judges, I¡¯ll be subject to audits and truth-spells,¡± Lady Evershed says.

    ¡°To be blunt, that¡¯s your problem,¡± I say, seething at the familiar strictures of misfortune. ¡°I¡¯m not going to withdraw. I¡¯ll happily submit to the same truth-spells that you do and tell them that our meeting was simply an accident. With respect, Lady Evershed, you can¡¯t stop me from pursuing this path.¡±

    She leans her cane against the arm of her chair and folds her hands in her lap, peering at me again as though sizing me up. ¡°Resolute, are you?¡±

    I grit my teeth and nod in confirmation, meeting her icy gaze even though I want to squirm and look away. ¡°I¡¯m in this to the end. You can¡¯t scare me off so easily.¡±

    To my surprise, she chuckles. ¡°Very well. I do like a man with conviction.¡± She taps her chin with a gnarled forefinger. ¡°Perhaps we¡¯re thinking about this the wrong way. Perhaps we can help each other out after all.¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Oh? What do you have in mind?¡± My mind whirls through possibilities, caught off guard by her change of heart. I can¡¯t seem to keep a slight edge out of my voice, though, bitter at how often I run into dead ends. I take a deep breath, force my defensive posture to relax, and extend a peace offering. ¡°I¡¯m amenable to any equitable solution you propose, as long as there¡¯s a way for me to continue working with glass.¡±

    ¡°I daresay you are amenable,¡± Lady Evershed says dryly, ¡°seeing as you have no other real option. Not in my city. Listen, the only way I¡¯ll consent to withdraw from judging is if I receive some compensation.¡±

    ¡°You want a bribe?¡± Baryl pipes up. He snickers. ¡°I guess rich people like money as much as poor people. But how is that gonna help you get around the [Auditors]? Besides, you already said you¡¯re charging Zebulun for studio time!¡±

    ¡°Not all compensation comes in the form of money,¡± Lady Evershed explains, an overly patient, saccharine tone to her words that makes Baryl bristle. She turns to me and clears her throat. ¡°Zebulun, I¡¯m willing to recuse myself if you declare me as your primary sponsor and new master. You¡¯ll renounce ties to your old studio in Ryndl and enter the glass competition under the Evershed name, instead. Deal?¡±

    ¡°Hm. What do you get out of that?¡± I ask, suspicious of her sudden shift. There must be something in this arrangement for her if she¡¯s willing to forgo her position. I¡¯m not familiar with any rewards for the sponsors¡ªin fact, I didn¡¯t even know that there were sponsors at all for the competition¡ªbut she seems to think it¡¯s worthwhile.

    Lady Evershed smiles thinly. ¡°Call it a vice of vanity. You¡¯ve got talent, I¡¯ll give you that. But you¡¯re still unrefined. Under my tutelage, you might stand a chance at winning. Might.¡±

    ¡°Even without my Skills?¡± I ask, bitterness creeping into my words. I thought I was long past worrying about not having Skills, but my injuries have sent me crashing and tumbling back down to the start of the mountain I¡¯ve been climbing.

    ¡°Particularly without your Skills. Do you know how much it will do for my reputation if one of my students can win only using the fundamentals of glass? I¡¯ll be hailed as a genius!¡± Lady Evershed crows, a brief burst of fire sparking in her eyes before wisping away.

    I take another sip of the tea, focusing on the flavor and not meeting her eyes. I need something to cover my reflexive response, which is to raise a single eyebrow in an obviously dubious reaction. The sarcasm usually made my friends back at the studio laugh, but here my cheekiness probably won¡¯t go over well.

    I finish the cup, set it down, and gather my thoughts. A detail she mentioned when we first introduced ourselves is still niggling at the back of my mind. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you¡¯re retired? Why would you need more prestige or fame?¡±

    A sly smile parts her lips, but she doesn¡¯t give me a straight answer. ¡°My pride is always worth something to me.¡±

    ¡°I suppose everyone values things differently,¡± I allow, unsure what she¡¯s getting at. There is more to the story that I¡¯m missing, I just know it. ¡°Still, pride must be important to you.¡±

    ¡°More than you know,¡± Lady Evershed murmurs, looking more and more pleased with herself the longer our conversation goes on. She¡¯s beaming at me like a [Farmer] eyeing her prize bull and counting up the coins she¡¯ll win at the harvest faire.

    I shift in my seat, more uneasy than ever. The sharp reversal in her attitude toward me makes me suspect that she wanted this outcome all along, and she¡¯s just played me for a fool. I sigh. Letting go of judging so quickly strikes me as odd, if it really meant as much to her as she indicated initially.

    ¡°What will this require of me, exactly?¡± I ask, still wary of her. I don¡¯t truly know anything about Lady Evershed, and although she¡¯s been kind to me so far, she seems crafty and driven. I don¡¯t think she would care about her reputation if she were a pushover or lacking intelligence. I have a sneaking suspicion that she will get more out of our arrangement than I will.

    Baryl hops off his perch on the steps. He brushes the last few stray crumbs from his shirt, sighs in contentment, and sidles toward the front door. ¡°I¡¯ll, uh, I¡¯ll leave you to hammer out the deal. In the meantime, I¡¯m gonna go tell Rizzi the news that we¡¯ve found a buyer for the mana crystals. As long as he gets a cut, Zebulun, there shouldn¡¯t be any hard feelings.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Baryl. I¡¯ll make sure you get your due,¡± I promise, grinning at my enterprising young guide. He¡¯s more than earned a reward for his efforts.

    ¡°You¡¯re a good sort, Zebulun. Nice doing business with you.¡± He salutes me, whistling as he walks away before we can change our minds. He pauses long enough to swipe a generous fistful of candy from the front desk, cackling as he pops one in his mouth and darts out the door.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you find that helpful child?¡± Lady Evershed asks me, gazing after him fondly. ¡°I like him. Resourceful little fellow. I could use a few like him to run messages for me.¡±

    ¡°He led me to a broker. He¡¯s been reliable so far,¡± I say, not willing to reveal much more. ¡°Now, about the business at hand. What do you need from me? I still haven¡¯t gotten an answer on that front, I¡¯ve noticed. Let¡¯s talk details. From my side, I expect daily studio access from now until the competition concludes, with at least one lesson every other day to help shore up weak areas or gaps. Is that acceptable to you?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± she says, snorting at me in derision. ¡°You need to learn to negotiate, young man. You¡¯re leaving an awful lot on the table.¡±

    ¡°I just assumed my new master would take care of me,¡± I retort, giving her a pointed look. ¡°Have I miscalculated? I¡¯d rather not work for someone who¡¯s not looking out for my well-being, although I¡¯m not sure I have much of a choice, to be painfully honest.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± Lady Evershed agrees readily. Her eyes flash with amusement at my frown. ¡°But you¡¯re smart enough to recognize that fact and pivot strategies, which speaks well for your adaptability. I think you and I will work well together, Zebulun.¡±

    I smile at the praise, but she cuts me off before I can open my mouth.

    ¡°Tell me, young man, do you play cards?¡±

    I blink, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. ¡°Sorry? I¡¯m not sure I follow you.¡±

    ¡°So much for the adaptability,¡± she quips, leaning back in her seat with a chortle.

    ¡°Ha, well, I can learn. I¡¯ve never been much for playing games on my off days, though. I prefer spending time with my friends and going on adventures.¡±

    ¡°Adventures. How¡¯s that working out for you?¡± Lady Evershed asks.

    I shrug, smiling at her sadly. ¡°Adventures are a bit of a coin toss.¡±

    She stands up with the help of her cane, gesturing for me to follow her toward the back room. ¡°Ah. Yes. Like the Rift where you lost your hand. Adventure! What a rush.¡±

    I ignore the barb, falling into step beside her. ¡°Where are we going? I thought we had to come to an arrangement,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯d like to know what I¡¯m getting myself into.¡±

    ¡°First, cards,¡± Lady Evershed insists. ¡°Besides, we are hashing out our agreement right now. Have some patience.¡±

    Trailing after her like a dog at its master¡¯s heels, I follow her into a cozy nook off the back of the hot shop. Green, pinstriped wallpaper and two golden wall sconces decorate the room. A polished wooden table with seating for four appears to be the only furnishing, however. At each seat, a deck of cards with fantastical artwork is stacked up, apparently ready for play.

    ¡°We¡¯ll work during the day, and you¡¯ll learn the rules of this game at night,¡± Lady Evershed declares, dictating rather than negotiating. ¡°It may look complicated, but you¡¯ll pick it up as we go. First, however, you need to understand that the winner isn¡¯t always the one with the best strategy or the strongest hand. The winner is often the one who takes advantage of the opportunities the other players create when they¡¯re overconfident.¡±

    ¡°I get it,¡± I say, waving about my stump. ¡°I¡¯m missing my left hand, so my ¡®hand¡¯ isn¡¯t as strong as the other participants. Very funny.¡±

    She purses her lips, not laughing or taking the bait. Instead, she fixes me with a piercing gaze until I¡¯m sweating under the silent pressure. Finally she sighs and taps on the table with the end of her cane. ¡°I¡¯ll ignore the ill manners and poor attempts at humor, as long as you show me that you understand the point. So? Do you understand?¡±

    I nod slowly, and endeavor to speak more softly. ¡°The others will underestimate me. They won¡¯t even consider me a true opponent. They¡¯ll clash with each other, trying to outdo each other stylistically, and they¡¯ll rely on their Skills to drive home the point that I¡¯m inferior. Meanwhile, we¡¯ll bide our time, build up my fundamentals so that I present a very different approach to glass work, and strike when the iron is hot.¡±

    Lady Evershed cracks a smile, breathing a sigh of relief as she feigns wiping sweat from her brow. ¡°Praise the ivory walls, you¡¯re not as stupid as you look. Welcome to the team!¡±

 B3 C6: Training and Tactics

    One of the greatest luxuries of acquiring a rich, well-connected teacher is that I no longer have to fend for myself at every turn. After Baryl left to inform Rizzi of the change of plans for selling the mana crystals, Lady Evershed told me not to worry about signing up or paying the entrance fee for the competition registration. She informed me that my time was better spent in the glass studio preparing for the challenge to come, so I listened to her counsel.

    Sure enough, she took care of everything. A Grand Ile [Runner] delivered a welcome packet and a receipt of confirmation for my entry before lunchtime the following day. I barely had a chance to celebrate, however, because I was sweating profusely in the hot shop. I pumped my fist in exultation, then resumed squinting through a huge magnifying glass at my project. I could see every mistake I made while crafting the tiniest suit of chainmail in the world out of miniature glass rings.

    Now, three days later, we¡¯re back in the glass studio after I have sorted out the payment with Rizzi and ensured that Baryl got his rather generous cut. Lady Evershed is fascinated by the mana crystals, although she¡¯s asking rather probing questions about the Rift that I¡¯d rather not answer. Other than that, she¡¯s returned to a far more relaxed and relatively friendly attitude around me.

    We¡¯re in the shop together again, working through another of Lady Evershed¡¯s tortuous training techniques. I look up from my work and smile thinly. Who knew that the sweet, little old lady had such a mean streak? At least I¡¯m back on her good side. All that took was me swearing before an [Auditor], an [Investigator], and an official Grand Ile public [Notary] that I was telling the truth about not trying to circumvent the contest¡¯s competitive integrity.

    They each seemed skeptical that I truly had no prior knowledge of Lady Evershed, which makes me wonder just how important she is. What have I gotten myself into? Nonetheless, their Skills all proved me out, so I¡¯m grateful for undergoing the grueling vetting process.

    ¡°Steady!¡± Lady Evershed commands, snapping my attention back to the present. ¡°If you draw the glass out too quickly, it''s going to crack on you. Stop thinking about how long it¡¯s taking and just do it right.¡±

    I nod in understanding, try to stifle a yawn, and end up failing to contain my exhaustion. My face stretches tight with the force of my yawn, squeezing a few drops of tears from the corners of my eyes. I don¡¯t dare wipe them away, though, nervous that I¡¯m going to mess up another layer of the cautiously drawn membrane of glass I¡¯m making.

    Lady Evershed has me working on a Grand Ile speciality glass technique: heat up a batch of glass in a narrow, rectangular pan, dip a metal pipe in lengthwise, and lift up slowly to draw out an ultra-thin, diaphanous sheet of transparent glass. The result is beautiful, but it¡¯s not easy to prevent tearing or distortion.

    The technique is difficult even with two hands, as I understand it. Balancing the hollow metal blowpipe with only one hand is even trickier. My gossamer film of glass keeps warping and folding back in on itself, like half-crystalized honey that¡¯s resistant to spreading properly, instead of creating an unblemished, shimmering curtain.

    I clench my jaw, determined not to swear in frustration. Success or failure, I¡¯m trying to maintain the same attitude. It¡¯s time for me to grow up and keep an even keel¡ªalthough Lady Evershed seems abyss-bent on pushing my resolve to the absolute limit. I have to give her the credit she deserves, though; she knows her stuff, and I¡¯m improving my glass working technique faster than I ever thought possible.

    Over the last few days, she¡¯s made me craft lifelike replicas of Baryl¡¯s favorite desserts, build a waist-high, mind-numbingly intricate diorama of her beloved ivory walls complete with the fabled gates of Grand Ile, and work on a huge, fanciful chandelier made from folded sheets of ultra-thin glass draped over a six-sided iron frame. We¡¯re still finishing up this last project, and I¡¯m nervous I¡¯m going to break the final glass sheet.

    I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull the glass out to the right dimension and maneuver it in place. It¡¯s not my first experience with this technique, but I''ve never had to hold the glass steady with only one hand before, and I''m having difficulty maintaining the tricky balance of tension and release as I pull the slender metal rod up, slow and steady. The diaphanous film is so sheer that I can barely see it, and it often falls apart before it even has a chance to anneal.

    With bated breath, I transfer the glass, which is thinner than a sheet of parchment, to the imposing iron frame, where it drapes in place next to hundreds of similar sheets in a variety of colors and sizes. I step back from the work, praying it won¡¯t crack as it anneals, and wave Lady Evershed over to render the final verdict.

    ¡°Tada!¡± I exclaim, pointing to the iron frame and the delicate folds of glass arranged like petals on a flower, or perhaps the fancy pleats on a princess¡¯s ball gown.

    ¡°Not bad,¡± she grunts, then cracks a smile. ¡°There¡¯s hope for you yet, Zebulun.¡±

    I grin in response. ¡°I know we said that it''s most impressive if I win without using any Skills, but this is painful. How am I going to demonstrate my true mastery if I''m fumbling about with just one hand? I look like a rank [Apprentice]. You know, I''ve met a glass worker who has temporal acceleration effects and localized gravity fields. Do you know how amazing those are in action? If she were in my predicament, then she could still levitate the glass and manipulate it at high speeds with only one hand!¡±

    ¡°Your work will improve if you stop whining,¡± Lady Evershed declares primly. ¡°Glass can sense your mood, Zebulun¡ªno, don''t give me that look. If you¡¯re feeling sour, then your work reflects it. Nothing we make today is being graded or judged. This is purely about developing your skills. If you''re feeling frustrated, then it''s coming from within.¡±

    I sigh, focus on my project, and wheel the chandelier toward the heat array she¡¯s set up for annealing projects too large for the kiln. Thankfully, the final sheet seems like it¡¯s setting into place without breaking.

    ¡°I guess I just miss working with mana,¡± I admit. ¡°I wish there were a way for me to go back to using my Skills. Have you made any progress at all looking for a physician?¡±

    ¡°Not on your budget, unfortunately,¡± Lady Evershed says briskly. She smiles at me as though she is entirely unconcerned by the bad news she¡¯s just delivered. Perhaps she is. ¡°Think of this like exercise. People lift weights to get stronger. Haven¡¯t you ever seen [Soldiers] run with heavy packs for days on end, until they¡¯re faint with weariness? After they''re done with training, they can run for miles without a burden and it feels easy in comparison, or so they claim.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°That makes sense. But this feels a bit like a fool''s errand.¡±

    She shakes her head. ¡°Think of this time as a gift. You¡¯ll come out stronger on the other side of all this.¡±

    ¡°Easy for you to say,¡± I scoff. ¡°You¡¯re not the one whose Skill forms are twisted beyond recognition. My inner soul space looks like slag metal a [Blacksmith] might discard and toss in the furnace at the end of the day. No, worse! Right now, my Skill structures look like the very first mangled creation an [Apprentice Glassworker] makes when we open up the hot shop for instruction.¡±

    ¡°Hopeless, indeed,¡± she chimes in dryly.

    I laugh despite my irritation. ¡°Do you know how much it burns to try to access mana right now? Every drop of mana feels like acid in my veins. I try to force myself to work on it everyday, but it hurts so much that some days I give up before I even begin. I¡¯m not indomitable.¡±

    ¡°I see, I see,¡± Lady Evershed says, a grave look on her face. She taps her cane on the floor, then rocks back on her heels and looks me in the eye. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware that a single day of failure meant a lifetime of failure. I stand corrected!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s more than one day!¡± I protest, all too aware that I¡¯m whining like a child.

    She waves a hand. ¡°Of course you have ups and downs. Everyone does. The question is whether or not you keep trying, day after day, regardless of how little or how much progress you make. Persevering through life¡¯s setbacks and disappointments is essential. If you can¡¯t do that, then you may as well get out now. Leave my shop, go find some street corner to sulk on, and put out a sign begging for money.¡±

    I glare at her for a few moments before I feel embarrassed. With a mumbled excuse, I shuffle into the back room to fetch myself a glass of water. I know we still have work to do for the rest of the day if I¡¯m going to get up to speed for the competition, but I¡¯m tired. I sip the water and let out a sigh. After my first day of triumphant return to glass work, everything feels so much harder¡ªlike I''m putting in twice the effort for half the results. I''m not the best [Mathematician] in the world, but even I know that means that I''m four times worse than I used to be, if such a thing can actually truly be quantified.

    Once my emotions cool off a bit, I chide myself for so easily breaking my resolution to act more mature. I return to the main room of the studio with my head down, feeling chagrined. I apologize to Lady Evershed, who simply smiles and gestures back to my work bench.

    ¡°Good. Don¡¯t give up easily. It will take you far,¡± Lady Evershed says approvingly.

    I heat the last bit of glass back up to working temperatures even though my project is complete, and continue to draw out translucent, gossamer sheets in whites and gold and reds, just for extra practice. Like most decorative work in Grand Ile, white and gold dominate the theme of the piece we made, but the commission for this chandelier breaks with convention by adding a few scarlet threads into the mix. It¡¯s beautiful, I have to admit, when it catches the light of the embedded mana stones.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure it''s okay to sell this?¡± I ask Lady Evershed as I reach the end of the batch. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my sleeve, grateful that my little glass toggle trick worked to tie back my hair and keep it out of my eyes. ¡°I''m not as talented or as dexterous as you are, and if patrons look closely, they''ll see the imperfections in my work.¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, I''m sure I will,¡± Lady Evershed remarks with a smirk.

    I frown, suddenly suspicious. ¡°Wait, this isn¡¯t actually a real order? This was you?¡±

    She chortles, seemingly pleased with her deception, and I just groan. Then I shake my head and chuckle, warming up to the little trick. ¡°I should have known it was strange that you let me work on official shop business. But I guess I tried a lot harder to please a paying customer and still finish under the deadline than I would have if I were just practicing technique. I probably would have perseverated for a lot longer if I simply thought this was just another glass exercise, rather than a financial obligation.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Your work is quite solid, Zebulun,¡± Lady Evershed says. ¡°Don''t worry about being slow. Just get the work done correctly. We¡¯re not judging on speed¡ªthat is, the other judges are not judging on speed.¡± Her lips twist into a sour expression briefly at the reminder that she¡¯s not a judge anymore.

    ¡°Thank you for the vote of confidence,¡± I say, dipping my head toward her.

    ¡°They want to see a well-rounded skill set. You¡¯ve got what it takes,¡± Lay Evershed says with more intensity than usual. She gestures at me with her cane. ¡°Make sure you don¡¯t forget that you can express yourself. Imagination at play, combined with technical ability, is powerful! Show them expressive joy with the medium of glass, and you have a real shot at winning the entire thing.¡±

    I wheel the extra pieces over to the kiln for annealing now that the project is done, her words spinning in my mind. The glass film is tantalizing to watch as it catches the light. We can probably reuse it in other projects. I see what she means about playfulness and joy. Then I cast a glance at the finished chandelier, hesitate, and plunge ahead as curiosity spurs me on to ask the question on my mind. ¡°What will you do with this piece once it¡¯s done?¡±

    ¡°I''ll probably send it to my third nephew as a birthday present,¡± she says.

    ¡°I''m flattered!¡± I say with some surprise. ¡°Thank you for entrusting me with the work.¡±

    ¡°Oh, they quite deserve one another,¡± she says, her eyes crinkling merrily. She joins me in laughing at her own joke. I can¡¯t quite tell if I¡¯ve been praised or insulted.

    =+=

    That night, after my practice is complete to Lady Evershed¡¯s satisfaction, we retreat to the back room for the other half of my training. Our half-finished card game is still scattered over the table from the night before, covering the enchanted battle map. Technically, the game of Captains and Capitals is designed for four players, but we¡¯re each controlling two decks to simulate the rest of the field. Honestly, ¡®control¡¯ might be a bit too strong a term for what I¡¯m doing right now, I think to myself.

    Learning the rules of the game is difficult enough as it is; learning double the amount of nuance and unique interactions so that I can control two decks, on top of training with glass and learning new techniques, is dizzying.

    With CnC, as Lady Evershed often calls it, sometimes naked aggression carries the day; on other occasions, timely tactical retreats and knowing when to cut your losses sets you up for a triumphant comeback.

    I chuckle to myself ruefully. I know all these things from watching Lady Evershed win, not by experiencing the sweet, sweet taste of victory myself. She is the most driven, competitive person I¡¯ve ever met, utterly unwilling to lose a single game even to a complete beginner like me. Shouldn¡¯t she let me take a few small triumphs here and there, in the name of instilling confidence?

    I sit down with a soft, satisfied groan. The chandelier is not the best work I''ve ever done, but it''s far from the worst, either. It¡¯s definitely the best I¡¯ve ever created with only one hand, and it¡¯s roughly at the threshold of what I¡¯d consider a solid, journeyman piece. But is that enough to win? I wonder.

    I down a cup of sweet grape juice, since Lady Evershed frowns on drinking in the shop, and survey the map of our battlefield. Faint, glowing lines of mana form a grid on the tabletop to show where to place the cards as we attempt to outmaneuver each other¡¯s armies and claim the all-important citadels for ourselves. The first to own all four simultaneously wins the game.

    I squint at the current setup, then cluck my tongue as I come to an unfortunate realization: I¡¯m not going to win tonight. Just like each of the previous nights, I¡¯m hemmed in on all sides. The enchanted battle map empowers the special abilities of the units, projecting the details above each card for easy reading. When I read through the descriptive text of the various forces, I¡¯m tempted to forfeit on the spot.

    Each player wields a deck of forty-nine cards: forty-eight of the cards make up the mobile military at our disposal, comprised of four Classes of twelve cards each, while the armies are each led by the forty-ninth card: a special Commandant who alone can control a Citadel. We choose our strategy and military Classes anew before each game, one player at a time, taking turns drafting from the available pool of sixteen main Classes until all the cards are assigned and ready for play.

    I rub my temples with my thumb and middle finger, my hand splayed across my forehead as I repeat back to myself the fifteen normal Classes in the game: [Pikemen], [Heavy Cavalry], [Battle Mages], [Barrier Mages], [Explosive Sappers], [Healers], [Berserkers], [Siege Engineers], [Assassins], [Spies], [Archers], [Shield Warriors], [Aerialist Infiltrators], [Water Mages], and, of course, detachment of [Marines]. These cards are decks of twelve each. The sixteenth Class is a singular [Battlefield Officer], who enables rapid redeployment of the other cards to make up for the missing eleven units in its Class.

    ¡°Stupid, complicated game,¡± I mutter, although I¡¯m staring at the board and trying to work out my strategy for salvaging the game in progress.

    Sometimes I try for synergy¡ªdrafting both [Water Mages] and [Marines], for example, to create an unexpected river that magically displays on the enchanted battle map, and then send a naval assault on my opponent¡ªwhile other times I try to counter Lady Evershed¡¯s choices. My sense of accomplishment when I drafted [Pikemen] to stave off the potential devastating charge of the [Heavy Cavalry] unit met with little success, since she picked up the [Sappers] and blew up my position before I could deploy defensive measures.

    Regardless of what I do, she always seems to have the perfect way to stop me, I think with a dash of bitterness. Who cares that she¡¯s played for decades. I want to win!

    ¡°Any new, hitherto unrevealed rules that I should know about before the nightly slaughter commences?¡± I tease Lady Evershed as she settles down the seat opposite mine, a predatory grin on her narrow, wrinkled face.

    ¡°No,¡± Lady Evershed says, catching me off guard. ¡°I think you¡¯ve learned all the rules so far. You won''t be caught flat footed again by my [Siege Engineers] when you try to sail up a new river to attack my Citadel¡¯s central keep. It was a good try, if a bit overeager.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just lucky that the Dwarven [Artificer] boosted your Defense attribute,¡± I mutter.

    ¡°Leveraging the Commandants to your advantage is part of the game!¡± Lady Evershed says hotly. She taps the table with her finger, launching into a lecture that I¡¯ve heard each night but still haven¡¯t seemed to get through my thick skull.

    ¡°At the head of each army stands a mighty [General], each with a distinctive playstyle that can bolster the different sets of troops chosen from the original sixteen. These [Generals], or Commandants, drastically change the ways that units are deployed. Remember, they can add bonus points to your Damage, Defenses, or Deception. Paying attention to those three attributes usually means the difference between glorious victory and ignominious defeat!¡±

    I smile and nod along politely. While she prolongs her elucidation, I examine the artwork on the Commandant cards, admiring the varied style and exquisite detail. There¡¯s the magnificent red-winged Dragon, the cunning Dwarven [Artificer], the rime-encrusted Giant, and a mysterious storm elemental, each with positive and negative features.

    ¡°One of these days I''m going to claim all four Citadels,¡± I brag, though I''m not sure I can actually fulfill my boast. The most I''ve managed to claim is three, and that was only for about ten minutes, thanks to an aggressive opening play, before Lady Evershed dashed my hopes. It was the only time I managed to pierce the heart of her defenses. She made me pay for that.

    As we straighten up our cards and Lady Evershed channels mana into the battle map so we can play, she rattles off questions as we play, intermingling glass and CnC terminology. ¡°The glass you worked with earlier¡ªwhat¡¯s the percent of chromium composition? Optimal strategy when the Red Winged Dragon empowers his [Berserkers] with [Flaming Touch]? Methods for creating the illusion of a floating glass pedestal? Ideal speed for the Grand Ile pull technique to create the diaphanous films? Best defensive placement against [Sappers]?¡±

    I stumble my way through the answers, trying to remember everything I¡¯ve learned about the game, and also the details of the new glass techniques she''s been drilling me on. Between my lack of sleep and the excessive details I''ve been forced to memorize, I know my answers are less than stellar, but it¡¯s hard to play CnC and think about something else simultaneously.

    The delicate wince on Lady Evershed¡¯s face is all the confirmation I need that I¡¯m lacking in multitasking aplomb.

    ¡°Are you sure this is going to help us in the competition? Unless I can create a turret or bombard my competitors with [Mage] artillery fire, then I''m not sure I see the efficacy of our current strategy sessions.¡±

    ¡°Just humor an old woman,¡± Lady Evershed replies, blinking at me innocently.

    I nod and keep playing, although my heart isn''t really in it. My lack of enthusiasm doesn''t blunt the fact that I''m improving, however; after twenty hard-fought minutes, I force our game into a stalemate. With a grim sense of satisfaction, I request that we end the game via diplomatic means.

    Lady Evershed sighs dramatically, and then surprises me again by agreeing to sue for peace. I know it rankles her not to win a round of Captains and Capitals, but she''ll still claim that she''s undefeated against me since it was a draw. That seems to be good enough for her.

    ¡°I''ve been meaning to talk to you about plans for the next stage of the competition,¡± Lady Evershed says without preamble. ¡°We ought not be caught unprepared if you do win this preliminary competition. Regional comps are challenging, but within your capabilities. Winning the entire competition, however? For that you either need a miracle or a plague.¡±

    I snort out a brief burst of laughter. ¡°You mean, a plague to kill off the other competitors since it''s my only hope of victory?¡±

    Lady Evershed beams at me. ¡°Precisely.¡±

    ¡°Seems to me that my only hope is to regain the use of my Skills again,¡± I venture, broaching the topic that has been weighing on my mind for the last few weeks. ¡°Any progress on that front?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she says slowly, ¡°but it''s risky, which is why I mentioned a miracle.¡±

    All the while, Lady Evershed is staring at me with her intense, burning eyes. After a measured pause, she moves aside the cards and the enchanted battle map. ¡°If all goes right, I have a plan for using a [Mimic Mage] to replicate your Skills. He will link up to you, circulate Mana through your soul space, and duplicate your abilities for a brief moment. He''s not an essence thief¡ªonce you break contact, then your Skills will no longer flow through the link. But for a short time, we can bring your Skills to bear in the hot shop. I''ll submit for a special dispensation to allow you access to your Skills through this method during the final competition.¡±

    ¡°You said if all goes right.¡± I swallow hard. ¡°What happens if it goes wrong?¡± I ask, worry and hope warring within me. The room suddenly feels too small, too constricting, and I fight off the urge to heave my chest and gasp for air.

    ¡°I won¡¯t sugar coat it,¡± Lady Evershed says. ¡°You might lose them all. Permanently. If the resonant feedback is bad enough, then you could further rupture the damaged channels, and lose the ability to ever harvest mana again. I can''t ask you to take that risk without understanding these serious consequences. Ultimately, though, you have to decide what you''re willing to suffer through in order to have the chance to win. You claim that this competition is all you have left, so now is the part where you put your coin where your mouth is.¡±

    ¡°I''ve cracked a Skill before. I recovered it through months of mana soaking. This . . .¡± I trail off, staring at the wall without really seeing anything. ¡°This is different. The Skills are a slag heap. I don''t think there''s anything salvageable unless we find a specialist. And something tells me I can''t afford that kind of treatment.¡±

    ¡°Think it over. There''s no rush, Zebulun,¡± Lady Evershed says with more tenderness than I expected. She pushes herself to her feet with that aid of her cane, her bones creaking slightly as she stretches. She leans over and pats my shoulder, smiling at me with a soft, sad, gentle smile¡ªlike a grandmother who knows that her grandchild''s hopes are going to be dashed to pieces.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I insist. ¡°Let''s do it.¡±

    She shakes her head. ¡°You''re running yourself ragged. Why don''t you take tomorrow morning off from the shop? Think over what we''ve discussed, do some soul searching, and let me know your decision by tomorrow night. We''ll work on something more fun in the hot shop tomorrow afternoon after lunch break. I''ll even refrain from beating you in Captains and Capitals¡ªthat''s right, you have earned yourself a one night reprieve.¡±

    ¡°I''m not backing down from the challenge,¡° I shoot back with a grin. ¡°Let''s meet with your [Mimic Mage]. I''ll explain the situation in more detail, and if he decides the risk is unconscionable, then we''ll come up with a new plan. In the meantime, how am I going to get better at Captains and Capitals if we don''t keep practicing? I''m not stopping until I win fair and square!¡±

    Lady Evershed taps her cane on the ground in a quick, lovely beat, and nods at me. ¡°Decisiveness! I love that quality in a young person. Very well, I''ll see you first thing in the morning.¡±

    I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair with a satisfied grin. ¡°Not a chance. I''m still taking that morning off! I''ve earned it.¡±

 B3 C7: Preliminaries

    I¡¯m not scheduled to meet with the [Mimic Mage] until after the first glass submission for the upcoming contest is due. This week¡¯s trial run is only stage one, the preliminary round in the competition, but I¡¯m still nervous. Lady Evershed is expressly forbidden from giving me inside information about what the judges are looking for, so I¡¯m on my own from here on out. The best she can do for me is to stress the general requirements they¡¯re prioritizing: creativity, aesthetic refinement, technical excellence and craftsmanship, and general functionality.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯re sure?¡± Lady Evershed asks again, pausing from her accounting at the front desk in her shop. She sniffs, sets down her leather-bound, ink-stained ledger, and levels a pointed look at me that I¡¯ve come to know all too well in the last week. ¡°You won¡¯t get a second chance.¡±

    ¡°I get it. You think my idea is terrible,¡± I say accusingly. I pick up a spare metal rod and brandish it about like she uses her cane, copying her voice and scowling at her. ¡°Young man, you¡¯re welcome to sabotage your career on your own time, not when you¡¯re representing my name to the world.¡±

    Lady Evershed cups a hand to her ear and leans toward me. ¡°What¡¯s that I hear? Wise words from Zebulun? I¡¯m glad my arguments have finally gotten through to you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, c¡¯mon! That¡¯s not fair. A coin press is a perfect introduction to my skill set,¡± I insist. ¡°Thematic, intricate, ambitious.¡±

    ¡°Ambitious,¡± she repeats. Her lips twist into a thin line of distaste. ¡°It¡¯s downright asinine. They¡¯ll laugh you out of the shop, assuming you even get halfway through the project. Without your Skills, you¡¯ll never finish that monstrosity in time.¡±

    I cross my arms, glaring at her across the chalk sketch of my design I¡¯ve outlined across the cement floor in the hot shop. As a nod to Grand Ile¡¯s unique financial independence and proud history of minting their own coins, I¡¯ve elected to make a scale model of a working coin press. I¡¯m not sure why anyone would choose glass as a medium for a press, but that¡¯s why I¡¯m certain that the judges will find my entry fascinating.

    She thinks I¡¯m insane; I¡¯m not willing to budge. So, here we are arguing in the studio, at loggerheads once more.

    ¡°Perhaps if you had time to build components beforehand, then you could make this plan work,¡± she says by way of a peace offering.

    I roll my eyes. We have to build everything we submit for the competition in the hot shop alongside the other competitors. Lady Evershed knows this, because she¡¯s the one who told me about it. For the entire day, we¡¯ll all be under the strict supervision of the judges, so I won¡¯t be able to build the pieces here and then assemble it all after the fact. Initially, I¡¯d hoped to be able to get ahead of schedule and make a few of the bulkier pieces of my project in Lady Evershed¡¯s studio, but it seems like that''s an impossible dream.

    ¡°Changing up my artistic vision at the last second for a contest is difficult. It feels like I¡¯m somehow compromising my integrity,¡± I say, punching the end of my left arm into the palm of my right hand. Why won¡¯t she understand how important this is to me?

    ¡°I hate that phrase,¡± Lady Evershed says, wrinkling her nose like she bit into a lemon. ¡°Your ¡®artistic vision¡¯ is limiting you. Why not just say that you¡¯re stubborn? If you don¡¯t change tactics, you¡¯ll be out of ideas and out of luck both!¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t CnC,¡± I protest weakly. ¡°I can¡¯t just play a different deck, or swap territory, and hope that I¡¯ll make a comeback to win a difficult game.¡±

    ¡°Then I suggest you formulate a plan.¡± The frosty finality in Lady Evershed¡¯s tone brooks no further disagreement.

    I nod tightly, and we put aside our differences for the moment. Over the next two days until the competition, I practice the exact steps I''m going to take on competition day, ensuring that I''ll be able to move as smoothly and quickly as possible despite missing a hand. I''ll likely still be the slowest contestant regardless of what I do to prepare, but I''m hoping to mitigate my race against the clock a little bit by preparing my designs in advance.

    The closer we get to the day of the preliminary round, however, the more I start to second-guess my choices. Perhaps I should have tried something less ambitious to start, something involving only a single piece and less complex textures, but at this point I¡¯m too far invested. I¡¯m too stubborn to admit that Lady Evershed is right, so I keep my doubts to myself.

    I sigh. Getting the colors and the look authentic is no small feat. Judges like ingenuity, but unfulfilled ambition usually earns harsh marks. They want to see what I can actually do, not listen to me ramble on about what I¡¯d planned to do, or what I might have been able to do in the past with another hand. I can''t work past nightfall during competition day. We have to put all our tools down, or else we''ll be disqualified. With only one hand, completing this complex piece in a single day of studio work is a terrifying prospect. I hope that I¡¯m up to the challenge.

    The fear of failure trails me like a hunting dog throughout the rest of my practice, and I''m starting to feel like a cornered hare. I shrug it off. I¡¯m not about to give up, though it¡¯s difficult to believe that I¡¯m going to stand out from the crowd. Or, rather, that I¡¯ll stand out for the right reasons. I¡¯m fairly certain that I¡¯ll get disparaging looks and nasty comments about my lack of a hand and my lack of Skills. I want to be treated like any other applicant, not like a circus sideshow.

    I steel my resolve. There¡¯s only one way forward. Respect must be earned.

    =+=

    When the day of the preliminary round finally arrives, Baryl greets us outside the door of Lady Evershed¡¯s shop, waving at us with an uncertain smile. For once, he¡¯s taken the time to clean himself up. Gone is his grease-stained vest, swapped out his outfit for a smartly-creased linen suit. He¡¯s brushed his hair and washed his cheeks, which makes him seem younger, somehow. Rather than a miniature street tough, he looks like a quiet, insecure first-year student at the SCA. Overall, his styling is downright respectable, although something tells me that if I draw too much attention to his appearance, then he¡¯ll be embarrassed.

    He sidles up to me and presses a chipped little figurine into my hand, then glances away shyly. His words tumble out in a soft, earnest whisper. ¡°Go win that competition against all the big shots and riversiders, Zeb. I brought you my favorite good luck charm to tip the scales in your favor. Little ole Xandur keeps me safe when I''m scared on the streets. I hope he¡¯ll help you if you get nervous, too.¡±

    I bend down and take the tiny, faded statuette from my ever watchful young friend. With a solemn nod, I pocket the present, then pat my cloak where I''ve hidden the good luck charm away. ¡°With Xandur on my side, I can''t lose. Thank you, Baryl.¡±

    I straighten up and wave. He bobs his head, then scurries off and disappears around the corner before we can pull him into a longer conversation. I note with amusement that somehow Lady Evershed found the time to slip him a piece of candy before he departed. She¡¯s as adroit at sleight of hand as the pickpockets Baryl knows.

    ¡°Looks like you''ve made a friend,¡± Lady Evershed says dryly.

    ¡°So have you,¡± I reply in as cheery a tone as I can muster. We share a look and chuckle, breaking some of the tension I¡¯m carrying over the competition.

    Her carriage pulls up to the bridge on the other side of the river that forms the boundary to her shop, saving me from further discussions about our little friend. I don¡¯t do small talk well when I¡¯m nervous like this. I offer Lady Evershed my arm, and she leans on me for support as we make our way across the wooden footbridge toward the fancy black and gold gilt carriage.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t elect to decorate your carriage in white and gold, like the ivory walls you¡¯re so fond of,¡± I tease her as we sink into the luxurious, padded seats.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be daft,¡± she says in a voice so acerbic it could etch metal. ¡°Only the ruling family is allowed to use those colors.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m using them for my glass submission. Won¡¯t that be a problem?¡± I ask, confused why she didn¡¯t bring it up during our earlier discussions.

    ¡°Of course not. They don¡¯t know¡ªor care¡ªwho you are. You aren¡¯t parading around the city in a nobility¡¯s carriage of your own. They know me, though, and I wouldn¡¯t be so stupid as to encroach on their territory,¡± Lady Evershed says.

    I clam up after she points out the differences between us. Despite the touching moment to start the adventure, our drive across town to the studio where I¡¯ll compete is silent as I give in to a moment of despondency. I know that I should be more grateful for the chance to put my skills on display, particularly after all I¡¯ve been through to get to this point, but I¡¯m having a tough time not feeling down. I¡¯m just a nobody. I don¡¯t matter in the grand scheme of things.

    And if I crash and burn before I can finish my project, then I¡¯ll have sabotaged the best chance I¡¯ve ever gotten.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about not listening to your suggestions,¡± I say quietly, leaning my head against the glass carriage window. ¡°I should have taken your advice¡ªwhat¡¯s the point of accepting you as a teacher, but not heeding your counsel? If I fail today, it¡¯s because I let my ego spiral out of control.¡±

    Lady Evershed barks out a laugh. ¡°Hardly. If you fail today, Zebulun, it¡¯s because the others were better with glass. That¡¯s it. Don¡¯t be so melodramatic.¡±

    All too soon, we reach the end of the cobblestone streets, which terminate in a colorful barricade of flowers between the paved streets and waterways. We disembark the privacy of the carriage and join an ever-growing throng of businessmen and sightseers walking through the maze of public gardens.

    I wish Silaraon had more spaces like this. This is nice. I inhale, savoring the scent of flowers in the air as we queue up. We¡¯re all waiting to board one of the many small boats that will ferry us through the waterways to our destination: some for fun, and others for business.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    This is my last chance to hide, I muse. I¡¯m just another face in the crowd right now. One unremarkable man amongst a million other people¡ªsomeone the Grand Ile nobility neither knows nor cares about. But once we enter the studio, I¡¯ll be under intense scrutiny. My life, my skills, my vision for the world, all on display. Am I ready?

    Wrestling with the question in my mind, I follow Lady Evershed onto a fancy gondola and wedge myself in the corner, away from prying eyes. I stare up into a pale blue sky streaked with high, wispy clouds. Skimming across the water is captivating, particularly in a city flush with bold architecture and a proliferation of magnificent gardens. Today, though, I barely pay attention to the sights and sounds, too caught up in the anxiousness of the upcoming competition.

    We pull up to the island where the studio is located, scraping the sand bar as we dock and clamber out. I turn my head to take in my first sight of the place where I¡¯ll be competing for the next few months, assuming I pass the prelims today, and my throat tightens up with a fresh case of nerves.

    The hot shop is housed in a former warehouse, from what Lady Evershed explained, but it¡¯s far larger than I anticipated. I never had time to scope out the location of the competition, so it¡¯s all new to me, and I¡¯m more intimidated than I thought I would be. Dozens of young men and women mill about in the courtyard, preparing to put their best work forward for the competition, and I find my confidence waning the longer I stare at the assorted crowd.

    Lady Evershed places her hand on my shoulder, startling me. She squeezes gently and offers me a rare smile of encouragement. ¡°You belong out there, Zebulun. Don''t give up now that you made it to the starting line.¡±

    ¡°Someone once told me not to trip over the finish line,¡± I say with a quiet chuckle. ¡°I suppose the same is true of the starting line. Come to think of it, I keep picturing myself as closer to the end than to the beginning, but maybe that''s holding me back. Just because it''s been a long journey to get here doesn¡¯t mean that I¡¯ve actually accomplished anything of note yet. The real work starts now, doesn¡¯t it? I better get a grip before I disqualify myself.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± Lady Evershed says. Her voice is warm and rich with approval as we march off the quay and make our way toward the massive double doors of the converted old brick building. ¡°Let''s get situated. I¡¯ll introduce you.¡±

    Inside, the warehouse stretches on in a seemingly endless expanse. High ceilings held up by enormous wooden beams, darkened with age and smoke, are punctuated by huge, oval skylights, through which spills the amber splendor of the morning sun. Even though I know I''m inside, the lofty heights and vast stretches of open space littered with workbenches provide the sensation of standing outside in the sunlight. Only the gleaming, industrial metal truss works break up the illusion.

    I¡¯m itching to begin on my submission, but no one is allowed to work yet. First, we¡¯re all funneled toward a registration table, where a thin, spry-looking elderly man in a dapper pinstripe suit greets competitors one by one. He takes down their names and provides contestants with a token bearing identity and workbench number.

    The workbenches themselves are arrayed in circles of eight, each equidistant from a central set of furnaces, which rise from the floor of the warehouse like giant, dome-shaped beehives. The pleasant smell of smoke and heat hangs heavy and redolent in the air, and my heart begins to quicken with the familiar sensation of a hot shop bustling with life and purpose and the invitation to create something new.

    The grey-haired man behind the registration table sighs when he sees Lady Evershed, a flash of irritation on his face. He schools his expressions and rises from his seat, taking her wrinkled hand and kissing it delicately. ¡°Ah, my dear, always a pleasure to enjoy your sharp wit and, ah, shall we say, bracing company!¡±

    I snicker. Watching his reaction amuses me to no end. I¡¯m glad to know I¡¯m not the only one who finds her presence by turns exasperating, instructive, and entertaining. She arches a single brow at him, then turns to look at me with an imperious gaze. I shut my mouth so hard my teeth click together, and I meekly take my token and step back.

    ¡°Next!¡± The man calls out in the bored, casually authoritative way that all bureaucrats seem to have mastered. He doesn¡¯t spare me a second glance.

    I take the hint and shuffle forward, looking at my token to figure out where I''m heading next. The warehouse is divided into sections marked off by glyphs, numbers, and names. My cohort is about a third of the way down on the left, if I¡¯m reading the directions correctly. I am in the second cluster of workbenches. My name, to my surprise, is not the last in the list. A girl named Zephyr just edges me out for that dubious honor. I wonder briefly if her name is a fake as well, but of course I''m not going to rat myself out by asking if we¡¯re both hiding something.

    Once everyone is checked in, and we''ve had a chance to review our workbenches and tools, the head judge announces a countdown to the competition. His baritone voice is magically enhanced, easily broadcast throughout the warehouse via unseen scriptwork that amplifies the sound without being overbearingly loud or blaring.

    He reiterates the basic rules for our review, and reminds us that more comprehensive terms and stipulations will be posted in the break rooms for our perusal during the lunch hour. As though that¡¯s supposed to be exciting reading material. I zone out until he finishes his speech and wishes us well. I roll my shoulders, take one last look at my nearest competitors, who are staring at my missing hand like it¡¯s the strangest thing they''ve ever seen in a glass studio, and spring into action as soon as the starting bell rings out.

    =+=

    ¡°Come on, melt faster,¡± I urge the glass, leaning down to whisper little words of encouragement despite the blistering heat. I know my coaxing doesn''t actually do anything, but as I wipe away the heavy drops of sweat beading on my forehead with the sleeve of my left arm, I find that I don''t really care about the odd looks I¡¯m getting. Let them stare all they want. It will make victory all the sweeter.

    Assuming I can actually finish, of course. I survey my progress with a frustrated groan. We¡¯re breaking for lunch in half an hour, and I¡¯m only halfway through the gearbox and lever that will raise and lower the press. I¡¯m saving the boxy foundation and side walls of the coin press for last, hoping that I can use the kiln over lunch to anneal the moving parts first.

    I narrow my focus, cutting off as much of my perception of the world around me as I can. The other competitors keep giving me funny looks as I craft glass without using a single Skill. I¡¯m doing my best to block them out, but I¡¯ve heard more than a few nasty comments about my mysterious approach. It doesn''t bother me as much as I feared; Lady Evershed has prepared me well. I don''t care about young, would-be artists who won''t make it out of the preliminary stages. Besides, I don''t have to win the entire competition outright in this first round. All I have to do is show that I belong, and the rest will take care of itself.

    A short while later, when the lunch bell chimes, I don¡¯t move from my spot. I¡¯m too busy working to worry about what¡¯s in my belly. I¡¯ll need this time to catch up if I¡¯m going to finish the intricate gear work that goes inside the coin press. Once it¡¯s all complete, the plan is that pulling on the lever on the side will engage the gears and lower a glass plate etched with the likeness of a full size Grand Ile gold coin, pressing down on a little blob of freshly-molten glass to leave behind an impression.

    ¡°Can''t stay during lunch. Not allowed, even if you''re behind,¡± a gruff voice says, startling me and almost making me drop the glass I¡¯m working on.

    ¡°I''m not hungry,¡± I protest, looking up to meet the narrowed eyes of a stern-faced man in a long black robe. ¡°There''s still so much work to do¡ªcan¡¯t you just supervise to make sure that I''m following the rules?¡±

    ¡°No, because allowing you to continue working is inherently against the rules, Zebulun. Yes, I know precisely who you are. Letting you work would constitute an unfair advantage, and you know as well as I do that I can''t show a hint of favoritism given your backing.¡± The judge turns to go, hesitates, and turns back with a thin smile. ¡°A word of advice? I haven¡¯t the faintest idea what you''re making, but you may want to consider scaling back the design. You''re running out of time. I¡¯d hate for a talented worker to miss the next round because of a miscalculation.¡±

    I bow stiffly, and set down my tools. Leaving the workbench alone while the glass is still hot hurts my soul a little, but I wasn¡¯t too far into the next step yet. In an hour, I¡¯ll be right back where I started. Maybe I¡¯ll even feel a little better after eating and clearing my mind.

    I jog across the cavernous warehouse floor, following the posted signs to my cohort¡¯s break room. I ignore the curious glances at my left arm from the other [Glass Workers], and survey the fresh, hot food platter with curiosity. I¡¯d expected we¡¯d be given shop slop to eat, but the savory roasted vegetables and steaming, spiced rice actually seems appetizing. My stomach growls as I pile it on my plate, and let out a wry chuckle at its sudden betrayal. Maybe taking a break is a good idea, after all.

    With a plate of food balanced on my left arm, my right hand clutching onto the edge for security, I shuffle around until I find a spot in the corner where I can eat in relative peace. Once again, I block out the buzz of conversation around me, fighting off a building tension headache as I consider my options to finish on time.

    I can¡¯t finish the rest in the few hours I have left. There are too many moving parts if I insist on making the gears functional. They¡¯ll never anneal in time. I rap my knuckles against the table, wracking my brain for a new idea. Nothing springs to mind immediately, however. I discard a few half-formed impulses, then slump back in my seat.

    ¡°Might as well eat,¡± I mutter to myself. ¡°I¡¯m not getting anywhere right now.¡± I scarf down the piping hot food, burning my tongue in the process. I suck in air between my clenched teeth, find a cup of water, and swish it around in my mouth. My old friend, [Heat Manipulation], feels out of reach today thanks to the tattered state of my channels. As I swallow another cupful of cold water, I wish I could rely on my first Skill to avoid something as silly as burning my mouth.

    Food out of the way, I drop off the plate on a rack, find a seat, and shove my hand in my pocket while I think. My fingers brush the little statue Baryl gave me, and I smile at the thought of his sincerity. On a whim, I pull his little friend Xandur out of my pocket. The cracked, faded old statue clinks against something on the way out. I set it on the table, dig around in my pocket, and pull out an official Grand Ile coin.

    ¡°Ha! Maybe you are good luck,¡± I say to Xandur with a wink. I don¡¯t have to finish the gears. Perhaps they can simply be decorative if I find another way to incorporate the theme.

    Excitement building, I move on to the next stage in the iteration process. I glance around the bustling room, locate a freshly-printed, off-white poster with the comprehensive rules for the competition hanging near the doorway, and mosey on over to confirm a question. As I thought, the official rules don¡¯t disallow outside props. They only mention that non-glass adornments for our entries may not compose more than one-tenth of the final project.

    I hold up the glittering gold coin, toss it up in front of my eyes, and snatch it out of the air. A slow, crooked grin spreads on my face. Instead of ¡°minting¡± a coin for the judges by pressing on the lever and imprinting hot glass, I¡¯ll take the easy way out and simply put a real coin on the press. I won¡¯t even take the time to make a glass facsimile, although that would surely show off some of my finesse work. The rest of the press will still look fairly convincing, since I made sure it¡¯s built to scale. That will have to be enough.

    I nod to myself, warming to the idea. The judges can still see the quality of my work and the exact control I have over the shapes and edges. Every single piece I¡¯ve done so far today is perfect, even though they took a lot longer to make than I¡¯d like. I¡¯m willing to put the technical aspects of my glass work against anyone in the vast studio. Perhaps others have fancy Skills, but I have talent, dedication, and an exceptional teacher. That will have to be enough.

    By the time the bell announces the end of the lunch hour, I¡¯m bouncing on my toes by the break room door. I take off in a sprint, barreling through the corridor and into the main hall as fast as my legs will carry me. It feels incredible to run again, after hobbling for a few weeks after my fateful encounter with the Rift, and I laugh with the sheer joy of pouring all my heart and soul into my craft.

    I snatch up my tools, remove the batch of glass from the furnace, and get back to work on a trimmed down version of the coin press. It won¡¯t be as fancy or as ambitious as I¡¯d initially planned, but it will be done on time. I hope Lady Evershed will approve.

    The hours blur together as I work. The coin press comes together more slowly than I¡¯d like, but by the time the final bell chimes to announce the end of the preliminary round, my work is done. I put my tools down, step away from the bench, and present the finished piece to the judge with a tired smile.

    ¡°Well, I did my best,¡± I croak out reedily, my throat dry from the hours by the hot furnace, and he nods at me in acknowledgement.

    I did my best. That will have to be enough.

 Future plans - Poll #1

    I''ve officially written the first page of the new story opening! I''ve also plotted out about half a dozen new early chapters. The plan is to smooth out the start of the story, improve the MC''s disposition and likeability, and add important lore and continuity for characters and world-building. Over the next month, as we race toward the end of "book two," I''ll post a poll each week regarding the story''s future. For clarity, polls will be separate from each chapter, but will not replace the weekly updates. I''ll make sure to release an actual chapter tonight or tomorrow night.

    Finding the balancing between releasing new chapters and revising old chapters is tough. I don''t want to leave my current readers hanging if I go back and fix the beginning of the story, but I also don''t want to keep turning off new readers. Rest assured, regardless of the direction I go, you''ll get new content. I''m determined to write this tale to the very end. The question is whether the updates are a new opening, or whether they''re the beginning of "book three." I could post on a new story entirely, with shorter, 3x/week updates until we work our way through the backlog and pick back up with the current storylines, but not everyone is interested in a lengthy reread.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    If I "rebrand" to something like The Glass Mage, with new artwork and a new introduction to the world of glass-making and magic, I might be able to capture new readers. My suspicion is that I''ve more or less capped out the growth potential of the current story due to the shaky beginning. Picking up new readers is slow. We''re almost to 250 followers, but we''ll probably never make it to the 1,000 mark. I know, I know, I''m being greedy. :)

    Let me know what you think in the comments.

 B3 C8: The Mimic Mage

    ¡°For you,¡± Lady Evershed tells me at breakfast, handing me an official envelope with the Grand Ile Glass Guild crest stamped in red wax seal. Her lips twitch in amusement when I freeze and stare at the envelope like she¡¯s giving me a live pit viper.

    I set aside my breakfast tea and buttermilk rusks, wipe the crumbs off my chin with my napkin, and take a deep breath before I gingerly accept the envelope. I cradle the message in my right hand, staring at it for a long moment. I pin one edge of the envelope down to the table top with my left forearm and master my trembling fingers on my right hand so that I can undo the flap in the message. With a cold lump in my gut, I open the envelope and tease out the letter tucked inside.

    ¡°Will you kick me out if I didn¡¯t make it?¡± I tease my new master. I wave the folded letter in front of my face with an impish grin. ¡°Maybe we should play a game of CnC for the right to open it. Oh, but if I win, I get to stay for as long as I please, even if I didn¡¯t pass muster.¡±

    ¡°Zebulun, I¡¯ll let you stay. Even if you were the worst student I¡¯ve ever had¡ªand I assure you that you¡¯re not that bad¡ªI still wouldn¡¯t kick you out. A master ought to care for a student. Besides, I do not renege on my promises.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, nodding at her with a sense of relief.

    She sips her tea, humming softly in satisfaction. ¡°I heard from the other judges that you were the most respectful and hardest working contestant of anyone there. Additionally, your willingness to modulate your plan impressed them. That¡¯s a good start.¡±

    ¡°I should have listened to you earlier. I had to change my plan,¡± I say.

    ¡°Still, I¡¯m surprised you gave up your idea so quickly. You seemed rather taken with the plan when we last spoke. What changed?¡± she asks.

    ¡°Nothing in life is ever perfect. My plan wasn¡¯t good enough. I had to make a change,¡± I say with a small shrug. ¡°I may be stubborn, but I¡¯m not entirely stupid.¡±

    ¡°No, not entirely.¡± Lady Evershed¡¯s lips curve into a smile. ¡°Although, I must say that I have yet to see evidence of your adaptability when we play CnC. You still insist on sticking to your initial strategy even when it spells your doom.¡±

    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re that confident in your CnC game?¡± I tease. ¡°Does this mean you¡¯ll agree to my wager?¡±

    ¡°Oh, just open the blasted letter!¡± Lady Evershed says with a peal of laughter. ¡°You know as well as I do that you¡¯re moving on in this competition. Let¡¯s not drag out the suspense; it¡¯s not good for this old woman''s health.¡±

    Despite her reassurances, I still find myself trembling as I unfold the letter to take a look. My eyes flick back and forth as I scan the page, but my attention snags on the very first word: congratulations! With a triumphant grin I toss the letter across the table to my teacher. ¡°Looks like you¡¯re stuck with me.¡±

    ¡°I already was,¡± she says with a wry laugh.

    =+=

    Fresh off the excitement of moving on from the preliminaries, nothing can dampen my good mood. I¡¯m practically skipping as I walk around the shop, a jaunty whistle on my lips, sorting through the various colors of glass for Lady Evershed. In my mind, I¡¯m planning my next glass piece for the upcoming rounds of the competition.

    Lady Evershed has confirmed the appointment with the [Mimic Mage] later on this afternoon. I¡¯m hopeful that it will give us the first steps toward true recovery. I¡¯m nervous about how the session may go, though, but not because I think it will be a disaster. No, I¡¯m more concerned that the [Mimic Mage] will succeed, but I won¡¯t recover apart from him. Nothing sounds worse than getting a taste of using my Skills again, but never touching them myself.

    ¡°I¡¯ll cross that bridge when I reach it,¡± I mutter to myself. ¡°Now, should I go with a classic goblet, or an artful abstraction for my next glass submission?¡±

    ¡°Zebulun,¡± Lady Evershed calls out from the kitchenette in the back room. ¡°I¡¯m making a light lunch. Elias recommends that you eat a simple meal, but don¡¯t overdo it. You need to keep your energy up for the procedure.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯re making salad again?¡± I ask, trying not to groan. I¡¯m not a cow. I don¡¯t need to chew on leaves and grass!

    ¡°I am indeed making salad,¡± Lady Evershed says, her voice crackling with rebuke. ¡°You¡¯ll thank me for it later, Zebulun. Apparently, the invasive flow of foreign mana is quite rigorous. Mimicking your Skills will take a lot out of you and Elias both. Eating something heartier may cause you to throw up, and I¡¯m not interested in washing my shoes. Again.¡±

    I shake my head ruefully at her warning and shuffle into the back room to help her set the small table as best I can. I¡¯m slow with only one hand, but I¡¯m getting more and more used to daily activities. ¡°I can confirm that foreign mana burns like a firestorm. Try to avoid it at all costs, unless absolutely necessary. And I said I was sorry about the shoes! How many times are you going to bring it up again?¡±

    ¡°Ah, I forgot about your wild tales of grappling with a Rift,¡± Lady Evershed says, waving away my protests about dirtying her shoes. ¡°How I would have loved to see that display!¡±

    To my surprise, I laugh as we sit down to eat and I talk about the experience. ¡°I certainly didn''t think that I¡¯d ever have such a nonchalant reaction to the worst trauma of my life, but I¡¯m still alive and breathing. That¡¯s got to count for something.¡±

    ¡°It counts for everything,¡± Lady Evershed murmurs. ¡°You always have a chance as long as you still have the spark of life in you. But I¡¯ve always wondered what changed? What helped you to steel your spine and march onward?¡±

    I chew my mouthful of kale and honeyed sliced apples before I answer. ¡°As the weeks have gone by since the Rift, I¡¯ve found ways to continue working with glass¡ªalbeit awkwardly and slowly¡ªand that¡¯s been a healing balm. Much of the anger, frustration, and self-pity faded away after I discovered that I could work with glass again.¡±

    ¡°Glass has always been therapeutic for me as well, once I discovered the artform a few decades ago,¡± Lady Evershed says. Her eyes mist over briefly, but she blinks and regains her composure. ¡°So, you¡¯re still determined to go through with the [Mimic Mage]¡¯s procedure?¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± I confirm, stabbing an errant strawberry in my salad for emphasis.

    Lady Evershed twists the ivory handle of her cane between her old, gnarled fingers, and pierces me with a searching gaze. ¡°Why? You don¡¯t have to tell me, but make sure you know the answer in your own heart. Don¡¯t just grasp for straws.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t mind answering. Regaining access to my Skills, even if it¡¯s by proxy, is my best shot at producing a glass submission good enough to win the competition. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here: to win.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s more to life than just winning,¡± Lady Evershed says mildly. She leans forward in her seat slightly and raises her eyebrows at me, as if daring me to disagree.

    ¡°Perhaps, but I¡¯m single-minded. I don¡¯t have anything else,¡± I remind her. ¡°I¡¯m not going to give up easily. What would it say about my character if my determination to win collapsed at the first sign of an obstacle? Perseverance requires hard work, sacrifice, and pain. I won''t have it any other way.¡±

    ¡°Excellent perspective,¡± she says with a firm nod. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, Zebulun. You did fine work in the preliminary round, and displayed good judgment. Your adaptability will see you through to the end of the competition. As I said, I heard good things about you from the judges.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I mumble, glancing down at my salad bashfully.

    ¡°Even better, I¡¯m no longer getting grief about the special dispensation that we were granted for you to compete. That wasn¡¯t good for my reputation.¡±

    I snort. ¡°Ah, yes, I forgot how important the perception of others is to you. I¡¯m so glad you aren¡¯t suffering through the loss of prestige that might accompany your new student failing out of the preliminary rounds!¡±

    ¡°My young friend,¡± Lady Evershed says, sitting up straight again, her voice shifting away from casual conversation and taking on the timbre of a career aristocrat, ¡°I¡¯ve told you before that you have no idea how important my reputation is to me. I¡¯ll reiterate the point now. I assure you it¡¯s no mere vanity at play.¡±

    I nod and murmur a noncommittal reply while I finish my salad, but something about the intensity of her statement makes me think back to her similar assertions in the past. She seems to put special emphasis on the power of reputation and prestige, as though there¡¯s a solidity and weight to people¡¯s perception that I¡¯m unaware of entirely. Perhaps it¡¯s got something to do with one of her Skills, I muse.

    Then a revelation strikes me. I snap my fingers. ¡°Wait, earlier you said you¡¯ve only discovered working with glass a few decades ago. Does that mean that [Glass Smith] is your second Class?¡±

    Lady Evershed¡¯s smug expression is confirmation enough.

    =+=

    Elias the [Mimic Mage] lives in a blocky, slate-blue stone home at the far edge of the Riverside district. A narrow, tree-shaded waterway flows along the side of the estate, but we¡¯re able to approach via one of the last streets before the rivers take over. The neighborhood is quiet and dignified.

    Lady Evershed tells me that Elias is well off but not well known, preferring to stay out of the public eye. Now that I¡¯ve seen his house, I think I understand what she means. There¡¯s a quiet, dignified luxury to the location, decor, and the gardens and grounds.

    His [Butler] greets us at the door, ushering us within with a smile and a bow. He leads us through a stately entryway, to the left through double glass doors, and down a hallway tiled in creamy white. Our boots echo through the big, empty house with every footstep.

    ¡°Elias has a beautiful home,¡± I say as we walk, the awkward silence broken only by the too-loud thud of our footfalls. The [Butler]¡¯s eyes shift my way, but he neither answers me nor breaks stride. I cough and glance down, feeling embarrassed. This isn¡¯t the friendliest reception I¡¯ve ever received. I hope I¡¯m not making a big mistake by coming here.

    While I¡¯m staring at the floor, I notice that the tile is edged in a playful mosaic that¡¯s a rare nod to color amid the austerity. I smile to myself. Maybe it¡¯s not fair to assume Elias is totally cold and unfeeling; perhaps he¡¯s simply restrained. Or maybe assuming that decorations define the man is absurd and unfair, I admonish myself as we exit the hallway and arrive in a large, mostly-empty sitting room with alabaster plaster walls.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°My dear Lady Evershed! So good of you to come,¡± a jolly voice booms out a moment later, followed by a middle-aged man with a neatly-trimmed beard. He bounds into the room and sweeps up Lady Evershed¡¯s hand, pressing it to his lips in greeting. He¡¯s sharply-dressed in a flattering, form-fitted, dark grey suit. Three silver rings chased with golden filigree flash on his right hand.

    ¡°My name is Elias. I''ll be taking care of you today,¡± the [Mimic Mage] says, turning to me with a smile and a curt bow. ¡°Tell me about your Skills and Class, Zebulun. I''ll have an easier time identifying what I find if I know generally what they do ahead of time.¡±

    ¡°Pleased to make your acquaintance, Elias. I''m, ah, a [Glass Smith],¡± I say it was some reluctance, unsure if the slight bending of the truth will hurt Elias¡¯s ability to adequately and accurately suss out my Class and Skills. In truth, I¡¯m a [Glassworker], not a [Glass Smith], but it¡¯s close enough. Maintaining the fiction that I have a different class helps me wear the mask of Zebulun instead of my true identity as Nuri.

    ¡°Makes sense! I heard you were participating in Lady Evershed¡¯s pet project. How¡¯s that going without access to your Skills?¡± Elias asks, his voice still a touch too loud for the room.

    ¡°Fine, thanks. I¡¯m moving on to the next round. Official as of this morning,¡± I say, lifting my head with pride as I make the announcement.

    ¡°Splendid! Imagine once you¡¯ve recovered. You¡¯ll wipe the field,¡± Elias asserts, clasping his hands and beaming at us. ¡°Now, about those Skills?¡±

    I nod. ¡°I have a number of Skills related to glass. A glass creator Skill, a compositional analysis Skill, and of course my [Manasight]. Unfortunately, due to all the damage, I only have a single Skill that¡¯s currently functional¡ªif that¡¯s the right word for it. I can¡¯t retain enough mana to use my [Heat Manipulation] for more than a few seconds, not without considerable pain, but it still works.¡±

    ¡°Yes, right. That¡¯s a shame,¡± Elias says, shaking his head sorrowfully. ¡°Truly, I¡¯m sorry to hear of your misfortune. But with my mana powering the Skill, we should be able to circumvent that issue, provided the Skill structure is in good shape. Shame we can¡¯t see the creator Skill in action! You are confident we can use the temperature control?¡±

    ¡°I think that [Heat Manipulation] is still operational if we¡¯re careful,¡± I confirm. ¡°The other Skills are probably damaged beyond repair or recovery, however.¡±

    ¡°That''s a story I''d like to hear more about sometime. Takes an extraordinary amount of power to damage something as robust as a Class Skill,¡± Elias says, giving me a curious look.

    ¡°Yes, it certainly was an extraordinary amount,¡± I say weakly, glancing away. ¡°You know, for many years I only had a single working Skill. I hate making that admission; it was a sore point for me for many years, although I had my reasons to be suspicious of mana. In some ways, this is like going back to my youth when I was weak and untalented.¡±

    Elias strokes his short beard. ¡°I still only have a single Skill, Zebulun. In fact, I¡¯ve actively worked to maintain that delicate arrangement! By not splitting my Skills, I no longer have to share mana.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying that a single Skill is an advantage?¡± I blurt out incredulously.

    Elias chuckles. ¡°Why, yes. Cultivating more skills would, ironically, reduce the flexibility and creativity of my overall approach to magic. I¡¯d cap out at a few mimicries a day, depending on my mana pool. Right now, though? I¡¯m nearly unlimited! No, my new friend, don''t despise having ¡®only¡¯ one Skill. You simply have to learn to use what you have effectively.¡±

    ¡°That sounds like a way to cope to me,¡± I say with a teasing tone. ¡°But I appreciate the encouragement. Maybe I¡¯ve been too quick to complain.¡±

    ¡°Most people usually are! Takes imagination to see your way through to the other side,¡± Elias cackles.

    I shake my head in amusement at his antics. I definitely misjudged my host. ¡°Do you still want to hear more about my other glass-specific Skills, or should we stick to [Heat Manipulation] for now?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep things simple today,¡± Elias says as soon as I ask. ¡°Decisiveness and a clear objective is the superior choice. Due to the nature of your injury, I believe it''s in our best interest for you to recline during the procedure. I¡¯ve set up a comfortable spot on the divan in the drawing room. I think you should try to relax as much as possible while I delve into your inner space and interface with your Skill matrices. Shall we?¡±

    I shake my head slowly. ¡°I''m still hung up on the claim that a single Skill is a good thing.¡±

    Elias grins, warming up to the chance to explain his advantages in greater detail. ¡°Most people spend many years ranking up multiple abilities. With a singular focus, I¡¯ve been able to push up the quality and potency of [A Perfect Copy] to unprecedented heights over the same amount of time. My Skill is specialized, yet it allows me a versatility that¡¯s unmatched by my peers¡ªas long as I have a willing partner who will share Skills with me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s extraordinary,¡± I say, starting to realize the benefits of what he¡¯s describing. ¡°But how did you get such a Skill like that, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Ah, ah! Trade secrets,¡± Elias replies with a wink. He strides away, and I scramble to follow him before we are left behind with his dour [Butler].

    A short walk later, we reach a room festooned with lively green wall hangings, a variety of overstuffed chairs at odd angles, completely lacking any unifying style or color, and a haphazard bookshelf overflowing with a profusion of books. On the top of the book pile is an animated cover that looks suspiciously like the adventure novels I used to buy from Camdyn the [Book Seller]. Elias gestures toward the divan, and I take a seat.

    He clears his throat. ¡°Now, before we begin, professional courtesy requires that I confirm you understand the risks involved. Lady Evershed assures me that she''s gone over this with you in detail, but I cannot in good conscience proceed without knowing for sure that you agree to the risks. Do you understand clearly that you might never use mana again if the damage is as extensive as I''ve been led to believe?¡±

    I nod resolutely. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the consequences. I''m willing to try anything at this point¡ªit can''t be worse than the agony I live through everyday. If I don¡¯t clamp off my channels and refuse to harvest mana, then I feel like I¡¯m burning alive from the inside out.¡±

    ¡°Well, that hardly inspires confidence,¡± the [Mimic Mage] says. Complicated expressions flicker across his face before he smooths his furrowed brow and stops his lips from twitching. ¡°Part of me thinks we shouldn''t proceed at all, but if this is what you want, then we¡¯ll give it a try.¡±

    ¡°Just do it already,¡± I growl in frustration.

    Elias and Lady Evershed exchange looks, and she nods at him. He sighs. ¡°Very well. Please, make yourself comfortable, Zebulun. I wish I could offer words of wisdom, but I won''t lie to you: this will hurt.¡±

    I gingerly ease myself back, fluff up the pillow under my head, and take a deep breath. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Elias places a hand on my shoulder and smiles at me kindly. A surge of energy builds up within him, faintly visible even without the assistance of my mangled, useless [Manasight]. Tendrils of mana weave themselves around my entire body, encasing me in a complex net of power. With a snap of his fingers, the mana network constricts, sinking deep into my body.

    Raging wildfire of pain erupts, spreading through my blistered channels. I grit my teeth and twist the fingers of my right hand into the decorative throw blanket draped across the seat. I refuse to scream, even though every inch of my body is a blazing inferno of agony.

    ¡°Stop fighting me,¡± Elias says, pushing the words out through gritted teeth. The [Mimic Mage] clenches his jaw in intense concentration, as though he¡¯s attempting to swim upstream against a swift, turgid current. ¡°You''ll only make it worse for yourself.¡±

    ¡°I''m not resisting you,¡± I spit out. ¡°I''ve taken a mana control test before; I know how to allow foreign power access to my core space.¡±

    ¡°Then perhaps the damage is worse than I feared,¡± Elias says. Panting heavily, he releases the flow of mana, and flops down in a nearby seat, pausing his assault on my being. He wipes his face, then drums his fingers on the polished patina on the wooden armrest.

    ¡°Did you make it all the way to my core? It didn''t feel like it,¡± I say, dreading that he''ll say yes and that I''ve already lost all sense of self. "If not, I think I have a suggestion.¡±

    Elias claps his hands together. ¡°You have an idea? I love ideas!¡± His face grows rigid. ¡°Just don''t die. Professional pride will never let me take unnecessary risks.¡±

    ¡°Taking a risk is my choice,¡± I say, meeting his stare. My voice is quiet but firm. ¡°I suspect the compromised channels prevented you from delving all the way. Maybe you¡¯ll have more luck on a second try.¡±

    ¡°A workable theory,¡± Elias says. He hops up from his seat, pacing around the room with frenetic energy burning in his wake. After a few tense moments, he whirls to point at me. ¡°But you are wrong about the choice belonging solely to you. True, in the immediate sense, your body and channels stand to suffer. You are forgiven if you think it follows that you shoulder all the risk, because you will bear the damage in your soul, but you are wrong.¡±

    ¡°I get that Lady Evershed might lose some prestige, and that¡¯s important to her¡ª¡±

    Elias breaks into loud, amused laughter, like the braying of a donkey. The sudden sound cuts me off. He smiles at me with a rather insincere look of apology, but speaks up before I can continue my line of thought.

    ¡°Ah, my young friend, I¡¯m far too self-centered to be talking about my colleague, the good Lady Evershed. Your words chastise me for my lack of empathy, though! No, I am talking about me. About my business. Zebulun, you forget that I peddle in wares that scare people. Granting me access to your inner world, revealing your soul to me? This is deeply terrifying to most people. Too intimate. Now add a tale that I destroyed a promising young artisan''s career? I''ll be sunk!¡±

    ¡°Then why tell me about all the dangers in the first place if you aren¡¯t willing to take a risk?¡± I snarl.

    Elias holds up his hands in a placating gesture. ¡°I am not a swindler or a showman, Zebulun. There is always a real possibility that things will fall apart, so I give an honest warning about the downside. I consider it my solemn duty to stop well before that point. Nonetheless, people deserve to know that this process isn''t safe or painless. In fact, I am being transparent¡ªa quality that a [Glassworker] ought to appreciate.¡±

    Lady Evershed chuckles politely at the bad pun, but I freeze up. Elias could have called me a [Glass Smith], just like I claimed to be. But instead, he chose to quietly unmask my true Class. Why? What does he have to gain? Is he extorting me? Or giving me a chance to explain myself? How much else does he know?

    ¡°I¡¯ll sign a statement declaring my extensive injuries and absolving you of any responsibility,¡± I suggest, clinging desperately to hope that we can make this work.

    ¡°In my experience, sensationalism most often tends to overshadow facts. I don''t know that anyone will care to listen to the details or extenuating circumstances,¡± Elias says, shaking his head in disagreement.

    ¡°How many people know that I am here?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Only a few,¡± Lady Evershed says. ¡°The overseer of the competition granted us a special dispensation, but I don¡¯t think the information was widely shared that Elias is involved. Are you thinking we blame something else if things go poorly? I can equivocate and prevaricate with the best of them!¡±

    ¡°Not an entirely baseless idea,¡± Elias admits. He strokes his neatly-trimmed beard and makes a series of small noises in the back of his throat. ¡°Still, rumors have a nasty life of their own.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± I breathe, my voice barely even a whisper. ¡°I need to try. I don¡¯t have anything else left.¡±

    Elias returns to my side, peering at me intently. ¡°Not content with winning without any Skills, eh?¡± He tuts when I don¡¯t reply, then lets out a soft, weary sigh. ¡°Very well. I will try again¡ªbut only this once, if we fail. Last chance, no exceptions. Are we clear?¡±

    I nod eagerly. ¡°As clear as a pane of pure glass.¡±

    Elias reaches for my shoulder again, frowning slightly in concentration. I grasp his hand instead, a sudden idea springing to mind.

    ¡°When I damaged my usual mana pathways and melted most of my Skills, the energy burned a new channel straight from my right hand, through my chest and core, and out my left hand. The expulsion of power disintegrated the fingers and palm. But perhaps you can delve down the broad new path, instead of trying to follow the twists and turns of the normal channels? You may meet less resistance. I don¡¯t think it is clogged the same way.¡±

    ¡°By the ivory walls,¡± Elias swears, his eyes growing wide. ¡°What in the abyss did you do to yourself, lad?¡±

    ¡°Trade secret,¡± I say with a wink, laughing weakly.

    Elias groans, then joins me in laughter. ¡°Ha! I suppose I deserved that. Very well. Let¡¯s try your method, Zebulun. This will probably sting like kicking over a beehive while naked¡ªnot that I have any painful personal experience to draw on for that comparison!¡±

    While I¡¯m still trying to wrap my mind around the sheer stupidity required for Elias¡¯s odd metaphor, he summons his mana. Before I can brace myself, the [Mimic Mage]¡¯s singular Skill ignites. Torrents of raw energy rush forward. His Skill, [A Perfect Copy], takes root, slithering through the massive, gaping wound of a pathway that the Rift¡¯s power cut through my center and piercing my core space.

    Pain blooms in my chest. The spellform seems to shift from a wide network to a narrow needlepoint of pressure, drilling into my own Skill. The mana forces its way through the buildup of residue and debris preventing the flow of energy within me, burning like I¡¯ve hugged a hot skillet fresh from the stovetop.

    The warped, twisted structure of [Heat Manipulation] creaks ominously, then flares to life as Elias¡¯s mana connects. A billowing wave of blistering heat erupts in the sitting room, lighting a curtain on fire near us.

    ¡°Stop burning things, Elias!¡± Lady Evershed snaps. A surge of mana accompanies her command as she activates her own [Greater Heat Manipulation], and the fire is extinguished in an instant. The room is plunged into a hissing field of freezing cold.

    Elias drops the Skill, looking chagrined. As I¡¯m about to celebrate, however, a shockwave of intense backlash shakes and thrums along my link to Elias in the wake of the Skill releasing. I scream at the pain, thrashing on the divan. Their concerned faces staring down at me is the last thing I see before darkness takes me.

 Future Plans - Poll #2

    So far, we''ve covered a lot of content and styles in Delicate as Glass-- now renamed The Glass Mage. Now that we''re almost a quarter of a million words into the story (what, how?), I''m curious to know which appeals to readers the most. Crafting. Adventuring. Unraveling the mysteries of magic. Battling through Rifts and trying to save the day. Which do like the best? Do you prefer technicality in the glass-making scenes, or evocative imagery? What''s your preference: quieter, slice of life chapters, or plot-heavy sections about the fate of the realm? You can choose more than one option.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Let me know in the comments if my poll options don''t quite fit your perspective. Thanks!

 B3 C9: The Hand, the Furnace, the Straight Face

    When I wake, blinking against the glare of lamplight, I¡¯m back at Lady Evershed¡¯s studio. I have no memory of the return trip, but the searing sensation of the vicious mana backlash is etched into my mind¡¯s eye. I sit up abruptly, squinting against the light, and pat myself all over my body to make sure I¡¯m still in one piece. ¡°How am I not dead?¡± I croak.

    ¡°Welcome back,¡± Lady Evershed says mildly. She gestures at me with her cane, a faint smile on her lips. ¡°I see you have a flair for the dramatic.¡±

    When my inspection concludes and I realize that I¡¯m not any worse for the wear other than an odd sensation of lightheadedness¡ªthe ferocious pain tearing through my chest is gone¡ªI push up from the couch and help myself to a nearby glass of water. ¡°What happened? I feel fine despite everything.¡±

    ¡°You are, strangely enough,¡± Lady Evershed confirms in a subdued voice. ¡°I made sure to have a [Healer] check you over. She says you¡¯re fine; you simply fainted from the stress.¡±

    ¡°Stress?¡± I say, my voice cracking in indignation. ¡°That wasn¡¯t all just in my head!¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Lady Evershed says, placing a placating hand on my arm. ¡°But the body and mind respond in a hundred ways to difficult circumstances. You went into shock and passed out, but you aren¡¯t any worse for the wear, miraculously.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not at all what I expected,¡± I reply slowly, struggling with bewilderment. I swallow hard, remembering the claw of fear tightening around my heart when the mana billowed out of control. ¡°How am I alive after the Skill blew up¡ªafter everything went sideways?¡±

    ¡°You were fortunate that I cut Elias¡¯s connection before he set the house on fire,¡± Lady Evershed says. She inhales through her nose slowly, her lips pressed together in a tight line. ¡°I must apologize, Zebulun. I never imagined anything like this could happen. His unique Skill allows him to display the mastery of the person he mimics. I know you have rather considerable talent with [Heat Manipulation], but it still got out of control anyway. I never should have put us all in such a dangerous position.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°I knew the risks. You were both very clear. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±

    ¡°I agree that you can and should bear the responsibility for personal decisions. Personal is the key word. I certainly didn¡¯t expect to create a fire hazard that could threaten to consume Grand Ile if left unchecked! That¡¯s quite a different story altogether,¡± Lady Evershed snaps at me. She sighs and presses her fingertips against her closed eyes a moment later; the anger seems reserved for herself, not for me.

    I clear my throat. ¡°Are you all right, Lady Evershed? You don¡¯t look, ah, quite yourself,¡± I finish lamely, not knowing how to put it delicately. The lines on her face are darker and more pronounced than I remember, though drawing attention to that detail seems rude.

    A spark of amusement enlivens her tired eyes. ¡°Ha! Didn¡¯t your mother ever teach you that it¡¯s impolite to tell a Lady she doesn¡¯t look her best? You¡¯re right, though. I¡¯ve looked better. I haven¡¯t gotten much sleep since our exciting excursion,¡± Lady Evershed says, confirming my suspicion that she¡¯s run herself ragged.

    ¡°My mother is dead,¡± I reply reflexively, then wince at my lack of decorum.

    ¡°That explains much,¡± Lady Evershed wisecracks. As she laughs, her face smooths into a more youthful visage, although there¡¯s still a serious set to her jaw. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t gone with you, what would have happened when the heat spiked like that and the house ignited? Elias is good at what he does, but even he couldn¡¯t disentangle himself once your Skill manifested. That heat was oppressive¡ªfar more powerful than I anticipated from the base Skill.¡±

    ¡°It felt like I was on the cusp of ranking up [Heat Manipulation] prior to losing my Skill. I¡¯ll bet that channeling the Rift¡¯s power forcibly upgraded the Skill,¡± I say, frowning as I consider the implications. ¡°If I recover access, perhaps I¡¯ll be stronger than I was before.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps so. An intriguing possibility once you¡¯re healed, Zebulun. Nonetheless, I should have listened to your warnings about the poor state of your inner space. It''s a wonder that you weren¡¯t flayed alive by that backlash.¡± Lady Evershed grimaces again. ¡°By the way, I¡¯m hesitant to ask, but are you able to harvest mana at all?¡±

    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± I say with a forced grin that¡¯s jauntier than I actually feel.

    ¡°No! Let¡¯s not take any more unnecessary risks. I¡¯ll see if I can arrange for a [Healer] to examine you more thoroughly¡ªone who is familiar with healing the soul as much as the body.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± I reply. ¡°But if I don''t have access to my Skills during the next round of the competition, then how am I going to progress to the finals? I¡¯m slow enough already without my left hand. Without Elias as a proxy for my Skills, I don¡¯t stand a chance.¡±

    A mischievous smirk lights up Lady Evershed¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that certain species of lizards can regrow limbs they¡¯ve lost. You¡¯re not part lizard, are you, Zebulun?¡±

    ¡°That would surprise me as well as you,¡± I say, chuckling at the mental image of scales sprouting on my arms and a new hand emerging from my left wrist. ¡°Then again, if the last few months of my life have taught me anything, it¡¯s to expect an endless series of surprises, each more incredulous than the last. So I certainly won''t rule anything out.¡±

    ¡°In that case, I suppose you''ll just have to make a replacement hand,¡± Lady Evershed says thoughtfully. ¡°Perhaps you can make that your next project for the competition.¡±

    I shrug, caught between excitement and skepticism. ¡°You mean, make a prosthetic hand out of glass? I¡¯m afraid that won¡¯t help me much with glassmaking, since I still won¡¯t be able to manipulate anything with it. I suspect it will only get in the way. And what if I break it while trying to rely on it? Sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen.¡±

    ¡°I believe I may be of help there,¡± Lady Evershed says with a small smile. ¡°For the sake of the competition, you¡¯ll need to make the hand yourself. Afterwards, however, I¡¯ll ensure that it''s sufficiently enchanted to be moderately useful to you. It won''t completely take the place of your missing hand, but I believe it will be an improvement in your current condition.¡±

    I frown slightly, my feelings more conflicted than ever. ¡°If you thought that was an option, then why not offer before? I don''t mean to sound ungrateful, but it does rankle a bit.¡±

    ¡°Call it the failed machinations of an old woman.¡± Lady Evershed crosses her ankles and leans back in her chair. She regards me shrewdly for a long, quiet moment. ¡°My Skill informed me that it would be in my best interest for you to win the competition with only a single hand. I¡¯m still certain that¡¯s true. My reputation would respond best to you winning the competition under adverse circumstances.¡±

    My jaw works, but I manage to swallow my words before I spit out something I¡¯ll regret. Lady Evershed has refined my approach to glass, and gone out of her way to help a stranger on her doorstep. Why should it bother me so much that she benefits from the arrangement, too? I shake off the feeling and take a more tactful approach. ¡°So, what¡¯s changed?¡±

    ¡°Now that you and Elias have suffered under my care¡ªbeyond the potential dangers of mana backlash, and due entirely to my negligence¡ªI¡¯m at risk of losing significant prestige. Call it self-serving if you want to, but perception and honor is everything to me. I¡¯d like to make it up to you by sharing one of my Skills.¡±

    Again, I bite back a bitter response. After a moment of internal struggle, I force my lips into a slight smile and nod at her tightly. ¡°I don''t love the answer, but I suppose we all have to do what we must to advance our Classes. Indulge me a bit of curiosity, if you will, although I know it''s impudent of me to pry.¡±

    Lady Evershed nods. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re entitled to some answers.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not into the second threshold are you?¡± I ask. Her eyebrows raise slightly, and I feel a flash of vindication that I¡¯m on the right path. ¡°Something has you bottlenecked, and that''s why you picked up glassworking and pushed it through advancement as an alternate path.¡±

    ¡°Interesting premise. What¡¯s your point?¡± Lady Evershed says, arching an eyebrow.

    ¡°My guess is that you still haven¡¯t had a breakthrough in either Class despite your, ah, venerable age. If I¡¯m right, time is running out for you; that makes you desperate. Does that mean I¡¯m your ticket to the Second Threshold and a few more years of extended vitality?¡±

    Lady Evershed¡¯s face crinkles into a smile. ¡°My, but you''re an imaginative one! Cleverer than I give you credit for. With a fine mind like that, you better start winning some of our CnC games soon.¡±

    ¡°I''ll take that as a confirmation.¡±

    ¡°Do as you will,¡± Lady Evershed says nonchalantly, waving over some tea from her ever ready stock in the cupboard.

    ¡°I''m not surprised to see that you won''t outright confirm my suspicion,¡± I say, earning a quick smile. ¡°But does everything come back to CnC for you?¡±

    ¡°Naturally!¡± Lady Evershed says. ¡°Why wouldn''t it? It''s the grandest game in existence after all. At my age, you need a hobby to keep your mind sharp. Remember that for later.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll write it down in my journal,¡± I promise, prompting Lady Evershed to snort in a most un-ladylike fashion. ¡°But why the change of heart? Are you really worried about losing too much reputation? Is it fear that drives you? Or have you seized upon an opportunity to help us both? A wise man once told me there''s nothing wrong with mutual benefit to an arrangement; in fact, it¡¯s usually preferable, because then both parties have a vested interest in seeing things through.¡±

    ¡°Well said,¡± Lady Evershed says, nodding in approval. ¡°He does sound like a wise man. I suppose the answer is a little bit of both, Zebulun, although I can''t be certain yet that our gambit will pay off. We''re each taking a gamble, you and I, but some things in life are worth the risk.¡±

    ¡°If I do make a glass hand, then how will it help me work in the hot shop? What kind of enchantments do you have in mind, exactly?¡± I ask. ¡°A simple grip is probably feasible, but I imagine if you¡¯re trying to create a working replacement, the price is too exorbitant to consider.¡±

    ¡°One thing at a time,¡± she says with a sly grin. ¡°First, you need to pass the next round of the competition. That means you can¡¯t forge yourself a boring hand. You need to dazzle those stodgy old judges! If you win best in the show for this upcoming exhibition round, then I''ll even let you sit in on the enchantment session. I think you''ll find it most fascinating and instructive.¡±

    ¡°I should have known your offer is contingent,¡± I say, shaking my head. ¡°Still, I accept the terms since they align with my goals. I''m not exactly in a strong bargaining position, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Excellent. It''s to our mutual benefit, as you say. Wise words from your friend.¡±

    I sip from an offered teacup. ¡°My gratitude for all your help. I won¡¯t forget what you¡¯ve done for me.¡±

    ¡°I look forward to collecting on the implied favor,¡± Lady Evershed says.

    ¡°Somehow, I doubt this is the specific scenario that my friend had in mind, but I do look forward to telling him all about our arrangement someday,¡± I say. Lady Evershed chuckles, and we clasp hands, sealing the pact.

    =+=

    Prior to the next round of the competition, I sketch out multiple glass hand designs of various shapes, all in pursuit of wowing the judges. Nothing seems right for me, however, so I throw the pile in the trash, determined to come up with something better.

    Lady Evershed doesn''t end up discarding them as I expect, however. To my chagrin, she fishes them out of the rubbish and makes me practice making each design so I get a feel for the positive and negative elements. While any of the glass hands seem serviceable enough for holding a graphite paddle, or heat-resistant enough to allow me to directly scoop up molten glass, I¡¯m disheartened by the lack of beauty in the clunky, unwieldy results.

    Whatever I make, I have to live with it everyday. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m ready for that kind of commitment unless I find the right design.

    My first attempt at creating a glass hand comes out blocky; the fingers are overly stumpy and way too big compared with my real hand, and it¡¯s lacking refinement that will impress the judges. My second try addresses a few of my initial concerns by slimming down the dimensions and adding a slight, stylish curl to the fingers to help to hold the other end of the metal blow pipe while blowing glass, but I don''t particularly fancy walking around with a semi clenched fist at all times.

    For once, Lady Evershed is in agreement when I share my reservations. She pokes at the glass hands, making faces as though I¡¯ve brewed her tea with lemon juice. ¡°Remember that enchantment can add utility; your job is to create something memorable, something that will blow away the judges and gallery-goers in the exhibition stages of the competition. Beyond that, however, I don¡¯t feel comfortable saying much more. It¡¯s not my hand, after all.¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Unlike last time, when Lady Evershed offered her unsolicited opinion about my unwieldy designs, she¡¯s hesitant to advise me. When I ask for input, all she says is that I have to make a choice I¡¯m willing to live with¡ªand that she''s not able to make that choice for me. I understand what she means, but that doesn''t make me any happier about my current design plans. None of the options feel like the perfect fit for me.

    My indecision is eating at me, but as the day of the next round arrives, I find myself out of time and out of ideas. That morning, during breakfast, I announce that I¡¯ve settled on my third design for a hand. It''s the slimmest and least obvious of the options, featuring neither a fully clenched fist, nor fingers awkwardly extended like a piece of sculpture. I¡¯ll need to make all the details as fine and delicate as I can, so that the hand isn¡¯t obnoxiously large, but there''ll be no hiding the fact that it isn¡¯t flesh.

    Lady Evershed pauses after meticulously chewing a bite of porridge, considers me with an evaluating look, and nods as though I¡¯ve passed a test. She resumes her breakfast as soon as my shoulders slump in relief.

    ¡°I went back and forth over the coloration,¡± I say, too anxious to stop talking. I¡¯m chewing in between sentences, which draws a look of sharp disapproval, but the nervous energy has to go somewhere. ¡°I¡¯ve decided that a glass hand that¡¯s too obviously transparent or crystalline will look odd. Besides, now is my chance to adorn myself with a color of my liking. Part of me wants to be funny and use the same ivory and gold scheme from the coin press, but I can only imagine the eye rolling I¡¯ll get.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be the first one in line to mock you for that choice,¡± Lady Evershed promises merrily. The teasing helps me to feel more grounded.

    ¡°As a nod to the Rift,¡± I continue, ¡°I¡¯ve chosen a glass composite with a pearlescent sheen that reflects the light. I¡¯ll etch the surface in interlocking honeycomb patterns rather than trying to copy skin too closely.¡±

    ¡°That will match nicely with the suits I bought you,¡± Lady Evershed says, nodding.

    ¡°Er, yes, of course, that¡¯s precisely what I had in mind,¡± I say, blinking. ¡°Plus, it¡¯s a nice contrast to the mahogany tones my extended time out in the sun has brought out in my skin.¡±

    ¡°Practical and stylish, all at once. My, how you¡¯ve grown!¡± Lady Evershed quips.

    ¡°Precisely. Maybe I¡¯ll even make extra in the future, each color coded to my mood at the moment,¡± I joke to Lady Evershed. ¡°If I¡¯m feeling pensive or frustrated, I¡¯ll go with cobalt blue. If I think that I¡¯ll have to fight another battle, then I''ll go with a sleek, storm-cloud black with flecks of red-orange fire.¡±

    ¡°If you have to fight another battle?¡± Lady Evershed replies, a sudden note of interest in her voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for the martial type.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°We all have our secrets.¡±

    ¡°Quite so. I¡¯m still waiting for yours to cause a problem,¡± Lady Evershed says, but I don¡¯t take the bait.

    Before we leave the workshop, I slip my hand into a vat of molten glass and let it harden around my hand to create a custom-made mold. My skin is coated in a double-barrier to keep the heat from burning my remaining hand, the inside chilled to extreme degrees thanks to Lady Evershed. Her control over [Greater Heat Manipulation] is more sublime than mine, but she was still intrigued by the technique I described to create an invisible glove as a shield against heat. She copies it successfully after her third try, and pronounces it ready for me to use on the glass, which impresses me to no end.

    Once we have the mold, she fills it with hot glass to create a replica of my hand. I break the mold, freeing the cast sculpture, and she accelerates the annealing with her own Skills so it¡¯s ready by the time we go. Her indignation at my insistence on using glass for the mold makes me smile.

    ¡°Most people use sand for molds so that they don¡¯t risk melting off their skin or charring their bones,¡± Lady Evershed says, staring at me with her typical sense of amusement and faint disapproval. ¡°But since you insist on trying things the hard way, it¡¯s my job as your new master to make your methods work. There. Give that a try.¡±

    Our rambling conversation continues during the familiar carriage ride over to the boat dock, where we''ll board a gondola for the final leg of the journey to the warehouse. I cradle the glass hand during the entire trip, and I finally begin to relax by the time we arrive.

    ¡°This is it,¡± I murmur to myself as we queue up to register for the next round. No more stalling. Time to put on a show. I hope they love what I create.

    ¡°Next!¡± a cheerful voice calls out, breaking into my daydreaming. I shuffle forward to the registration station, focusing on the task at hand.

    ¡°Good day, Varnell,¡± Lady Evershed says warmly, greeting the new attendant seated at the intake table. Gone is the irritable, wiry man from last time, replaced by a woman whose face crinkles in a grandmotherly way when she smiles at us.

    ¡°Fiera! It¡¯s been too long. I heard you took an apprentice? My, he looks like the roguish type! You sly old woman,¡± Varnell says, rising to hug Lady Evershed.

    ¡°He¡¯s a schemer, no doubt,¡± Lady Evershed replies. ¡°How marvelous to see you here! I thought you were tied up with Linneus? No matter! Here¡¯s the prop I told you about before.¡±

    I groan internally, certain that Varnell¡¯s charm and geniality will freeze over as soon as we bring her attention to the unusual requests that Lady Evershed keeps making of the judges for dispensations and favors, but the smile never wavers. Could she actually be friends with my sarcastic, solitary teacher? They seem like complete opposites, but I¡¯ve been wrong before.

    Varnell examines the glass model hand briefly, turning it over and nodding to herself a few times. She calls over another judge to certify her conclusions. After a remarkably brief and civil discussion, they both approve the use of my cast glass hand, with the understanding that it is a reference piece only. Since it¡¯s a glass object that I created outside of the competition, they inform me that I can¡¯t incorporate the casting into my final result even if I follow the ten percent rule. They will, however, allow me to review the glass casting while I¡¯m creating my new hand during the crafting hours.

    I bow and thank them both repeatedly. Lady Evershed whisks me away to my workbench before I can create a scene. She wishes me good luck and slips away to give me space as the next stage of the competition commences.

    My nervousness fades once my right hand clasps the familiar tools in the hot shop. My fears aren¡¯t gone, but they¡¯ve drifted into the background as my entire being focuses on creating a masterpiece. I have no more cares or concerns vying for my attention; the act of creation is all consuming. The glass and the flames are my only companions.

    I start with a simple base before moving onto the fingers of the sculpture. First, I create a flat oval of glass for what will become my left palm, pressing the glass into roughly the right size and shape. I¡¯ll make small tubes for the digits of the hand, blowing through the pipe to expand a globe of glass while I elongate it with a steady pull. But that will come later, after I¡¯ve created the foundation of the sculpture. For now, I have simpler work to do.

    Like me, the other competing [Glassworkers] spring into frenzied action as soon as the bell chimes to announce the start of the next round. They show no hesitation or anxiety over the work. Perhaps the gnawing sense of dissatisfaction and second-guessing that had me teetering on the brink of inaction all week didn¡¯t plague them. My musings break my focus, and I take a moment to check my competition while the sour feelings churn in my gut.

    To my right, Zephyr is a blur of motion by her workstation, her various Skills humming to life to constantly spin the glass she retrieved from the furnace. She controls the process with nothing more than willpower and mana, reserving the use of both her hands to shape and pull the white glass into a shape that looks like a horse¡¯s torso. With a graphite paddle in one hand and a pair of metal tongs in the other, she alternates between pressing and pulling, bending the glass into elegant shapes and elongating other portions to suit her whims.

    I find myself slowing down to watch her work. Over the next few minutes, she fashions four legs ending in hooves, then fetches red-orange glass and creates a flowing mane for the fanciful-looking creature. I¡¯m nodding as it all comes together, and with a jolt I realize I¡¯ve come to a complete stop.

    ¡°Furnace too hot for you today?¡± Zephyr asks me, nodding at my unmoving hand with an all too knowing smirk. ¡°Sometimes it burns all the ideas right out of my head, too. Don¡¯t fret! I''m sure you''ll think of something by lunch time.¡±

    A few scattered snickers sound out from the nearest workstations, but most of the [Glass Smiths] and [Glassworkers] are too wrapped up in their own projects to pay much attention to the banter. I chuckle good-naturedly and nod in Zephyr¡¯s direction. ¡°I''m just scouting out the competition, so I know how much effort to put into beating you all again.¡±

    She grins at me. ¡°That''s a good one! I like your moxie.¡±

    Time is at a premium, though, and she shifts her attention back to the glass, apparently content with her teasing so far. Soon, the swirls and shapes resolve into a fantastical beast: a prancing unicorn. She expertly heats up an extra two pieces of glass and attaches them to the side, then feathers the new layers with her metal tool to provide texture. Ah! It¡¯s a flying unicorn. No, a pegasus, I correct myself.

    She silently places the animal in the kiln, then begins to work on spinning a new globe of glass. In an instant, I can imagine the entire menagerie of monsters and mythical creatures, and I find myself nodding in grudging approval at her mastery of the medium. Her movements are as economical as can be, and her creations pop with color and style. How I¡¯ll convince the judges to pick my piece over hers is a mystery.

    I stand still, as though poleaxed by the revelation, while my competitors bustle about like worker bees¡ªthe industrious citizens of our glass hive. I stare at the crude shape I¡¯ve spun up, my gaze flicking over to glare at the cast hand sitting on my workbench. It¡¯s an accurate imprint of my hand, faithfully true to life. Yet, paradoxically, it still doesn¡¯t feel like the right fit for me.

    I lower my head to my right palm, caught up in a whirlwind of doubt. As the time drags on, and my molten glob of glass stretches and cools beyond salvaging, my conviction firms up. I won last time by changing my plans. It won¡¯t work every time¡ªat some point I¡¯ll have to stick to the script¡ªbut it could work again this time. With a growl, I toss the glass into a bin and vow to start over.

    I run my fingers over the glass chips in their orderly compartments. My mind is racing as I envision new possibilities, no longer caring that I¡¯d settled on an option, received permission to use the hand for reference, and spent all my energy working toward this goal. It would be easier to make the simple shape of a hand, as planned, but a growing part of me thinks that''s just a way to hide what I''ve lost.

    ¡°There''s nothing artful about it,¡± I growl to myself, startling Zephyr. She glances down at my rubbish bin with a pitying look, then scurries back to her furnace to keep working. I lift up my hand, observing as I flex and wiggle the fingers. I don¡¯t want to poorly copy reality, substituting glass for flesh. Where¡¯s the beauty in that? I¡¯m missing the confidence Zephyr is displaying right now. I need that same sense of self-expression, that same rock-solid conviction that my artistic vision can be more.

    I withdraw a few small, plain squares of unshaped glass and tap them thoughtfully on the surface of the workstation. The memory of the Rift¡¯s core unfurls like a banner in my mind, with all its complexity and alien beauty. I witnessed something grander than everyday life. Not that there is nothing wrong with the mundane, I think to myself, chewing on my inner lip. But there''s so much untapped power that I¡¯m ignoring. I can and should strive for something greater. I can dream bigger than an inert, motionless replica of flesh and blood.

    I sneak a quick peek to my right, wondering what my competitors are planning for this round. The big man laboring at the workbench on the other side of me, opposite from Zephyr, has just finished rolling out a wide sheet of black glass, curved into a dome almost as tall as he is. The glass composite he¡¯s using is usually opaque, but he¡¯s stretched it so thin that the light shines through it faintly.

    His weathered appearance gives me the impression that he¡¯s several years older than I am, with square shoulders and bulging arms that look like they were chiseled from boulders. While his developed physique makes me want to stereotype him as a [Blacksmith] who ended up in the wrong competition, I know by watching him work that he¡¯s a true [Glass Smith] at heart.

    He displays admirable dexterity, fashioning glass with finesse and speed. Over the last hour, he¡¯s created a dozen spheres of various sizes and colors, trailing patterns across them in contrasting shades of color, and they¡¯re strewn across his workbench now. At first I¡¯m unsure what he¡¯s doing, but the longer I watch him craft the pieces, the more his goal emerges. He¡¯s working on what appears to be some sort of glass orrery, although I can''t claim that I paid enough attention during astronomy classes to recognize all of the specific elements of the sun and planets.

    The globes are still fairly plain other than the splashes of color, clearly just placeholders for the fine detail work he¡¯ll add later. What¡¯s fascinating to me, however, is the tiny shards of glass he''s breaking off from a glass rod. He¡¯s cracking the rod with a small, gleaming hammer, creating sharp shards of glass for decoration. Most [Glassworkers] would throw out the broken bits, but he doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s wasting them. Instead, he''s affixing the shattered, shimmering pieces in thin air, relying on what I can only guess is mana manipulation to hold them in place relative to the other pieces.

    Above it all, the gauzy black dome finally makes sense. I gasp softly as I realize what he¡¯s doing: crafting a vast myriad of stars to spin around the planets as they dance through the crystalline night sky. If he fuses the planets to stands and makes the entire apparatus rotate and move, then he¡¯ll have a serious shot at winning.

    Unlike me, if I stick with this boring design, I chide myself. Decided now, I look around for a way to start over. Each table top boasts a small tray of chalk for design work; my workstation proves to be no exception. I locate the little stubs in the tray at my desk with a smile, pick up a pale blue piece of chalk, hunch over the cement floor of the warehouse, and begin sketching anew.

    My previous design isn''t bad. It¡¯s true to life, at least. But that doesn¡¯t mean that it''s all that it could be. A hand doesn''t tell the story of the longing in my heart, of the desire to make something of myself, of my dreams for adventure and significance. So what does it look like if I let my imagination run wild?

    For the next twenty minutes, I don''t even touch any tools, caught up in the heady rush of the iterative process. The other [Glassworkers] are whispering by now, casting furtive looks in my direction. One of the judges even ambles over to ask if there''s a problem.

    I grin. ¡°No, sir. Everything''s finally coming together. If my master asks about what I¡¯m doing, just tell her that I¡¯m taking the lessons of adaptability to heart.¡±

    ¡°Well. There¡¯s no rule against redesign. But don¡¯t run out of time, young man. You cut it close last round.¡± He seems skeptical when I nod, but he leaves me alone. His footsteps click across the floor as he retreats to his observation post.

    My piece of chalk scratches across the floor, scrolling out the images in my mind onto the concrete. After a moment or two, I shake my head, put down the chalk and cross my arms as I stare at my new ideas. It¡¯s still too literal. Too simplistic. I reach for my glass of water, splash a little on the floor, and rub out my designs with the toe of my boot. I can do better than this. I will do better than this.

    A new idea takes root, and I dash over to the judge to make a request. ¡°I¡¯m going to need to borrow a magnifying glass. Could you help me secure one?¡±

    Moments later, the long-suffering judge hands me the requested tool, and I thank him profusely for the help. I crouch down on the floor, squinting through the magnifying glass at the miniscule marks I¡¯m making with a slender piece of chalk. Why did I limit myself before? I don¡¯t have to wear what I make in this round; I have time to properly match a hand to enchantments.

    My complex sketch soon sprawls across my work space, an intricate design that¡¯s no longer an isolated hand¡ªalthough it still retains a nod to the cast glass model I worked so hard to produce. A smile slowly spreads across my face as I consider the craziness of the scene taking shape before me, drawing inspiration from the Skill structures of my inner world, along with my memories of the Rift¡¯s landscape.

    By the time I finish drawing and turn to the furnace, I¡¯m an hour behind my competitors, but I don¡¯t mind. When my tableau comes together, the delay will be well worth the wait. The peculiar beauty of the core¡¯s geometry will give weight and panache to the strange skeletal hand that emerges from the drawing on the floor.

    I nod to myself in satisfaction as I get to work. The bizarre, articulated design on the floor is unmistakably me. I might not be able to wear the hand day to day. I may have to fall back on something a bit more utilitarian for glasswork. Yet I find that I don¡¯t care. There¡¯s time for that another day. For today, I intend to put a piece of my soul on display.

 Future Plans - Poll #3

    I don''t include a lot of extraneous POV chapters. This is a story primarily about one young man and his journey to maturity. That style won''t change much going forward, but I''d like to sprinkle in a few side stories and interludes to add intrigue and flavor to the reading experience. While I already have a few topics in mind, I thought I ought to present you, my faithful readers, with options. Whose story intrigues you? Which character¡®s perspective is missing? Choose up to five characters in the poll below.

    I can only include thirty options, so I''ve skipped some minor names. I''ll list the characters in order of appearance in the story. Let me know if I missed someone or skipped a character you want to see.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    What are you in the mood to read? How things are going back home, a lesser-known character''s fun background, world-shaking revelations, or perhaps simply a change of pace -- stake your claim in the comments! But beware: sometimes, secrets can be a burden to bear.

    Never fear. Only one more poll next week, and then no more questions for a good, long while. My curiosity is almost sated. Promise!

 B3 C10: Encounters

    ¡°Another letter for you, Zebulun,¡± Lady Evershed announces, interrupting my internal strategy session and scattering my thoughts.

    I pause in the middle of our CnC game, caught off guard by the underhanded new tactic from my wily opponent. With a grunt of irritation, I place my cards down on the table, face-down, and accept the offered envelope from the glass making guild. I can¡¯t deny the giddy rush of anticipation as I turn over the envelope in my hand and stare at the seal. I¡¯m certain I¡¯m moving on to the next round. There¡¯s simply no way Lady Evershed would act so nonchalant if I¡¯d failed to pass the exhibition stage.

    Before I open it, I tap the envelope on the table and stare at her. ¡°I must be improving at CnC rapidly, since you timed this news to maximize the disruption to my concentration.¡±

    ¡°Peh! The lion cub is no threat to the lioness,¡± she replies lightly, folding her hands and placing them in her lap. Her eyes glint with mirth.

    My glass hand pins the envelope down while my right hand opens up the note. We¡¯re not due to meet with the [Enchanter] until later today, so the homemade prosthetic is still inert and somewhat clunky, but that doesn¡¯t stop me from finding excuses to put it through its paces. I¡¯m excited to see what I can do with the real thing. Once I open the letter, I scan the contents of the new message, then toss it over for my master to review.

    ¡°First in class would have been better,¡± Lady Evershed says after she reads through the notification letter, teasing me about merely achieving an honorable mention in the exhibition round. ¡°Still, it¡¯s an acceptable result given your rather extraordinary circumstances.¡±

    I wave her off, rolling my eyes dramatically at her lofty expectations.

    She frowns thoughtfully a moment later, her playful tone fading. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you. I am. But don¡¯t let it go to your head. Adaptability is admirable. Reinventing designs mid-competition is hardly sustainable, though. You need to stick to your plan for the third round. The competition begins in earnest now; the chaff has been winnowed. You¡¯re facing excellent artisans.¡±

    I nod distractedly at her advice, but my attention is split due to my badly losing position on the CnC battlemap. ¡°Thanks. I appreciate the guidance. I know I went off script again, but it¡¯s worked out each time so far. I have no regrets.¡±

    Lady Evershed folds her arms and harrumphs at me. I glance up at her, and the solemn look on her face catches my full attention. I sit up straight and watch with a pit in my stomach as she slowly shakes her head. When she speaks, I listen carefully. ¡°That¡¯s the problem, Zebulun. Success is addicting.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t success the point? Why compete if I¡¯m not trying to win?¡± I protest, my voice rising as a strange defensiveness burns within my chest.

    ¡°Poor methods can lead to positive outcomes, but relying on them isn¡¯t a wise strategy in the long term. Remember: results and processes are two different things. My fear is that you¡¯re conflating them¡ªto your detriment,¡± Lady Evershed says.

    Instinctively, I want to bristle at the reprimand, but a warm, calming wind seems to dance around me, bringing the briney scent of the faraway sea, the soothing sound of waves on a beach, and a gentle sense of wellbeing. I find myself smiling and nodding. Somehow her words sound reasonable rather than patronizing.

    I realize belatedly that a Skill is at work to smooth over my ruffled feathers. I shake it off with a flex of willpower, breaking the spell and making her eyes crinkle as she smiles at me. I¡¯m certain she enjoys the dance of power; to her, this is one more game, just like CnC. She still hasn¡¯t told me the exact name and function of her other Class, but it¡¯s clear she wields more soft power than I''ve given her credit for.

    I blink a few times. ¡°You think I won¡¯t want to change my ways and it will come back to bite me.¡±

    ¡°Precisely,¡± Lady Evershed says, smiling again in her now-familiar, pleased, cryptic way that makes me nervous she knows something that I don¡¯t.

    ¡°Ah, right,¡± I say, nodding as though she¡¯s passed along profound wisdom. ¡°I am too adaptable, and that makes me too rigid. Understandable. I change too much, thereby making me incapable of changing my ways. I''m too¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s quite enough,¡± Lady Evershed says, cutting me off. She¡¯s still smiling, though, so she probably doesn¡¯t mean any offense by the interruption. ¡°I¡¯m only cautioning you to prepare yourself adequately, Zebulun. The stakes are increasing from here. You''ll need every advantage you can find or manufacture.¡±

    ¡°Good thing we have an [Enchanter] coming to help me create a hand,¡± I say, tapping on the slim glass prototype with my right hand. ¡°I even have a finalized plan. I think you¡¯ll agree that it¡¯s an improvement on this model. My first attempts didn¡¯t take into consideration how the hand design might affect the mana flow. I¡¯m going to prepare a lattice structure and try to replicate the conduits of an internal energy system.¡±

    Lady Evershed¡¯s eyes light up. ¡°Like the nascent mana-imbuing method you worked on previously? I¡¯ve been mulling it over since you told me about it, Zebulun. I believe I¡¯ve located an expert in the field, although he doesn¡¯t work with glass. The mediums should share principles as far as I can tell. Should you recover Skill functionality, I¡¯ll cover the costs of your lessons, as a good master ought.¡±

    ¡°While sitting in and learning additional techniques for yourself?¡± I say, amused at her particular brand of largess.

    ¡°Naturally. I thought it would appeal to you, given your love of mutual benefit.¡± She slides her [Assassins] cards across the CnC battlemap, circumventing my [Spies] who were supposed to prevent exactly this scenario, and announces that my Commandant is under mortal threat.

    ¡°Oh, mutual benefit does appeal,¡± I say, glancing through my hand of cards for a way out of the threat, and grimacing when I find none. ¡°Forfeit, by the way. I¡¯m not going to be able to come back.¡±

    ¡°Well fought,¡± Lady Evershed says with a satisfied smirk.

    I sigh, collect the cards, stack up the tokens, and help my master pack up the game. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t mastered mana-imbuing already, given your control. I¡¯ve seen you use similar techniques, although I can¡¯t follow them with [Manasight] anymore.¡±

    ¡°I have a measure of ability,¡± she allows with more humility than customary. ¡°But that¡¯s not the same as mastery. One must always strive to improve.¡±

    Before I can reply, a bell chimes from the shop front, announcing the arrival of a guest. I bolt out of my seat, rushing for the front door. Lady Evershed calls for me to wait for her, and by sheer dint of will, I oblige her. My heart is fluttering with anticipation, but I¡¯ll let her answer the door to her own shop even though I¡¯m sure it¡¯s the [Enchanter] arriving early.

    My suspicions are proved correct when she opens the door to reveal our visitor.

    ¡°Yarrington! What a pleasant surprise,¡± Lady Evershed says, ushering the [Enchanter] inside the shop. ¡°I didn''t expect you for another hour. Do make yourself comfortable; we were just finishing up a rousing game of Captains and Capitals and will need a few moments to prepare ourselves. I don¡¯t suppose I could interest you in a match after today''s activities?¡±

    ¡°Not after you cleaned me out last time,¡± the jolly, well-dressed man says, chuckling sheepishly. ¡°My financial advisor would have a heart attack if he found out I lost another estate to the Evershed empire.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d happily wager it on our next match, if it¡¯s causing you that much consternation,¡± Lady Evershed says, patting Yarrington on the shoulder like she¡¯s soothing an upset child. I halfway expect her to hand over some sweets, like she does with Baryl.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to make do without it,¡± Yarrington says, winking at me. He extends a square, fleshy hand with surprisingly rough knuckles and envelops my right hand in a crushing handshake. ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad about your loss, lad. We¡¯ve all had to learn the hard way that Lady Evershed takes winning far more seriously than the rest of us. Ha! You¡¯ll need a few decades to catch up to her.¡±

    I find myself laughing along with Yarrington. ¡°I¡¯m not even offended that you assumed I lost the game. You¡¯re absolutely right.¡±

    ¡°Of course I am! She¡¯s a shark, and don¡¯t you forget it.¡±

    ¡°I''m not likely to catch up in this lifetime,¡± I admit as we make ourselves comfortable in the back room. ¡°My best chance of winning will likely only come after she''s interred in a grand mausoleum and can no longer haunt my games.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t stand a chance in the next life, either,¡± Lady Evershed cackles.

    Yarrington shifts in his seat. He stretches and stifles a yawn. ¡°May I bother you for some tea, Lady Evershed? I¡¯m worn out after a night of hard work.¡±

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Lady Evershed¡¯s lips draw into a narrow line. She tuts. ¡°Out partying again?¡±

    ¡°You know me. I like to make the most of each moment,¡± Yarrington says with a dazzling smile. ¡°Including this one. Let¡¯s get down to business.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t deny her accusations, which makes me nervous that things will go wrong. I keep my fears to myself as Lady Evershed bustles about and prepares his tea. I observe him quietly as we wait. He''s younger than I expected for such a well credentialed [Enchanter], but his energetic, easy-going manner puts me at ease. He¡¯s oddly similar to Elias. I suppose Lady Evershed likes to surround herself with bright and intelligent people. Perhaps their virve helps her feel younger than her age.

    ¡°You received the designs I sent over?¡± I ask, although the [Runner] provided me with a receipt of delivery. Nervousness has a way of making me run my mouth without thinking. ¡°Are they suitable for the work?¡±

    ¡°What? Oh, yes, yes, they¡¯re fine. Anything will do, given Lady Evershed¡¯s fascinating Skill contributions,¡± Yarrington replies absently as he pours a nauseating amount of sugar into his tea.

    ¡°Oh?¡± I quirk an eyebrow, intrigued by the turn in the conversation. ¡°Which Skill is that?¡±

    ¡°I have a proposal for you,¡± Lady Evershed says, placing a hand on my arm and smiling at me warmly. ¡°At first, I thought that after you made a suitable glass hand, Yarrington could apply a simple force inscription that allows the digits to slightly tighten their grip. That way, you could hold onto a metal rod while you work with glass.¡±

    ¡°That sounds sensible,¡± I say slowly, still uncertain where she¡¯s going with this line of conversation. ¡°What changed?¡±

    ¡°I decided to make a more personal investment in your future,¡± Lady Evershed says. She gazes at me with grandmotherly fondness. ¡°A force enchantment means you still couldn¡¯t move or manipulate the individual digits. There¡¯s no articulation or nuance. You deserve better.¡±

    My head spins as I try to figure out what she means. ¡°I¡¯m flattered, Lady Evershed, but it sounds like it¡¯s beyond my skill to craft a glass hand with that level of articulation and detail. My plans are already set for the session today¡ªand you did just admonish me about following my plans.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you were listening to me for once,¡± she says wryly. ¡°The one you already made will work for our purposes, however. You don¡¯t need to replicate a hand. I will work through our esteemed [Enchanter] to condense my Skill and inscribe it on your hand. You¡¯ll control the world around you via direct mana manipulation, using my greatest Skill: [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride].¡±

    ¡°That sounds incredibly complicated and difficult to implement,¡± I say slowly, frowning as a dozen new questions and concerns spring to mind. ¡°And extremely impressive!¡± I hasten to add, not wanting to appear ungrateful to my benefactor. ¡°But how will I activate the borrowed Skill without mana? I can barely channel more than trickle, and that sounds like one of the most advanced Skills I¡¯ve ever encountered.¡±

    ¡°Luckily for you, a trickle of mana is all that¡¯s required to initialize the Skill enchantment,¡± Yarrington assures me. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the hard part.¡±

    ¡°So, I will receive her Skill. For free?¡± I scratch the back of my neck. ¡°But how?¡±

    Yarrington hesitates, glancing at Lady Evershed, who nods at him. ¡°Admittedly, it will borrow from her power. That means you¡¯ll share a recharge time with her, and it won¡¯t work if you¡¯re too far away. But as long as you¡¯re within the city limits, and Lady Evershed hasn¡¯t used the Skill, you should be able to control the world around you with extreme precision.¡±

    ¡°No wonder reputation is important to you,¡± I say as more pieces of the puzzles click into place. ¡°Prestige is power for you. Quite literally.¡±

    ¡°Clever boy,¡± Lady Evershed replies fondly, tousling my hair. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get to work, shall we? Yarrington has a long day ahead of him, and the longer we take, the less time we¡¯ll have for CnC tonight.¡±

    I groan, casting him a pleading look. He rumbles with laughter, sets down his teacup, and bows at me with an exaggerated flourish. ¡°Never fear, Zebulun. I promise that I will require your services for the entire day. You¡¯ll get to keep a little dignity tonight and avoid another loss.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Enjoy your reprieve. There¡¯s always tomorrow to crush your hopes and dreams in CnC,¡± Lady Evershed says with an ominous grin.

    =+=

    The next day, Lady Evershed announces that I¡¯ve earned a break from glassmaking. At first, I argue that I want to try out my new enchantment, but she yawns and tells me that she¡¯s too tired for us to carry out a proper test. She all but shoos me outside, shaking her cane at me and making me promise to get some fresh air, so I find myself wandering around Grand Ile with a bit of pocket change and a healthy appetite.

    Maybe I¡¯ll track down Baryl and treat him to more street food.

    As I saunter through town, basking in the sunlight and reveling in my day off, my mind drifts back to the enchanting session. Now that Yarrington completed the complex enchantment, I¡¯ll be able to work faster than I have since arriving in the city. My next glass submission in the competition will be my most ambitious yet. I¡¯ve already settled on a lamp, although this one is far more geometrical and complex than the lampstands I made when I first met Lady Evershed.

    A smile plays across my face despite the lingering, phantom pain in my wrist and ribs. I can¡¯t stop grinning as I peruse the market, enjoying the warm breeze and the riotous colors of Grand Ile. Freedom to simply relax is underrated, I muse to myself. I whistle cheerfully. I¡¯m in the best mood of the last few weeks. My life is finally looking up again.

    Around the next corner in the marketplace, I catch sight of a life-size portrait on a poster plastered to a brick wall, and the playful smile freezes on my lips. My own face is staring back at me from the poster. Emblazoned above my forehead in big, red, inescapably angry lettering is a WANTED declaration. Beneath the printed form of my likeness, a list of words lay out all my sins in excruciating detail:

    Known associate of [Spy] from Naftali

    Known affiliate of traitor Tem Cytekin

    Conspired with Wraiths and the Abyssal Monarchs to incite an Incursion

    Coordinated with enemies of Densmore to launch a devastating attack on the brave [Soldiers] of the royal army in Silaraon, resulting in thirty-seven deaths

    Stole items of great value from [General] Tychicus

    Attempted to subvert the good artisans of Densmore to his nefarious schemes

    The poster goes on with further descriptions of me and my supposed faults, but I growl and turn away. I can¡¯t read any more, enraged at the way they¡¯ve twisted things¡ªalthough the accusations are uncomfortably adjacent to the truth. My eyes unfocus, and my vision wavers as the ramifications of the words hit me. My mouth goes bone-dry. I start to shake. If they catch me, I¡¯m a dead man.

    I turn my head, trying not to let my jittery nerves goad me into running, and walk back the way I came at a sedate pace. Every instinct is screaming at me to flee, but I¡¯m not quite that stupid. There are few surer ways to draw attention than running through a crowd in a panic and trying to hide my face.

    Forcing nonchalance, I stroll over to a fruit stand, haggle with the owner for a moment, and purchase a small bag of pears. They¡¯re juicy, sweet, and slightly tart, but I barely taste them as my mind churns over the new information. I can¡¯t go out in public like I am now. I¡¯m too easy to recognize, particularly if someone can analyze my actual Class, like Casella warned me that [Inquisitors] can.

    I bite into the crisp pear. Juices flow down into my beard, but I don¡¯t wipe them away. I¡¯m glad that I don¡¯t look the same as I did. I¡¯m deeply tanned, with crease lines on my face from marching through the sun for the last month, my hair is long and tied up in a tight topknot, and my beard is fuller and thicker than in Silaraon.

    I¡¯m also missing a hand. Great dedication to the disguise, I think wryly.

    Yet there¡¯s only so much I can do to hide who I am. I¡¯m the right age, the right height, the right Class if anyone can see that. Do they know I¡¯m coming here for the competition? Sudden fear twists my gut as a sour thought intrudes. Did they torture Ezio or Rakesh? Will my friends pay the price for my escape?

    There¡¯s a good chance someone is on surveillance duty in case I show up at the glass competition for the next round. Maybe I should withdraw now. I can apologize to Lady Evershed and leave town. I¡¯ll backtrack and take shelter with Vicario and Iriye. Or maybe start a new life with Smoke, I add in a moment of giddy daydreaming.

    There¡¯s nothing for it, though. I step into a side alley, lean against the warm brick, and let out a heavy sigh. I came here for a reason. I won¡¯t turn back now simply because the risk is higher than I first anticipated. Still, I can¡¯t shake the question in my mind: is it worth it? I hope so. Regardless of the outcome, I intend to find the answer soon.

    =+=

    When I return to Lady Evershed¡¯s island studio, my glassworking master is sitting behind her desk in the display room, fiddling with the ivory handle of her ever-present cane. She waves me over, rising to greet me with a solemn expression.

    ¡°Zebulun? You have a guest waiting for you,¡± Lady Evershed says, her tone subdued so only I can hear her. She draws me into a corner of the display room and gives me a strange look that I have trouble parsing. She seems almost sorrowful. Resigned. ¡°He showed up a few hours ago, claiming that he needed to see you as a matter of some urgency. I served him tea and told him that you were enjoying some well-deserved relaxation away from the shop, but he insisted that he would wait. Do you want me to send him away?¡±

    ¡°What . . . what does he look like?¡± I ask in a faint voice, my fingers pulling on my collar. I find that breathing is growing difficult. I feel like I¡¯m suffocating, choked by my own tunic. Not for the first time, I wish I could still rely on my senses to recognize mana signatures.

    Lady Evershed pinches her nose and breathes in slowly, her eyes closed. ¡°So. Is this the mysterious trouble that I feared might catch up to you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it may be,¡± I say in a hoarse whisper. ¡°But there¡¯s only one way to find out.¡±

    ¡°If it comes to it, I¡¯m not as frail as I look,¡± Lady Evershed murmurs, clutching her cane in her hands. She brandishes it like a general wielding a sword, pointing the way toward the back room. ¡°Onward, favored student. Your master stands at your side.¡±

    Somehow, I¡¯m not sure if I feel better or worse after her declaration.

    We march across the studio and down the short hallway to our customary game room. A tall figure rises from his seat, places his teacup on the table, and turns to greet us, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

    A thousand thoughts vie for attention, racing through possibilities as I catch sight of him. I freeze in the doorway to the room, hissing in a sharp breath, then hold out a hand to prevent Lady Evershed from braining him with her cane. Today just got complicated in ways I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m ready for.

    I sag against the door frame for support as I recover from my shock. I wet my suddenly dry lips, trying to force out words as my mind struggles to catch up with reality. ¡°Padouk? What are you doing here?¡±

 Future Plans - poll #4

    Life gets busy. Sometimes, I miss my self-imposed deadlines. I''m not always happy with how chapters turn out. In fact, this week I''ve been so dissatisfied with my final chapter of book two that I scrapped it entirely and started over. I want to do the end of this arc justice, and the pages I''ve written so far are pretty garbage. As much as I enjoy the thrill of writing and posting the story in its raw state, I have to balance that against the overall health and quality of the big picture narrative.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Ideally, I''d put out quality chapters on time, every time, but that doesn''t always happen since I''m in a rush to crank out new chapters. I''m not even close to a full-time author, although I''d love to be able to tell stories for a living. As much as I enjoy writing, this project is just for fun. I will definitely write the entire story that''s rattling around in my mind -- one million words or bust! -- but it''s not even a tertiary priority, trailing family, work, church, etc. I do feel bad about late updates, however. What are your thoughts?

 B3 C11: Revelations

    ¡°Were you followed?¡± I ask, fear turning my voice into a razor-blade of accusation. I lean against the doorway for support, struggling to catch my balance. My legs waver like gelatin beneath me at the shock of our unexpected visitor. If Padouk can find me, then so can the [Adjutant] or his [Inquisitors]. I take in a deep, shuddering breath as I try to compose myself. ¡°I have to say, I didn¡¯t think our paths would cross so soon.¡±

    ¡°Zebulun! A pleasure to see you again. I hear your glass competition is going well, as if that was ever in doubt,¡± Padouk says. He inclines his head toward us, lifting his teacup into the air like he¡¯s saluting an old friend, and takes his seat once more. He eases himself back in the chair, crossing his ankles and smiling as though he doesn¡¯t have a care in the world.

    ¡°A pleasure indeed,¡± I mumble in reply, watching him with equal parts intrigue and terror. He¡¯s clearly done some scouting, since he knows my new identity and what I¡¯ve been doing in my time in Grand Ile. The question is, who else knows? I clear my throat twice before I work up the courage to ask the burning question on my mind. ¡°Have you seen the posters?¡±

    ¡°Pfft! They need a better [Artist],¡± he replies without missing a beat. ¡°The shape of your cheekbones in their picture isn¡¯t particularly flattering. And I can¡¯t believe they cast aspersions on me, as well! The ignominy of it all is galling.¡±

    ¡°Which posters?¡± Lady Evershed demands. She glances back and forth between us as though deciding our fates. With an exasperated sigh, she twirls her cane, leans it up against the wall¡ªbut still at arm¡¯s length, I note¡ªand pulls out a chair to sit next to Padouk. ¡°I think you¡¯d best explain yourself, young man, before I get cross with you.¡±

    ¡°I assure you, I have no interest in making enemies of the Evershed house. Unlike my friend here,¡± Padouk says, gesturing toward me with an amused expression on his face, ¡°I do my research before ingratiating myself with the powers that be. He¡¯s the one always rushing into danger like a madman. That¡¯s just his style. I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s congenital. No, no, I¡¯m here to help fix problems, not to cause them.¡±

    Lady Evershed coughs into her hand, glancing at me significantly while shielding herself behind the movement¡ªsomehow, she manages to make the awkward movement seem subtle. Time itself stretches and slows down around the two of us for a few, extended heartbeats, hiding her searching gaze while leaving Padouk unaffected. It must be another one of her Skills at play to give us time to collude privately.

    I know she wants my input on Padouk, but I hesitate to reply, frozen in place. I¡¯ve trusted him before, but I still don¡¯t know if my desperate, convoluted gambit paid off back in Silaraon. If he didn¡¯t pull off the misdirection, though, I¡¯d probably have heard about it by now.

    ¡°How are the others doing?¡± I ask, my voice still strained. I pivot clumsily and smile toward Lady Evershed to let her know not to take drastic measures. Yet. I pull out the third chair at the table next to Lady Evershed and take a seat, leaving the fourth and final chair next to Padouk empty. I¡¯m still not sure where things stand after our stormy parting, and I¡¯d rather keep the full table between us until I can sound things out. ¡°You think they''ll ever forgive you?¡±

    Padouk scrunches up his nose as though he¡¯s caught a whiff of something foul. ¡°No, not likely. Avalina will probably singe my hair off with a blast of fire if I dare show my face in Silaraon again. Last I heard from Melina, however, the others are flourishing¡ªalthough their money bags are significantly lighter after the hefty fines [General] Tychicus imposed upon them.¡±

    ¡°[General] Tychicus? As in, one of the few Third Threshold officers in the Densmore royal army?¡± Lady Evershed interjects, looking more shaken than I¡¯ve seen her before. She instantly recovers her control, but not before Padouk and I notice how perturbed she seems. ¡°Zebulun, what have you gotten yourself into?¡±

    I ignore her for a moment, gathering together my thoughts as I wrestle with complicated emotions. A burst of loneliness and longing to be reunited with my friends hits me like a poleaxe to the face. My cheeks ache with a sad smile. ¡°If Melina ever reveals my role in the deception, I do believe Avelina might spare some fire for me, too.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sounds like her,¡± Padouk replies with an uneasy chuckle. We lapse into silence for a long moment, although Padouk can¡¯t stop fidgeting. Finally, he sits bolt upright in his seat and fixes me with a haunted stare. ¡°You should come with me. It''s not safe for you here anymore. If I found you, then they won¡¯t be far behind. For all my jesting, those posters are a serious problem.¡±

    I cross my arms. ¡°That¡¯s precisely what I¡¯m afraid of, Padouk. Haven''t I caused you enough trouble? I''m not sure that it¡¯s in your best interest to help me, or my best interest to associate with you further.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Helping you is helping me. If the Linas discover that something untoward happened to you that could have been averted by my intervention, but I stood silently by and didn¡¯t lift a finger to help you, then I¡¯ll have both twins on my case. ¡±

    ¡°Fair,¡± I snort. ¡°I don¡¯t want to cross the Linas, either.¡±

    Lady Evershed holds up a hand, and instantly a bubble of eerie, total quiet descends on the table. Out of curiosity, I try to speak, but my words are swallowed up in nothingness. Padouk and I both stare at her, mouths agape. Then my master snaps her fingers, releasing the field of silence, and she speaks into the awkward, rigid stillness. ¡°I asked you before if you would cause me trouble. You assured me that whatever mess you¡¯d gotten into wouldn¡¯t be a problem for me. Do we need to reassess the danger to house Evershed¡ªand, the more pressing concern for me personally, the danger to my reputation?¡±

    ¡°I . . . I suppose I owe you answers,¡± I say to Lady Evershed with some reluctance.

    She arches an eyebrow at me. ¡°You don''t have to implicate yourself, but if the infamous [General] Tychicus of the currently-embroiled Densmore royal army is involved, then we need a plan if you¡¯re going to slip his clutches.¡±

    ¡°You aren''t going to turn me in to the army?¡± I ask, my voice thick with sudden emotion. ¡°I know you''ve sworn to be my master, but that was before the past caught up with me. I''m not trying to bring trouble on your head.¡±

    ¡°Yet you do it so effortlessly,¡± Lady Evershed says with a throaty chuckle. She waves me off as I start to protest. ¡°As you¡¯ve reminded us all, I¡¯ve sworn to take you on as my student. I¡¯m not letting you go without a fight. Besides, I¡¯m not in the habit of parting with a bargaining chip. You¡¯re more valuable to me now than ever before, and I''ve always maintained that there¡¯s something special about you. But if there¡¯s a threat to the security of my house, then I need to know what¡¯s going on.¡±

    ¡°Do you mind if Padouk and I speak in private first?¡± I venture to ask. Lady Evershed has been good to me, but she doesn¡¯t know yet that I¡¯m wanted for treason. She¡¯ll likely change her tune quickly once the truth comes out.

    ¡°I certainly do mind! No one leaves this room until all the cards are on the table,¡± Lady Evershed says, and her words carry with them the weight of command. I¡¯m pressed down in my seat by the force of her presence, compelled to stay and listen as she activates a Skill I haven¡¯t seen until now. Now here is power. What does she need glass for if she can do this?

    ¡°How did you find me, anyway?¡±'' I ask Padouk once I feel free to act again, changing the subject to buy myself more time to think. There¡¯s no easy path forward. Not now.

    Maybe there never was.

    Padouk shrugs easily. ¡°I knew that you were heading for Grand Ile, based on Rakesh¡¯s research, so when I heard you broke out of military prison, I followed after the errand we arranged.¡±

    I glare at him with a sharp edge to my expression, and he shrugs again, more helplessly this time. Lady Evershed stares at me intently, not missing the meaningful looks going around the table.

    ¡°Once I got here,¡± Padouk says, breaking the tension by continuing his story, ¡°I couldn''t find any entries in the competition under your name. That struck me as sensible, but I figured I could easily spot a pseudonym if you had to hide because you were still in trouble. Strangely, it wasn¡¯t easy to find out until I bribed one of the security guards at the warehouse to have a look at the glass display room after hours. Then, of course, it wasn''t hard to recognize your particular style. You always have been rather flashy.¡±

    ¡°I feel like I ought to be insulted, sir! ¡±

    He just rolls his eyes at my dramatic outburst and carries on. ¡°The rest was trivial once I had a name, although your lack of a hand threw me off at first. That¡¯s quite the commitment to your disguise.¡±

    ¡°It was an accident,¡± I say through gritted teeth.

    ¡°Good! If you were insane enough to cut off your own hand, I¡¯d part ways with you now.¡±

    ¡°So, what led you here?¡± I ask, still pointedly ignoring Lady Evershed¡¯s questions. I¡¯m not sure how much longer I can put her off, but I¡¯m not ready to tell her everything yet. I¡¯m not so sure there¡¯s a way around it. For now, however, withholding information is my only course of action that leaves me feeling like my choices matter¡ªlike I¡¯m still in control of my own destiny.

    ¡°Once I found out that the glass pieces were created by a one-handed artisan with no Skills, I started putting out feelers,¡± Padouk says. ¡°Didn''t take long to find out that you''d entered the gates of Grand Ile with Captain Ash, a [Bargemaster] from well up river. Turns out that his crew talked a lot while they were in town. They told wondrous stories of traveling with a young [Mage] who single-handedly¡ªno pun intended, my friend!¡ªshut down a Rift and saved a town from certain extinction. A few more queries led me here.¡±

    ¡°I guess House Evershed hasn¡¯t exactly hidden the fact that they¡¯re my patron,¡± I mutter. ¡°No sense hoping that I¡¯ll stay in the shadows for long.¡±

    ¡°No, there¡¯s not,¡± Padouk agrees. ¡°If I can find you this quickly, even with your assumed identity, then so can others. Those [Inquisitors] are no slouches. I¡¯m honestly amazed that I¡¯m the first to track you down.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve always been well-informed,¡± I say with grudging admiration. ¡°I¡¯m impressed that you kept up with my identity. You surprised me when you called me by my new name.¡±

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°Ha. I would be a poor merchant indeed if I didn''t have a good handle on my wares, most of which are informational rather than physical in nature. If it''s any consolation, though, I only knew to search here in Grand Ile because you told me about the competition. I¡¯ve been here for a week, but I was going to wait until after the conclusion of the semi-finals to approach you. Obviously, that timeline accelerated once I saw the posters.¡±

    ¡°Do you think that means [General] Tychicus is here in person?¡± I ask in a low, nervous whisper, glancing around as though I¡¯m afraid he¡¯ll come crashing through the walls like a hurricane and arrest me on the spot.

    Lady Evershed leans forward, drinking in my reaction with unabashed interest.

    ¡°Relax,¡± Padouk says, sipping his tea and leaning back in his chair. ¡°I don''t think the [Adjutant] has tracked you down yet, and the [General] is still off fighting the wraiths, which is why I risked coming to see you while we¡¯ve still got time to make our plans.¡±

    I swallow hard, my mind racing. ¡°Are you still taking [The Superior Deal]?¡±

    ¡°Of course! It''s simply in my nature. Speaking of which, you owe me a handsome sum after our strange escapade. I¡¯m weeks behind schedule thanks to the detour on your behalf. But I am sure you have a plan to repay me.¡± Padouk grins at me brightly. There¡¯s an unnerving edge to his cheerfulness. Nonetheless, something tells me that I should once again cast my lots in with him.

    ¡°Even if the return on investment is far in the future?¡± I ask with a brittle smile.

    ¡°Hmph! It always is with you.¡± Padouk¡¯s face turns stormy, although it¡¯s a relief to me. I¡¯d rather deal with his true annoyed feelings than with a mask of good cheer. ¡°Thanks to the fallout from our little charade, I won''t see Melina again for many months. She''s probably taking it better than I am, though. She''s always been the strong one.¡±

    ¡°And our, uh, rather delicate misdirection scheme,¡± I say, fumbling for words. I''m still not sure how much we should discuss in front of Lady Evershed, although the longer I talk, the less likely it seems that we¡¯ll keep anything secret. She¡¯s too clever by far, and I¡¯m worried I may still be under the influence of her main Class Skills. ¡°Successful?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have plenty of time to catch up later,¡± Lady Evershed snaps, her patience fraying and finally wearing thin. ¡°For now, I need to know about these posters. If [General] Tychicus is involved, then you¡¯re going to need to tell me everything. No more stalling.¡±

    I sigh heavily. ¡°The less you know, the better. In fact, it''s probably for the best if I simply leave now and never come back. I don''t want to entangle you in what''s coming next.¡±

    Lady Evershed lightly raps me on the head with the back of her knuckles. ¡°Peh! What kind of master would I be if I kicked you out on the streets at the first sign of trouble? A master doesn''t abandon her student like that. Besides, think about what that would do to my reputation. I have to keep up appearances.¡±

    I scratch my beard absently with my right hand. ¡°You seem to know who [General] Tychicus is, but you¡¯re still willing to help me? Aren¡¯t you afraid of what could happen to your reputation if you¡¯re swept up in all of this?¡± I ask quietly.

    ¡°I¡¯m well acquainted with Densmore¡¯s military structure, thank you. I¡¯m surprised to hear you mention his name, however, since you didn''t even know who I am. That hurts, I have to admit. Your biases are showing!¡±

    ¡°Trust me,¡± I say bitterly, ¡°I wish I never experienced the misfortune of becoming acquainted with the [General]. Getting on his bad side was one of the dumber things I''ve ever done.¡±

    Lady Evershed clicks her tongue. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to have a talk with that man. He¡¯s always been direct and unimaginative, which makes this sort of deal complicated. I much prefer dealing with his subordinates whenever possible. Greed is predictable. How much is it going to cost me to pay him off?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°I don''t think any amount will work in this case. According to the posters all over town, I''m wanted for treason.¡± I wince as I finally say the word, waiting for the inevitable explosion of shock and outrage, but it doesn¡¯t materialize.

    ¡°That wouldn''t have anything to do with the Naftalin in my house, would it? Because I''m certainly not above pinning the blame on him if it secures your liberation,¡± Lady Evershed says, casting Padouk a sly look.

    ¡°No,¡± I say firmly. ¡°Padouk is a friend, and I owe him more than you know. He¡¯s helped me at great personal cost. I really shouldn¡¯t say more, though. I have to find a way to withdraw. You need to distance yourself from me as quickly as possible¡ªI don''t know if I¡¯ll ever be able to make it up to you, but I owe you for your kindness, and I¡¯m sorry it¡¯s turned out this way. I hope this doesn''t derail your advancement plans.¡¯

    ¡°Enough of that. I¡¯ve already told you that I¡¯m not giving up my claim on you that quickly, particularly not when you¡¯re becoming more interesting by the second. Now, as for your friend¡ªdoes anyone else know you''re here, Padouk?¡± Lady Evershed asks, turning her too-bright smile toward our guest.

    His eyes widen fractionally, then narrow in distrust. ¡°You¡¯ll find that disposing of me is not as simple as it may seem.¡±

    ¡°If I wanted you gone, I would simply make it happen,¡± Lady Evershed says, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°I¡¯m too old for meaningless threats. I¡¯m talking with you because I need to know what you know if I¡¯m going to help. We¡¯re wasting time dancing around details instead of putting together a plan.¡±

    ¡°She has a point,¡± I say reluctantly. ¡°It¡¯s probably foolish to think that you¡¯re the only one who¡¯s tracked me down. You¡¯ve asked questions about me, which means there¡¯s a trail to follow now. Involving others means there are no more secrets. So, how many people do we need to follow up with to ensure silence?¡±

    ¡°Good, you¡¯ve been paying attention to my lessons,¡± Lady Evershed says, nodding at me with a spark in her eye. ¡°Let¡¯s sort out this business, so you can get back to practicing with glass techniques. The semi finals are a big jump in difficulty, and I¡¯m not sure you¡¯re ready.¡±

    I give a half-shrug. ¡°If he''s found me, then others can''t be far behind. It¡¯s only sensible to come up with contingency plans.¡± Then the rest of her words register, and my head snaps up. ¡°Wait. You mentioned glassmaking practice. Do you really think it¡¯s worth taking the risk to remain in the competition?¡±

    ¡°Worth the risk? Undoubtedly. In fact, I insist on it,¡± Lady Evershed says, her voice a whip-crack of conviction. ¡°We''re in this till the end. The bitter end, as it may be. I can¡¯t back down now.¡±

    ¡°Your reputation relies on it,¡± I say, realizing suddenly that our fortunes are tied together. Lady Evershed isn¡¯t altruistic; we¡¯re in this for mutual benefit, as well discussed. She¡¯ll help me, but only because the consequences if she doesn¡¯t are too dire for her to consider. ¡°Very well. Count me in.¡±

    Padouk scoffs, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up to pace. ¡°You still want to compete in the competition? This is madness! Come with me. I''ll make sure you get a hero¡¯s welcome back home.¡±

    I frown at him. ¡°At what cost? Are you willing to let me go, along with the package you picked up for me?¡±

    ¡°Package?¡± Lady Evershed echoes. ¡°I think it¡¯s time you start explaining yourself, young man. Too many secrets will give you indigestion.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d really prefer to talk with Padouk privately before I answer more questions,¡± I mumble as my face heats up. I¡¯m tripping over my words, but I don¡¯t know what to say. I''m not sure I can keep talking in circles as I try to communicate with Padouk. I¡¯ve already tipped off Lady Evershed that I''m withholding big secrets, but that doesn¡¯t mean I need to reveal the existence of the PPP. The fewer people who know about it, the better¡ªincluding Padouk. All he knows is that he¡¯s picked up some magical item that¡¯s valuable to me, not what it actually does.

    ¡°I¡¯m curious about it, as well,¡± Padouk mutters, casting me an aggrieved look. ¡°Playing errand boy for you isn¡¯t very rewarding.¡±

    Lady Evershed snorts. ¡°You don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re smuggling? And you think that you can keep him safe from your people despite your ignorance?¡±

    ¡°I''ll do the best I can,¡± Padouk says slowly, but I recognize the look of a man who doesn''t believe his own words. He crosses his arms and stares down at me. ¡°What¡¯s so important about the device, though? You haven¡¯t exactly given me a lot of answers.¡±

    ¡°You know I can¡¯t tell you. It¡¯s important for finding Tem. Beyond that? The less you know about it, the better. I¡¯d rather not tell you. Either of you,¡± I say pointedly. My concern is that if I flee to Naftali, and they figure out the device¡¯s true nature, then I''ll be right back in the same position I fled in Silaraon. I won¡¯t be anyone¡¯s lackey again.

    ¡°Tem? As in Tem Cytekin?¡± Lady Evershed interrupts. I glance over at her in time to see her eyes sharpen dangerously. ¡°You¡¯re full of surprises, Zebulun.¡±

    ¡°Nuri,¡± I say quietly. ¡°My real name is Nuri, and I miss hearing people say it, although I¡¯ve come to think of Zebulun as a more interesting, determined man than Nuri ever was.¡±

    Lady Evershed scowls at me. ¡°None of that, now. Zebulun is who you¡¯ve been forced to become by unfortunate circumstances. Nuri? He¡¯s whoever you want to become.¡±

    ¡°Padouk, could you give us a few moments?¡± I say, mulling over my master¡¯s wisdom. ¡°I think it¡¯s time I tell Lady Evershed what¡¯s going on.¡±

    Padouk¡¯s frown deepens, but he soon smooths his face and gives me a slight bow. ¡°Very well. I will peruse the wares in the showroom. I am an admirer of fine art, after all.¡± True to his word, he slips out, closing the door behind him, although I doubt he¡¯s happy about leaving. If I can convince Lady Evershed to sell him some of her pieces at a discount, then that will likely go a long way to winning him over. No matter what happens after this, he¡¯s still a [Merchant].

    ¡°Excellent choice, Nuri,¡± Lady Evershed says, smoothly switching to my real name as if she¡¯s used to covert identities and shocking reveals.

    Perhaps she is, I think as she activates privacy wards. I recognize some of them from my time with Ezio, but these are stronger, more sophisticated. I doubt anyone could pierce them without serious repercussions. That¡¯s the benefit of being rich, I suppose.

    My lips quirk up into a slight smile, but my heart isn¡¯t really in it. ¡°You say that like I have much of a choice to tell you. But I don¡¯t, do I?¡±

    ¡°No, no you don¡¯t,¡± she replies, her eyes boring into mine. ¡°Now, oh most favored student of mine, tell me everything. Ah, exonerating a traitor and guiding him in his impossible quest to win a glass competition with only one hand! That¡¯s going to do wonders for my reputation. We¡¯re going to set in motion the adventure of a lifetime.¡±

    I rest my elbows on the table and drop my face to my hand with a groan. ¡°I think I''ve had enough adventure, thank you very much.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like quite the story,¡± Lady Evershed prompts me. ¡°How about I put on another pot of tea? Storytelling always makes me thirsty.¡±

    I nod, surprised at how eager I am for an opportunity to finally unburden myself now that I¡¯ve made up my mind. Carrying so many secrets is exhausting. ¡°Well, it all started when Ember, my first master, put me in charge of a small glass shop in a neighboring town that got hit by a mana plague. They needed workers and a studio director after their head [Gaffer] and two of the [Glassworkers] died, and I was the most suitable candidate for the job¡ªor, rather, looking back, I was floundering at the time, and so Ember challenged me to learn by taking on responsibility.¡±

    I smile fondly at the memory of my irascible but good-hearted instructor. ¡°She wanted to see me grow. You¡¯d like her, I think. She actually learned glass here, a few decades ago, in one of the smaller shops in Grand Ile. Your paths probably never crossed. Anyway, several months into my posting at the shop, while I was on my way to the sleepy hamlet of Peliharaon, I nearly died in an ambush of Shadow Jaguars. . . .¡±

    It takes two pots of tea to tell the full tale of my last year and a half of strange encounters and glass-making insights. The longer I talk, the better it feels to share. I¡¯m scared I¡¯m under the influence of Lady Evershed¡¯s Skills, but I don¡¯t care anymore. I don¡¯t leave out any details other than the true nature of the PPP, hedging and saying it will help me find Tem. Lady Evershed is a gracious, attentive listener, never interrupting or showing signs of doubt. She only nods and quietly asks clarifying questions when I pause or lose my confidence.

    By the time I finish talking, still terrified that she¡¯s going to turn me in for treason after all, she¡¯s positively beaming. She surprises me by leaning across the table and clasping my hand. ¡°I promise that you won¡¯t regret trusting me, Nuri. What a marvelous tale! I had wondered why my reputation Skills buzzed faintly in your presence, indicating that my star could rise along with yours. Now I know just how important you are to me, and potentially to Densmore¡¯s future.¡±

    She nods to herself, twisting an ornate ring on her fingers as we talk. ¡°Nuri, finding my shop is the best thing that ever happened¡ªfor each of us! You keep practicing glass, and leave the rest to me. I¡¯ll take care of everything. You have my word on that.¡±

    Somehow, her assurances don¡¯t put me at ease.

 B3 C12: A Shadow of Whats to Come

    Four days later, the semifinals arrive, ushered in by a glorious sunrise. I¡¯m up early, too restless to sleep, sitting on a balcony on the roof of Lady Evershed¡¯s shop and watching the blazing, burnished sun burn off the early morning mist. I¡¯m glad I made the decision to move here. Sleeping in the guest room above the shop, instead of spending more of my hard-won coin at the inn, means I can squeeze in more practice time.

    I finish my tea and shuffle downstairs, running through my plans for the semifinal round and mulling over the last few days of developments. Padouk is staying away from the shop, out of sight in case his presence tips off the [Inquisitors]. He¡¯s keeping the PPP safe¡ªalthough, part of me fears that he¡¯ll abscond to Naftali if things go sideways.

    The back-up shop lights come on as I enter the room and trigger the enchantments. The soft glow overhead brings me back to the present moment. I survey the quiet studio and nod in satisfaction. I¡¯m as prepared for the next round as I¡¯ll ever be, thanks to my constant work in the hot shop practicing my glass techniques. Best of all, the boisterous [Enchanter], Yarrington, completed his work on the claw-like glass hand I made. The mana scripts on it allow me to temporarily borrow a lesser version of Lady Evershed¡¯s Skill [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride]. I try not to think about the title too much. I¡¯m intimidated by the name, but I know it will help me compete.

    A smile creeps across my face at the thought of the impressive, high-level Skill. I¡¯ve only practiced operating Lady Evershed¡¯s Skill once, since I need to make sure it¡¯s available for the actual competition. She pulled strings and called in favors on my behalf to approve the Skill use. The judges pushed back at first, but she prevailed, arguing that I wasn''t gaining an unfair advantage, but simply achieving parity with the others. I don¡¯t want to risk underestimating the recharge time of the ability. The amount of precision that I¡¯m able to wield, even with the diminished variation of the Skill, almost brought tears to my eyes last night when I made an amphora in half the time it would have taken me with only a single hand.

    I flex the fingers of my right hand, then turn my gaze to the skeletal, crystalline structure that¡¯s strapped to the end of my left wrist. A lesser enchantment that operates passively, as long as it¡¯s charged with mana before, enables me to grip anything the finger-like tines of my glass hand touch. Thankfully, Lady Evershed is gracious enough to assist me with mana-charging in the evenings, while we play cards. I can¡¯t manipulate objects with it the way that her Skill can, but it operates almost like a small magnet stuck to my arm. The improved autonomy is fantastic.

    A shadow passes over a patch of sunlight on the floor nearby, and I flinch. I toss a look outside, wondering if someone is peeking through the studio windows to spy on me, but there¡¯s no one there. Only a moment later, a gust of wind blows away the wispy cloud cover, and the sunlight streams back through the window. I sigh. You¡¯re literally jumping at shadows, Nuri. Get hold of yourself!

    I swallow hard, forcing myself to relax. After all this time, fear still follows me. My time on the road did my mental stability no favors, although I started to relax in Grand Ile prior to laying eyes on the wanted posters proclaiming me a traitor. Now that I know my hunters are here, I¡¯m having a hard time focusing on the competition. I find myself breaking into a sweat throughout the day that has nothing to do with the sweltering heat of the furnace.

    There¡¯s no one there. Act like a responsible man, not some shivering child, I admonish myself. Several times since my discussion with Padouk, I¡¯ve caught myself glancing over my shoulder as my heartbeat accelerates and my breathing stutters to a stop. I can¡¯t seem to shake the suspicion that [Inquisitors] are watching me at all hours.

    Meanwhile, Lady Evershed is tight-lipped about her plans. I don¡¯t want her to talk with the [General] preemptively, in case I still have a chance of slipping past the army unnoticed, but she has her own plans and goals. Now that I¡¯ve made the decision to tell her who I am, I can¡¯t very well take back my words. Even if I¡¯m not sure I trust her, I grumble as I warm up.

    ¡°One more spin for good luck,¡± I mutter to myself, aloud this time. I pick up a hollow metal rod using the passive attraction enchantment on my glass left hand. I haul the rod over to the furnace and collect some glass I prepared beforehand, gathering it in a glowing, gooey ball at the end of the blowpipe. I blow into the tube attached to the end, inflating the ball with air, and then spin it in my hands like a [Band Leader] twirling a baton in a parade.

    The glass ball reaches the desired size, but I spin the metal blowpipe a few more times for good measure. It¡¯s fun to manipulate objects with both hands again. With a grin tugging at the corner of my lips, I hold the pipe steady with the glass pointing straight down. Solemnly, I watch the glass as it melts and flows down into a bucket of water. Molten glass sizzles and hisses as it hits the cold water, spinning and transforming into a giant teardrop with a fragile, spiraling tail. The round end is nearly-indestructible, however.

    ¡°I¡¯ll retrieve this tonight. I have more crafting ideas in mind,¡± I say to Lady Evershed as she shuffles into the studio, leaning on her cane. ¡°Since these drops are so strong, I thought I might make a hammer. As long as I protect the tail that¡¯s liable to break, the end result should be pretty strong.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure you''ll be up to it after an entire day of working with glass?¡± Lady Evershed asks, sounding skeptical. Even so, her voice is more subdued than usual, lacking its typical bite.

    I let out a forced chuckle. ¡°I know it must come as a shock that I¡¯m skipping our CnC game, but I have projects on my mind. I want to tinker with this one more after the competition is over. In the meantime, I figured that I¡¯d get as much done as I can. With the way you scheme, who knows how much longer I¡¯ll have in your studio?¡±

    ¡°Why the accusing glare?¡± Lady Evershed demands, laughing at me and shaking her head. ¡°I have only your best in mind. I promise you that.¡±

    I squint at her. ¡°You have a trick up your sleeve. I don''t know what it is yet, but I''m fairly certain I won''t like it. You¡¯re consistent that way.¡±

    ¡°Still so suspicious, Nuri! Don¡¯t forget that the principle of mutual benefit still guides my actions. Don''t be too hasty to rush to judgment¡ªno matter what happens. Try to keep an open mind. You never know what you might learn,¡± she says.

    I snort. ¡°You should work for an axeman. That way when you make terrifying statements, people already know they''re heading to their final encounter and aren¡¯t gripped with existential horror at what unknown nightmare awaits them.¡±

    Lady Evershed smacks me lightly with her cane. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s comfort in certainty,¡± I say, turning a macabre grin toward my glass master. ¡°I¡¯d rather know I¡¯m facing something simple, like my execution, instead of wondering what disaster is lurking for me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d rather die than face the unknown?¡± Lady Evershed asks, arching her brow at me.

    I clench my jaw, reflecting back on the last year of surprises and heartache, and nod at Lady Evershed. ¡°Some things are worse than death.¡±

    ¡°Come along, then,¡± Lady Evershed says, ignoring my morose mood. ¡°We don''t want to be late for the semifinals. How¡¯s practice going with your new hand, by the way?¡±

    ¡°It''s still not as dexterous as my own fingers, but it''s an enormous step toward normality. I''ll actually be able to spin the blow pipes if needed, or hold a graphite paddle in place with one hand while I shape the glass with the other.¡±

    ¡°Good! Honestly, I don¡¯t know how you¡¯ve managed so far without a second hand. It¡¯s an inspiration to me,¡± Lady Evershed says.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have much of a choice.¡± I hold up my hand, examining the crystalline structure to cover my blush at the rare praise. ¡°I know it¡¯s not a perfect solution, but I¡¯m already significantly faster than I was for the previous rounds. I think I have a solid chance.¡±

    ¡°Look at you! Positively brimming with confidence,¡± Lady Evershed teases.

    ¡°I would be,¡± I say, ¡°if not for the looming specter of the [Adjutant] and his [Inquisitors]. I have to admit, I¡¯m still worried that they¡¯re hot on my trail.¡±

    I grow silent and moody as we gather our things and depart for the hot shop, repeating our now-familiar routine of talking while we travel to the competition¡ªthe carriage ride flies by, and before I realize it, we¡¯re in the gently-rocking boat, on our way to the glass guild island. I¡¯m not sure if participating in the competition is a wise choice, but I¡¯m committed now.

    Part of me wants to take Padouk¡¯s deal and run. I sigh, leaning my forehead against the gunwale. Of course, I don¡¯t want to entangle myself in Naftalin politics, either, but at least I won''t actively be hunted down as a traitor. Padouk isn''t very pleased about the current arrangement, but it¡¯s my life, not his. I chuckle softly. At least he brightened considerably after Lady Evershed struck a deal to pay him four fold the amount I had initially promised for his time as a courier.

    I still haven''t told him what the PPP does, although I¡¯m sure he has his suspicions. Lady Evershed figured it out almost instantly, badgering me with questions until I caved and admitted what it could do. Despite her wealth and prestige, even she grew wide-eyed with sudden desire when she realized just how powerful of a relic the device actually is. True to her word, however, she hasn¡¯t stolen it from me or remanded me into the custody of [General] Tychicus. She¡¯s been extremely busy ¡°laying the groundwork¡± to sort everything out behind the scenes, whatever that means, but she refuses to tell me exactly what she actually has in mind.

    Something tells me that I¡¯ll find out in spectacular fashion. I only hope that the surprise is in my favor, for once.

    I''m committed now, I remind myself as the keel of our little boat scrapes against the rock and sand of the beach. I look up at the imposing, muscular silhouette of the old warehouse, standing stark against the rosy morning sky, and set my jaw resolutely. I take a deep breath and clear my mind as much as I can. No turning back. No second guessing. No running away. It''s time to make glass.

    =+=

    My back is damp with cold sweat by the time we reach the converted warehouse hot shop and go through check in, where I register my surprise ingredient for the day. I haven¡¯t even gotten close to the furnace yet, but it¡¯s not the heat that''s getting to me. I¡¯m having trouble keeping the tremors out of my hand as I walk up to my assigned workbench to prepare myself for the preliminary round.

    My eyes are twitching about, my gaze constantly roving around to pick out threats. Are they even here? Perhaps this paranoia is all for nothing. I tell myself to relax, but I¡¯m peering into every shadow, watching for [Inquisitors]. At this rate, I¡¯ll be a quivering puddle on the floor by lunch time, unable to work at all.

    Get hold of yourself, I reprimand myself sternly.

    ¡°Sweating already? You¡¯re in the wrong place if you can¡¯t handle the heat, Zebulun,¡± a light, mocking voice announces as Zephyr breezes up to me, winking and bumping me with her elbow. Her hair is coiled up in an elaborate bun today, held in place with a golden clasp, and for the first time it strikes me that she¡¯s actually quite pretty.

    Why have I never noticed? Singular focus, I suppose. I need to get out more.

    ¡°Good thing I¡¯m only competing against you. I might actually be worried if I had to take on the elements themselves,¡± I fire back.

    Zephyr snickers and elbows me again as she walks by to her own workstation. I don''t mind her trash talk, since it never really seems too mean spirited or personal, unlike some of the other competitors. A few of them are downright nasty. She pauses and turns back with a look of surprise on her face. ¡°Nice glass hand you got there. Going all out for the semifinals!¡±

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°Nah, going all out would mean actually using my Skills,¡± I shoot back at her without thinking.

    A look of surprise flits across her face, chased immediately by a complex mix of anger and shame. Her shoulders slump. ¡°You really have been sandbagging, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Not by choice, but I¡¯ve muddled through. Thankfully the competition isn¡¯t too bad,¡± I say stiffly. Her eyes widen at the unintentional insult, and I scramble to find words to make myself seem less rude. ¡°Uh, good luck with your piece today, although I don''t think you need it. I¡¯ve been impressed with your skill with glass.¡±

    ¡°Should I be flattered?¡± she asks, her voice flat.

    ¡°Huh?¡± I reply, my mind stuttering to a halt. My eloquence flees me¡ªas if you had any to begin with, Nuri.

    ¡°You make it sound like your approval should mean something to me,¡± Zephyr mutters, still giving me an aggrieved look.

    ¡°Oh. I wasn''t trying to be patronizing.¡± I scratch my beard awkwardly, wracking my brain for the right words to say to salvage the situation.

    Zephyr just laughs and waves me off, although she seems miffed. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to seeing what you make today. I bet you¡¯ve got something good prepared for us. I just hope it''s less creepy than last time¡ªI still shudder a bit when I recall those interlocking rings. Proper unsetting! Where did you get such an odd idea, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it was just something I saw in the last Rift I visited,¡± I reply offhandedly, my attention split while I dig through the shelves for the right color of glass.

    Zephyr stalks off to her own workbench, scowling as though she thinks I¡¯m making fun of her. I start to follow her to apologize, but the judges call for us to take up our positions. With a helpless shrug, I shake my head and turn back to my workstation. Let her think what she wants. I have bigger problems to worry about.

    I focus on the work at hand, breathing deeply to calm myself. My heartbeat slows down at last, and I close my eyes, recovering my equilibrium. A moment later, the bell rings to signal the start of the semi-final round.

    I dash for the furnace as soon as we''re given leave to touch the glass, carrying a bundle of multicolored glass chips tucked under my arm. I add the red chips to the current batch, select a suitably-sturdy metal rod from the rack, and limber up my shoulders.

    Today, I¡¯m planning to spin up rondelles of various colors. My plan is to cut square and triangular sections from each one, then run a bead of molten glass across the edges to hot join all of the pieces together. I want to create a hanging lamp, like a small chandelier, built out of increasingly-complex geometric shapes. By mimicking the look of an incalmo technique, I¡¯ll combine the brilliant color from the rondelles with clear glass to make see-through windows so that the judges can catch a glimpse of the very core of the lamp. The glass structure will create a shell expanding out from a central mana crystal, all lit up with energy to provide illumination.

    Admittedly, it¡¯s not a particularly complicated set of techniques. Compared with some of the exotic work I see around me, my design is fairly basic, but I think it will make sense by the time it all comes together. The glittering, prismatic glass structure in my mind is worthy of a win. If I could make molds or press out flat, thin panes of glass with rollers, then I could craft the shapes far more quickly. Yet something about the nostalgia of spinning a series of rondelles by hand and then pressing them flat appeals to me.

    I test the batch, prodding the molten glass with the metal blow pipe to confirm the texture and consistency of the material. When it¡¯s just the right level of elasticity, I scoop up as much of the ruby red glass as I can hold and pull it out of the furnace. I hook the back end of the metal pipe through the rounded fingers of my glass hand, balancing the rod, and start spinning the first of many rondelles.

    Every few moments, I balance the rod across the workbench, pushing with the sole of my boot to keep the rod turning, and press paddles to either side of the glass to thin it out. As the rondelle disc grows larger, I periodically return the glass to the furnace to maintain the right heat and consistency. I¡¯m humming under my breath, despite the oppressive heat, and I fall into an old, welcome rhythm of creation.

    As the hours tick by, I spin up over a dozen discs in all the hues of the morning¡¯s sunrise. I stack them in the accelerated annealer¡ªwhich is powered by runes to speed up the process so that they¡¯ll be ready after lunch¡ªand take a break. I¡¯ve never been more grateful to hear the bell announcing it¡¯s time to eat. Sweat drenches my clothing and covers my face, stinging my eyes, and my dehydrated lips are crusted over with a thin layer of salt-like chemicals, but I¡¯m happy with the day¡¯s progress.

    After wolfing down a quick meal in the corner of the cafeteria, avoiding eye contact with my fellow competitors, I trudge back out to the workshop. I can¡¯t resume work until the judges ring the bell, but I¡¯m mentally rehearsing my next steps. If all goes well, I think I¡¯m ready to play my trump card.

    I pace a few strides away from my workbench, casting disgruntled glares at the nearest competition judge. Eventually, the lunch hour ends, the [Glassworkers] return, and the head judge rings the bell. I sprint for the annealer, retrieving my thin discs of spun glass.

    Back at my workbench, I lay out the rondelle discs in a line and tape them out to mark triangles and squares. With a knife enchanted for sharpness, I trace the squares and triangles with the blade, scoring the stone surface of the bench in my eagerness to cut out the shapes I¡¯ll need to create the final lamp.

    As I¡¯ve often experienced before, the world around me fades away. My focus is the work at hand. Glass is all, until the very last shape is cut. My hands are a blur as I rely on the passive enchantment of the glass hand to pick up and rearrange the pieces into the right order. Once I¡¯m done, I¡¯ll hot join them all at once, but first I have to complete the beating heart of the lamp.

    I tune out the fear and distractions. All the pieces are prepared. It¡¯s time to bring out my secret weapon. I slip the thumb-sized shard of crystalized Rift mana¡ªjudge approved, after my master rolled over the judges¡¯ initial objections¡ªout of the leather pouch I¡¯ve kept hidden under my robes. Trembling with anticipation, I hold up the rough crystal and cradle it against my heart.

    Before I lose my nerve, I draw in a portion of the power through the carved-out conduit in my chest and activate the mana crystal. The energy surges into me, down into my core, setting my soul on fire. Grinding my teeth to hold back a scream, I immediately loop the mana back into the crystal while holding the principle of fire in my mind. Flickering flames, I call out in the voice of my soul, pouring all the mana I can channel into the command.

    The mana crystal pulses, glowing as though lit from within by a warm, welcoming fire. I cheer under my breath at my success and place it on the workbench surface. Gathering my wits about me, I activate the bound version of Lady Evershed¡¯s Skill [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride] to lift up all the pieces of glass and rotate them into their final positions. They orbit about the mana crystal, glimmering and twinkling in the sunlight still streaming through the warehouse skylights.

    Keeping the glass in place, I run back to the furnace and draw out a small globe of glass that¡¯s glowing white-orange with heat. I draw on the power of Lady Evershed¡¯s inscribed Skill to pull strings of the molten glass into the air. With a flex of my will, I coat the edges of each glass piece that I need to join together to complete the geometric glass shapes of the lamp.

    I tentatively open myself up to the mana swirling all around me, bracing for the sensation of acid seeping through my cracked channels. The pain hits me like an army of stinging fire ants crawling in and along and through my skin. I hiss in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, and my right hand grips the metal blow pipe as hard as I can squeeze. Nonetheless, I manage to push through the pain long enough to harvest the mana required to ignite a brief burst of [Heat Manipulation].

    The levitating edges of the glass lamp fuse together in the blistering heat I bring to bear, locking the fiery glimmer of the mana crystal shard inside the multifaceted, triple-layered lamp. I hold it up with a shout of triumph, pleased with the fruit of my labor. Without the glass hand and the crystal shard, I never would have had time to complete the lamp in a single day, let alone have the mental energy to even attempt channeling enough mana to join the pieces and light up the inside.

    I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t give up because using mana hurts, I think, staring at the flickering fire of the mana crystal. The shining mana core is the most mesmerizing artificial flame I¡¯ve ever seen, pulsing with fire and glory.

    The entire construction is too delicate for me to hold in the flame-resistant gloves at my bench, so I continue to control the glass with the embedded Skill borrowed from Lady Evershed. The glass lamp¡ªa cube within an icosahedron, all inside a geodesic dome¡ªfloats through the air, held aloft by her borrowed Skill on its way to the annealer.

    ¡°Beautiful,¡± Zephyr whispers solemnly, speaking under her breath. She pauses from her work just long enough to nod at me with a slight smile. She seems to appreciate fine craftsmanship, even if we are competitors. I nod back in acknowledgement.

    Halfway to the kiln, levitating my precious cargo next to me, the doors to the warehouse slam open with a hollow, echoing bang. A dozen masked agents rush into the hot shop, fanning out and dashing through the cohorts. Amid the shouts of indignation, I try to slip by on my way to the annealer, hoping they don''t notice me.

    One of them skids to a stop beside me. A wave of mana washes over me like a bucket of ice water to the face, followed by a cry of triumph. ¡°Found him! Extensive damage to the core space, but the Class and Skills are an exact match.¡±

    The other [Inquisitors]¡ªwhat else could they be? They''ve found me at last, just when I thought I might have a chance, I think bitterly¡ªconverge on my spot. Two of them scan me again, setting my skin crawling with the rough, invasive touch of foreign mana.

    ¡°Known Skill structures and ranks confirmed. This is our target,¡± a woman¡¯s sharp, sophisticated voice snaps from underneath a mask. She tilts her head, as though hesitating. ¡°Something''s off with his mana signature. What in the abyss happened to him?¡±

    Despite the danger, despite my fears as my plans come crashing down around me, my ears perk up in interest at the mention of a change in energy profile. What did she notice to make her sound nervous all of a sudden? Before I can ask any questions, however, her companion unfurls a scroll and reads off a declaration in a booming voice.

    ¡°Nuri Shahi, at the behest of the Royal Army, by virtue of the power vested in me by [General] Tychicus of Densmore''s counter-intelligence department, I place you under arrest. Come with me.¡±

    I draw back a step, looking around frantically for a way out of this mess. Surrounded. Caught out. And no mana to fight back. Trembling, I sink to my knees, my mind reaching for a solution that doesn¡¯t present itself.

    The captain of the [Inquisitors], assuming the one who read my warrant is in charge, lifts a speaking stone to his lips and mutters a few words, his hands cupping the stone so that I can''t hear him. Faint sound buzzes in reply, but I can¡¯t catch the response to his query.

    ¡°The [Adjutant] will see you now,¡± he says.

    I gulp. As if my day can''t get any worse.

    My nightmare in human flesh struts through the doorway a few heartbeats later, a grim smile of satisfaction plastered on his face. ¡°Troublesome little crafter. Hiding secrets within secrets, are you? I''ll pry them out of you if I have to cut them out one by one. No more stalling. You will come to the capital. This time, there¡¯s no escape. Seize him!¡±

    As the [Inquisitors] close ranks around me, the inscribed Skill in my glass hand winks out. I sway at the loss of power, my mind momentarily flashing white. My glittering, precision-made chandelier crashes to the concrete floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

    A wordless, keening wail bubbles up from within me at the sight of the splintered shards of glass. I poured my heart into the craft, laboring for hours in the heat to make a masterpiece. And now it''s gone in the blink of an eye. Rage ignites inside me. Lady Evershed stole it back at the worst possible time. Now I''ll never see the finished piece.

    I knew I couldn''t trust her! my inner voice screams in accusation.

    Lady Evershed strides into the hot shop just then, her face set like flint. The borrowed Skill, now dancing to the tune of its rightful owner, billows out from her and blankets the entire studio. Terrible intensity presses down on me, and the ostentatious name of her Skill suddenly makes sense. The domineering weight hits the [Inquisitors] like a thunderclap, driving them to their knees before they can drag me away.

    ¡°Stand down, [Adjutant],¡± Lady Evershed commands, her icy voice crackling with a surplus of mana as power surges around her like a whirlwind. ¡°Nuri will accompany you to the capital, but as your guest, not as a prisoner. I¡¯ve reached an understanding with [General] Tychicus.¡±

    My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. My mind blanks at her betrayal. She said she''d take care of everything! I don''t want to go, I seethe internally, but I can''t form the words to protest.

    The [Adjutant] sneers, but he can''t seem to speak, either, held in the oppressive grip of the Skill. The sight gives me grim satisfaction.

    All at once, the pressure recedes as Lady Evershed releases her Skill. I gasp for air, then growl in frustration as once more my path is decided by another. ¡°This is the salvation you¡¯ve arranged?¡± I demand of Lady Evershed, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Hot tears spring to my eyes. I should have known.

    ¡°Trust me, Nuri. I promise I have your good in mind,¡± Lady Evershed pleads with me. Her cane clicks against the floor with each step as she approaches, her eyes soft and strangely luminous with emotion. ¡°There¡¯s more going on than you know. I have moved heaven and earth on your behalf¡ªand I am only warming up. I am your master. I will not abandon you, student, no matter how far away you go. I swear it on the ivory walls.¡±

    The world around me fades into dullness, all grey tones and incomprehensible whispers, as shock sets in. Mute and meek, I watch with distant detachment, as through observing someone else¡¯s cursed life, as the [Inquisitors] seize me. I do not resist.

    The [Adjutant] escorts me out of the warehouse in front of a hundred watching eyes, gloating as he squeezes my arm in a vice grip. Despair settles over me like a cloak as he shoves me into a cart with heavy bars over the door and windows. I should have known better.

    Just like that, my time in Grand Ile is at an end. The competition no longer counts for anything. The capital demands my presence; despite all my struggle, despite all I''ve sacrificed and grown, I''m powerless to resist its call.

    My lips twist into a merciless smile. That¡¯s simply the way of things, I suppose. I¡¯m only a humble [Glassworker], in the end, swept up in a grand drama too big for me. I should have known that none of my striving mattered. All around me, the world rushes on¡ªthe competition will crown a winner, Padouk will probably turn over the PPP to Naftali, Baryl will still scrape and steal to survive¡ªbut for me, life crashes to a halt. Something inside me splinters irrevocably at the jagged, bitter truth, but I find it hard to care. I really should have known better.

    All I have left is to cast myself on Lady Evershed¡¯s mercy. I hope it wasn¡¯t a fool¡¯s errand, but it¡¯s too late now. At long last, I¡¯m on my way to the capital.

 B3 C13: The Capital

    Sulfuric light blooms in the dark, stifling confines of my prisoner¡¯s cart. I flinch away from the flare of harsh illumination. Grunting, I wipe the gritty particles of sleep from my eyes, and blink until I can see well enough to take in the silhouetted form of my provocateur. The [Adjutant], [General] Tychicus¡¯s right hand man, looms over me. His breath is hot, florid with the lingering scent of rum.

    ¡°Whatever you want this time, can¡¯t it wait until morning?¡± I mumble, squinting against the flickering flames from his hand-held alchemical torch. The strange fire makes me queasy. I¡¯ll never get used to his dramatic, unwelcome entrances.

    He snorts at me. ¡°We¡¯ll be back on the road at first light. I have work to do, plans and people to oversee. Responsibilities. Not that you would know anything about that. Now¡¯s our chance to talk without interruptions.¡±

    I shift upright on the hard wooden bench, stretching my neck to work out a stiff knot. My muscles feel like they¡¯ve been twisted like yarn on a loom. I let out a yawn. ¡°Great. I¡¯m sure it will be more productive than our last few sessions.¡±

    A scowl warps the [Adjutant]¡¯s face. ¡°The more you tell me now, the easier it will go for you when we arrive in Modilaraon. I can be friend or foe to you, glassmaker. Your call.¡±

    ¡°You seem quite solidly entrenched on the foe side,¡± I say, my voice calm despite the sour taste in the back of my mouth. ¡°I think it¡¯s too late to become friends. If you¡¯re interested, though, how about you introduce yourself properly? Do you realize you¡¯ve still never told me your name? It would be nice to know who you are.¡±

    ¡°You think you¡¯re so clever, don¡¯t you, Nuri?¡± the [Adjutant] sneers. ¡°Everywhere you go, you somehow dupe people into taking your side. Against all odds, you cozied up with the Lady Evershed, earned free passage with Captain Ash, who believes you¡¯re a [Mage], charmed the guardswoman Qiya, and consorted with a known subversive, the window-maker Vicario.¡±

    He lists off each name on his articulate, painter-precise fingers, grinning at my growing discomfort. ¡°All seem to like you for some odd reason. Oh, yes, I¡¯ve been checking up on your activities. Don¡¯t look so shocked! You left a trail of devastation in your wake. Yet, somehow, people are hesitant to turn against you.¡±

    I sigh, rubbing my forehead to fend off the mounting stress from talking with him. Again. This is, what? The fourth time in the last fortnight he¡¯s interrupted my sleep to try to intimidate me into talking? I cross my arms, waiting out the tirade. It won¡¯t last forever. He¡¯s livid that he can¡¯t touch me, thanks to whatever agreement Lady Evershed worked out, and he takes it out on me verbally whenever his frustration boils over.

    I lift my chin defiantly and look him in the eyes. ¡°Did it ever occur to you that I¡¯m not the villain you paint me to be?¡±

    ¡°Meaningless protests! The fact that you twist people¡¯s emotions and predilections so that they think favorably of you, despite all you¡¯ve done, shows how truly devious you are.¡±

    I growl in headache-induced frustration, no longer interested in continuing to go round and round in circles with the surly [Adjutant].

    My irritation only earns me a nasty chuckle in return. ¡°I believe you mistake me, Nuri. I¡¯m not insinuating that you¡¯re a malefactor or traitor. I¡¯ll leave those appellations and allegations to the [General] and his ilk. On the contrary! I admire your craft. We¡¯re alike, you and I.¡±

    ¡°Worst insult yet. I liked you better when you threatened me. You¡¯re more believable that way,¡± I say, pointedly turning away from him to put an end to the conversation. I pull my cloak close and huddle in the corner of the cart, seeking to return to sleep.

    For a long moment, silence settles over the cart. The flame snuffs out. Briefly, hope wells up in my heart that he¡¯ll just just leave for once. But before I can relax, he speaks up one last time, in a low, mocking tone.

    ¡°Very well. Have it your way. You¡¯ll remember this moment, Nuri. When my master slices you open, dissecting you piece by piece, you¡¯ll wish you gave up your secrets willingly. You¡¯ll try to change your mind, but it will be too late. You¡¯ll scream for me to have mercy. By then, I would rather cut my ears off with my own hand than listen. You¡¯ve made your choice; now your fate is out of my hands. Honestly? Good riddance to you.¡±

    With his ominous pronouncement hanging in the air, the [Adjutant] kicks open the door to the cart and storms off, slamming the door behind him. His heavy boots stomp away, squelching across the muddy ground as he departs.

    My brave smile falters, then fades altogether. He hates me, but right now he can only bluster. Whatever my master, Lady Evershed, arranged with [General] Tychicus, it seems to be restraining the hand of his underling. He can¡¯t touch me, but that only makes me worry what he¡¯ll do once I¡¯m no longer under her protection.

    =+=

    The next few weeks pass by more peacefully. My life is a dull rhythm of slow travel and slower training. Like my first imprisonment¡ªI chuckle ruefully, shaking my head at the fact that I¡¯m now an experienced hand at getting myself arrested¡ªonly my mind is still free. This time, however, I can¡¯t do much more than cast my thoughts back to what I¡¯ve seen and done, roaming through the wastelands of my mind as I sift through memories like a [Miner] trying to find gold in the dirt and detritus.

    I¡¯ve been fortunate enough to witness talented glassmakers plying their craft, in addition to the dazzling displays of mana manipulation from the [Enchanter] and [Mimic Mage]. Right now I¡¯m limited in my practice, since mana is mostly out of my reach, but I can still remember. Everything I¡¯ve seen is locked away in my mind; now I simply have to sort through it. Theory isn¡¯t my strong point, but building a foundation will pay off down the road.

    Assuming I live that long.

    I drift in and out of sleep, my rest cycles desynchronized from night and day. The guards aren¡¯t letting me out of the cart, not even to relieve myself. I¡¯m back to using a pot in the corner, like an animal. All in all, though, it¡¯s not a hard journey. I would even enjoy it, except that I¡¯m not able to appreciate the landscape and locales.

    I haven¡¯t seen as much of the quaint Densmore countryside as I hoped. Throughout our six week journey to the Capital city, Modilaraon, we¡¯ve stuck to military roads and established trade routes. Besides, it¡¯s difficult to see much through the thick iron bars in my prisoner cart¡¯s singular window. I can¡¯t complain about my treatment, at least. The guards usually leave me alone, so I have time to think¡ªunless the brooding [Adjutant] gets bored.

    I sit up, stretching out my sore limbs with a yawn. Twilight blankets the land, robbing me of another chance to admire the fleeting view. I¡¯ve always wanted to see the craggy mountains surrounding Modilaraon, the capital city of Densmore. One day, maybe I¡¯ll get to climb them. A picnic in the peaks sounds incredible.

    Longing for a quiet adventure hits me. I want to travel without disturbances and danger. Maybe I¡¯ll walk across the white sand of the desert, the pink sand beaches of the coral seas, and the sizzling black sand of the far south, where the land grows uneasy¡ªthe surface of the earth breaks open to reveal weeping wounds of lava. Boiling steam jets into the air, or so the stories claim. I¡¯ll need my [Heat Manipulation] back to hold up in those conditions.

    The thought of my missing Skills brings me back to reality. I reach up and grip one of the cold, iron bars with my right hand, grounding myself with the rough, pitted texture of the bars. I glare at it, not that it does me any good. I¡¯m a prisoner with no real hope of recourse. I¡¯m not in a position to break out this time.

    At least my guards treat me with relative indifference. Most of them weren''t stationed in Silaraon, and those who were there seem dubious that I had anything to do with nefarious plots against the Royal Army. I didn''t realize until I heard their idle chatter what had happened back at the prison. A radical group of insurgents tried to assassinate [General] Tychicus, even though he is past the Third Threshold. They burned themselves to fuel their ill-fated plan, but the only ones they killed were low-level [Soldiers] who had done nothing to draw their ire.

    I had nothing to do with them, but my pleas that I was merely the victim of unfortunate circumstances seem to fall on deaf ears. That, or the guards are slackers.

    It¡¯s a miracle they¡¯ve left me alone, but I suppose I cut a pathetic figure, with my filthy, matted hair and missing hand. I¡¯ve grown scrawny. The thin broth and stale bread crusts they feed me aren¡¯t exactly doing any favors for my physique.

    I let go of the bar, examining my veiny arms. There¡¯s not much I can do to develop my body in the narrow confines of the prisoner cart. I try to do squats and lunges when possible. The manacles and chains limit my movement, but it''s important that I don''t let my body waste away to nothing. I¡¯ve even managed to modify push-ups, resting my left forearm on the bench of the cart so that I can keep up a modicum of upper body strength, but it¡¯s not the most effective strength program.

    Hey, look on the bright side. Maybe I¡¯ll have more room in the cell they dump me in when we arrive in the Capital.

    Sweat drenched and shivering now that night is descending, with a thin blanket that does little to keep me warm¡ªI miss my old friend [Heat Manipulation] more than ever¡ªI turn to the only training I have left: mana manipulation. Controlling the energy of the world around me is tricky enough when I have a ready supply of mana to harvest. Inside this blasted cart, which is scripted with mana suppression runes, the ocean of power we swim through is reduced to a tiny trickle, a rivulet so small it doesn¡¯t even count as a creek.

    My lips twist into a grimace. I can''t make much use of the scraps of energy I harvest, anyway. Still, bathing my inner world in mana is the fastest way to heal from my horrific injuries. The progress is excruciatingly slow, but as I¡¯ve discovered from practicing with higher order concepts, intent is everything.

    I draw in a breath, pulling in a quivering nonce of power. It¡¯s so faint that I worry for the hundredth time that I¡¯m just imagining the progress. Whenever I''m tempted to give up, though, I remind myself that every little bit helps. There''s not much else to do while I slump in my cart, so I make a daily discipline of drawing in and circulating the occasional few drops of ambient mana that leak through the seams of the wards.

    As always, the searing pain tempts me to stop. I shrug it off, gritting my teeth. Not like I have anything else to do, anyway. The mana catches on my skin like hooked barbs, buzzes against my skull, and burns through my channels, but I¡¯ve come too far and lost too much to just give up now. Over the last year, I''ve been tested in the fire of opposition and come out forged into something stronger and more resolute. I¡¯ve been purified and refined.

    My core is still ruptured, though. There¡¯s no getting around that yet. My channels are too weak to retain the small amounts of energy I take in; they¡¯re covered in miniscule cracks, like an old rubber hose left to dry out in the sun. The mana seeps through the fissures no matter how hard I strain to keep it contained. I¡¯m unable to use my Skills in any prolonged or meaningful way, given how long it takes to collect energy in the confines of my prisoner¡¯s cart, but it feels good to practice mana manipulation with the trace amounts of magic available to me.

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    I pull the motes through my core, circulating them toward my Skills, and will the mana to heal the pockmarks on the crystalline structures. A frisson of pain accompanies each movement of the energy. Coaxing the mana to flow through me feels like trying to draw up cold, sticky molasses through a straw. The viscous material clumps and hardens, resistant to maneuvering, unresponsive and uncaring despite my efforts.

    With a groan, I collapse on my bench and release the working. It¡¯s tough to concentrate, what with our destination on the horizon. We ought to arrive in Densmore¡¯s political and cultural center tonight, I muse. By now, the acid bath etching on my soul is almost bearable, at least if I can keep focused. Almost. Ah well. Might as well keep training until we reach Modilaraon.

    Taking a deep, steadying breath, I delve back into my fractured inner world and survey the progress. All of my Skills are still fractured and pitted, but the damage to [Heat Manipulation] no longer seems quite as debilitating. If I could hold onto a little more mana, or if I got my hand on extra mana crystals, then I could probably use it normally. Like old times.

    My sight turns toward the slagheap of my other Skills. In the airless, illusory space of my soul, I heave the equivalent of a sigh as I look at my glass creation Skill. Perhaps my greatest regret is that the [Eternal Glass Forge] seems like a contradiction in terms. The Skill structure gleams in places from the few precious drops of mana that I¡¯ve infused into the structure, but it''s still inoperable. Eternal. Ha!

    Far from immortal and inviolable, I fear that it is now more mausoleum than machine of mana. I wish more than anything that I had it still available, so I could at least make something in the slow, agonizing hours in the cart when I have nothing to do but contemplate my fate.

    My imagination''s bone dry right now though. What would I make? I resurface, wrapped in a shroud of melancholy. Before I can drown in the despondency, however, I¡¯m reminded of one of Ember¡¯s favorite sayings: the difference between an amateur and a professional isn¡¯t talent or interest, or even earning a living from the work; it¡¯s the dedication and willpower to continue making things when you don''t feel like it.

    There¡¯s work to be done. I aim to do it.

    I shift on my seat, shuffling over to the edge of the cart to try to catch my first glimpse of the fabled capital. I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter that I can¡¯t see much, since it¡¯s night time out, but I¡¯m excited to finally see the needle-like spires from my picture books. The thought cheers me up instantly, and I practically bounce on the narrow wooden bench in anticipation.

    During my youth, I always thought I would one day visit the capital. Of course, back then, I thought I¡¯d go with my friends. I close my eyes as my thoughts drift back.

    Once upon a time, I¡¯d planned to hoard my pocket money. I¡¯d buy a stick of spicy meat from a street vendor and eat it by the crystal fountain in Modilaraon¡¯s central square, dipping my toes into the water and savoring each bite. After lunch, I¡¯d visit the arena where my favorite heroes trained. I wonder if any of them remember Tem, or if they¡¯re distancing themselves from the supposed ¡®traitor.¡¯

    Then I intended to wander around Modilaraon without a destination in mind, gawking like a tourist at the stately architecture and towering turrets that stand like the spines of a hunchback monster against the sky. I¡¯d dreamed of the thrill of brightly-dressed traveling circus [Acrobats], the mad cacophony of foreign [Merchants] and visiting [Dignitaries] bustling about admiring the majesty of Densmore, and the sweet scent of a hundred thousand hyacinths all in bloom.

    The reality is much crueler.

    We roll into the outskirts of the city after dusk, bypassing the main gate. Our procession angles off to the side, away from the marvels of Modilaraon. We¡¯re heading toward an imposing military barracks, all square shoulders and dark stone set in a sheer cliff. I haul myself up by the iron bar, craning my neck to peer up at the foreboding mountainside. A gaping tunnel in the rock face opens to receive us like the dark, yawning maw of a beast.

    As the cart rumbles through the long tunnel and finally emerges into the starlight, I crane my neck to glance out the window. We¡¯re far from the main boulevard that I¡¯ve always imagined treading, far from the imperial palace and its legendary lionine guardian, but I still squint out the tiny window in hopes that I''ll catch a glimpse of the palace.

    ¡°If that can¡¯t inspire me, but nothing will,¡± I mutter under my breath.

    And then, with a juddering screech as the wheels grind to a halt, we arrive. Fear slithers through my gut, cold and reptilian to the touch, like the alien-smooth scales of a snake. The unsettling sensation crawls up my spine and curls up in the dark recesses of my mind. Not even the thought of seeing the pinnacle of the glass making craft, the Lion of Densmore, can shake the trepidation that comes with knowing we''ve reached our journeys end.

    ¡°End of the line,¡± a rough voice calls out, the sound accompanied by the rapping of knuckles on the door of the cart.

    A moment later, light floods the dim, cramped quarters, stabbing into my eyes making them water with its intensity. As instructed, I shuffle toward the door with my manacled arms held out in front of me, as meek and unassuming as a lamb led to the slaughter.

    No spires greet me outside. Even the impressive edifice of the barracks has disappeared from view. Instead, I blink and stare at an unassuming brick house. The windows have no bars over them. The front gate looks purely decorative. We appear to have stopped in a residential district.

    Yet there¡¯s something about the place that makes the fine hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

    ¡°And so my journey draws to a close,¡± I murmur softly. It¡¯s been a disappointment so far. The only mercy so far is that the [Adjutant] hasn¡¯t bothered me again. After his last threat, he¡¯s given me a wide berth, although that¡¯s unsettling in its own way.

    Still, there¡¯s an ever present, simmering rage just underneath the surface of the caravan. I can sense it while standing perched in the doorway of my wheeled prison cell. When he stalks past the side of the cart, I lift myself up to my full height and meet his imperious gaze. This time, he¡¯s the one to flinch when we make eye contact, but it¡¯s not fear or shame that makes him look away. His lips curl away from his teeth in a snarl. There¡¯s madness flickering in his eyes, like a leashed dog straining to be free of its bonds.

    I gulp and look away, unsettled by the intensity of his glare. The man truly despises me. What vengeance will the [Adjutant] extract? I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s planning, but it seems like a forgone conclusion that I won¡¯t get out unscathed.

    As if in answer to my question, he yanks on the chains, dragging me out of the cart and making me stumble onto the hard, cobbled street. With a bitter, mirthless laugh, he spits on the ground next to me. ¡°Get up. The only reason I haven''t dissected you myself, boy, is because politics stays my hand. I''m not willing to lose my entire career to bring you to justice prematurely, but don¡¯t think you¡¯re safe. This isn¡¯t the end.¡±

    The door of the cart slams shut behind me. I stagger to my feet, glancing around at the strange surroundings in confusion, a dozen questions on the tip of my tongue. I try to sort out where I am and what¡¯s going on, although my thoughts are grinding to a halt. ¡°Where are the barracks? Where is General Tychicus? What do you want with me?¡±

    The [Adjutant] snarls at me. ¡°The [General] is still busy fighting the wraiths. He¡¯s cleaning up your messes, fixing the incursions that you and your traitor friend unleashed on Densmore. Until he returns to the capital, I¡¯ve been given leave to investigate however I see fit. You may have deceived that kind-hearted old glass maker, but I''m not so easily fooled. She pulled a few strings to keep you alive, but she doesn¡¯t have as much clout as she thinks she does.¡±

    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± I ask. ¡°Do the [Inquisitors] work here?¡±

    The [Adjutant]¡¯s thin lips curve into a dangerous, mocking grin. He gives the chains to another guard. ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough. You certainly haven¡¯t escaped punishment, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re hoping. Your time is coming soon.¡±

    One sight of the storm clouds on the [Adjutant]¡¯s face, and the rest of my questions die unspoken. To be honest, I¡¯m not sure I want answers.

    ¡°This place gives me the creeps,¡± one of the guards next to me says, leaning to the side and spitting in the bushes derisively. I half expect that its roots will suddenly lift out of the ground and strangle him.

    A side door of the house creaks open, making me jump. I hadn¡¯t seen it before, since it¡¯s shadowed by the twilight hues of blue and sable. The heavy, studded door swings wide open to disgorge a pair of armed guards. They saunter toward us with the bored, arrogant look of men accustomed to casual violence. They are kings within their own domain, uncaring that we come from the Royal Army. I see no crests or defining regalia; their uniforms appear matte black and shrouded.

    ¡°Sure this is the right one?¡± the older looking of the two guards says, nudging me with the blunt metal end cap of his spear. ¡°Looks a bit scrawny to be a revolutionary.¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t much to look at, is he?¡± the [Soldier] who primarily guarded me chimes in. A regular guard of mine on the journey back to the capital, he¡¯s been aloof but inoffensive. He didn¡¯t cause trouble or take out his frustrations on me, unlike the burly, brutish guard back in Silaraon, but we''re not exactly friends, either. He''s a skinny chap with a bit of fuzz on his top lip, though not enough to get him in trouble when the sergeant demands clean-shaven faces.

    ¡°So why are the [Inquisitors] offloading this one here?¡± the guard asks, glancing back and forth between us.

    My head snaps up at his words, a jolt of shock running through me. What does he mean by offloading? I figured that this was an [Inquisitor] safehouse. If not, then who lives here?

    ¡°The [Adjutant] took a shine to him. He¡¯s destined for the Scalpel.¡±

    They all share a look. The [Soldier] shudders when he says the name. ¡°For his sake, I hope the rumors about her ain¡¯t true. Seems like a nice enough fellow.¡±

    What rumors? I wonder, my heart pounding. My teeth grind together as I clench my jaw. I didn¡¯t exactly expect a welcome party, but I thought I¡¯d have a few months while Lady Evershed and [General] Tychicus argue over my fate. Time no longer seems like it¡¯s on my side, however.

    The pair of new guards snatch up my chains, one in each hand, and drag me along. Before the conversation turned ominous, I figured they¡¯d take me to my cell, where I¡¯ll bide my time until the [General] returns. Now, I¡¯m not so sure.

    I glance over my shoulder at the [Adjutant]. I don¡¯t bid him or the [Soldier] farewell. When we duck into the doorway, and they¡¯re gone from view, a weight lifts off my shoulders that I didn¡¯t realize was there. I clear my throat and try to pump the guards for information.

    ¡°Where are the [Inquisitors]? Who¡¯s this Scalpel? What does she have to do with me?¡± I ask, my voice croaking from thirst and long disuse. Fear of another disaster turns my tongue dry. The air tastes stale and thick, like a mouthful of sawdust.

    ¡°As the [Adjutant] said, the Army is busy cleaning up the messes your kind made,¡± the shorter, stockier guard on my right growls at me. He tucks his short spear in the crook of his arm, adjusts the fur collar of his cloak with his free hand, and scowls as he yanks on my chains with his other hand.

    The gangly, bald guard on my left elbows me in the ribs, though not hard. He lets out a world-weary sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t talk. Prisoners who keep their mouths shut tend to live longer.¡±

    ¡°Let him find out the hard way,¡± the guard in the fur-lined cloak sneers. ¡°It will only make it more fun after the Scalpel is done with him.¡±

    The bald guard shivers, and his long arms tremble. His one-handed grip on his spear tightens. ¡°Enemies or not, I wouldn¡¯t wish her on anyone.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll remember that,¡± a cool voice says, sliding into the conversation like the rustle of silk or the sharp-edged whisper of an unsheathed dagger.

    We turn with a start to take in the newcomer. The two guards slam their spears into the ground, the metal caps on the end of the spears making a hollow ringing sound in the tiled hall. They both incline their heads. Unease plays across their faces.

    The slim, pale woman¡ªScalpel, I assume; she must be a northerner¡ªclicks her tongue, and the guards straighten instantly, moving back to give her space. She takes my manacles in her hands, murmurs something too quiet for me to hear, and discards my restraints. As far as I can see, she has no key, but it doesn¡¯t matter.

    She lifts a lily-white hand to my cheek, holding me in place while the dark voids of her eyes drill into me. She has no sclera or iris; her wide, deep-set eyes appear entirely pupil. They¡¯re profoundly unsettling, particularly against the wan, bleached look of her skin, and they seem to pierce right through me. I shiver at the touch of her mana against my inner world. ¡°You have a fascinating, fractured soul. I¡¯m looking forward to getting to know you better.¡±

    She smiles at me, but the action is strangely hollow, like her face is an enchanted mask trying to mimic human movement. ¡°Don''t worry, child. I¡¯ll play along with your master¡¯s wishes. I won''t harm you.¡± Her smile grows wider, emptier. ¡°We have so many secrets to explore!¡±

    I shift backward, unnerved at the strangely joyful tone in her voice, but she stops me with a single snap. I¡¯m frozen in place, unable to move as her odd, knife-edged mana swirls around me and binds me more securely than my chains ever did.

    She tuts, pats my shoulder, and takes my arm. With another snap, she releases the Skill that holds me fast. ¡°Never fear. We won¡¯t hurt your body. Your shell has seen enough abuse.¡± She shakes her head, as though she¡¯s truly sad for my sorry state as she guides me deeper into the house. ¡°Come, child; we¡¯ve got work to do.¡±

 B3 C14: The Scalpel

    As it turns out, Scalpel¡¯s concept of ¡°work¡± is as peculiar as the rest of her.

    Her long, pale, fingers¡ªmulti-jointed with too many segments¡ªskitter across my left forearm, her sharp nails pricking the skin. Tiny drops of blood well up and drip onto the floor. Numbness spreads from her fingertips. Soon, I can¡¯t sense my arm at all. In that moment of wrongness, she strikes.

    A single finger from her other hand touches the arm, parting skin and muscle like water. The twin flaps of my flesh peel back, yet somehow the blood doesn¡¯t gush across the floor, and I don¡¯t feel any pain. She touches the bones of my wrist, tracing an inscription in sun-bright runes of pure mana. When she finishes, she waves her hand back over my left arm, and the sundered flesh knits itself back together, leaving only unblemished skin behind.

    ¡°Warded,¡± she announces with a hint of satisfaction. ¡°Don¡¯t run.¡±

    My feet shuffle along, seemingly of their own accord, as we travel deeper into the manor house. I touch my wrist experimentally, still processing the shocking display of power. Could she regrow my hand? I shiver. I¡¯m too afraid to ask her about that. What if the answer is yes, but she simply declines to help?

    Scalpel leads me to a tiled room with metal vents in the walls and drains in the floor for water runoff. The blue tiles glisten under the even illumination of mage lights. The white grout on the wall is pristine, although a dark stain in the center of the floor makes me shiver. Do I want to know what happens in here?

    ¡°Strip,¡± she demands. ¡°We have to disinfect you from the grime of your journey.¡±

    When I balk at disrobing, she huffs a frustrated sigh and stalks out, swapping places with one of the male guards. He stomps into the bathing chamber on his heavy boots, glaring at me as though incensed that I have the audacity to make him actually do something.

    ¡°Is Scalpel always this . . . scandalous?¡± I venture to ask once the metal door clanks shut behind Scalpel. My voice squeaks, and my cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

    The spindly guard sneers at me, turning his pockmarked face into a leering mask. ¡°Trust me, she ain¡¯t interested. Not like that.¡± He glances over at the shut door, apparently afraid she might be listening, and the blood drains from his expression. He swallows hard, suppressing a shudder. ¡°Trust me, you gotta be human first.¡±

    I grimace, but drop the line of question. Wordlessly, I peel off the sweat-soaked, raggedy clothes I¡¯ve lived in for months, tossing them in a pile in the corner. The guard activates a lever, and cold streams of water jet out from the wall to scour my body. A few moments later, the high pressure sprays cleans me, and I rinse off the last few suds from my impromptu bath. Toweling myself dry feels like a luxury after the cramped, smelly traveling on the way into the Capital.

    I dutifully shrug on the clothes the guard hands me, relieved to see that they¡¯re at least an upgrade in quality from the filthy rags I¡¯ve been wearing on the road. For the first time in six weeks, I¡¯m starting to feel like myself again.

    Perhaps this captivity won''t be so bad after all.

    Freshly scrubbed and dressed, I rejoin Scalpel in the waiting room outside. She makes no snide remarks at my reticence to clean off, nor offers any annoyed commentary on the delay. She simply takes off, striding briskly in her no nonsense manner toward our final destination. We soon arrive at an expansive workshop with several benches and beds interspersed throughout the room. She takes a seat on a stool behind a massive desk.

    I frown. I don¡¯t recognize many of the tools in the room, and the ones that I do look like they belong in a blacksmith forge or a carpenter¡¯s workshop. It¡¯s certainly not a hot shop, I think with a bit of wistful regret. I do miss working with glass.

    A thick, leather-bound tome dominates the center of the desk where Scalpel sits. The imposing book feels like it carries more weight or significance than it ought to, likely a result of the heavy concentration of mana pooling around its ink-smudged covers. She snatches up the book and flips through the yellow, dog eared pages until she appears to find what she¡¯s looking for. With a satisfied grunt, she jabs her finger down onto the page twice.

    ¡°As suspected. [Greater Heat Manipulation],¡± she barks out.

    My eyebrows crawl up my forehead in surprise. Greater? I don¡¯t think it¡¯s upgraded yet. Then again, I can¡¯t tell since it¡¯s a twisted mess. Maybe I was on the cusp of ranking up, and all my practice on the journey tipped me over the edge.

    I lick my suddenly-dry lips while trying to figure out what she saw in the book that gave her such confidence in declaring both the Skill and its rank. Perhaps she has a Skill similar to Casella, who seemed to be able to review my core space. Her Skill must provide her with even greater detail. Yet how she looked at the twisted slag heap that¡¯s left of my [Heat Manipulation] and successfully deciphered which Skill it is¡ªthat¡¯s a mystery to me. If I didn¡¯t already know what Skill I have, I don¡¯t think I could identify it anymore. Clearly, she has some keen insight into how Skills work.

    Her hand cracks against my cheek a split second later, leaving a stinging imprint. I yelp and flinch away from her. She stands there impassively, staring back at me with her unblinking, lidless black eyes. ¡°Don''t make me wait again. Show me your [Greater Heat Manipulation].¡±

    ¡°No mana,¡± I croak out, shaking my head. What happened to not hurting me?

    ¡°Ah, right. You¡¯re the broken boy.¡±

    Her words are calm and dispassionate. Slapping me doesn¡¯t seem to be an expression of anger; she¡¯s just getting her point across. That only makes me more uneasy. I vow to tread more lightly around her in the future, at least until I learn what sets her off.

    Scalpel rummages in a drawer underneath the desk, whispering to herself too quietly for me to hear. She pulls out an oblong mana crystal the size of my thumb, examines it with a slight scowl, and shoves the valuable resource into my hand. ¡°Absorb the mana if you can. With your impairment, it may prove difficult.¡± She smiles abruptly in her unnerving way. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a problem I can''t solve by throwing more mana at it. Harvest the mana, then activate [Greater Heat Manipulation]. No more excuses.¡±

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    I take the mana crystal from her and cradle it in my hand, blinking back tears.

    After all the weeks of sipping in the world¡¯s energy through a straw while under the mana suppression field, drawing in the mana from the meticulously-cut mana crystal feels like trying to drink down the entire ocean in a single gulp. I sputter and wheeze, overwhelmed by the influx of raw power. The familiar burn, like acid on skin, courses through my chest, but I press onward in a heady mixture of joy and grim determination.

    I feed the rushing torrent of mana into the Skill structure to try to heal its edges, but as my control slips, I abandon the restorative process. Instead, I guide the flow of mana to ensure that my [Heat Manipulation] activates without any blowback or uncontrolled pillars of flame. I¡¯m not going to win any favors from Scalpel if I set her workshop on fire.

    Light and heat bloom in my hand. I touch a small, folded flower sitting on the desk near me, and it ignites in a heartbeat. Pure, blue-white flames immolate the paper construct before the mana seeps out of my perforated channels and fractured core. The Skill gutters out, leaving me feeling strangely cold. I sigh longingly at the release of my oldest and truest friend.

    The scritch of quill on paper draws my attention back to the present. Scalpel is staring at me with the deep, void-like pits of her preternaturally wide eyes, taking notes on everything I do without breaking eye contact.

    ¡°Lie down,¡± Scalpel orders as soon as she finishes scribbling her notes. She sets down the black-plumed quill and picks up a wand that glimmers with the telltale glow of enchanted runes. The arcane inscription gives off wisps of mana vapor.

    I barely have time to follow her commands, settling back on the bed before my whole world is awash in blinding white light. The next thing I know, we¡¯re standing in my inner core space, floating above the twisted structures. I¡¯m present as a caricature of myself, but instead of a person, Scalpel appears as a gleaming blade.

    I¡¯ve never heard of such a Skill. Suddenly, the [Adjutant]¡¯s threat about cutting me open and learning my secrets one by one begins to take on a sinister new light. I realize now that he wasn¡¯t being figurative.

    I open my mouth to ask a question, only to realize that my floating avatar has no mouth. I¡¯m a vaguely humanoid shape, not a detailed representation of my actual person. I¡¯m not here bodily; I¡¯ve simply sunk into the core of my being. Sound and speech have no meaning here, not in the traditional sense. Besides, I¡¯m not sure if I can communicate with the sharpness hovering next to me. I can¡¯t even look at the awful blade without feeling cut. Painful lacerations cover my body if I focus on the scalpel for too long, although I can''t tell if they''re phantasmal or not. Will I bleed when I¡¯m back in my real body?

    A chilling thought strikes me next. Will she let me out at all?

    Without warning, the blade moves. The razor¡¯s edge blinks forward, cold and calculating, and touches an intricate whorl on my [Heat Manipulation] Skill structure. A frisson of alarm pings through me. The sleek, shimmering scalpel descends on the Skill framework, like a guillotine dropping onto the neck of a condemned man. A thin slice of crystalized mana flakes away.

    My body contorts in a silent scream. A small part of my soul feels like it¡¯s been severed, cut away, irrevocably detached from who I am. What little magic I have left is further diminished; whatever hope of recovery I still clung to dies in the darkness.

    With a jolt of pain, I sit upright and return to the waking world. Instinctively, I clutch at my chest with my right hand, so I can gather up the shards of my Skill and cram them back into my core. The churning storm of pain, like a surging maelstrom inside me, is fading already¡ªas is my awareness of [Heat Manipulation]. At this moment, even if I had enough mana to ignite my Skill, I¡¯m not sure anything would actually happen.

    A strangled cry of anguish tears out of my throat before I can stop to consider the ramifications. ¡°What have you done? You cut away a piece of my soul!¡±

    Immediately after my outburst, I shrink back in terror. My breath grows stale and heavy in my mouth. The blood pounds in my temples as I stare at her otherworldly eyes. Who knows how well protected I actually am under Lady Evershed¡¯s agreement?

    Unperturbed by my outburst, Scalpel tosses me another shard of mana crystal. ¡°Show me again,¡± she orders, picking up her journal and quill as she sits poised to observe.

    I force myself to breathe shakily, nodding at Scalpel. Antagonizing my jailer is incredibly stupid, especially after she¡¯s casually demonstrated multiple abilities I¡¯d never imagined possible before today. She can excise part of someone¡¯s core space, slicing apart a Skill as easily as I might whittle a stick with a pocket knife. And what was that thing with my arm? She carved a set of runes into my bones with only her finger!

    I force myself not to dwell on her strange, segmented hands, or her abyssal eyes. All I need to do is take in mana. It will hurt, but it¡¯s nothing I haven¡¯t wrestled with before. This time, when I push through the agony of liquid fire pouring into my chest, I only manage a faint pulse of heat. Even touching the scrap paper on the table barely produces a flicker of flame.

    The Skill winks out before I run out of mana, which surprises me as much as anything else has today. Greedily, I circulate the meager remnants of mana within me, trying to infuse as much of it as I can into the vast, cratered landscape of my inner core.

    Once again, Scalpel scrawls down her thoughts, all the while observing me with her obsessive, assessing gaze. What does she see? What does she want?

    ¡°Was . . . was that supposed to happen?¡± I ask, my indignation overcoming my eternally underdeveloped sense of self-preservation. ¡°I barely felt any connection to the concept of heat.¡±

    She pauses from her note-taking and puts down the journal. Her sharp eyes never leave my face. ¡°I was not aware you were familiar with higher order concepts. Perhaps you¡¯re more valuable to me than I first thought. Hmm. Recalculating.¡±

    With that, she loses herself in another flurry of notes. I glance at the door, wondering if it¡¯s possible for me to slip out unnoticed, but then I remember the runes inscribed on my bones. Running seems foolhardy.

    She finishes her next round of notes and picks up the carved wand again. Her slender hands gestures for me to take my place on the examination table. ¡°Next test,¡± she murmurs to herself, largely ignoring me. ¡°Let¡¯s try taking off a bit more this time¡ªI want to see how many extraneous folds we can cut away and still retain core functionality.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a fold?¡± I ask reflexively. Curiosity wells up in me. ¡°Is that the whorl patterns on my Skills? I¡¯ve always wondered what they¡¯re for. Could you teach me?¡±

    Scalpel frowns. Her insectile-like fingers, with more joints than any human possess, lift up and tap my mouth. Bands of mana glimmer into view, visible for a brief moment without my [Manasight]. They sink into my skin with a buzz that makes my teeth itch, and threads of power stitch my jaw shut. The glow disappears as the mana settles into its new form.

    ¡°My secrets. Silence.¡±

    My captor lifts up her wand and circles it in front of my face. The world blossoms into spell fire and chaos, engulfed in gold and glory. Against my will, I sink back beneath the waves of my consciousness, spiraling through the liminal layers of reality to emerge into my core space once more.

    I lose track of how many times the pattern repeats: the snicker-snack of the vorpal blade; the tingling sensation of foreign mana interfering with my own; the keening sorrow and towering, helpless rage as I lose another key part of my Skills.

    With each incision, I feel as though I¡¯m losing a part of myself that I can never get back. Invisible tears streak down my incorporeal face. Yet all I can do is watch in impotent fury and horror as Scalpel¡¯s blade sings within my inner world, reaping and trimming. My identity bleeds away, piece by piece.

    And all the while she takes her notes. Endless, interminable, dreadful notes.

 Story Update - new opening coming soon!

    The first two new opening chapters are almost done. I''m working on the next few chapters after that, plus some changes to existing chapters. We''re on track for posting the updates by the end of the month, unless I''m busier than anticipated.

    I''m on a little family vacation for a few days, so I may be delayed for the next update or two. In the meantime, look at my kids having fun admiring the view from the hotel. Don''t worry, I''m still typing away on my tiny keyboard and phone! Check out how official and authorial I look in my hotel room. Haha.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    A big thanks to my wife for taking the pictures and putting up with my obsessive typing while on the road. She''s the best. <3

    <hr>

 B3 C15: Questions - Part I

    I drag myself down the dingy, tiled hallway toward Scalpel''s workshop. My entire body feels hollow, like a gourd with the seeds and soupy, stringy bits scooped out. I''ve lost count of how many times we''ve met recently; I''ve grown adept at springing into action at the sound of her alarm. My brief nap is over. It¡¯s time to get back to testing.

    Day and night lose their meaning here. I don¡¯t know what time it is anymore, but it hardly matters. I¡¯m awake and somewhat rebuilt, so it¡¯s time to keep going. Each footstep drags, as through my body is driftwood and dead weight. I''m slower than usual, as much from dread as exhaustion. Sessions with Scalpel dominate my time: a monstrous chain of grotesque connections stretching between us, each new link a cavalcade of catastrophe. Yet here I am, waiting outside the door to her workshop, just like she demands.

    My breath rattles in and out of my lungs as I inhale and exhale through my nose, long and slow, trying to work up the courage to present myself for our next project. Gritting my teeth, I finally lift my hand and knock at the door, already sinking into the sea of numbness that acts as a buffer to shield me from the terror of our ¡°work.¡±

    The workshop door swings open soundlessly; my breath catches in my throat. Swallowing my misgivings, I step inside. Riding the crest of pluckiness, I wave at Scalpel in greeting. She doesn¡¯t look up from her notes.

    ¡°Prompt is late,¡± Scalpel says in her ethereal, grating tones. All the while, she never stops writing.

    I¡¯d answer, but my jaw is still held fast with mana.

    Abruptly, Scalpel snaps the notebook shut. She unfolds from her chair with her usual preternatural grace, each movement fluid and precise. There¡¯s a deceptive languor about her most of the time, but when she moves, she¡¯s shockingly fast.

    ¡°Looking better,¡± she announces, peering at me with her piercing black orbs.

    My traitorous eyebrow lifts up before I can stop myself, eloquently declaring my doubt. I am skeptical that my Skill structures will ever amount to anything again, no matter how much soul surgery she performs. I don¡¯t know the true name of her Skills and Class, but I¡¯d like to think I¡¯m close with my guess.

    Without further fanfare, we¡¯re both within the inner world of my core space.

    I study the upgrades in grudging admiration. She is an artist, in her own terrifying way, as much as I hate to admit it. The twisted, wild shapes of my various Skills are taking on a strange sense of order. She has pared down the extraneous bits, refining and simplifying them to uncover the foundational functions. As bizarre as she is, her methods are starting to make some sense.

    ¡°Focus on your artisan Skillset today,¡± Scalpel commands.

    My projected body nods as I drift closer to the construction zone. My Skills resemble each other more and more after Scalpel has systematically sliced away their distinctives. The pain is still scintillating each time, a bright and jagged sunburst in my mind, yet for each terrifying loss, a glimmer of hope appears.

    I¡¯m using magic again!

    In order to test her hypothesis about Skills and the makeup of magic, Scalpel can¡¯t just tear down; she has to build back up. She pumps me full of mana, delves in to research the minutiae of mana, and painstakingly recreates whatever she¡¯s broken. I never knew such surgery was even possible. Her process is barbaric and humiliating, but I''m starting to think of it less like her stealing pieces of me, and more like she¡¯s a crazy [Glass Smith] reshaping glass and fusing on new pieces after reheating it in the crucible.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    What will I look like when she¡¯s done? I wonder as I survey the ever-shifting internal landscape. My innermost channels are still raw and unreliable, leaking too much mana for me to properly circulate it and claim it as my own. Even so, drawing in power from mana crystals and immediately channeling it through the Skill structures before the energy dissipates or has a chance to leak out is becoming easier with practice.

    I¡¯m looking forward to solving the mysteries bit by bit, although it¡¯s hard to conduct any meaningful research when she won¡¯t share her data and conclusions with me. The way I am attempting to piece together the information is like trying to assemble a puzzle while blindfolded. I could do it if my partner in crime called out directions, but she¡¯s notorious among the other test subjects for her paranoia.

    An angry shout catches my attention, ejecting me from my core space. Blinking and trying to regain my bearings, I turn in unison with Scalpel. The clatter of heavy boots presages a disturbance heading our way. A heartbeat later, a hooded man sweeps through the workshop door with all the self-assurance of a whirlwind. He stops a half step from Scalpel and unveils himself to reveal a crooked grin.

    ¡°Hello, fleshwarper.¡±

    Scalpel flinches. Her segmented fingers flutter as an almost imperceivable expression of distress ghosts across her pale, bleached-bone face. She encircles my wrist with her many-jointed hand and locks me in place.

    The man nods his head in my direction. ¡°Unbind him. I have questions.¡±

    She hisses in response¡ªa frothing tea kettle of fury, boiling over. ¡°I was promised this one. Let me be.¡±

    ¡°By whom?¡±

    Her jaw clamps shut. I¡¯ve never seen her so flustered before, and a thrill of vicious satisfaction courses through me, hot and addicting. I hope this gentleman sticks around a while.

    ¡°If you mean the [General]¡¯s little trained monkey, then don¡¯t get your hopes up. I¡¯ve filed an injunction. I''ll win my case, and you both know it. Don''t make things difficult in the meantime.¡±

    ¡°Demonstrate our progress,¡± Scalpel demands. Her voice wavers slightly.

    ¡°No thanks. I have my own agenda,¡± the man replies with a wink. ¡°Nuri, lead me to your quarters.¡±

    I nod and scramble to oblige.

    Thus it is that in the third week of my imprisonment, an elderly man with enough clout to unnerve Scalpel breaks up the endless monotony. He visits my cramped room in Scalpel¡¯s mansion, following me as I jog in excitement. I keep glancing over my shoulder to confirm that he¡¯s really following.

    He¡¯s short and stooped, with the distinguished silver wingtips over his temples that middle-aged men often develop as their hair fades to grey and then white. A complex map of deep wrinkles adorn his face. Yet he carries himself with absolute confidence, as though nothing can touch him¡ªnot even here.

    As soon as he enters the room, a portion of his true power unfurls. My instincts scream at me to flee. It¡¯s clear that he¡¯s no junior officer or field agent. The strength of his presence reminds me more of Tem, although he''s notch below [General] Tychicus. Nonetheless, the suffocating pressure is a clear step above Casella or the [Adjutant]. A moment later, he introduces himself and confirms my suspicions.

    ¡°Nuri Shahi? I¡¯m [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote. Welcome to the capital.¡± He smiles, but it¡¯s a tired, thin thing, lacking warmth or friendliness. ¡°I¡¯m here to determine the truth of the allegations laid against you. Please note that I wish you no ill will. I am in a hurry, however.

    ¡°While you may have misled my colleagues, you cannot deceive me. Prepare yourself.¡±

    An instant later, while my mind is still catching up with what my ears heard, he speaks his Skill aloud. The power contained in the name warps the world around me, bending it to his will. Searing fire digs into my skull as [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote¡¯s Skill takes hold of me. Unlike the [Adjutant], he needs no hallucinogenic to prepare my mind for infiltration. Sound distorts in my ears. My vision curdles at the edges. With a soft groan, I collapse backward onto my bed and my eyes flutter shut.

 B3 C16: Questions - Part II

    In my mind¡¯s eye, I¡¯m running through an impossible maze. The walls stretch and contract all around me, the movement making me feel disconcertingly like I¡¯m tumbling through the inside of a pair of lungs¡ªexpanding and constricting with each rabid breath. The uncanny angles and precipitous drops remind me of the Labyrinth, a locale unmoored from the laws of reality.

    The dreamscape hallways elongate in strange, unsettling ways. Doors that look like they¡¯re well within reach don¡¯t draw any closer despite what feels like an hour of breathless sprinting. Abruptly, the floor drops away, turning into endless recursive spirals of flashing light and color. Vibrant images play across the surface of the walls, flickering as though illuminated by candlelight, and from the chaotic interplay, order emerges.

    With mounting horror, I watch my past self in sudden clarity. In my memory, I¡¯m gallivanting about in the countryside between Silaraon and Peliharaon. The ambush that pushed me toward more martial pursuits plays out in a flash, and soon the images reveal Ember¡¯s grim, determined face as she stands over the corpse of the shadow jaguars, protecting me at my weakest¡ªjust like she always has.

    The images flicker again; a new memory unfurls. I watch my excursions to the Silaraon City Academy and my eye-opening lessons with my wise mentor, Ezio. Our enlightening and challenging discussions skim over the polished stone surface of the memory maze. New images flow by with every second: My pain and pride when I push through the mana control test. My determination to improve my numbers. My willingness, at long last, to embrace my birthright and use mana with enthusiasm and confidence, no longer terrified of the debilitating effects of the mana plague.

    Flicker. Again, new scenes play out in my mind, and this time I''m practically fainting with excitement as I meet my childhood hero Tem Cytekin for the first time. I observe, spellbound, while my memories play. I learn the beginnings of mapcraft, tracking him through the wilderness outside of Silaraon as he leads me right into a trap. Not even the distance of time takes anxiety out of the moment; I still shudder as the jaws and claws rend my skin before I managed to put the monster down for good.

    Then our first encounter with the wraiths scrolls by. Blood and ichor stain the images in a tableau of violence that makes me queasy to relive. When the tenebrous form of the wraith commander charges toward my hiding spot, I instinctively duck to protect myself. I was even more useless in retrospect than I thought I was. Without Tem to save me, that would have been the end.

    Flicker. When Tem and I reach the Rift entrance in my walk through the maze of my memory, I shake my head in chagrin at our stupidity. Like fools, we plunge through the portal to explore the wounds between the worlds. Sneaking, looting, plotting¡ªand then the desperate flight in the depths of the Labyrinth.

    By the time we finally get through the replay of infiltrating the control room, stealing the portal device, and detonating the charges to destabilize the labyrinth and prevent further incursions, present-day me is a tattered ball of fear. I feel like my nerves have become twisted coils of barbed wire, and someone is pulling them out through my bare skin.

    I can''t shed any tears here in the liminal space of my memory, but I still feel the pang of sorrow when Tem turns back in the Labyrinth, fighting off the Captain and urging me to run free. Trudging back to Silaraon alone was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

    The rest of the projection flows by in a blur: I relive my glass-making breakthroughs, achieving the First Threshold, and my eventual imprisonment and escape attempts. When I see myself sneaking over to the Silaraon City Academy to speak with Ezio, a furtive expression on my face, I fight hard against the [Inquisitor]¡¯s intrusive Skill. Panic wells up in my chest like high water behind a dam, threatening to burst. I can¡¯t implicate my friend; I can¡¯t reveal what he knew.

    I squirm, wrestling against the Skill¡¯s compulsion. It feels wrong to give away the secret of the navigation device we stole from the Labyrinth. Objectively, I recognize that they already know about its existence. I had to tell Lady Evershed about the artifact. Yet some stubborn part of me still clings to the idea that I can use the PPP to find Tem. If I give up and let them know my real purpose for keeping it, then I will tie my fate to a man labeled a traitor.

    My reticence to share the PPP until I know more about what it does and what¡¯s at stake is noble, not selfish, I assure myself. Then why do I still feel so uneasy?

    Abruptly, the pressure abates, and I¡¯m no longer fighting the Skill. The images in my mind stutter, then leap ahead. After my scuffle in the basement of the Silaraon City guard barracks, and my mad dash to get out of the city, my feet on fire and fear frothing in my heart, the memories cut off roughly.

    I collapse to the floor, spasming and gasping for breath. Needle pricks of agony walk down my scalp. A boot edges under my ribs and flips me over, knocking the wind out of me. I stare up into [Chief Inquisitor]¡¯s Xharrote eyes, my whole body rigid with terror.

    I want to scream. I want to rise up in righteous fury and demand that he stay out of my head without my express permission. But I still can¡¯t speak.

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    The [Inquisitor] chuckles, practically wheezing at a joke only he finds funny. ¡°You are one mule-headed boy. Thankfully for you, ¡®stupid¡¯ isn¡¯t a prosecutable offense. I can''t believe the [General] wasted so many resources tracking you down. But what in all the skies and seas possessed you to keep back further memories? You could save us all a lot of trouble by coming clean.¡±

    I growl an unintelligible reply. His eyebrows shoot up, and then he sighs. His open hand lifts up and chops toward me like a blade; the mana bindings around my mouth fall away, cut in half by only his intent and presence, or so it seems.

    This is the kind of power those in the Third threshold wield?

    ¡°It¡¯s better if you just tell us what you¡¯re hiding,¡± the [Chief Inquisitor] grumbles. ¡°From what I¡¯ve seen so far, you didn¡¯t have anything to do with the charges against you. Breaking out of prison was foolish, but forgivable given your circumstances. Still, without your sponsor, you are probably facing charges for withholding information that could assist with essential military endeavors. I don''t think there''s any way you''re going to get out without at least some time served in the dungeon, not unless you can prove that you¡¯re worth more to us if you¡¯re not incarcerated.¡±

    I perk up at that statement, scratching my beard as I ponder his words. With reluctance, I swallow the angry retort I composed in my mind, and instead ask a more humble question. ¡°Any suggestions on what I can do to enhance my worth?¡±

    [Inquisitor] Xharrote regards me like a lazy housecat weighing his interest in putting forth effort to chase a mouse. He yawns, his eyes squeezing shut and his head tilting back. For several heartbeats he says nothing. His eyes open, and he shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s not my place to say, Nuri. You must understand that I¡¯m not your ally. In fact, I¡¯m neither friend nor foe; my job is simply to uncover the truth.¡±

    I scoff at him. ¡°Is this the part where you tell me how much easier this will go for me if I give you everything you want to know?¡±

    A dry, low chuckle rattles out of [Inquisitor] Xharrote. ¡°Cooperation is always preferable. I have my methods for extracting information, as you saw. But I don¡¯t want to overtax your mind.¡±

    ¡°Generous of you,¡± I mutter.

    ¡°No trouble at all,¡± Xharrote assures me smoothly. ¡°I¡¯ll be back to speak with you more, particularly once you¡¯ve had more of a taste of Scalpel¡¯s rather off-putting ministrations.¡± He frowns. ¡°Why we permit her to continue is beyond me. Regardless, I suspect you''ll change your mind soon, if only to get out of this place.¡±

    ¡°Why am I here, anyway? Scalpel . . . that woman is terrifying,¡± I say, hugging my arms around my body as I shiver.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Xharrote says. ¡°Harwich tried to hide you from me. He has his fingers in too many pies, eh? A young man with a foot in our world and a foot in hers. But as the two pull apart, he¡¯ll have to make a choice¡ªor be split right down the middle. A shame, really. I would have liked to process you before that thing got her claws on you.¡± He copies my shudder, although it seems more theatrical than genuine; the disgust never seems to touch his eyes.

    ¡°Harwich,¡± I echo, raising my eyebrows. ¡°That¡¯s the name of the miserable [Adjutant]?¡±

    [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote snorts through his nostrils, blowing out a stream of steam. ¡°You traveled with him for six weeks and you never learned his name? Not the most observant person I¡¯ve ever met.¡±

    I shrug one shoulder. ¡°He¡¯s not exactly a people person. I mostly just tried to stay out of his way and not get into any further trouble.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Shrewd. Perhaps you¡¯re not entirely witless,¡± Xharrote allows good-naturedly. He touches his fingertips together to make a tent with his hands and leans forward as though he¡¯s going to share a secret with me. ¡°I understand why Casella turned in a rather positive report on your case. You certainly don''t seem like a threat, although I will get to the bottom of whatever is going on. You can¡¯t hide information from the crown forever.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hiding¡ª¡±

    ¡°Lies,¡± Xharrote says calmly, cutting me off. He pats my shoulder. ¡°I like you, Nuri, but I have to be thorough¡ªand I¡¯m biased. There are too many powers competing for your time and attention. We¡¯ll have more sessions together soon, and I fully intend to see you remanded into [Inquisitor] custody full time. Do try to survive until then. Now, any last questions?¡±

    My curiosity gets the better of me at last. I meet Xharrote¡¯s eyes, and take in a deep breath to fortify myself as I prepare for the answer. ¡°Only one question. Who won?¡±

    ¡°The war? It¡¯s a slog; we¡¯re still in the early stages,¡± the [Chief Inquisitor] replies, his brow furrowed. Then he brightens and snaps his fingers. ¡°Of course! You mean the glass competition. I shall happily give you the answer at our next meeting.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you the head of the [Inquisitors]? You ought to know these things already,¡± I say, crossing my arms and leveling a defiant glare at him.

    ¡°Oh, I know. But if you¡¯re going to withhold memories, then so am I. Trade next time?¡± He winks, and his self-satisfied smirk fades from view, disappearing from my consciousness despite my best effort to fix him in my mind. His stealth Skill reminds me of Mbukhe¡¯s, but more advanced.

    Relief floods me when he departs. I sink down to my knees, then curl up in a ball on the floor of my room. For a long moment, I lay shivering on the floor, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. A small, irrepressible smile plays across my lips. I¡¯m not sure if it''s because I¡¯m free from the [Inquisitor]¡¯s overwhelming presence, or if it¡¯s because I¡¯ve caught a glimpse of a way out of Scalpel¡¯s clutches.

    I pull myself up and sit against the wall as a new idea worms its way into my mind. Is leaving here now, with my Skills still in disarray, actually worth it? Scalpel is an evil woman¡ªno doubt about it; I hope her house burns down around her head, I think with a growl¡ªbut she is the best chance I have of fixing myself, inside and out.

    I cherish that thought, holding it close like a drowning man clutching at anything that will keep him above water. My only fear is that instead of a floating log, I¡¯ve latched onto an alligator in the misplaced hope that it will drag me to the safety of the shore. The more likely scenario is that it devours me instead.

    A soft groan slips out as I lean my head back against the wall and consider my options. All I really want to do is get back to making glass, but it seems that I¡¯m stuck playing someone else¡¯s game a little while longer. Surely, there has to be a better way.

 B3 C17: Negotiations

    I hover in an indeterminate, midnight-blue liminal space, surveying the abyssal landscape of my soul. My mouth is wired shut, bound and clamped with teeth-itching straps of invasive mana. I had hoped that after the visit with the [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote, Scalpel wouldn¡¯t replace the magical gag, but no such luck. She only removes the bindings at mealtimes to allow me to eat. Even that seems like a concession given grudgingly. How the binding follows my avatar into my core space is beyond me.

    Fire limns my projected body, wreathing me in spectral flames, as I tap into the primary heat-generating rune in my [Greater Heat Manipulation] Skill. As far as I can tell, this base rune produces fire, but my Skill does not. Scalpel let that slip inadvertently, in the interest of improved testing efficiency. The discovery sends a thrill through me to see it in action, despite the agony of the fire. It¡¯s my first real insight into the way things work.

    Somehow, the complex modifiers and limiters on the next runes appear to extinguish the flames while still borrowing their inherent heat. I always thought I could only pull in heat from the world around me, or redirect the energy to a specific location, but apparently the Greater prefix in my upgraded Skill gives me more options for generating my own heat. And fire! I think in a burst of excitement. Avelina will be so surprised.

    The burn intensifies, and I scream into the utter stillness despite my projection¡¯s lack of a mouth or moving lips¡ªa wordless, soundless plea for the test to end. I may be experimenting inwardly, inside my own core space, but the fire still somehow burns me. I can¡¯t take much more of the oppressive heat. Hissing silently, I drop the connection to the rune, exhausted as I slump and allow my consciousness to rise back to my body.

    The agony that accompanies each surgical slice Scalpel takes off my Skills disappears as soon as I return from my core space. Nonetheless, I often find myself rubbing my chest and grimacing as though I still feel phantom pain.

    It¡¯s just as well that I can¡¯t handle the burning sensation anymore, I muse. My mind is at saturation; I¡¯ve memorized about as much as I can of the strange shapes that comprise Skill structures, and without a way to write down my thoughts anywhere, I¡¯m not sure how far I want to push my memory.

    Before today, I¡¯ve only ever admired the Skill structures¡¯ magical artistry and incredible intricacies. They rise like gleaming towers, or meticulously engraved sculptures, that dwarf my projected consciousness when I slip into my inner world. Until I met Scalpel, it never occurred to me that I could learn to understand them.

    And, perhaps, to replicate them.

    I cling to that hope. I¡¯m tired of outside forces buffeting me about like a ship blown to and fro by storm winds. If I can learn the secrets that Scalpel is researching, then I can fix my Skills all by myself, away from their petty games and unending deceit.

    When I return to my chambers, I scrounge around for any sort of writing implement I can use. There¡¯s nothing here, though, only a simple mattress on the floor and not much else. I soon give up and flop down on my thin, hard bed in defeat. I¡¯ll have to settle for memorizing what I¡¯ve seen, although I am concerned that I won''t be able to keep the complexity of the Skill shapes in my mind.

    Despite my exhaustion, I find that my mood is buoyant for what feels like the first time in ages. Scalpel refuses to teach me the secrets of Skills and Classes, so I¡¯ll have to teach myself. I wish Rakesh were here; he has a keen mind for this sort of thing. I¡¯m not exactly anyone''s first choice for a project requiring academic rigor, I think with a wry half-smile. Doesn¡¯t matter. I have to try, no matter how difficult I find the challenge. My future depends on it.

    =+=

    Twice a day, I join other test subjects in a mess hall for a surprisingly generous, delicious meal. Scalpel doesn''t strike me as an overly humane type, which makes me believe that keeping all of us well fed and healthy probably has a beneficial impact on her research. For once, I¡¯m not in a rush to complain. I find that I actually like the food. Plus, it¡¯s nice to move my mouth again since she releases the gag to allow me to eat. I¡¯ll take any reprieve I get from my mana-constriction.

    My relatively good mood evaporates when two other test subjects squeeze their way into vacant seats at my corner table. They lean forward in menacing synchrony, their elbows splayed out on the table top, and glower at me with undisguised hostility.

    Mind awhirl with possibilities, I force myself to take my time eating. I finish chewing a bite of sauteed zucchini, daintily wipe my mouth with a napkin, and set down the dull, three-pronged fork with a delicate clink. ¡°How may I help you, gentlemen?¡±

    I don¡¯t particularly feel like having a conversation with these brooding thugs, but I¡¯m enjoying the ability to talk right now without the bonds of mana wiring my mouth shut. I have to find joy in life¡¯s little pleasures as they come, no matter how angry this pair of toughs look.

    ¡°¡®Gentlemen,¡¯ he calls us. I could get used to that,¡± the bearded man on the right says with a soft chuckle.

    The other man scoffs. He never seems to stop scowling. Looking me right in the eyes, as though challenging me for supremacy, he swipes a large zucchini medallion from my plate and shoves it in his mouth. His face wrinkles up after only a couple bites, and he spits his masticated vegetables onto the plate with an even deeper scowl¡ªalthough the petulance makes him look more like a five-year-old than a hardened criminal.

    He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ¡°Heard you get your own room.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± I reply mildly. I stab another fork-full of zucchini and keep eating, briefly meeting their eyes and nodding. I keep my expression placid and unthreatening.

    ¡°Bet you get your own mana allotment, too, instead of sharing with the boys,¡± the other one cuts in. He tries to soften the implicit threat by smiling, but his heart doesn¡¯t seem to be in it. There¡¯s a hungry look in his eyes that I¡¯ve seen before.

    ¡°Nope,¡± I say, still unhurriedly working my way through my meal. Lady Evershed taught me how to project confidence and to take control of a situation. I hope I¡¯m doing her justice with my efforts right now as I lounge in my chair, trying to appear calm and unafraid.

    ¡°You have some kind of [Mage] abilities? How come you don¡¯t need mana like the rest of us to keep up with the crazy rebuilds?¡± the bearded, more reasonable of the pair asks again, although there¡¯s a bitter edge of envy to his words.

    ¡°I don''t know what you''re talking about,¡± I say, a hint of iron in my voice as the coin drops at last. Ah. This is a shakedown. I glare back at him. I¡¯m tired of being pushed around.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be coy. Playing games is a good way to get yourself in big trouble around here,¡± he says. He even has the gall to smile toothily at me again, as though he''s imparting wisdom to a trusted friend.

    I rest my left arm on the table so they can both get a good look at my missing hand. The wrist is currently unwrapped, although I want to get a glove to cover it at some point, assuming I never get my glass hand back. ¡°You gentlemen ever been in a Rift before?¡± Once again, a look of bleary befuddlement flashes across their faces.

    ¡°You gonna pay up, or do we gotta get ugly?¡± the surly one growls, spelling it out for me as though I¡¯m too stupid to figure it out on my own. His temper seems as short as his patience.

    I bare my teeth in a hard-edged facsimile of a smile and slam the table top with my left wrist, making them jump. ¡°I''ve delved multiple Rifts,¡± I snarl. ¡°Lost my hand in one of them. Still didn¡¯t stop me from defeating the boss and closing the incursion. So, go ahead, ask me again about ¡®sharing¡¯ my mana allotment¡ªbut tell me why I shouldn¡¯t simply take yours instead.¡±

    I¡¯m practically shouting by the end, halfway out of my seat, my chest heaving. Months of pent-up frustration at indignities suffered at the hands of those stronger than I am bubbles up to the surface.

    Simmering, spitting, threatening to explode.

    The pockmarked guard who oversaw my intake runs over, brandishing his spear in both hands, roaring for order. The two men at the table point at me, as though they have nothing to do with my crazed outburst.

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    I clench and unclench my right fist. My breathing deepens as I try to calm myself. For a moment, the ugly stew of surging, simmering emotions dies down, growing quiescent. I dip my head at the guard and sit back down, pleased at my self-control.

    ¡°Pfft. As I thought. Nothing but hot air,¡± the surly prisoner sneers. He starts to laugh at me as everyone takes a step. The guard joins his laughter, to my surprise, looking at me like I¡¯m an idiot for causing trouble in the mess hall.

    Anger gathers in my chest. Operating purely on instinct, I drag mana through my raw, leaking channels and pour it into [Greater Heat Manipulation], holding out my hand as though I¡¯ll burn the test subject into a crisp. Nothing happens; Scalpel always cuts away our functionality before allowing us to interact with the others. Yet as their laughter builds, my anger¡ª

    Boils over.

    Rage warps my vision. I shove back from the table, standing tall on my own two feet. My anger guides me as I reach inward. With sudden, stunning clarity, I remember the exact feeling of burning all over, of tapping into the primal fire hidden deep within the twisting folds of my Skill structure. I seek out the flames once again, following the hints of memory through the complex maze, and seize hold of the fire rune in my mind.

    Righteous indignation ignites within me. This time, when I heave on the ambient mana in the air, willing it to course through the ungainly, Rift-cut channel in the center of my chest, the energy responds to my urges. White-hot fire billows out from me and engulfs him in a brief burst of brilliance.

    I fall to my knees, groaning as the mana drains out and the Skill hums in backlash. The pain is worth it, though, as the permanent scowl on the stupid test subject¡¯s face turns into an open-mouthed scream of agony.

    He staggers backward, falling to the ground and shrieking as he writhes on the floor. A quick-thinking guard grabs a pitcher of drinking water and douses the prisoner, but not before the top layer of the unfortunate man¡¯s skin melts and sloughs off.

    ¡°Skills unlocked!¡± another guard bellows out in a panicked voice. ¡°Active Skills! Repeat, we have active Skills on the loose!¡±

    An alarm blares through the mess hall. All the guards turn toward me, their eyes going wide with shock and fear, and they level their spears at my chest. None advance, however, and they¡¯re looking at me with the wary expressions of men preparing to fight a monster. They don¡¯t know I¡¯m out of mana and as harmless as a field mouse right now.

    I snarl back at them, playing into their expectations of a feral beast, and they recoil. The sight fills me with grim satisfaction¡ªa savage sort of joy. As my actions sink in, however, I groan and let go of the anger. I slip down to sit on the floor, sudden dread washing over me as I run through the implications of what I did. Grinding my teeth, I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the guards to apprehend me, hoping if I play nice then I¡¯ll avoid the worst of the fallout.

    Scalpel is not going to be happy when she hears about this.

    =+=

    ¡°Impressive. Or dumb luck?¡± Scalpel asks me without preamble when the guards escort me into her laboratory ten minutes later, my limbs bound and shackled once more. She glances up from her notes, sets them aside on her huge, blocky desk, and waves me closer.

    I shuffle over grudgingly, torn between glaring at the guards, and trying to act meek and definitely not deserving of harsh punishment.

    ¡°Unbind him,¡± she commands in a clipped, annoyed voice.

    The guards exchange looks, then hurry to unlock my manacles. They withdraw a pace or two away from me, holding my chains and casting wary, unsettled looks at me when they think I¡¯m not looking.

    Scalpel stares at me with more interest than usual. I have to fight internally not to shy away from the intensity of her scrutiny; if I show weakness now, instead of seizing the moment, I¡¯m not likely to get back into her good graces. She taps her index finger to her chin. ¡°What to do with you, boy. You shouldn¡¯t have been able to use Skills. I presume you bypassed the limiters and fed mana directly into the fire rune?¡±

    I nod, not daring to lie to her. Besides, that would be counterproductive I realize as a new plan unfolds in my mind. Maybe this is exactly the opportunity I¡¯ve been hoping to find. She might even be willing to teach me if I play my cards right. ¡°It was more difficult to locate than it would be when I¡¯m delving inward, but I found what I was looking for.¡±

    ¡°Do it again,¡± she demands, leaning forward to hand over a mana crystal.

    As I step toward the desk and reach out to take the crystal, one of the guards clears his throat. ¡°Are we sure that¡¯s wise? Dario almost died after only a split-second exposure to the fire. If Nuri has more mana to fuel the flames, then we¡¯re all in danger.¡±

    Scalpel turns the full weight of her gaze on the guard, and his objections falter and die out. She flutters her fingers at the guards. Without further argument, they beat a hasty retreat from the room.

    Once the door slams shut behind me, I close my fingers around the offered crystal, and let out a soft sigh of satisfaction. I draw the power contained within into my body, bypassing my channels. The familiar jolt of pain hits me, but I press on, searching for the primary fire rune. Now that I know the way, it¡¯s much easier to find it hidden within the maze of modifiers and cut-up pieces of the Skill. I feed the energy into the rune, then push the fire into existence outside of my body. I¡¯m not keen on immolating myself.

    A white-blue jet of fire as long as my forearm springs into being above my clenched fist, shining brightly in the dim confines of the laboratory.

    She unfolds from her chair and stands tall behind her massive, rectangular desk, her lips pressed into a flat line as she stares at the fire. Her face is unreadable.

    ¡°I figured that out after one session,¡± I say, grunting as the mana in the tiny crystal runs out, leaking everywhere due to my horrible inefficiency. I meet her eyes, take a deep breath, and take my shot. ¡°Imagine what we could accomplish if you¡¯re willing to teach me for real. Just think of the possibilities! We could rebuild all my Skills¡ªor maybe discover new, previously unknown Skills in the Artisan line! Your genius and my hard work are an unstoppable combination.¡±

    ¡°You are hardly in a position to negotiate with me,¡± Scalpel says, a trill of amusement in her voice. I take that as an encouraging sign.

    ¡°On the contrary, I believe that I am justified in opening dialogue,¡± I reply with conviction, lifting my chin. I set my feet wide in a strong stance, taking ground and standing firm in the face of her judgment. ¡°Your other test subjects are just that: subjects. They¡¯re brutish, violent men with no regard for learning or research. I can be a true apprentice, someone who contributes to your understanding and who speeds up your progress in decoding the Skill structures that we all rely on.¡±

    Her claw-like nails click on the top of the desk as she taps her fingers. ¡°Why should I let you see all my hard-won knowledge? Merely because you lucked out and remembered the rune for fire? No, even if I felt like sharing my life¡¯s work with you¡ªwhich I very much do not¡ªmy larger problem with your proposal is that you presume much and know little. You¡¯re far from reconstituting your Skills to a satisfactory level.

    ¡°With respect,¡± I say, inclining my head, ¡°I believe that we¡¯re overlooking an important component of my Skills. I am an artisan¡ªa maker of glass. All of my abilities, and the majority of my epiphanies, have manifested due to working with glass. Thus, it stands to reason that if we¡¯re trying to uncover the secrets of my Skills and Class, then I believe I need to resume my glass work. I will, of course, assist you however I can, but only on the condition that you arrange for me to work in a hot shop. Even if it¡¯s only once a week, I believe it will prove beneficial.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think I¡¯m ever going to rebuild your Skills? You¡¯re nothing more than an entertaining diversion,¡± Scalpel says, amusement still coloring her tone.

    I¡¯ve never seen her act so human before, for lack of a better term. Still, my surprise must show on my face, because she sighs and continues explaining herself.

    ¡°I¡¯m not interested in restoring your Skills to their former glory. In fact, your unique skills only muddy the waters, to borrow from the quaint vernacular. I prefer working with those fools from the prisons precisely because their Skills are so bland and repeatable. There''s great value in corroboration. Your skills are varied and rare, which makes them quite complicated. Other than your [Greater Heat Manipulation] and [Manasight], I have no baseline against which to compare them. Do you see how that makes my work difficult?¡±

    I nod slowly as understanding sets in. ¡°You prefer overlap. The redundancy allows you to confirm your theories. But surely there are differences as their Skills develop¡ª¡± I cut off, my eyes widening as I hit on her method. ¡°That¡¯s the secret, isn¡¯t it? This is no different from any other research. Set a baseline, then track divergences. A fully-fledged, high-ranking Skill on its own is interesting, but too complex to decipher. Multiple basic Skills with only slight variations based on personal use and development? Much easier to compare. Clever.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you were an aspiring [Scholar],¡± she replies dryly.

    I shrug. ¡°I had a good teacher.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Who?¡± Scalpel demands. She seems as though she¡¯s actually interested.

    ¡°Ezio, a [Scholar] from Silaraon, and his assistant Rakesh. They¡¯re the best researchers in Densmore. And I¡¯m proud to call them my friends.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I¡¯ve read one of his books,¡± Scalpel says, nodding to herself. ¡°While his subjects of research lack imagination, his methods are . . . acceptable.¡±

    I bristle in protest, but I calm myself down when I realize this is probably high praise from Scalpel. What a hateful witch, I seethe inwardly. Thankfully, I keep my thoughts to myself.

    ¡°Very well,¡± Scalpel says crisply. She snaps her fingers, gesturing around the cluttered workshop area. ¡°Make yourself useful. Dario will recover in the infirmary. While he¡¯s unavailable, you¡¯ll make up the research I will miss thanks to your little outburst. That means more delving sessions for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll need a notepad,¡± I say defiantly, meeting her black-orbed gaze. I hide my right hand in my pocket so she won¡¯t see my trembling fingers.

    For the first time I can remember, a genuine smile crosses her face. She opens a drawer in the side of the desk, withdraws a fresh notebook bound in black leather, and slides it across the desk to me. ¡°Your terms are accepted. Now, let¡¯s get to work.¡±

 B3 C18: Dinner with the Viceroy

    ¡°Give me your arm,¡± Scalpel demands, barging into my tiny room while I¡¯m mid-yawn.

    I pause from stretching my sore muscles, still cranky thanks to sleeping poorly during my all-too-brief nap. My muddled brain wrestles to make sense of what¡¯s happening. As my mind catches up with Scalpel¡¯s words at last, I scramble to my feet, immediately wary. Part of me wants to resist, but my curiosity wins the war. I hold out my right arm.

    ¡°The other one,¡± she says, staring at me with her nerve-wracking, unblinking eyes.

    Instantly, my tightly-bound emotions threaten to uncoil from their knot. I squeeze down hard, constricting the thread of hope trying to untangle itself from the snarled mess inside me. Is she here to help with my hand? The vehemence of my desire to be whole overcomes all of the emotional protections I¡¯d so carefully constructed, and I open my mouth to thank her profusely for her kindness.

    Before I can say a word, however, she seizes my wrist. A wave of mana billows out from her. Wide bands of the mana wind around my biceps, encasing the upper arm in a swath of complex weaves that I can see in the air, swirling and pulsing with power like magical snakes. A sharp edge emerges, cutting through my skin and parting flesh until the bones are exposed.

    I stare at her, numb, all my strength draining out of me. ¡°I thought you were going to fix my hand,¡± I whisper before I can stop myself.

    ¡°Why would I?¡± Scalpel says, frowning. ¡°You don¡¯t need it to write notes.¡±

    Once the surface of the bones in my wrist are revealed, Scalpel waves a hand, and the complex security wards, scripted in miniscule runes, disappear. Her lips twist in displeasure, but I faintly feel the restrictions on me lift. She can¡¯t track me or trap me here against my will any longer, at least not through the inscription.

    ¡°But . . . with your control over flesh, I thought¡ªthat is, I¡¯d hoped¡ª¡± I sputter out, biting down on my tongue before I say the wrong thing. I settle for a helpless shrug. ¡°I could probably work faster with two hands. And you¡ªwell. With your Skills, it would be trivial.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I see your confusion,¡± Scalpel says patiently, as though I¡¯m a slow student in need of extra explanation. ¡°I don¡¯t have any flesh-shaping or regenerative Skills. Can¡¯t do it.¡±

    I freeze in place for a moment before I regain a semblance of control. Bitterness poisons the swirling storm within, wrests away my vision of a healed future. I flatten down the storming, surging seas of anger and disappointment, transforming them back into placid waters by sheer force of will.

    The world slowly stops spinning around me as the shock of disappointment wears off. I breathe in, puff out my cheeks, and hold it for a moment until I regain equilibrium. ¡°I see. And you wouldn¡¯t do it even if you could, since it holds no utility for you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re finally learning,¡± Scalpel replies, nodding.

    The faint approval in her voice makes me sick. Dully, I ask my next question. ¡°Applying the control rune and removing it¡ªthat was all external mana manipulation?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. I pinpointed your nerves, blocked off the pain signal with mana, and separated the muscle fibers in your body with delicate scalpels made of mana. That¡¯s how I first got my name. I don¡¯t recall what my first name was, back in my youth. This one suits me better.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s remarkable,¡± I admit, as much as praising my captor leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Scalpel is a genius with mana. I¡¯ve never met anyone like her. Grudging admiration sits cheek-by-jowl with hatred in my heart as I regard her, and neither one feels out of place. On the plus side, my [Manasight] is also slowly rounding back into form. I¡¯m seeing more of the energy flows around me than I have in months.

    ¡°Once you fix your shredded internal channels in a decade or so, you can begin to walk my path,¡± she says confidently, casually crushing my dreams of recovering anytime in the next few months.

    ¡°So, this is it,¡± I say, holding up my wrist and staring at the place my hand used to be. ¡°This is my life now.¡±

    ¡°What is flesh but a shell for the soul?¡± Scalpel replies, her brow knitting in confusion. It¡¯s the most passionate statement I¡¯ve ever heard from her. I don¡¯t know whether to find it inspiring, or horrifying.

    She folds her long, articulated hands in front of her and regards me blankly again, all the emotion vanishing behind a mask. ¡°We¡¯re wasting valuable time, apprentice. I¡¯ve released your bonds and your security tracker for now. Please see me immediately when you return from your visit with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote so I can reapply them. His guards will escort you back after your meeting. Come; your carriage awaits.¡±

    She ghosts out of the room without waiting for a reply.

    =+=

    The carriage ride to my meeting is the first time I¡¯ve climbed into a vehicle since my time in the prisoner¡¯s cart. I brace myself for a flood of negative feelings when the door shuts me in, but they don¡¯t materialize. Perhaps I¡¯ve finally moved past the trauma. Or perhaps it¡¯s the window in the side of the carriage that lets in a comforting stream of warm light.

    The ride brings us deeper into the capital, past famous state buildings I recognize from my adventure books. The longer we travel, the more my wariness fades away, replaced by an effervescent excitement at finally seeing Modilaraon up close¡ªa simple pleasure denied me during my initial trip into the capital. I crane my neck out the window, glancing around like a gleeful child in a candy store and taking in the sights and sounds. And the smells. Gardens with thousands of hyacinths fill the air with a pleasant fragrance.

    ¡°The Lion itself!¡± I shout a few streets later, leaning halfway out of the window to get as good of a view of the relic as I can. I wish Lionel were here to see it with me. We always talked about visiting together when we were younger.

    A heavy, gauntleted hand on my shoulder reminds me that I¡¯m technically still a prisoner, but it can¡¯t dampen the fierce, heady rush of joy at seeing the pinnacle of glass-making craft in person. I¡¯ll have to brag about it to the Linas if¡ªno, when, I correct myself¡ªI return to Silaraon.

    The enthusiasm lasts right up until the carriage horses trot right on by Fort Kaatavarus, with their barracks and military administration campuses. Confusion mounts within me as we turn down a street leading toward the palace neighborhood, leaving the governmental center in our wake.

    Royal [Guards] block our path, arrayed around a blockade. They¡¯re all hawk-eyed and domineering, exuding the kind of violent competence that scares off troublemakers. The driver provides his credentials to the lithe, muscular man who approaches him. Moments later, the [Guards] wave us on through. My breathing relaxes after we¡¯re past the checkpoint, although I haven¡¯t done anything wrong. Other than the declaration of treason, ha.

    Shortly thereafter, we enter an exclusive enclave nestled between the state garden, near the palace but sheltered away from prying eyes. We stop in front of another private residence, which puts my hackles up. I expected the [Inquisitor] headquarters, not a mansion in the middle of an aristocratic district.

    When Scalpel¡¯s own guards nudge me out of the carriage door, I swallow my irritation and settle for meek compliance. My only act of defiance is taking my sweet time to thank the driver. The delay makes the guards grumble. Definitely worth it. Nonetheless, the sight of a house instead of headquarters leaves me sour. This smells of more schemes afoot.

    The gates swing open silently. I shuffle forward, staring down the walkway at the golden double doors of the mansion. Apparently, [Chief Inquisitor] is a lucrative position.

    A pair of liveried servants escort me inside the enormous mansion. At first glance, the decor is remarkable for its austerity and restraint, all dark stone and burnished brass. Further scrutiny soon reveals that my initial impressions are all off. There¡¯s an undeniable quality to the building materials that I haven¡¯t seen before; they fairly glimmer in my half-working [Manasight]. The marble flooring is cut with almost impossible precision, gleaming in the gentle mage light like it was installed this morning.

    In the room beyond, easily the size of my entire workshop back in Silaraon, twin curved staircases wing up to either side of the space, leading to a balcony. Frescos decorate the ceiling far overhead. A marble fountain murmurs softly in the center of the room, large enough to swim in if I were so inclined. A restorative wave of mana washes off the water, refreshing and cool. This house alone is probably worth more than my entire hometown, let alone its artifacts, I realize with a shiver.

    I¡¯m not a [Builder] or [Architect], but expertise isn¡¯t exactly required to recognize that this is a different level of luxury and wealth compared with the [Enchanter] in Grand Ile. I admire the fit and finish as we walk through the entryway and into a formal sitting room, where the servants leave me to my own devices.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The tapestries hanging from the walls depict moments of glory from Densmore¡¯s past. I recognize a few from my adventure books, such as the founding of the country, but most of the battles and galas are unknown to me. All the hangings are richly woven, with green and blue hues predominating. The glimmer of gold peeks out from the edges of a few tapestries. Not a single stitch of fabric is out of place.

    ¡°If this is the [Chief Inquisitor]¡¯s mansion, I¡¯ll cut off my other hand,¡± I mutter under my breath as I scan the room. There¡¯s no way he can afford this kind of opulence.

    ¡°Luckily, you¡¯ll get to keep your remaining hand,¡± a new voice interrupts.

    I spin around in surprise, instantly on guard. I didn¡¯t see anyone in here with me. Nary a sound or a hint of mana betrayed the newcomer¡¯s arrival. Garbed in red silk robes and more gold embroidery along his high collar than any one person needs, the man is clearly not with the [Inquisitors]. He glides toward me, and with a shock I realize that he¡¯s hovering every few steps. His slippered feet make no sound.

    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Nuri. [Viceroy] Tapirs, at your service,¡± the man says, inclining his head slightly, as though he¡¯s doing me a great honor. A bow seems far beneath his dignity. ¡°I¡¯ve heard the most fascinating tales about you, young man. I look forward to determining their truth in person.¡±

    =+=

    ¡°I¡¯ll smooth things over with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote. He¡¯s earnest, but impatient. Such is the folly of youth,¡± the [Viceroy] says with a sly smile as he guides me into a relatively small but well-appointed dining room.

    I nod sagely in response, as though I understand what it¡¯s like to deal with the hastiness of youngsters. After several hours of an extremely thorough and disorienting house tour, this cozy dining room is a welcome relief. The warm terra cotta walls, single table, and open bay window overlooking a private garden seem almost intimate. The rest of his house is massive and sprawling in a way that reminds me of the Labyrinth, in an odd way.

    [Viceroy] Tapirs chuckles quietly as he eases his tall, slender frame into a seat. ¡°Little Xharr owes me, after all. My grandson helped him learn mana control before he Classed, and under my guidance, he achieved his First Threshold a few years thereafter. I¡¯ve taken him under my wing ever since.¡±

    I school my expression into bland neutrality, but his verbal volley finds its mark. Inwardly, I¡¯m doing yet another double take at the revelation of the [Viceroy]¡¯s age. All throughout my visit, Tapirs has launched similar arrows designed to surprise and overawe me. He appears a few decades younger than the wizened [Chief Inquisitor], but I don¡¯t doubt that he¡¯s telling the truth about the difference in their ages; he might be the strongest person I¡¯ve ever met, with a lifespan a few times that of a Second Threshold individual.

    ¡°I am more concerned about Scalpel,¡± I admit, unease churning in my stomach.

    ¡°That hag? She won¡¯t interfere with our business. She¡¯s on my payroll, after all.¡±

    I flinch, although I catch myself a moment later. His eyes spark with amusement; he¡¯s enjoyed each shock he¡¯s unleashed today. I regain my composure and chuckle weakly. ¡°She never said.¡±

    ¡°Nor would she phrase it so crassly! Our patronage is rather indirect, to be fair. Enough with the minutiae; it¡¯s so endlessly boring. How is she treating you? You seem jumpy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not looking forward to being gone so long,¡± I say slowly, suddenly unsure of myself. How much do I reveal to this [Viceroy]? I blow out a breath through my nose. There¡¯s probably no getting around it, not if he really bankrolls her operation. ¡°We¡¯re behind on research already. She¡¯s going to make me work through the night to catch up when I return.¡±

    He arches a finely-shaped eyebrow. ¡°Ah. You¡¯re an apprentice?¡±

    ¡°Functionally, yes. No contract.¡±

    Tapirs nods to himself, looking pleased. ¡°There¡¯s one rumor confirmed. I never thought I¡¯d see the day when she parted with information willingly. Well done!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised she works for you,¡± I venture. ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem like the type to put up with outside interference¡ªbegging your pardon.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re entirely correct,¡± the [Viceroy] says, still nodding. ¡°She hates it, which is why I still wasn¡¯t certain of your position. She never reports these matters.¡±

    ¡°She never lets her notebooks out of her sight,¡± I say, shaking my head. ¡°I think she¡¯d rather die.¡¯

    ¡°Indeed. She often fails to report¡ªwell, nevermind all that. For now, sit! Eat! Enjoy yourself!¡± Tapirs declares grandly, gesturing to a seat nearby. ¡°Let¡®s celebrate your arrival in the capital. I apologize that your time in Modilaraon thus far has been less than hospitable. We¡¯ll try to rectify that.¡±

    Right on cue, [Servants] flit through the room, silent and quick, and soon a feast fit for a dozen covers the table. I¡¯m salivating just looking at the scallion pancakes, fried plantain, and curried duck; by the time I take in the rest of the succulent-looking cuisine, I¡¯m practically holding back tears of joy.

    The [Viceroy] digs in, eating with gusto. I grin and snatch up a drumstick from the duck, sinking my teeth into the tangy, savory meat. A happy groan slips out, betraying my lack of decorum, but Tapirs pays me no heed, wrapped up in his own dinner. I take that as a good sign, and tuck in eagerly, savoring each new taste experience.

    Bliss.

    ¡°How is your mana control?¡± the [Viceroy] asks after my frantic pace slows at last. He looks at me shrewdly, as though taking inventory of my insides. ¡°I admire your gumption to continue training, given your rather spectacular and debilitating injuries,¡± Tapir continues.

    I finish my bite of flat, spicy noodles, biding my time so I can determine how I want to answer. In some ways, I think I prefer Xharrote¡¯s straightforward methods to this kind of soft interrogation. ¡°It¡¯s difficult for me to hold mana for any meaningful duration, but I¡¯m learning how to be more precise and efficient with the few drops I can control. I still need a mana crystal for anything to work for more than a split second, although my command of mana is improving.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you can show me later. You¡¯re in a fascinating position. Most would give up in your dire straits¡ªbut you persevered. Well done, Nuri! That¡¯s the kind of attitude I¡¯m always on the lookout for. Truth be told, we could use an infusion of fresh blood in my department, and I keep a watchful eye for promising candidates. Tell me, what do you know about our work?¡±

    ¡°That depends who you mean. I don¡¯t actually know who you are or what you do, other than your title. Forgive my ignorance,¡± I add somewhat tepidly. I¡¯m not interested in any further entanglements.

    ¡°Ha! It¡¯s quite refreshing, truth be told. Before I answer further, however, why don¡¯t you tell me what you hope to do while you¡¯re in the capital? Surely, you have some goals of your own.¡±

    ¡°I want to find a hot shop,¡± I reply instantly. A pang of longing makes my heart twinge. ¡°I think I¡¯ve had my fill of adventure for the moment. If you have any way to convince Scalpel to let me work with glass again, I¡¯d appreciate it. Sorry if that¡¯s presuming upon your generosity.¡±

    The stately [Viceroy] bursts out laughing. He slaps his hands together as though I¡¯ve told a great joke. ¡°Half the city would kill to have an audience with me. I can make or break a career¡ªan entire clan¡¯s worth of careers! Yet what favor do you ask? Only to return to your craft. How workmanlike! How rustic! How admirable. Truly, I never thought to meet someone so pure-hearted, so transparent and free from schemes. I will see it done.¡±

    ¡°T-thank you,¡± I stammer, caught off guard when he agrees so readily.

    ¡°Now, to answer your question about my identity: I lead the cabal of [Mages], both in Densmore and abroad. Whatever advances in magic you hope to achieve, I¡¯m your best bet. So. Now that you know who I am, I¡¯ll ask again¡ªwhat do you want? Don¡¯t you hunger for more? I would have thought Scalpel¡¯s only apprentice would have more fire in his belly,¡± Tapirs says, watching me like a hawk.

    This time the wild revelation doesn¡¯t turn my mind to mush. I suspected he was far more powerful than he let on, so his words only confirm my suspicions. I make an effort to meet his intense gaze, though my mouth goes dry. I take a sip of wine to fortify myself, then straighten in my seat and speak my mind.

    ¡°Who says glass is weak?¡± I challenge him. ¡°No one has fully explored its true potential. I appreciate artistry as much as the next crafter, but don¡¯t think that limits my ambitions. One day, every young girl and boy will know my name. They will beg their parents to work in a hot shop, all thanks to the path I forge. Glass is the medium, but mana is both obsession and muse.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s more like it!¡± Tapirs all but shouts. ¡°Fire in the belly, indeed. Glass as a greater path to power. Fascinating. I¡¯ll see what I can do to facilitate your growth. Alas, for now I¡¯m still dealing with this abyssal war. Casualties are mounting. We were in dire need of the astral navigator you found. I can¡¯t tell you how much of a windfall that marvelous little artifact proved. We¡¯ll turn the tides of this war yet!¡±

    ¡°I thought we were winning?¡± I say, pouncing on a change of subject before I¡¯m harassed about the supposed inferiority of glass anymore. Just because he¡¯s the preeminent [Mage] in the entire country doesn¡¯t mean he knows everything about magic. ¡°The way the guards talk around Scalpel¡¯s workshop, we¡¯re on the offensive. We¡¯re gonna win.¡±

    Tapirs scowls. ¡°Would that it were so. We¡¯re struggling to simply prevent a full-scale Invasion. Just last week, we lost an entire battalion in a Rift. Too bad they don¡¯t know how to close it¡ªlike you did in the lesser Rift¡ªonce they realized that the labyrinth was shut. Two survivors staggered out of the Rift days after we¡¯d given them all up for dead; one succumbed to his wounds within the hour, and the other lasted an additional day and a half. A Wraith ambush wiped them out. They had to fight their way through a horde of those despicable creatures, all for naught in the end.¡±

    I blink rapidly, trying to imagine an entire battalion wiped out in a single encounter. My tongue and lips move before my mind catches up. ¡°I¡¯m surprised the Wraiths attacked like that. They usually just protect the Control Room and leave larger forces alone, don¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Bah! A disciple of that troublemaker Tem, through and through,¡± Tapirs grumbles. ¡°I should have guessed you¡¯d defend those monsters from the depths of the abyss. Make no mistake, Nuri. They are monsters, no matter what your erstwhile mentor may have insinuated.¡±

    ¡°They certainly are terrifying fighters,¡± I reply, more nervous than ever after misspeaking. The blood pounds in my temples, and I tighten my grip on my fork so that he can¡¯t see my hand trembling. ¡°Although, they seem quite different in the Labyrinth, compared with the savage ghouls on the outside.¡±

    [Viceroy] Tapirs¡¯ eyes grow stormy. Cold. For the first time, his control seems to slip a little, and an overwhelming presence explodes out from him, pinning me to my chair. ¡°Yet which is their true nature, and which is the mask? Make the wrong choice, Nuri, and we¡¯ll all pay the price. Bah! Monsters, I tell you. The lot of them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen monsters design architecture or build artifacts. Or talk to me,¡± I squeak out, torn between terror and a sudden need to defend my hero, but it¡¯s hard to talk when faced with such overwhelming power. I hope this doesn¡¯t cost me the [Viceroy]¡¯s relatively good mood, or his willingness to help me work with glass again.

    ¡°No, I suppose you haven¡¯t. The world¡¯s full of surprises, however,¡± he says evenly, retracting his presence and smiling munificently once more. ¡°I will grant that they¡¯re a special case. But enough politicking! How about desert?¡±

    I grin broadly. ¡°On that front, we¡¯re in resounding agreement.¡±

 B3 C19: Plaguebearer

    ¡°Let¡¯s retire to the map room, Nuri,¡± the [Viceroy] says amiably. Like all of his other statements this evening, however, it¡¯s a command, not a suggestion. Sighing in contentment, he pats his stomach, then he pushes back from the table and floats upright. ¡°Come. I have someone I want you to meet.¡±

    I stand up more slowly, clutching at my own stomach. At long last, we¡¯ve finished tasting each of the half a dozen flavors of sweetened, chilled cream that the servants brought out in tiny crystal bowls. I doubt I could eat another bite even under pain of death.

    My host leaves the dinner table looking like a junkyard heap, apparently confident in his servants¡¯ cleaning prowess. Equally confident that I¡¯ll follow him, he turns and floats out of the room with eerie serenity. I still can¡¯t sense a single drop of mana use from him, which makes his incredible finesse all the more terrifying¡ªand makes me think his earlier display was calculated, not a slip in control due to his fury. He¡¯s testing me, although I¡¯m not sure what for just yet.

    I trot after him when I realize he¡¯s not waiting for me, cursing under my breath. I can¡¯t rely on following his mana signature, even if my [Manasight] were working properly, since he¡¯s like a ghost. No sound, no mana presence. Out in the hallway, I glance both ways rapidly, and catch sight of him turning a corner to my left. I take off running this time, uneasy at the thought of wandering through his mansion alone. It¡¯s probably not safe.

    Even at a light jog, I barely keep up with the [Viceroy]. He doesn¡¯t speak, just hums to himself as he glides on an invisible platform. Is it condensed mana? Or something else? I wish I knew that trick!

    Three turns later, we stop in front of an impressive archway, carved with shimmering silver scrollwork that reaches all the way to the ceiling. The gilt door retracts into the wall as he approaches, sliding aside silently to reveal a cavernous room with a singular display in the center, dazzling with its overabundance of mana.

    ¡°Meet my dear friend Coco,¡± Tapirs says, nodding toward a massive map of the world that dominates the room.

    The map¡¯s size and weight are too much for a single dining table. Instead, the bulk of the enormous map is spread out across four huge tables pushed together in the center of the room, leaving only a little room for maneuvering around the edges. I¡¯m not entirely sure how to see the center of the map, until a wave of Tapirs¡¯ hand changes the perspective. The view shifts from the entire content, zooming in closer and closer. A few heartbeats later, the orderly streets of Modilaraon dominate the map, the only details visible across the entire breadth of the artifact.

    ¡°The map is exquisitely detailed,¡± I manage, catching my breath and glancing around in bemusement. The rest of the room is utterly bare of furniture or maps, other than the map on the table. Every square inch of the floor and walls¡ªand the ceiling, too, I realize, glancing up to confirm my hunch¡ªis covered in intricate runes of staggering complexity and variety. I¡¯m not sure what to make of the extravagant display, other than whistling softly at the sheer cost of such a staggering undertaking.

    ¡°Yes, she certainly is exquisite,¡± [Viceroy] Tapirs agrees. He rests his hand on the edge of the map, patting the map as though it¡¯s a favored pet. He smiles as he offers his greeting. ¡°Hello, Coco.¡±

    A soft flash of silver-blue light pulses over the map to meet his hand. ¡°Welcome, Tapirs. Who¡¯s the boy?¡± A disembodied voice echoes throughout the chamber, precise and pleasant, thrumming with power.

    I flinch. Did the table just speak?

    ¡°This young lad is Nuri, the [Glassworker] you tracked down for Harwich. Play nice, Coco! He¡¯s new here. Let¡¯s not scare him off.¡± His eyes sparkling with amusement, he gestures for me to come closer.

    I gawk at the table, my mouth agape like a yokel on his first trip into a town with more than two buildings. What kind of artifact is this thing? My guard is up, however; I didn''t miss his casual admission that he was responsible for finding me for the [Adjutant]. ¡°Uh, hello. How are you, Coco? It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. I love your map room.¡±

    A silver flicker of light from the table somehow reads like the entity is pleased. ¡°Ooh, a polite one for once. Your taste is improving, Tapirs.¡±

    Tapirs sniffs disdainfully, as though this is a long-standing argument he¡¯s tired of losing. ¡°My taste is always impeccable, Coco. Your opinion is ill-informed.¡±

    ¡°Oh? How peculiar. I wonder where my soul seed came from,¡± Coco replies with a trill of amusement. ¡°Any deficiencies must naturally arise from the original¡¯s inadequacies.¡±

    My host rolls his eyes, prompting another wave of multihued light to reverberate across the map, and then two share a chuckle.

    Soul seed? I wonder if that¡¯s what gave this enchanted artifact¡ªer, Coco¡ªsuch lifelike ability. My eyes shift to take in the [Viceroy]¡¯s pleased expression, which leaves no doubt in my mind that he is indeed responsible for Coco¡¯s personality and reasoning.

    He clears his throat, though it seems more theatrical than strictly necessary. ¡°Coco, how about a little demonstration? Please show Nuri the troop movements on the Eastern front.¡±

    Immediately, blue and grey images light up on the interactive magic map, moving across the topographical landscape with eerie precision while Coco narrates. ¡°You¡¯re looking at the last week of data, based on camp journals from the Royal Army scribes. Unfortunately, without the [Viceroy]¡¯s explicit authorization, I¡¯m unable to allow you access to real-time reports.¡±

    ¡°This is incredible!¡± I breathe out, impressed despite myself. I wish I could show Ezio and Rakesh. They love these kinds of academic artifacts. Direct access to information from all over the continent is a revolutionary idea.

    ¡°Coco, show Nuri the travels and travails of our wanted glass-maker,¡± the [Viceroy] says, shaking my good mood.

    After everything else I¡¯ve witnessed tonight, I really shouldn''t be surprised when a pale, sky-blue path traces the steps of my journey after I departed from Silaraon. The line is straight and unbending until I¡¯m halfway across Densmore, however, which raises some questions about the accuracy of the map. Or is this guesswork until they picked up my trail later on?

    Once my journey reaches Barundu, where Vicario, Iriye, and Maire live, the path wavers and wanders. With great unease, I see that Vicario¡¯s Windows is listed, written out in words of light beside the name of the city. They know my friends; is this an unsubtle threat to keep me in line? I shake off the uncomfortable line of thought, watching as my progress moves in erratic loops across the great plains next. Coco¡¯s light tracks me until I arrive at the bustling trading village of Lamont¡¯s Rapids, nestled in the cliffs beside the river.

    Fascinated, I shuffle closer to the map, resting my hand against the edge of the table and leaning in to squint at the details. My path disappears entirely in the village, although it picks up again a finger¡¯s width away. I wonder if that''s when I entered and exited the Rift, removing myself from this plane for a short time?

    At last, the ribbon of light follows my boat ride down the river to Grand Ile, host of the triennial glass competition. I sink into the memories of the lock system and the fascination of boats traveling up and down the river, engaged in their endless trade practices. Grand Ile looks magnificent even on the map, and I quirk a smile when I see the white and gold styling that the citizens are so proud of faithfully duplicated on Coco¡¯s map.

    ¡°I suppose my efforts to hide were a bit lacking in sophistication,¡± I murmur.

    ¡°On the contrary! You were well-cloaked leaving Silaraon, to the point where one might even wonder if you stole an anti-scrying artifact from the [Inquisitors]. Piecing together your little journey was quite the puzzle, if it makes you feel any better. But we found you in the end.¡±

    My gaze slides over to take in Tapirs¡¯ expression of satisfaction as he talks about me. I doubt he¡¯s gone through such lengths to host me tonight just to arrest me. Still, I¡¯m wary after he made a point of drawing attention to my legal status, so I quickly fumble for a way to change the subject. ¡°Is the map¡ªer, rather, is Coco¡ªconnected to the national Index?¡±

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Ask her,¡± Tapirs says, nodding at the map. ¡°As long as you haven¡¯t offended her too much by speaking about her instead of to her, then she¡¯s likely to answer you.¡±

    The barely concealed smirk on his face is answer enough, though. I get the sense that if there''s a source of information available anywhere, then the [Viceroy] has somehow secured magical access, allowing Coco to review the data and display it for privileged guests

    I clear my throat, starting with easy questions. ¡°Coco, could you please show me the location of known Masters of glass making?¡±

    A few white-green lights pop up, denoting the locations of Masters. Most of the lights are scattered throughout Densmore and Naftali, with a single ultrabright cluster in Osaria, an island nation a ways West of the continent.

    I laugh in delight, committing the locations to memory and promising myself that I¡¯ll visit them all someday. ¡°Could you show me where the Azure Staff was made? Please?¡±

    The map pulses again, reorienting around a small city. Text scrolls by a moment later, marking the city as Kalhue and confirming Ezio¡¯s claims. Looks like my friends were right. Rakesh is a formidable [Researcher].

    ¡°One day, you¡¯ll add the location of my glass studio to the map,¡± I vow, pride warming my chest. ¡°I¡¯ll be a Master. Just watch!¡±

    ¡°I have no doubt,¡± Coco replies politely. Yet, somehow, for a construct, she still manages to sound sassy. It reminds me of my brother, teasing me for my ambitions.

    ¡°You do have a promising future,¡± my host says, further stroking my ego. ¡°We need to see about proper teachers, however,¡± he continues, sending my pride cratering back down into the dust as he frowns. ¡°You¡¯ve spent far too long under the influence of questionable individuals. I need to rehabilitate your image once your pardon goes through.¡±

    [Viceroy] Tapirs¡¯ harsh words about Tem over dinner echo through my ears, and not even the promise of a full pardon for my crimes can stay my speech any longer. I¡¯m burning up with curiosity about the feud between their factions. Of course, given that Tem is missing, and was already declared a traitor, while Tapirs is entrenched in power and luxury, it¡¯s not much of a feud.

    I wet my lips, preparing myself for the potentially bad reaction I¡¯ll get to my question. This particular subject isn¡¯t likely to receive the same warm welcome as the others, but I want to see the map. ¡°Coco, please show me the travels and adventures of [Expert Counterspell Scout] Tem Cytekin, including any usually restricted from the public eye.¡± A ripple of light across the map transforms the close-up view of cities in Densmore to a bird¡¯s-eye vista of the five main countries on our continent. Little golden dots dot the surface of the map, like a farmer scattering seed across fertile ground.

    ¡°Still a fascination with your mentor, I see,¡± Tapirs says, scowling at me. ¡°Tell me, Nuri, what is it that inspires such loyalty for that traitor? You seem to revere him, while I bear nothing but sorrow for the harm he''s done to our great country. How do we reconcile our views?¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Harm to our country? I don''t know what you¡¯re talking about. He¡¯s a hometown hero¡ªby far the most famous name to ever come out of Silaraon. I¡¯ve read all his adventure books. Even if they''re embellished, you can¡¯t deny that he¡¯s taken the most dangerous and difficult missions all over the world, collecting vital information and striking down our enemies. He loves Densmore. His team loves him. He¡¯s clever, competent, and courageous. And he saved my life. Why wouldn''t I respect him?¡±

    The [Viceroy] nods slowly in response, his keen eyes locked on my face the entire time I am speaking. He doesn¡¯t sneer or scoff at my defense of my friend. His troubled expression is nowhere to be found, smoothed into a mask of patient listening. Nonetheless, I get the sense that he is more than a bit incredulous.

    ¡°You really don¡¯t know what I¡¯m talking about.¡± A heavy sadness fills his voice. ¡°I did not expect to shatter the image of your hero tonight, Nuri, but we¡¯ve come to an impasse. How can I keep silent?¡±

    I stare at him, my body as taut as a bowstring. A terrible premonition builds up within me as he continues to speak. For all his theatrics today, I haven¡¯t detected any lies. At least, not any outright fabrications. Who knows how an old monster like him might twist the truth?

    Tapirs leans forward, joining me in resting his arms on the edge of Coco¡¯s map. His eyes look sad and tired. Suddenly, his age seems to shine through, and his voice wavers a bit when he speaks. ¡°Philosophers have asked this question for as long as people have existed: what is the worth of a single life? Is it better to save many by condemning one? Conversely, are loyalty and kindness enough to redeem a man who has performed atrocities? Slaughter or salvation? Which actions define the man in the end?¡±

    ¡°Atrocities? What are you talking about? Tem doesn''t even like to fight,¡± I say, more heat in my statement than I expect. My blood is rising, pounding in my temples, and I grip the edge of the map table as hard as I can to keep from doing something rash. Punching the [Viceroy] in the face while in his own home is a good way to rot in a dungeon for the rest of my life, assuming he doesn¡¯t just order my summary execution.

    Tapirs¡¯ expression turns hard as flint. ¡°No, he doesn''t like fighting. Imagine! One of the best assassins I¡¯ve ever met, and he''s a half step away from a pacifist. Yet that''s why we find ourselves in the predicament we¡¯re in today. He could have ended these wars years ago. His so-called ¡®mercy¡¯ is nothing more than an unwillingness to act; if anything, his cowardly choices allowed the wraith threat to proliferate, since it¡¯s his insistence that they¡¯re people that stayed the [King]¡¯s hand.¡±

    ¡°No one should rush into a war,¡± I counter, but the conviction in Tapirs¡¯ voice makes me uneasy, like I¡¯m missing information.

    He sighs. ¡°I would have thought that you of all people would understand the dangers.¡±

    ¡°What do you know? You weren''t there! The wraiths aren¡¯t all¡ªlook, the one I met wasn''t a monster,¡± I splutter, indignant that my argument sounds so weak..

    Tapirs¡¯ dignified face grows even stormier. ¡°Bah! I¡¯m not talking about the creature from the Labyrinth. I''m talking about your parents.¡±

    The unexpected change in subject stabs me like a needle puncturing a balloon. All the anger drains out of me, and I sag against Coco for support, sudden dread gripping my heart with icy talons. I fight to keep my voice steady, even though my legs are shaking and I¡¯m having trouble standing. ¡°What¡ªwhat are you talking about?

    He turns to the map, triumph and anger glittering in his eyes. ¡°Coco, compare the traitor Tem¡¯s travels with known mana plague outbreaks over the last two decades.¡±

    Like an ugly, purple-yellow bruise spreading across the healthy flesh of the land, Coco¡¯s new instructions overlay the places Tem¡¯s visited. I recognize many of the towns and cities from my years of reading adventure books: Tayeb, Luxora, Altus, Quinnescent, Struegas, Deep Rime Harbor, Iyrock¡ªand, at last, Silaraon.

    ¡°No,¡± I whisper, shaking my head. ¡°Tem¡¯s not like that. He wouldn¡¯t hurt people¡ªnot if they don¡¯t deserve it!¡±

    A clouded look passes over the [Viceroy]¡¯s face. ¡°I might have agreed with you twenty years ago. But ask yourself: who gets to decide? Which people deserve death? Which people deserve life?¡± His voice grows hard. ¡°Whose rules apply? Whose justice prevails?¡±

    ¡°How do I know you''re not faking the data? Maybe you''re just jealous of his popularity,¡± I growl at Tapirs, crossing my arms. The accusation sounds ridiculous even as I spit it out.

    He smiles at me sadly, looking for all the world like a tender grandfather who has the misfortune of delivering bad news. ¡°When you met the wraiths outside of their own habitat, what did Tem warn you against?¡±

    ¡°Mana use,¡± I answer, forcing the words out between clenched teeth.

    He nods sagely. ¡°Why is that?¡±

    ¡°Because they can boil the mana right out of your body if you don¡¯t clamp down on your channels.¡± My voice goes soft and reedy as I realize the connection that the ancient mage is making, but I manage to get the words out anyway, feeling lightheaded and nauseated all at once. ¡°Just like the mana plague.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. Just like the mana plague,¡± Tapirs echoes. ¡°You tell me if that¡¯s a coincidence.¡±

    I sink into a sullen silence, not knowing what else to say. There¡¯s no denying that their symptoms are eerily similar. So what took me so long to put two and two together?

    ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s enough for tonight,¡± the [Viceroy] says, leading me out of the map room. ¡°I called you here in good faith, out of curiosity, not to make enemies. Let¡¯s leave this ugliness behind us, shall we?¡±

    I nod, numb as I follow him downstairs, through winding passageways, and out the front door. What am I supposed to say? I want to accuse him of lying, but something tells me that he is the kind of formidable opponent who wields the truth like a weapon. He didn¡¯t achieve his lofty position by accident.

    Mumbling pleasantries, I take my leave and scurry into the fancy carriage that¡¯s ready to take me back to Scalpel¡¯s research facility. What a difference a single day can make. Just this morning I couldn¡¯t wait to leave, but tonight I can¡¯t wait to get back. All I want to do is immerse myself in routine, distracting myself from the memories of my parents¡ªand the gut-wrenching realization that my hero may have inadvertently had something to do with their death.

    My host holds up a hand to stop us just before I depart with his guards. Gritting my teeth in annoyance, I lean my head out the window to hear his farewell. It won¡¯t hurt to appear polite, no matter how irritated I feel at the moment.

    Tapirs clasps his hands over his robes. ¡°Nuri, I do not wish to part on unpleasant terms. I can transfer you to different, ah, accommodations. You don''t have to stay with that hag. Just say the word, and I will remand you into the [Chief Inquisitor]¡¯s custody. You could also study with me, or one of my students if you¡¯d prefer. You¡¯ll have no better chance to learn the secrets of mana.¡±

    ¡°Can you rebuild my Skills?¡± I ask, already knowing that he can¡¯t. Otherwise, why make use of such a distasteful researcher?

    ¡°I can¡¯t promise a miracle. As much as it pains me, she¡¯s the foremost expert there,¡± he says, smiling as if in apology.

    I sigh and shake my head. ¡°Then I¡¯ll return to Scalpel. I¡¯m committed to the work. I have too much to learn from her to give up now.¡±

    ¡°Very well. I shall respect your wishes. Fare thee well, young glassmaker,¡± he intones formally. He nods at me once and then floats away with a flourish of his elaborate robes, leaving me alone with my turbulent thoughts.

    The carriage ride back to Scalpel¡¯s house feels like it lasts an eternity.

 B3 C20: Breakthrough

    Glass. As far as the eye can see, arrayed in every color of the rainbow, stretching out like drops of dew twinkling in the morning sun¡ªshelves upon shelves of meticulously sorted glass, ready and waiting to be shaped to my will.

    ¡°Hello, old friend. It¡¯s been too long,¡± I whisper, turning around slowly and taking in the glass studio¡¯s hot shop. I savor each little detail: the furious glow of the furnaces, the marvers worn smooth over countless years of rolling glass across their surfaces, the magnificent panels of clear glass taller than I am by each workstation for drawing designs in colorful chalk. I breathe in deeply, close my eyes, and enjoy the sounds of a busy, professional studio at work.

    In a way, it''s difficult for me to accept my sudden good fortune after months of setbacks and struggle, but I suppose everyone deserves a break. My thoughts drift back to the last few interactions with Scalpel, still marveling at how I got here.

    =+=

    As expected, my first week back with Scalpel after the visit with Tapirs and Coco is a whirlwind of research to make up for the missing day¡ªand then some. I run myself ragged in an effort to keep up with her demands, barely snatching a few minutes here and there to practice my own delves. My hours are chock full of recording analysis and data points for the other test subjects she works on, although I can¡¯t see what Scalpel sees; I simply collate and cross-check.

    Less expected is the offer Scalpel extends to me on the first day of the second week. At least, I think it¡¯s the second week, if I¡¯m reading the calendar in her office correctly, I think as I crane my neck to look at the days. It¡¯s hard to tell the passage of time without windows to be honest. Mealtimes are my only regular clue to the passing of time, otherwise.

    Guards escort the final test subject of the batch out of the room, and Scalpel gestures for them to shut the door behind them. My full attention locks on her as soon as we¡¯re alone. She doesn¡¯t usually mind speaking in front of the guards, so that likely means there¡¯s something important she wants to discuss.

    ¡°You¡¯re an anomaly, Nuri. My research thrives on predictability, but you¡¯ve thrown that all out of order. Nonetheless, in recognition of your accomplishments, you¡¯ve earned some reward. I¡¯ve observed that you believe there¡¯s value in sentimentality, and while I have yet to see how affection affects Skills specifically¡ªother than as an incidental corollary, since people often repeatedly practice things they take interest in¡ªI am willing to indulge. You have earned some leeway.¡± She pauses from her interminable note-taking, stacks the pages together, and tucks them into a folio.

    Scalpel rises from her desk, clutching the folio, and marches over to the wall behind her. She fishes a key out from under her tunic, opens a safe, and shoves the papers inside.

    The key never leaves her possession, hanging from her neck by a black silk ribbon. I often wonder what she considers too important for prying eyes, since she has me arranging her reports to [Viceroy] Tapirs, but I¡¯m not stupid enough to poke at that hornet¡¯s nest. At least, not yet; curiosity is a powerful motivator.

    Instead, I dutifully keep silent, my body tense and at attention the entire time.

    Scalpel returns to her desk. She remains standing, her articulated hands clasped in front of her. ¡°Starting tomorrow, you will spend two days a week working in a local glass shop. You will keep meticulous notes on your experience in regard to Skill rehabilitation. Should you fail to document the details to my satisfaction, or if you haven''t made any progress after a month, I will revoke your privilege.¡±

    Tapirs came through, I see. A sardonic smile tugs at the edges of my lips. I¡¯m certain that this order came from above, but Scalpel is doing her absolute best to act as though she is in command of my fate. Her ploy carries a faint whiff of desperation to me. Perhaps she is facing her own deadlines? Taking it out on me is one way to reassert control, but I no longer regard her with the same awe as I did before I met the [Viceroy]; her aura of dominance is blunted now, her god-like powers beggared by the true rulers at the top. And unfortunately for her, I plan to answer only to them.

    ¡°Thank you, Master,¡± I reply, letting my relief and excitement show through. That part, at least, is completely genuine. ¡°I won''t squander this opportunity.¡±

    She unfurls her fingers, tapping on the table and leaving scratch marks in the polished wood. ¡°See that you don¡¯t.¡±

    =+=

    ¡°Ready to learn, young sir?¡± Melidandri, the studio shop¡¯s lead [Glass Smith], asks me with a polite smile. His voice shakes me loose from my reverie of odd memories.

    ¡°I am happy to be back in a hot shop again,¡± I say, returning the smile. Melidandri is tall, slender, and elegant, with smooth, well-practiced mannerisms. Every word and interaction thus far is pleasant and deferential to a fault. Something about it feels off, however, like he¡¯s donning a mask. I don¡¯t know what he has been told about the arrangement for me to work here, but he seems to have an odd understanding of my role.

    He¡¯s impeccably dressed in a sleek black tunic edged in silver, with glass rings on each finger that glimmer with the subtle sheen of imbued mana. I can¡¯t imagine that a rich, cultured man like him has time to hover while someone works in his shop.

    The artificial smile creases his face again. ¡°Not your first time working with our medium? Excellent! It¡¯s always a delight to see young glass-makers in our glass studio. You represent tomorrow¡¯s future, after all. Would you prefer to work on a pendant, or learn to make a vase?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Neither, thank you. I don¡¯t mean to distract you from your orders and commissions, Sir. I will work on a project on my own. No one likes to babysit instead of getting work done.¡±

    ¡°Admirable, but we certainly have time for a client who comes recommended by the [King]¡¯s own mages,¡± Melidandri is quick to reply.

    ¡°Thanks for your kind offer, but I¡¯m not really looking for instruction. I just need to get back to the basics,¡± I say, feeling more confused by the moment. What did Tapirs tell him?

    ¡°With respect, the tools of our trade can be quite dangerous in less experienced hands,¡± Melidandri says. ¡°The furnaces are extraordinarily hot, and the glass can easily burn you or shatter into razor shards. I don''t want to risk you hurting yourself without the assistance and oversight of a skilled [Gaffer], and your situation is inherently riskier since you seem to face an uphill battle for manipulating the tools required for glass.¡±

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    His pointed glance at my hand grates on my nerves, but I suppose it¡¯s only natural for him to doubt me. I realize now that I¡¯m probably stepping on his toes, so I swallow my pride and accept the supervisor they''re assigning me. ¡°May I at least demonstrate my abilities? I can be useful to you around the shop with your orders.¡±

    ¡°We are commission only, young man,¡± he replies with great dignity and pride. ¡°Naturally, you are most welcome to a workstation if you would like to practice alongside one of the glass workers. They¡¯ll be happy to instruct you if you''d like to make a keepsake.¡±

    I frown, my confusion sublimating into a dull anger. ¡°Did Scalpel put you up to this? She should know me better by now than to try to play games with me. I¡¯m determined to return to my roots. I¡¯m a [Glassworker] by Class, as was my father before me. I asked for studio time, not to be coddled like a little lordling.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Well, then, I will make some allowances for you, master Nuri. Unfortunately, I cannot grant you unrestricted access to do as you please until I see evidence of your skill. Why don''t you start with a few simple pieces while I finish a commission, and then I''ll review. Until I inspect your work, I expect you to obey the [Gaffer] immediately.¡±

    ¡°I am in your studio. I will abide by your rules,¡± I say as sincerely as I can. ¡°But in return for my patience, I wish to learn mana imbuing.¡±

    Melidandri peers at me more closely, his skepticism about my abilities and his veneer of plastered-on friendliness both peeling off a bit as he seems to come to some sort of conclusion. ¡°Very well, Nuri. Make something grand¡ªsomething that I would be willing to display here in our showroom. If it sells by the end of the week, then I¡¯ll personally teach you how to imbue.¡±

    My heart races at his pronouncement. I never expected that this dandy, this creature of politics, also has the skills of a Master; I just wanted him to understand that I''m not here to learn the basics, and I hoped someone on staff could oblige. The shop seems magnificent enough that I figured they might have a lead on imbuing, but it never occurred to me that Melidandri himself would be capable of teaching me such a rare skill.

    I lift my chin and nod. ¡°Challenge accepted!¡±

    Immediately, my mind races back to the shattered chandelier from the competition. I never got to see it in action, and although a prideful part of me doesn''t want to retread a path that I¡¯ve already walked, my discretion wins out in the end. If I have to spend the entire day today designing and iterating, then I¡¯ll run out of time tomorrow to produce a piece worthy of catching the eye of a rich patron. I won''t get to return to the glass studio until next week, so my only chance to make an impression is to get started as quickly as possible.

    Eschewing the rondelles from the competition, I decide to go with more reliable and conventional means of creating flat planes of glass. I¡¯m going to make molds, make and melt glass, and fill up each shape with the mix. It¡¯s less romantic than spinning it by hand, but with a wider margin for error, this makes for a more forgiving method. In addition, this way will take less time, which will free me up to work on the detailed interior of the chandelier.

    ¡°First things,¡± I mutter, surveying the glass shelf by shelf. ¡°If I can¡¯t find suitable glass, then I¡¯ll need to make it myself.¡±

    I peruse the offerings, grudgingly impressed by the profusion of colors and composition. There¡¯s lead-based glass, soda-lime glass, and borosilicate glass in every shade and hue I¡¯d ever want¡ªand some gaudy colors I¡¯d never touch¡ªyet none of the offerings are made from the right type of additives. None of it will suit my purposes; I¡¯m looking for dichroic glass in order to make what I have in mind.

    I flag down a passing assistant and ask him to lead the way to the back store room so I can collect materials and make my own batch of glass. He raises an eyebrow at my request, but doesn¡¯t dismiss me out of hand. Instead, his gaze flickers over toward the boss, Melidandri, for confirmation.

    Melidandri strides over to speak with us, a half-smile still plastered on his face. ¡°Trouble already, young master Nuri?¡±

    The assistant gulps. His eyes dart between us. ¡°Permission to take him to the storeroom so he can make a new batch, sir?¡±

    A frown etched on his face, Melidandri turns toward me and speaks more candidly than he has thus far. ¡°Ah, is our glass not your liking?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s beautifully uniform,¡± I answer, genuinely pleased with the quality they have in the shop. ¡°The problem is that I need dichroic glass, and you don¡¯t seem to have any on hand. I suppose I could settle for using borosilicate if there are no other options, but I assumed that your splendid establishment would have more materials in reserve for emergencies.¡±

    ¡°What could you possibly need that for?¡± Melidandri asks, his smooth aristocratic brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°Our glass blowers are standing by to assist you during your visit. If you would allow us to instruct you, then we could pass along our collective knowledge. Including,¡± he adds a bit snidely, as though he can¡¯t help himself, ¡°just how poorly suited to the task that particular variation of glass truly is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d agree if I wanted to make a little plate or a pendant,¡± I say pleasantly, not breaking eye contact with him the entire time, ¡°except that I want to make a chandelier. For that, I want glass that shimmers with different colors based on the viewing angles. Dichroic glass will bend the light coming through. For the design I have in mind, I need to make a few molds and create multiple repeatable shapes. I don''t have time to waste spinning up rondelles and cutting out the shapes, or pressing glass flat with rollers. I¡¯ll use more traditional glass blowing for the interior of the chandelier but not the outside. Satisfied?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a risky gamble,¡± Melidandri answers, although he loses some annoyance and seems to consider the proposal. ¡°A chandelier made that way sounds bulky and expensive to produce¡ªdon''t you care about elegance and refinement?¡±

    My patience finally wears thin. I¡¯ve worked too hard to get to this point to have my pride trampled over by the first glass artisan I¡¯ve met in months. ¡°Why don¡¯t you send a message to Lady Evershed in Grand Ile and ask her opinions on my chandelier? I¡¯m sure my master will endorse my efforts.¡±

    Melidandri¡¯s expression wars between surprise and respect. ¡°I didn''t know she was taking disciples after her many years of hiatus. Still, it¡¯s a wonder she let you go after investing her time. Makes one wonder if it was worth the effort.¡± Having delivered his final, quiet barb, Melidandri strides off to oversee further operations in the hot shop.

    I gesture grandly for the assistant to lead me on. ¡°Well? Time¡¯s a wastin¡¯! Let¡¯s get what we need and get to work. I''m lacking a hand, as you can see, so I¡¯m counting on you for the rest of the work week. If Meledandri complains about losing your help, then tell him I¡¯ve hired you and to put it on [Viceroy] Tapirs¡¯ bill.¡±

    The assistant gulps and throws a sloppy salute. I manage to stifle my urge to laugh, and follow as he scurries off to the back. While I don''t want to get in the habit of abusing my connections, there''s something pleasing about seeing people jump to when I give a command. Why can¡¯t everyone be this reasonable?

    I spend the rest of the morning mixing ingredients to prepare the batch of glass, pausing only to direct my assistant to call in a metal worker. As soon as she arrives, I explain the kind of chain and hook I¡¯ll need to hang the chandelier, and also ask for simple molds for each of the geometric shapes I need to create. I don''t feel like using sand molds, or graphite, or any of the other more traditional, more accessible methods. I¡¯m in a rush, and I¡¯m not the one paying for once. Granted, neither Scalpel nor the [Viceroy] actually promised to give me any sort of budget, but what¡¯s the point of having friends in high places if you don''t make use of them?

    Well, friends might be overstating it. But my newfound optimism is enjoyable, so I run with the idea and offer to pay double if she has the commission ready and waiting for me by the time I return from lunch¡ªwhich I¡¯m also putting on the [Viceroy]¡¯s tab, come to think of it. A grin snakes across my face. I could definitely get used to this kind of life.

 B3 C21: Glassworker

    Metalworking order for glass molds signed and submitted, I turn my attention at last toward the most demanding of taskmasters: my stomach. I indulge in a lengthy stretch, accompanied by a satisfying pop from my back, and clap my assistant on the shoulder. ¡°Come. We¡¯re eating now. Follow me to the nearest restaurant.¡±

    He sputters and tries to argue that he has responsibilities around the shop, but I¡¯m not in the mood to be denied good food by something as mundane as a work schedule. Chuckling at the young man¡¯s feeble protests, I grab him by the arm and drag him out the front door.

    A passing cart almost takes my face off as soon as I set foot on the street.

    I leap back with a yelp, shaking a fist and murmuring curses under my breath. I hope that the driver¡¯s windows crack and crumble right out of his house. All around us, the city fairly vibrates with energy as people scurry about. The cries of street vendors and rattle of hand carts and carriages assaults my ears, while my nose twitches at the heady scent of flowers mixed with the fetid stench of unwashed bodies. I¡¯m barely able to see a path forward through the maze of foot and wagon traffic, disoriented by the hustle and bustle of the big city.

    ¡°Well. Seems I made a mistake,¡± I say with a chuckle, turning to the frightened assistant in mild embarrassment. I scratch the back of my head, offering a small shrug. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll have to follow you, since I don''t actually know the way.¡±

    For the first time all day, he laughs, staring at me with a wide-eyed, incredulous look. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that we eat at the same kind of establishments. I pack a bite at home so I don¡¯t have to waste any hard-earned coin. Gentleman like you probably think nothing of dropping a week of my salary for one meal.¡±

    ¡°Ha. I¡¯m not a noble or anything,¡± I say, trying to set the skittish assistant at ease. ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to my name. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll pay, anyway, since the [Viceroy] is my patron at the moment,¡± I say cheerfully. ¡°I want to get away from the shop for a little while and have something to eat, and you look like you could use a drink and unwind a bit. Try to enjoy yourself.¡±

    Irritation, amazement, and concern flicker across his face in the space of a heartbeat. He shrugs, lets out a soft laugh, and beckons me onward toward a restaurant. ¡°We¡¯ll eat at a place I know, as long as you¡¯re good for the coin. I hope your glass project is better thought through than your lunch plans.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not the best planner, I admit, but my glass-work is second to none,¡± I boast. ¡°Or, at least, it used to be back when I had two hands. I only have one now, so it stands to reason that I¡¯m only half as good as I was. I¡¯ll get back there soon. Don¡¯t worry.¡±

    ¡°I, uh, wasn¡¯t worried,¡± he replies, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He coughs, then looks down at his shoes in embarrassment. ¡°I don¡¯t even know who you are, or why you picked me to help, since you''ve got such high and mighty friends.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just a fellow glass-maker. You can call me Nuri,¡± I say. When he doesn¡¯t seem to recognize the name as an accused traitor, I breathe a sigh of relief. It¡¯s nice to be free of the weight of expectations; for once, no one knows who I am. Then I frown. Wait, he still knows that I¡¯m here at the behest of the most powerful mage in the capital, possibly in the entire country, so that connection hardly helps me slip by unnoticed.

    ¡°Name¡¯s Tanaq. I''m not a [Glassworker]. I, uh, I haven¡¯t Classed yet. Melidandri keeps me around since he knows my Ma needs my help, but I¡¯m more of a clerk than anything. I don¡¯t know how to make glass,¡± Tanaq says. A hint of wariness seeps into his voice, as though he¡¯s afraid of my reaction.

    ¡°Well, today you¡¯re my assistant, Tanaq, which means you¡¯ll make glass with me after lunch. Don¡¯t worry about Classing, anyway. I built a career in a hot shop with only a single Skill. And now I don¡¯t even have that. All you need is dedication and interest.¡±

    Tanaq stuffs his hands in his pockets, shuffling along as he directs us down a side street. He goes quiet for so long that I don¡¯t think he¡¯s going to answer, but he surprises me by clearing his throat and glancing at me. ¡°I could learn glass-making? You really think so?¡±

    ¡°I know so! I¡¯m living proof,¡± I say with an impish grin.

    ¡°Pub up ahead on your left,¡± Tanaq says, nodding toward an open public square at the end of the street.

    He seems lost in thought over my offer to teach him, so I let him be while I take in the surroundings. In the center of the square, a marble fountain topped with twin statues of carved fish at play presides over the shops and market stalls. The clear water bubbles merrily, spraying forth from the open mouths of the fish, and children whoop and splash as they frolic in the broad, shallow pool.

    Across the way, a verdant flash of fluttering banners catches my eye. Acrobats turn head over heels, contorting and leaping through the air. Next to them, a band of street performers are putting on a light-hearted play outside a pub, which I assume is our lunch destination. There¡¯s nothing particularly compelling about their performance, but I find my steps slowing as I approach the front door.

    Despite the gurgle in my stomach that marks my hunger, I¡¯m captivated by the jaunty tunes and vibrant shades of the sets and costumes. The story they¡¯re telling is a nonsensical tale about a man who wants to run as fast as a race horse. In a comedic, exaggerated display, he nails horseshoes to his boots while still wearing them. Little red streamers ribbons unfurl from his boots, supposedly to represent his blood from hammering sharp nails into his own feet. The [Actor] stumbles around, howling in pain and cursing the dastardly [Farrier] for selling him ¡°defective¡± horseshoes. All the while, the long red streamers flutter about in the wind, dancing in mockery of his foolishness.

    ¡°It ain¡¯t the horseshoes that are the problem. More like your defective brain!¡± a woman walking by calls out, and I snort in amusement. She¡¯s probably a plant, speaking up to get the audience to laugh, but it¡¯s funny anyway.

    This is ridiculous, I scoff internally. Hurry up and eat so you can get back to work. Yet I find myself unable to look away, chuckling along with the crowd as the man¡¯s hijinks grow more and more absurd; he decides that if he can¡¯t run like a horse, then gluing feathers to his arms will let him fly like an eagle, with predictably bad results. Their show is far from masterfully done, although the antics are amusing, but I still can¡¯t tear myself away to go inside the pub and eat. There¡¯s something about the silliness that speaks to me.

    I can''t remember the last time I did something just for fun. Finally, I make peace with my inner critic, giving myself permission to watch to the end. I¡¯m determined to cater to my own entertainment for once. Everything over the last few months has been a blur of tension and fear, difficult days and sorrow stacked upon sorrow. I deserve some time for myself.

    The longer we stand in front of the impromptu stage and watch the performance, the more acutely aware I am just how much I¡¯ve missed laughing. I need a reminder of what life has to offer. My existence isn¡¯t defined by displays of power or deciphering the mysteries of magic. It¡¯s all right to just enjoy a bit of fun and relaxation. In fact, it''s probably good for me to get away from the stress of learning from Scalpel, and the terror of dealing with the [Viceroy].

    Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and soak it all in. I let the cheers and laughter of the audience wash over me, ignoring my rumbling stomach, the insistent thoughts about my chandelier, and the awkward way Tanaq coughs to get my attention. The demands of the world fade away, until only quiet contentment remains, and I bask in the simplicity of the moment. Yep. I needed this, I tell myself, grinning like a fool until my cheeks ache.

    =+=

    The shop is buzzing when we return from our extended lunch. Apparently, commissioning the molds on a rush order and then disappearing with one of the workers created a bit of a stir. The studio boss, Melidandri, shoots me a look of arch annoyance when I walk back in with Tanaq in tow. Bowing and offering genteel words no longer, Melidandri crosses his arms and glares. He must be more irritated than I anticipated; perhaps the way I challenged him came across a bit too arrogant.

    Offering an apologetic grin and shrug, I stride over to an unclaimed workstation, vowing that he¡¯ll change his tune when he sees my finished piece. I¡¯ll win his stupid challenge and force him to teach me mana-imbuing if it¡¯s the last thing I do.

    ¡°Tanaq, please lay out the molds,¡± I say, managing to sound calmer than I am. ¡°I want to fill the molds as soon as possible. Then join me at the bench. You know how to use a blowpipe? Good. You¡¯ll be on duty while I shape the eventual heart of the chandelier. We¡¯ll go faster if I don¡¯t have to fumble about with only one hand.¡±

    Uncertainty written on his face, Tanaq nevertheless jumps to follow my instructions after only a short apology to Melidandri, who waves him off. Tanaq isn¡¯t as skilled as Ifran, my young helper from the Peliharaon studio, but he¡¯s eager to help, and that''s good enough for me. While he arranges the cast metal molds by geometric shape, I check on my batch of glass to make sure it¡¯s ready to go.

    As expected from an establishment of such class and sophistication, my furnace features a thermometer on the side. I stir a steel rod through the viscous, molten mix anyway to verify that the dichroic glass I prepped in the morning is ready. It should be up to temperature, but it never hurts to confirm.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get the additives we need to introduce some color, Tanaq. I want red squares, green pentagons, and blue hexagons. That should give us the flexibility to create any other combination we want. Think you can handle that?¡±

    ¡°By myself?¡± Tanaq squeaks, nearly dropping one of the hexagonal molds before he firms up his grip and keeps from fumbling the metal shape onto the floor.

    I nod, grinning at his distress. ¡°If you¡¯re unsure about any of the ratios, I¡¯ll coach you through it. Don¡¯t fret so much! We¡¯re experimenting. It¡¯ll be fun.¡±

    Tanaq seems to find his spine the longer he works. His instincts for flux are spot-on, probably since he¡¯s helped out in the shop for years, learning more than he realized through proximity. I oversee the process for a few more minutes, then clap him on the shoulder and amble over to the regular glass selections.

    Not content to simply pour molten glass of various colors into a mold during my precious time at the studio, I¡¯m itching to work with my hands again¡ªer, well, with my hand. Gotta start somewhere. I pick out a small rod of clear glass and bring it to the furnace, heating it up to working elasticity. Once I¡¯m satisfied with the consistency, I use a blowpipe to scoop up a traditional gather. I trot over to the bench to work in tandem with Tanaq, who is just finishing up filling the last of the molds.

    He smiles at me tentatively, puts aside the molds to allow the glass to set, and takes up the mouthpiece to the blowpipe. Handoff complete, I switch to a set of tongs and a flat, graphite paddle. He¡¯ll work on turning the blowpipe and inflating the hot globe while I shape the glass. Not having to do everything myself is a welcome change.

    ¡°We¡¯ll make the fiery interior first," I say, just to make small talk and set him at ease. ¡°Slow and steady turning. No need to blow so hard; we aren¡¯t going for size with this one.¡±

    Tanaq eases back on the rate of turn. He spits out the mouthpiece and chuckles weakly. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m still new to this. You¡¯re the boss.¡± At my nod, he takes up his position again and puts the carved mouthpiece back in place. He breathes more gently this time, no longer forcing so much air into the hollow, spinning ball of molten glass.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ¡°Perfect. You¡¯re a natural,¡± I praise Tanaq, hoping to encourage my timid assistant. Truth be told, I¡¯m barely paying him any mind. My focus is on the ball of glass in front of me that I¡¯m stretching and pinching with the tongs, pulling sections of the soft glass into little protrusions. I¡¯ll thin them out after the shape is roughly in place, transforming the raw material into the likeness of tongues of fire. Soon, I lose myself in the hypnotic process of creation.

    ¡°Getting cold. Heat it back up in the glory hole,¡± I direct Tanaq. He hurries off to plunge the glass into the second furnace, while I take a short break to clear my mind and wipe away all the sweat building up on my face.

    In my mind¡¯s eye, I conjure up the image of a bonfire. The crackling wood and flickering flames give off no heat in my imagination, but the fire dances about too quickly for me to copy. I freeze it in place, studying the ethereal shape of the fire, still lost in a trance when Tanaq returns with the glass, which is hot and malleable again. My fingers grip the tongs, copying what I see before I even realize I¡¯ve started moving. The tool in my hand feels like an extension of my will, following the template in my mind until the job is done.

    Satisfied at last with the intricate flames, I draw out the base of the glass globe to create a narrow weak point. I tap the neck to break off the glass connected to the pipe, catching it in a soft, thick towel. Tanaq slips on a pair of heat-resistant gloves, and he picks up the glass to take it to the kiln to anneal, but I hold up my hand to stop him.

    ¡°One last thing before we¡¯re done here. I need to open a small hole on the base of the flames before we throw this in the annealer. Tomorrow, once this is ready, I¡¯ll fill in the clear glass shape with red-gold, molten glass imbued with the concept of fire. If all goes well, then we¡¯ll piece together the shapes from the molds and complete the outside layers, then wrap up the glittering fire and hang it from the chain I commissioned.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good, boss,¡± Tanaq says, throwing a goofy salute. He waits for me to finish with the tongs, and then scurries off to the annealer to deposit the fire-touched glass.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got talent after all, young master Nuri. Apologies for my doubts.¡± Melidandri¡¯s voice catches me off guard, and I startle at the sudden sound. He chuckles in quiet amusement, then tilts his head toward the clock on the wall. ¡°You worked straight through dinner. I¡¯ve already sent Tanaq home. Closing time, young master. You¡¯ve been wrapped up in a creative fugue for most of the day, but there¡¯s always tomorrow, never you fear.¡±

    Brimming with calm contentment, I thank Melidandri and wake up the carriage driver, who¡¯s napping in his seat while he waits for me to finish up. I suppose that I¡¯ve subconsciously put off returning to Scalpel¡¯s manor house for as long as I can manage, but I don¡¯t want to push things too far. Relying on her good graces seems like a bad idea. I can¡¯t imagine it¡¯s good for my long-term health.

    Night blankets the city by the time I arrive at Scalpel¡¯s compound. Her guards escort me back to my room, grumbling about the late hour. I shrug off their sour glares and slam the door shut as soon as they leave, but I¡¯m having trouble entertaining the thought of sleep. I have far too much on my mind after the first truly happy day I can remember in ages. Yet as exciting as it was to work with glass again, it¡¯s the stupid little street show that dominates my thoughts. I¡¯m glad I got to see their performance. At last I make myself comfortable on my little mat, and drift off to sleep with a full heart.

    The next morning, I report to Scalpel¡¯s workshop well before breakfast. She ignores me, busy with her paperwork, so I follow her lead and ignore her right back. I casually requisition the biggest mana crystal I can find, pocketing it and sauntering out the door, expecting her to snap at me at any moment, but she waves once to acknowledge me and returns to her studies.

    Wonders of wonders, she let me go just like that! My mind reels at the implications of her odd behavior. Maybe my position is more secure than she let on, now that I have the [Viceroy]¡¯s backing. We¡¯ll see if I can push the boundaries over the coming weeks.

    =+=

    During the carriage ride to the glass studio, I turn the mana crystal in my hand, visualizing how I¡¯ll use it. Higher order concepts are tricky even in the best of circumstances, but I¡¯ll only get one go at using the mana in the crystal to power my imagined heart of fire. I wish Ember were here to use her Skill on the glass, making it sparkle and glimmer like actual burning coals. I¡¯ll have to show her what I can do once I go back home. I hope it makes her proud.

    Tanaq greets me at the door. He¡¯s practically vibrating with enthusiasm, babbling about how Melidandri agreed to let him work with the actual [Apprentices] so that he¡¯ll be more helpful for my visit next week. He¡¯s so excited that he can barely get his words out in the proper order, so I tell him to go collect the geometric molds.

    After a salute, Tanaq rushes off to check on the glass molds, leaving me standing in the entryway awkwardly. I feel ashamed about my judgemental thoughts toward Melidandri. Maybe I misjudged him. He seems like a decent sort, so I offer an apology for my behavior the day before, but he just waves me off and tells me that he¡¯s looking forward to seeing what I make when all the rest of the pieces come together.

    I take a seat at my workbench, waiting for Tanaq to return with the molds. Nerves are eating at me today, as doubt worms into my heart and mind. If I bungle things with the mana crystal, then I¡¯ll ruin what I set out to do. What if I can¡¯t pull off such an ambitious project? What if my grandiose promises amount to nothing in the end?

    I take a deep breath to steady myself. ¡°Let¡¯s make something amazing today. You ready for this, Tanaq?¡±

    He grins. ¡°Sure, as long as you¡¯re buying lunch again.¡±

    I roll my eyes at the joke, but Tanaq¡¯s good mood drains away some of my tension. I open the molds with him, sorting through the shapes and determining if the glass meets my specifications. We made extra, just in case, which is good since one of them cracked overnight. The edges aren¡¯t smooth, either, so I set my assistant to work grinding and polishing, with orders to keep working until the planes of brightly-colored glass gleam in the studio¡¯s magelight.

    Once he¡¯s set to his task, I turn my attention to the delicate, ghostly flames I made the day before. Still slower than I want to be with only one hand, I¡¯m nonetheless able to fall into a rhythm as the familiar work helps me relax. Working with glass again is a soothing balm to my soul. I¡¯ve been hurting more than I realized, but it fades away now that I¡¯ve returned to the hot shop.

    My confidence grows throughout the day as I make a few simple shapes, taking the time to show Tanaq how to do the basics. Lunch break sneaks up on me, and after a hearty meal at the same pub, I finally feel ready to put my plan into action.

    My hand slips into the pocket where I¡¯m keeping the mana crystal. It¡¯s larger than the ones I usually work with, almost as broad as my hand, but less bulky. I breathe a word of thanks for Scalpel¡¯s uncaring attitude toward money; this crystal is probably worth a fortune. Without her help, I wouldn¡¯t be able to keep pursuing my proto mana-imbuing.

    Tanaq¡¯s eyes bulge at the sight of the crystal, but he keeps his mouth shut even though I can tell he¡¯s brimming with questions. ¡°Lay out the pattern we discussed, and look lively. We¡¯ll need to move quickly once I start to draw on the mana, since I can¡¯t hold very much at a time.¡±

    He nods in acknowledgement of my request, but the way he¡¯s staring at me tells me that he¡¯s left with more questions than answers. Welcome to the club, I think wryly, and then purge the errant thoughts from my mind as I begin the work.

    No more stalling. Time to put all my practice with runes and Intent to good use.

    I sink inward, drawing on my connections to both [The Eternal Glass Forge] and [The Architect of Unseen Worlds], parsing their meanings as best I can. My head spins under the onslaught of complexities too vast for me to comprehend. The simple runes we learned as children are drawn on paper, two dimensional and inert. They¡¯re nothing like the beautiful Skill structures in my core space, however, which seem to inhabit multiple dimensions. The complex sigils shift and thrum with power that I can¡¯t understand, but I draw in a trickle of mana and feed it into the Skills anyway, searching for resonance in the runes.

    Trusting that my study with Scalpel hasn¡¯t been completely in vain, I rely on feeling more than anything. Puzzling out the intricacies of the Skills is a fool¡¯s errand, anyway. She¡¯s pointed me in the right direction, but now it¡¯s time to intuit the rest. I abandon the impossible task of solving all the mysteries of the universe before dinner time, and instead focus on making glass and listening to my instincts.

    I siphon off tiny sips of power from the mana crystal as I go, ignoring the burn and focusing on watching the mana flow through the half-functioning runes. I allow my body to act automatically, my hand shaping the glass while my mind meditates on the specific higher order concept I want to imbue into the chandelier heart: namely, fire.

    I cast my mind back to the last round in Grand Ile, trying desperately to recapture the memory of what I did. Fire and flames dominated my mind when I created the glowing heart at the center of the chandelier, which makes sense. It was my heartfelt tribute to my mentor and first master in the craft, Ember. Surely I can duplicate that again today.

    An idea strikes me, and I stop pulling the mana into my channels and core. Instead, I hold the mana crystal to my chest so I can draw the energy straight into the Skill structures to power the runes directly. I¡¯m not sure at first if it will work, but soon warmth ripples through me like a soft breeze on a midsummer day. My body relaxes, and a smile softly steals across my face. For the first time in forever, the mana doesn¡¯t burn in my channels, but instead hums in vibrant harmony as it pours through the channel cut into my chest. The pain is not entirely absent, but the sharp, jagged edge of agony is muted. Tolerable. The rush of energy bypasses the normal channels altogether and soaks directly into my Skills, suffusing them with power and song and a dizzying, mesmerizing pattern.

    My hand grows still. I stop moving, freezing in the hot shop¡ªa distant part of my brain notes how absurd that sounds¡ªas a rush of power spools out of me, igniting an inscrutable firestorm of runic working.

    Reflexively, I sink deeper into my inner self to observe what''s happening to me, then I break out of the delve and snatch up my notepad to start writing down my findings. I etch the memory on my mind, recording it as quickly as I can in the odd shorthand that Scalpel is teaching me. Mere words aren¡¯t enough to contain the profundity of the Skill runes, since they interface with more planes of existence than I can fathom, so I can only pray that my efforts at playing scribe will pass muster.

    The whole world seems to sing in harmony. Sounds and sensation and scent grow far away, muted in comparison to the vibrancy of mana. Power gathers around me, so thick and palpable that I can practically taste it on my tongue. I put down the notebook, and my hand deftly guides the glass pieces into place. I yearn to harvest the mana, draw it in through my damaged core and use it to manipulate the glass with my Skills, but I know they¡¯re not in working order. Instead, I delve deeper inward once again, searching for the correct runes and combinations to accomplish my task in a more free-form manner.

    Something about the Skill structure sings in my mind as I work with the glass, calling out to me and resonating with meaning. I close my eyes briefly, tracing each runic element one by one as they vibrate with hidden potential. I don¡¯t recognize many of them, but perhaps I don¡¯t have to know what I¡¯m doing. Ezio would be proud of how much work I¡¯ve put into studying with Scalpel over the past month, but budding scholar or not, I''m not equipped to unravel this puzzle with facts and logic. Acting on instinct rather than relying on any comprehensive knowledge of the process, I usher the energy flows toward the runes that feel right.

    The glass-making process itself seems to guide me. I draw in the latent energy of the mana crystal, threading the energy of the world through the proper runes in the structures and bypassing my cracked channels. With a surge of power, my Intent manifests in the world around me, illuminating the glass heart of stylized flames as it glows with incandescent splendor. With a mere thought, I seize the glass in an iron grip, bending and shaping it to my will.

    Clutching the mana crystal tight to my chest, I orchestrate the movements of glass with my mind like a conductor directing a symphony. The mana surges through me and spills over into my channels, despite my efforts to avoid them. The agonizing burn is significantly reduced, however, and this time I don¡¯t even grunt or grimace as I face the pain. Instead, I watch in wide-eyed wonder as the chandelier assembles itself in front of me, encasing the heart of glass I made yesterday through more traditional means.

    Meaning and mystery clash in my mind. I¡¯m torn between the desire to write everything down in my notepad to share with Scalpel, and intense longing to simply be. How often have I gotten a chance to let existence wash over me, luxuriating in life¡¯s unexpected joys? Yesterday¡¯s mediocre street show springs to mind, and again I find myself smiling at all the preposterous shenanigans. I haven¡¯t had much cause for smiling lately, but working with glass and seeing my creations take shape in front of me goes a long way to healing my frayed nerves and soothing my worn-down spirit.

    Like a drop of water in a bucket already filled up to the brim, the feeling of belonging and satisfaction wells up, overflowing and spilling the bucket across the floor. The gush of power hits the room and seems to have a qualitative, transformative effect. The glass in front of me molds itself to my desire, springing into existence and taking on the proper shapes and color I want with barely a thought. The entire chandelier is fully assembled, spinning in the air in all its glittering glory.

    ¡°Hook up the chain before I run dry and drop the glass on the floor,¡± I call out, panting and feeling light-headed. I don¡¯t want to shatter this one, too.

    Tanaq dashes over with the chain I ordered, fastening it to the chandelier as quickly as he can. He hangs it securely on a wall hook, where the entire studio can admire it, with scant seconds to spare.

    Then the mana runs out, and the overwhelming feelings of warmth and satisfaction and rightness disappear. Nonetheless, for a brief moment, I felt like I was once more using [The Eternal Glass Forge] and [Architect of Unseen Worlds]¡ªmy beloved artisan Skills¡ªto make a masterpiece. I miss that feeling more than ever, but my enthusiasm for what I just accomplished is undimmed.

    I¡¯m slick with sweat, and each breath rattles in my chest, but the strain is worth it. I savor Melidandri and Tanaq¡¯s shocked expressions, knowing that my chandelier will demand attention in the studio showroom. The promised prize is practically mine already.

    Today, I took a step toward recovery. Tomorrow, I will pursue mastery. Whatever the future holds, I will face it with all the dignity and joy I can muster. By various turns, I¡¯ve been an adventurer, a fugitive, a runic researcher, and an explorer of Rifts. Above all, however, I am a [Glassworker]¡ªand proud of it.

 B3 C22: An Unlikely Apprentice

    The sharp sound of Scalpel¡¯s snap echoes in my ears. I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright on the hard, narrow edge of the bed in her workshop. Shoulders hunched, I lean against the rough, pitted surface of the concrete wall and let out a long, heavy sigh. Where did the intoxicating rush of inspiration go? Why can¡¯t I replicate my miraculous breakthrough in Melidandri¡¯s studio?

    ¡°Report?¡± Scalpel asks.

    ¡°Nothing new,¡± I mutter sullenly, turning to regard my strange teacher, who doesn¡¯t hide her smug look. Since my return from Melidandri¡¯s, she¡¯s made me delve inward all on my own, as though proving a point about her methods versus mine. Her tried and true tactics, superior to my experimental ideas. I blow out air in a huff. ¡°Still broken. I thought I was making progress.¡±

    Her bloodless lips twist into a grimace. ¡°Unfortunate. Well, setbacks are nothing new. I had high hopes after the show you put on, based on the writeup that the shop-owner submitted to the [Viceroy]. Let¡¯s hope you don¡¯t make me regret my investment.¡±

    Her gloating fans the flames of my frustration into open hostility, although a quiet voice in the back of my mind warns me of the potential danger of antagonizing her. I settle for a muted glare at Scalpel, meeting her unsettling eyes and not flinching. ¡°Melidandri is spying on me for Tapirs? And he sent you a copy? I¡¯m offended that he didn¡¯t simply trust my report.¡±

    Scalpel scoffs. ¡°A single perspective often lacks context. Even I am willing to listen to your amateur analysis and reconsider my initial thoughts. You should be proud you¡¯ve earned that spiteful mage¡¯s attention at all. He likes you, for some unfathomable reason. Now prove your worth before you earn his ire¡ªI won¡¯t have you bring me down alongside you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s hardly fair. You¡¯re expecting me to pull another miracle out of thin air,¡± I protest, scowling at her. The effort makes me wince. I run my tongue across the worn edges of my teeth, eager to be done with the latest round of treatments. They feel like they¡¯ve been sandblasted with mana, since Scalpel has been pumping me full with double-doses over the last three days to try to brute-force a repeat of my breakthrough. ¡°Do you have any idea how painful this is? I need a break. I¡¯ll probably make progress again as soon as I¡¯m back in the hot shop.¡±

    Scalpel lifts a single finger, touching it to her thumb in preparation to snap at me again, then seems to think better of it. Her hands fall limply to her sides, but she shakes her head at me in disappointment. The dark void of her lidless eyes bore into me, burning with authority. ¡°Do things my way first. You¡¯ll get your chance when I¡¯m through with you.¡±

    I wither under her relentless gaze, dropping my eyes before she takes exception to my confrontational tone. Even with the [Viceroy]¡¯s backing, I¡¯m not quite ready to go toe to toe with Scalpel, although she¡¯s been surprisingly reasonable lately. I let my shoulders slump in defeat so she¡¯ll know that I know she¡¯s won, while admonishing myself not to complain so much. She¡¯s poured more mana into my core space than I could realistically gather in a decade of trying on my own, so I suppose I owe her something.

    While I despise Scalpel¡¯s deranged sense of morality, there¡¯s no arguing the efficacy of her mad methods. She builds up Skills, layer by layer, and then flays them apart, systematically cutting off new patterns and shapes all in hopes of uncovering greater mysteries of Classes and Skills. Now that I¡¯m tentatively her apprentice, I¡¯m finally learning the finer details of what that actually entails.

    Even better, I¡¯m slowly healing thanks to the steady influx of the power of creation. Still, it¡¯s hard to feel gratitude toward my torturer, no matter how much progress we¡¯ve made. Each time magic seems almost within my grasp again, it¡¯s gone again, excised from my inner world as though it¡¯s a malignant growth. Perhaps that¡¯s exactly what my Skills are to Scalpel. She isn¡¯t interested in healing me; she wants to use me as a test subject.

    ¡°When are you going to be through with studying me? I thought we¡¯d be done since I¡¯m your assistant now,¡± I ask in a subdued voice. Deferential, not defeated, I remind myself.

    ¡°When we crack the code. You¡¯re an enigma, Nuri. Your glass-related Skills performing better when glass-making is not unreasonable. I¡¯ll admit that I was wrong on that score. But I still can¡¯t figure out how you manipulated all of the objects in the air. You don¡¯t have any of the constituent runes for it, unless there¡¯s more hidden within your Skills that have yet to be pieced back together,¡± Scalpel says blandly, tapping her fingernails against my skin.

    Gooseflesh breaks out under her touch, but I know better by now than to flinch away. It won¡¯t make a difference, anyway. I¡¯m under diplomatic immunity, so she can¡¯t kill or maim me, but Scalpel never hesitates to earn her sobriquet. She peels back the layers of my core space to take a look whenever she pleases, and carving on my bones is considered ¡°efficient¡± to her. She has no sense of boundaries, no respect for the sanctity of personhood. It¡¯s creepy.

    I grit my teeth and force myself to meet her eerie, obsessive gaze. She cut off her own eyelids to see without the interruption of blinking, and the result is deeply disconcerting. ¡°Then what¡¯s the plan? You¡¯ll help me rebuild?¡±

    ¡°Depends on what you¡¯re worth to me,¡± Scalpel says. There¡¯s no threat to her tone, not in the way the [Adjutant] used to speak. She¡¯s simply stating the facts. And in that cold calculation, I find far more to fear than hot-blooded malice.

    I straighten my spine, crossing my arms to show her that I¡¯m not cowed. ¡°I thought you were close to figuring out another piece of the puzzle. I don¡¯t know what I am looking for yet, but you seem excited and impatient whenever you check on my Skills. What clues do you see? If you tell me what you hope to find, or show me how to build it, then it will help us both.¡±

    Her face is suddenly inches from mine, her lips curled back in a snarl to reveal her sharp teeth. ¡°Still trying to steal my life¡¯s work, Nuri?¡±

    I shake my head slowly, wondering if she¡¯s playing with me as her glare turns to a smirk. Is she developing a twisted sense of humor? ¡°No. I¡¯m suggesting that we can make much faster progress if you teach me the theory behind how reconstructive magic works. Then, instead of telling me to just check for fractals and runes I¡¯m barely starting to understand, I can assist with the rebuild and analysis. I¡¯ll be more useful to you that way.¡±

    Scalpel strokes her jaw, her head tilted to the side as if she¡¯s considering my request. It¡¯s the most natural, human movement I¡¯ve seen from her yet, and that¡¯s somehow unnerving in its own way. She nods abruptly. ¡°That may have merit. I will administer further tests in the morning to determine your aptitude for building. Clean yourself up for now. You reek of the outside world, even though you¡¯ve been back in my house for days.¡±

    By the time my shock wears off, Scalpel is gone, undoubtedly whisking away to conduct more nefarious research. Her boots barely make a sound, like the whisper of paper shuffled in a quiet library. For once, I don¡¯t mind the quiet, since she¡¯s not sneaking up on me and scaring me half to death.

    A slow smile spreads across my face. I¡¯ve grinned so much this week that my cheeks are starting to cramp, but I don¡¯t care. It feels nice to be happy again. Finally, a spark of hope in the midst of the darkness. I take her advice and hit the showers before retreating to my small room in the western wing of the compound. No guards follow me, but I know better than to try to sneak off to the hot shop before it¡¯s my time.

    Scalpel¡¯s first act was to anesthetize me, slice open the skin of my left arm just a little above my missing hand, and carve a tiny tracking enchantment onto my wrist bone. She knows where I am at all times. The house itself is keyed to my location; if I leave my prescribed areas, then a veritable flood of intrusive mana will incapacitate me until she¡¯s ready to resume her experiments. Sure, she disables it each time I leave for meetings, but she¡¯s always careful to reactivate it when I return. I know precisely how much it hurts, because I tried to flee once in the first week, emboldened by my lack of chains. I did not try a second time.

    Grudging admiration fills me as I glance down at my unblemished skin where she fixed the skin so that not even a scar remains. If not for watching her perform the work multiple times with my own eyes, I couldn¡¯t tell that she performed surgery at all. Unfortunately, her Skills can¡¯t regrow missing limbs. I asked, and received only a blank, uncomprehending look in response. Apparently, I can write just fine with one hand, so I¡¯m sufficient for her needs.

    I snort at the memory of that awkward, confusing conversation. Why get an apprentice with two working hands when an apprentice with only one hand will do the trick? No matter that Scalpel clearly has a long history of body enhancement that enables her to carry out her mad experiments more optimally. That¡¯s only for her; people like me don¡¯t deserve her genius.

    I crawl into bed, relieved to get some rest. I¡¯ll need my strength for the morning of study. I might hate her with all my heart¡ªjustifiably so, I believe¡ªbut there¡¯s no denying that she¡¯s talented. Now that I¡¯ve shown my worth by learning how to meticulously unravel Skill fractals and tap into their constituent runes, she¡¯s more willing to interact with me. I¡¯m no longer merely a test subject, but something more like a servant. All I have to do is keep watering the seed I¡¯ve planted of learning how to rebuild, and eventually it will flourish and grow.

    And if she won¡¯t teach me, then I¡¯ll figure out how to fix my Skills myself.

    My thoughts race ahead through the coming months and years as I toss and turn. Hope is surging within me, keeping me wide-eyed and awake despite my exhaustion. Scalpel is slowly knitting me back up, piece by piece. When I first met her, she had a nasty habit of unraveling the entire weaving until I was worse off than before. I lost track of how many rounds of restoration and destruction we were up to before she took me on as an apprentice. I¡¯m sick of the cycle. It hurts in my bones and marrow in a way I didn¡¯t know possible.

    Those few glorious moments when I can use parts of my Skills, though? That¡¯s got me hooked. We haven¡¯t restored them to their former glory, but we¡¯re so close that I can taste it. My mana access and use is moderated and supervised, and the Skills don¡¯t function right anymore, particularly with all the intentional incisions she¡¯s made on their structures, but it¡¯s a start. I only hope it¡¯s not the end, as well.

    =+=

    ¡°Your half of the commission. Inspired work on that chandelier, master Nuri,¡± Melidandri says, smiling warmly at me when I show up at the studio the following week. His eyes crinkle as he greets me, and there¡¯s a genuineness that was lacking previously. I must have made quite an impression. He extends both hands, cradling an ornate red envelope made from some sort of fine, woven fiber that shimmers in the magelight, and bows slightly as he gives me the gift.

    I awkwardly accept the envelope with one hand, unable to follow decorum and use two hands. Melidandri doesn¡¯t seem to care about my unavoidable slight, so I turn my attention to the envelope, marveling at the cost of the material. The edges are chased in gold filigree, but somehow I suspect that the fabric and dyes are worth more than the gold. Just what¡¯s inside If the package is this pretty?

    It¡¯s probably considered gauche to open the envelope in front of him, so with great effort I bury my curiosity for now. Smiling in return, I respond to his bow with a deeper bow, thanking him profusely for giving me the freedom to work in his space. I tuck the dazzling red envelope away, hoping there¡¯s a hefty bank note hidden within, and clear my throat. ¡°Are you available to teach me mana imbuing today?¡±

    ¡°I certainly am, master Nuri, if you actually need my help.¡± His brows draw together, and he peers at me, uncertainty written on his face. ¡°Mana-imbuing ought to be easy for someone with your exquisite mana control. Tell me, why do you not use Skills while working? Two days of mundane labor! With your abilities, you could have finished up in mere hours.¡±

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    A smirk breaks out when I realize that he no longer calls me ¡°young¡± master. I could get used to this kind of professional respect. ¡°Truth be told, my core is shattered. Trying to harvest mana directly feels like shoveling hot coals onto my body, so I rely on using mana crystals to access power instead. Imbuing is too costly to maintain the working in my current state, but I¡¯m hoping to learn the requisite skills to put it to good use once I recover.¡±

    I leave out the ghastly details about the state of my Skills. That¡¯s a bit of trivia that I don¡¯t feel like sharing, particularly since he¡¯s already seen me use what looks like high-level Skills. The implications of my ability to side-step broken Skills will likely invite closer scrutiny than I¡¯d like. The [Viceroy] arranged for this studio time, after all, and he doesn¡¯t strike me as someone who hires incompetents. Anything and everything I say will find its way back to Tapirs. Why give him free details, even if he already knows the general information?

    ¡°Ah, fascinating. Efficiency is always the hardest part of imbuing. No wonder you¡¯re in need of assistance in that regard. Tell me, have you imbued before, even in a crude form?¡± he asks, warming to the topic much like Ezio does moments before he inevitably launches into a lengthy lecture. ¡°I suspect so, but I¡¯d like confirmation.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Good guess. I¡¯ve tried imbuing before, or at least muddling my way through some sort of adjacent process. My best go at it involved investing a clear concept into my mana while infusing the mana into the glass project, but coaxing the energy to stay in place is harder than I realized. My earliest attempts amounted to nothing more than frustration, since the mana would simply evaporate, for lack of better word. I couldn¡¯t achieve any stability.¡±

    ¡°Come. Let¡¯s make ourselves more comfortable,¡± Melidandri offers, beckoning for me to follow. As soon as I nod, he beams and strides off through the hot shop. We climb up a twisting flight of wrought-iron stairs in the back of the studio, walk along a narrow balcony overlooking the shop, and soon reach a carved oak door in the corner of the building.

    He unlocks the door and gestures for me to enter, following behind and closing the door to the shop. Immediately, the sounds of the workers die away, and I find myself in a cozy, quiet room with a cheery stone fireplace. Melidandri eases himself into an oversized leather chair and crosses his feet. ¡°Welcome to my office. I¡¯ve got a pot of tea on, if you¡¯re so inclined.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. I appreciate your hospitality,¡± I answer, although the thought of tea evokes memories of Lady Evershed, which makes me melancholic. It¡¯s odd how a single word can carry so much meaning. I hope she¡¯s doing well back in Grand Ile. Maybe I can visit once all of this business with the [Viceroy] and the [Inquisitors] is sorted out.

    Assuming they clear my name instead of executing me for treason. Could go either way. Flip of the coin; that¡¯s what my life is worth.

    Once we¡¯re settled in with our tea cups, he resumes our mana-imbuing conversation with a more relaxed air. ¡°How¡¯d you go about solving the issue of the mana dissipating? Most of the self-taught crafters I¡¯ve met struggle to surmount that obstacle. Talking through your unique approach may be enlightening, perhaps for the both of us.¡±

    The room grows soft as my eyes unfocus. Instead of taking in Melidandri¡¯s office, I am imagining the mana lattice as inspired by Maire, the incredible baker I met during my journeys. I pull the memory forth and overlay it across reality so that I can better describe the way I trapped the mana in the lattice. It¡¯s glowing in my mind¡¯s eye, a sturdy structure that prevented the mana from escaping, as the unruly energy is wont to do.

    Before I realize that I¡¯ve spoken, I find myself narrating my memory of visiting the bakery and watching the brilliant Maire at work. I leave out the mana-restorative properties of the treats, only describing the shape and structure of her mana manipulation and the ways it inspired me. I recount my process of prototyping and iteration, culminating in the mana-sharpened knife that was strong enough to pierce the crab carapace. Part of me itches to boast that I took out a Rift boss with the knife, but I swallow my pride and stick to the relevant facts, excitement growing as I realize that I was on the right track after all.

    ¡°Brilliant. I¡¯d love to try those pastries sometime. Perhaps you could suggest a pairing for this oolong tea,¡± he says, holding up his silver-rimmed porcelain cup with a quiet chuckle. ¡°Your lattice structure certainly helps mitigate against the mana turning back into vapor. It may be an ineffable force, the very energy of creation itself, but it behaves suspiciously similar to water at times. I can see by your polite blinking that you have no idea what I mean, so please allow me to demonstrate.

    ¡°Please,¡± I say, my face heating up with embarrassment at how easily he saw through my lack of comprehension.

    Melidandri unfolds himself from his seat, managing to stand up from the big, overstuffed chair with dignity and grace. He sets the tea down on a marble desk, saunters over to the side of the fireplace, and opens a small, vertical chest of holding. Frigid air swirls out from the box in misty curlicues of condensation.

    ¡°Behold. My most expensive indulgence: an icebox.¡± His deft fingers reach in and snatch a chunk of ice, which he brings over to me, cupped in the palm of his hand. ¡°Observe how water takes on a solid form at low temperature. Now, add some heat, and what happens?¡±

    ¡°It turns back into a liquid,¡± I reply dutifully, starting to get an inkling of where he¡¯s going with this line of thought.

    ¡°Precisely.¡± To demonstrate, he holds his hand into the fireplace, unperturbed by the red tongues of flame blazing around his shirt and skin as he continues his discussion.

    He must be a fellow wielder of [Heat Manipulation], I think with fondness. Somehow, that makes me like him more, since even after all this time, it¡¯s still my favorite Skill. As the owner and master of the studio, Melidandri clearly earned his position. Hard work and impressive Skills will take anyone far in life, and he shows considerable finesse in the clever application of [Heat Manipulation] to only allow the ice to melt, while leaving his sleeves not so much as singed.

    ¡°Now the water is much like mana, flowing and malleable. It trades rigidity and strength for adaptability. As it gains heat, however, it will transform into steam, disappearing into the air.¡± He shakes his hand, elegantly shedding the water droplets that have yet to vaporize. The fire hisses and crackles on contact with the water, but the drops turn into steam almost immediately due to the high temperatures.

    ¡°Are you saying that I need to freeze the mana into place?¡± I ask.

    He frowns, interlacing his fingers and considering. ¡°Not quite, and I fear I¡¯ve misled you. No analogy is perfect. You¡¯re on the right track with changing the state of the mana so that it has order and doesn¡¯t simply disperse, but making everything too rigid will likely weaken the concept you¡¯re imparting. I think the better comparison is poetry.¡±

    I sip my tea to cover my skepticism. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve lost me.¡±

    ¡°Efficiency matters, but so does artistry. Let me show you; this is too complex for me to explain with words. For example, if I were to write something frivolous, it wouldn¡¯t connect much with the reader. Consider this silly example.¡± He scrounges up chalk from his desk, rummages about the room, and pulls out a gray writing slate bordered with wood with a crow of triumph at his find. His hand blurs as he scribbles a little verse, then he spins the slate around for me to observe the results.

    Far off castles

    full of tassels

    Fill my sight

    With delight

    He winces. ¡°Obviously, this isn¡¯t work I¡¯d ever display in public. I have my pride, after all.¡±

    We share an awkward chuckle, but I don¡¯t see what¡¯s so bad about the piece. It¡¯s like any other bit of poetry I¡¯ve seen, which means not all that interesting. To my horror, he hands me the chalk and gestures toward the writing slate, as though to indicate that it¡¯s my turn to try my hand at an artistic composition.

    My mind blanks. ¡°I¡¯m not much of a poet,¡± I confess, racking my brain to find a way out of this unexpected development. ¡°I, uhh, don¡¯t like rhyming. It feels restrictive and artificial.¡±

    ¡°That speaks to your good tastes,¡± Melidandri says. ¡°My poetry preferences are more restrained and natural, as well. I don¡¯t care that the words rhyme; I¡¯m captivated by the feelings that the word-pictures elicit. Here, let me try with a shorter example.¡± He takes the writing slate back, much to my great relief, and sketches out a new phrase.

    We share the same moon

    ¡°That¡¯s only one line!¡± I protest, my nose wrinkling up in confusion. What he¡¯s trying to explain is less clear than ever. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I get poetry. What¡¯s this one about? And what does it have to do with mana-imbuing?¡±

    Melidandri¡¯s eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. ¡°Yet it says so much more about life than I could manage in a longer, drier description. Whether from Central, or from the borderlands, we all look up at the same sky. This short poem is a declaration of our shared humanity¡ªall of our hopes and dreams, all of our success and failures¡ªand how all of us, great or small, are equal under the vastness of night.¡±

    ¡°Oh. That makes a lot more sense. You¡¯re using five words instead of fifty, plus leaving room for me to think on my own and fill in the gaps with my impressions and emotions.¡±

    ¡°Ah, my young friend, you do ¡®get¡¯ poetry,¡± Melidandri says, offering the smallest round of applause I¡¯ve ever seen in gentle mockery of my slow comprehension. ¡°You see? Each word in this sentence is essential. There¡¯s meaning and mystery wrapped up in a single, pithy phrase. How is that not poetry? It makes you think, makes you feel. A truly skilled [Poet] transports the listener to a different time and place¡ªperhaps one that doesn¡¯t even exist, except in the mind.¡±

    I nod along, warming to the analogy at last. ¡°Ah, like the way your offer of tea brought me back to my time with Lady Evershed. From a single teacup, my thoughts ballooned out to fill in the missing elements, expanding into an entire world of memory. I can picture her in her studio right now, enjoying a cup of tea in her cozy back room.¡±

    ¡°Precisely!¡± Melidandri shouts, and I start to see why his office is sound-proofed. He¡¯s remarkably like Ezio now that he¡¯s out of the public eye and not running the shop. They share the same exuberance and uninhibited love for ideas.

    I set down my teacup and stroke my beard. ¡°Did you do that on purpose?¡±

    Melidandri chuckles, soft and with a touch of self-deprecating chagrin. ¡°As much as I¡¯d like to claim I¡¯m that clever, it was simply serendipitous, master Nuri.¡°

    ¡°Huh. Lucky for me. It definitely got your point across. if you¡¯d asked me to describe her shop, or some of our conversations, I¡¯d struggle to picture it. I¡¯d have to ramble on and on, hoping for a burst of inspiration. I guess that¡¯s exactly what I was doing with stuffing as much mana as I could into the lattice structure.¡±

    ¡°Now you¡¯ve got it,¡± Melidandri says warmly. ¡°Well done. Always a privilege to see someone¡¯s moment of illumination.¡±

    I scratch the back of my head while I mull over his words. ¡°Fair enough. I still have a question, though. If you don¡¯t use a lattice structure to retain the mana, then how do you prevent the mana from leaking?¡±

    Excitement lights up Melidandri¡¯s eyes. ¡°A lattice structure is as good as any, but what you''re trying to do is akin to writing a dissertation as opposed to creating a poem. Far more effort and detail, but less overall impact. Focus less on the mechanisms involved, and more on impressing your unique vision on the world.¡±

    He snaps his fingers and sits up. ¡°Aha! Letters are a good example. Or, rather, the wax used to seal a letter. What is a signet ring for? It¡¯s an imprint of the sender to signify veracity or authority. In the same way, to imbue with mana is to stamp reality with a conceptual crest of your own design.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I know how to do that,¡± I say, daunted by the high-minded task. ¡°Is that why you started with a silly poem? The design matters?¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°Not the design inherently, but the quality of your perception. What I do is envision an energy structure that mimics the glass I¡¯m imbuing, while meditating on the insight I have into its function. Higher-order concepts are about bringing the metaphysical and physical into harmony. Once you do that, energy flows willingly into the provided vessel.¡±

    ¡°So that means your mana-working changes from project to project, but your method stays the same?¡± I ask, chewing on the idea like a tough bit of hardtack. It¡¯s still too hard for me to understand. Mana-imbuing is too nebulous for me to do anything with the concepts yet.

    ¡°Right,¡± Melidandri says, pacing now in excitement. ¡°The shape isn¡¯t relevant, except for visualization. There¡¯s no pre-constructed solution that fits each situation.¡±

    Comprehension slowly dawns as I consider the implications. ¡°For my knife, I could have compressed the mana and held it in place with will, creating a sheath of hardened intent, rather than the wasteful layers of the lattice structure. Or am I taking the imagery too far? Maybe a sheath isn¡¯t necessary.¡±

    Melidandri pours himself another cup of tea, nursing it for long minutes while he considers my question. After he finishes the oolong, he sets the cup down with a sigh, then turns to face me. ¡°I¡¯d avoid a sheath. That muddies the waters, no? Unless you want to create an entire set of armor, or a belt and sheath that pairs with the knife, it¡¯s best to keep it simple. You want to impart the concepts of sharpness and strength. Neither of those require a sheath.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for your guidance. You¡¯ve given me a lot to think about,¡± I say, bowing as well as I can while still seated. ¡°I will see if I can obtain a few mana crystals for tomorrow¡¯s session so that I can put your advice into practice.¡±

    Mild shock flashes across my host¡¯s face. ¡°You¡¯ll burn through mana crystals to test an idea? Just like that? Expensive way to experiment. Why don¡¯t I show you a few times so you can get a feel for the process? That will likely improve your chances of success.¡±

    ¡°Your offer is too good to pass up, if you¡¯re willing to take the time,¡± I say. Guilt at how badly I misjudged the man¡¯s character swirls in the back of my mind, but I do my best to ignore the self-recrimination. I¡¯ve been beset by unsavory sorts for a long time now. Little wonder that I¡¯ve grown jaded and hard-edged.

    He jogs over to the door, throwing it open and gesturing for me to follow. ¡°Then let¡¯s get started. Back to the hot shop with you, master Nuri. There¡¯s not a second to waste!¡±

 B3 C23: No Man Can Serve Two Masters

    Melidandri rushes down the stairs to the hot shop, practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach his workstation. He leads me to the main bench at the center of the studio and gestures for me to stand at the ready, as though I''m his apprentice. "Master Nuri. Observe, if you''re able. I''m not sure if you have mana senses available to you, or if you''re blinded due to your condition. Nonetheless, I''ll explain what I''m doing. Perhaps you''ll pick it up as we go."

    "I used to have [Manasight] before my injury,¡± I say, shrugging off the melancholy that always accompanies the memories of my loss. I step into the familiar position of an assistant as the master of the shop beckons toward the furnace with empty hands. A molten ball of glass floats over to the workbench and rolls itself across the marver.

    Grinning at the casual display of dexterity, I watch as a true master plies his craft. The need to share wells up within me. ¡°Sometimes, I think I''m right on the cusp of seeing the various flows of arcane energy again. Never seems to last, though. I''m left wondering if I''ll ever recover what I used to have. [Manasight] is less impressive visually then some of my other skills, but it''s one of the most useful abilities I ever developed. I miss it."

    A glimpse of shared pain glimmers in Melidandri¡¯s eyes. "I know what you mean. Losing something so central to your personhood feels like the death of a friend or family member. I don''t wish that on anyone."

    My smile slips. "Well, it''s not quite that bad. I lost my father to a mana plague when I was young. He used to run a glass studio, although it was much smaller than yours. All I''ve ever wanted is to be like him. That''s why I got started with glass in the first place. I''d gladly trade a thousand thousand Skills to have him back."

    ¡°I don''t doubt you would, Nuri,¡± Melidandri murmurs. Then he straightens. ¡°I shall endeavor to help you honor his memory by showing you how I forge my greatest works. Stand by with the gloves, if you please? When I am ready, I''ll need steady hands to bring this to the kiln.¡±

    His gaze flicks down to my missing hand, and he coughs in embarrassment. ¡°Er, perhaps a poor turn of speech. Apologies. Are you up for the challenge?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been a few years since I was an assistant, but I can still acquit myself well. Don¡¯t worry about me. I only hope I can see what¡¯s going on well enough to learn.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve already done the hard parts. Now, let¡¯s make some glass.¡±

    With a flourish, Melidandri expands the ball of glass, all without using the blowpipe. His Skills at work, I presume, or perhaps an advanced working of external mana control. Manipulating the glass isn¡¯t impressive on its own; Melina can do the same. No, it¡¯s the way that he also controls the flow of air and inflation, which are flawless. The tongs sing in his hands, shaping the glass as surely as if he rolled the molten mass through a mold.

    The main portion of the project takes on the contours of an elongated pear, or perhaps a teardrop. Additive floats up from the workbench drawers, mixing into the main batch of glass and tinting the fluted glass green. I¡¯m not sure what he needs me for, to be honest. He could easily move the glass to the kiln by himself, based on this display of prowess.

    Thin strands of glass rise up from the batch, twisting into delicate, lace-like fronds to encase the entire working. They¡¯re translucent, but still retain a sense of otherness, as though there¡¯s mystery hidden in their depths that not even light can uncover. I squint, studying the encasing more closely to try to determine the purpose of the structure. Is he making scaffolding, like a construction crew working on a high-rise building? Or is this the framework for the mana-imbuing, made visible for my sake?

    Green, gold, and ivory colors flow together in harmony as a stylized vase comes together before my eyes, reaching just above my head in height. The gold-colored glass forms knobs with claws, like lion¡¯s feet, regal and sturdy. They flow up into sleek, braided cords of glass that gives the vase strength and definition, circling together at the top of the vase to create a second rim covered with patterns and texture. Underneath them, the green of the vase itself is lustrous and smooth, perfectly uniform and even. Not a single flaw mars the surface.

    More and more white-clear glass, barely tinted and still letting through the light, circles around the elegant shape. Some of it appears structural, but after further examination, I¡¯m convinced that Melidanri is creating an overlay for me to see his mana-working. The air itself is thick with energy, fairly humming with the potency of the free-flowing powers of creation.

    I resist the urge to close my eyes, forcing myself to watch the proceedings so that I can learn what to do in the future if I want to replicate what¡¯s happening in front of me. Nonetheless, there¡¯s a pervasive sensation of contentment that tempts me to curl up and take a nap in front of the furnace. I can¡¯t recall the last time I was this happy, this at peace with the world, and with myself.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    A smile tugs at the corner of Melidandri¡¯s lips. ¡°Ah, you can sense it. Good. That bodes well for you in the future. I¡¯d worry for your recovery if you could only benefit from contentment after the fact.¡±

    The world hums with significance when he says contentment, although I can¡¯t pinpoint why. I only know that he¡¯s crafted a structure that will hold the mana in place while he pours in his earnest intent and passes along peace. Simply standing nearby feels like a condensed version of a hearthfire and hot tea on a cold winter¡¯s night, or the gentle warmth of the sun seeping into my weary bones while I doze on the riverbanks on a lazy summer day, surrounded by a field of poppies.

    ¡°You look like a man who¡¯s laid eyes on something he¡¯s chased for years but that''s always eluded him,¡± Melidandri muses. ¡°What is it you see?¡±

    ¡°Are you imagining a halcyon field of wildflowers by a sapphire-blue river?¡± I ask, moved almost to tears by the emotional power of the image. If I breathe in, I can almost catch a scent of the flowers. In my heart of hearts, I know that they¡¯re not real, and it¡¯s all in my mind, but it¡¯s so pleasant and peaceful that I keep inhaling through my nose anyway.

    ¡°Not exactly, no, although I wish I¡¯d thought of it,¡± Melidandri says. ¡°That scene is perhaps adjacent to one of the images in my mind, but hardly the only one I relied on for inspiration. Experience is always stronger than words. Admittedly, it''s less precise than language, but carries more primal power. You still have to fill in the details in a way that¡¯s unique to you; I am simply providing the fuel for your soul to burn through. The shared experience is mine. Your imagination is your own.¡±

    I mull over the implications, staring at the beauty of the vase. How could he impart such incredible detail while working with glass? Lost in thought, I sink to the bench and close my eyes, pondering what I just witnessed. If sharing my experience is key, then it explains why masters of the craft are usually older. They''ve lived longer and seen more so they have more to offer. That''s not to say that young people are incapable of profound experiences, but they''re likely missing the full scope of what life has to offer. I have a wealth of poor choices and disastrous consequences to draw on, but precious little otherwise.

    ¡°Master Nuri, the kiln!¡± Melidandri urges, a wry smile on his face as I finally snap out of the meditative fugue and stumble into position.

    My feet trace the pathway to the annealer almost on their own accord, while my mind is still wrestling with the implications of how to leverage experience as an art form. Can I invent something I''ve never lived through? Is pure imagination itself potent enough to empower my mana-imbuing?

    Stray thoughts dominate my mind through the lunch hour. Like a frisky puppy giving chase to every bird and squirrel it sees, my consciousness chases one errant idea after another, tripping over new concepts and stunning conclusions.

    During the afternoon, Melidandri moves to a workstation in the corner. He directs me to raise a series of mobile walls that block off vision, while he activates runes that shield against sound and scrying both. Pride wells up within me when I realize that I recognize all the base runes. Scalpel is an effective teacher, although hardly a pleasant one.

    Melidandri¡¯s fine features knit into a solemn expression. He glances around as though he can divine an eavesdropper or spy by dint of effort around. He frowns, the lines around his lips stretched tight, then makes me swear not to share what I learn next without his express permission.

    Only after I swear to keep his methods to myself does his dour expression relax. Satisfied that he''s taken precautions to protect his trade secrets, Melidandri beckons me to bring him a fresh batch of glass while he focuses and crafts another masterwork.

    The next object he creates is a perfectly round orb of glass at least twice the size of my head. Threads wrap around the globe like dozens of filaments weaving a spider''s web, once again tracing the flow of mana so that I catch a glimpse of the inner workings of the imbuing process.

    ¡°This one is draining,¡± Melidandri says gravely. ¡°Watch closely, Nuri; I don¡¯t have it in me to repeat the performance. I¡¯m not skilled at holding so many contradictory ideas fixed firmly in mind at once, so don''t be surprised if this fails.¡±

    Melidandri''s stern warning isn''t my only indication that something extraordinary is happening. I can''t see the movement of mana without [Manasight], but the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I sense a surge of power flooding into the golden sphere.

    Radiating waves of heat crash over me before he regains his tenuous grip. The glass globe is the epicenter of the working. Glowing ominously, the reflective glass surface shimmers, flickering between orange-yellow-white at breakneck pace. The sphere burns like the sun, flowing from one hue to another so rapidly that the radiant colors overlap in my sight, as though two or three divergent realities are overlaid atop of each other all at once.

    Unsettling as the sensation is, I find myself drawn to the pulsing power contained within the rich, complex imagery. This is both the nurturing, steady warmth of the sun coaxing plants to grow, and simultaneously the terrifying, stifling fury of the relentless desert sun scorching the life out of anything that dares defy its glorious, supreme existence.

    Weal and woe, hand in hand. Twin fangs of unyielding intent and impassioned experience, all expressed in the strange, shifting sheen of the glass globe. I back a few steps away, bumping into the walls I erected around the workbench earlier before my movement even registers with me. Subconsciously, I recognized and reacted to the danger and potential inherent within the fiery contradiction Melidandri willed into being and impressed upon glass.

    While I¡¯m still catching my breath, reeling from the disconcerting object, Melidandri bellows for me to bring him more glass. I leap into action to deliver a fresh batch for him to mold into some new miracle made only of glass, in awe of the effortless creative power he wields.

    Thus two days of observation and glass making go by in a flash, and all too soon, my time with Melidandri draws to a close. My head whirling with excitement¡ªor perhaps that''s simply the onset of a pounding headache brought on by considering the complex, variegated mysteries of the universe¡ªI bid my second master in the Capital farewell and return to my primary master. I¡¯m trading the medium of glass for flesh and soul, but I¡¯m hard-pressed to tell which one is more powerful, or more terrifying.

 B3 C24: Master

    Master. The once-cherished word now leaves a foul taste in my mind. I reveled in the respect and prestige that came with being Lady Evershed¡¯s apprentice. I loved the feeling of security and stability that came along with working under Ember¡¯s direction. I knew for a fact that she would take care of me and always do her best to steer me in the right direction. Yes, she was gruff sometimes, but that''s just how she showed her affection.

    Working with Scalpel, however, is a completely different experience. She''s cold and calculating, brutish and brooding. She doesn''t care about me as a person, but only sees me as a tool. I''m a useful extension of her will, much like a notebook or a knife, not a human with hopes and dreams and goals of my own.

    Nonetheless, I have committed myself to this course of action, and I intend to see it through to the end. The thought that reverberates through my mind like a prayer is that I hope the cost isn¡¯t more than I am willing to pay. That determination is sorely tested this morning, the day after returning from the hot shop, as I stand at attention in her drab and dreary workshop and report my findings to Scalpel.

    Her glower of dissatisfaction hisses and sparks against my senses. I never took her for the emotional type¡ªshe always seems so even and dispassionate, driven by her numbers and notes¡ªbut it seems like my series of successes with Melidandri have awoken in her a competitive, bitterly jealous spirit.

    "You believe you''ve had a breakthrough in your understanding of mana control, yet you''re unable to demonstrate it on demand? That''s two weeks in a row that you return with news of wild, barely believable progress, and no proof to verify your claims. And you wonder why I am not in a rush to teach you my craft.¡±

    I shrug helplessly. ¡°I suppose that may look suspicious, but it''s the truth. I can¡¯t replicate what I learned just yet. One, it requires more mana than I can handle at the moment, and two, I don¡¯t have a strong enough grasp of the concepts I¡¯m trying to convey.¡±

    Scalpel¡¯s lips twist into a sneer. ¡°Then choose something else as your concept. I know that you have some familiarity with higher order ideas and intent. I have more than enough mana crystals on hand to fuel your attempts at mana-imbuing. It¡¯s not often that I get to learn something genuinely new to me; while I have considerable control over mana, I¡¯ve never learned how to imbue it into objects. Nor have I ever studied the Skill in action.¡±

    I lick my lips, trying to think of an easy way out of this predicament. While I learned a lot from Melidandri, I feel wrung out. ¡°To be honest, I don''t think I have enough mental energy right now. It¡¯s not a matter of mana. I need time to think over what I¡¯ve learned and consolidate my experiences and thoughts. I¡¯m tired, but not physically, if that makes sense.¡±

    ¡°I suppose it does.¡± Scalpel¡¯s skepticism comes through loud and clear even after her words make allowances for my weakness. She flicks her fingers dismissively and gestures with her head for me to get to work with the test subject asleep on the bed to the right.

    I shuffle over and take my place by the scraggly looking man, my notebook in hand. I''ll transcribe whatever Scalpel narrates while on her delve. She used to write all her own notes, but now she can get more done by moving on to the next patient as soon as she¡¯s returned to her body. While I¡¯m waiting for her to begin her description of what she sees, my gaze is drawn with magnetic compulsion to the key hanging around her neck.

    My courage fails me, and I don¡¯t dare reach out and try to lift it from around her neck, but I¡¯m sorely tempted to find out what she keeps hidden in the notebooks under lock and key. I already know what is in the notebook I¡¯m holding because I''m the one who is writing it. This is the journal that she passes along for inspection, but she never seems to even hint that there are other pieces of research in the lock box.

    Tempting as it is to dismiss the discrepancy and chalk it up to her paranoia and desire to keep redundant notes. I can''t shake the feeling that she''s hiding something from the rest of us. Sometimes I think it''d be worth trading my remaining hand just to find out what she''s keeping back, but then the rational side of me kicks in and I realize that I won¡¯t be able to make anything at all without hands.

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    Unless of course I manage to recreate the runes of force and object manipulation I borrowed from Lady Evershed¡¯s temporary Skill. I still haven¡¯t told Scalpel the full story there. I know she suspects that I am holding out since she¡¯s remarked that I lack constituent runes to account for the display I put on in Melidandri¡¯s hot shop. I¡¯m not eager to divulge all my secrets, which I suppose makes me not terribly dissimilar to Scalpel herself.

    How can I fault her for hoarding information when I¡¯m doing the same thing?

    Still, there seems to be something different about the way she''s approaching things. I''m keeping quiet out of a desire for self-preservation, but I doubt she has such simple motives. In fact, I¡¯m almost certain that she''s plotting something against Tapirs, and I would rather not get caught in the middle of a firestorm between the [Viceroy] and my grudging master.

    Scalpel¡¯s monotone voice cuts through my musings. "Subject shows no signs of advancing. His Skill structure is still bog standard. Consider cutting mana allotment or returning to the mines. Move on to a more promising specimen.¡±

    Dutifully, I write down every word that comes out of Scalpel''s mouth, although I wince inwardly at the thought of consigning this man to the mines. He doesn''t seem associated with the thuggish band of ne''er-do-wells who bothered me in the mess hall, and as far as I can tell he''s only guilty of petty crimes. If he were a murderer or a true scourge on society, then I would have no qualms about sending him to his fate, but he''s probably incarcerated for stealing bread to eat. Plus he''s always been polite and quiet, strangely mousey in disposition and behavior. Surely, he doesn''t deserve the harsh ¡®justice¡¯ of another year in the mines. Extended time mining is tantamount to a death sentence, and I don¡¯t want that weighing on my conscience.

    Frozen in indecision, I watch my master move on to the next subject, torn between helping and keeping my head down. I¡¯ve already claimed mental fatigue. Will she even believe me if I try to push through and explore new territory?

    ¡°What if I try to build up his Skills?¡± I blurt out before I have a chance to reconsider. In that moment, my path forward crystalizes; I realize that I wasn¡¯t being indecisive, but simply taking a coward¡¯s way out. Mind made up, I speak firmly, meeting her eyes in an unspoken challenge. ¡°You did say that I have the requisite mana control to learn, but you haven¡¯t taught me anything yet. No sense delaying my education.¡±

    ¡°Faltering halfway through will leave his Skills worse off than yours,¡± Scalpel says, as if banking on my humanity to deter me. I know she doesn¡¯t care. ¡°Best make certain you can see things through, however poorly your first attempt turns out. Are you willing?¡±

    ¡°I can shoulder the burden. Teach me.¡± Brave words. I hope they¡¯re worth more than an empty gesture.

    ¡°The problem is twofold, Nuri: first, your mana retention is abysmal. You¡¯ll burn through a single crystal without finishing the job, and swapping to a new one will have to be seamless if you don¡¯t want things to go awry. Control is superior to raw capacity. Second, you lack any Skills for building out a Skill structure. Nor do you possess a related Class that could help you bridge the gap in power and knowledge.¡±

    ¡°What if we place a finger on the scale?¡± I ask quietly, deep in thought. ¡°I¡¯ll take a second Class just for this purpose. Let me work with this man. Just don¡¯t send him back to the mines.¡±

    Scalpel scoffs. ¡°You don''t even know his name and yet you want to handicap yourself with a second Class? So much energy to invest in his meager foundations. Such misguided notions. Bah. I suppose he is as good a trial run as anyone, if you''re determined to see this blunder through to the bitter end.¡±

    He''s not a trial run. He¡¯s a person. Alas, I lack the fortitude to express the thought aloud. I settle for a complaint about how long it will take to train and rank up a new Class.

    ¡°You¡¯re getting ahead of yourself. You still don''t have a functioning core. Trying to earn the required Class without one seems like a fool¡¯s errand.¡± Her head tilts to the side and her eyes stare balefully up at the ceiling, as though the wooden beams overhead are conspiring against her efforts to unravel the secrets of the universe. No sound disturbs the silent room, save for the tap-tap-tap of her long nails on the top of the desk. ¡°I¡¯ve never tested Classing with a broken core. Hmm. Yes. Fascinating. Perhaps you will bypass the original Class and earn new Skills that are pristine and unblemished. Suppose there¡¯s one way to find out.¡±

    ¡°Does this mean you¡¯ll teach me?¡± I ask, brightening at the prospect of working Skills. I do a poor job hiding my urgency, but she seems to let the excitement slide. A moment later, however, she dashes my hopes.

    A sly smile reveals her sharp teeth. ¡°Only if you bring me along to learn mana-imbuing on your next visit to the glass studio. Skill for Skill. A fair trade, no?¡±

    I nod numbly, but something tells me that Melidandri isn¡¯t likely to accommodate this arrangement. What¡¯s a fellow to do, however? After all, I can¡¯t very well refuse my master.

 B3 C25: He Will Hate the One, and Love the Other

    The next time I meet with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote, I¡¯m a relatively free man. Scalpel has once again removed the warding runes etched on my bones for the day, grumbling all the while about how high-maintenance I am. She escorted me outside her mansion and turned me over to the [Chief Inquisitor]¡¯s guards for my mandatory visit with Xharrote. Instead of a carriage ride, this time I enjoyed a brisk walk across the city, flanked by a quartet of [Inquisitors], and my mood is at an all time high.

    Now, I find myself climbing a concrete set of stairs in the headquarters tower, barely lit in an apparent effort to promote an ominous, moody environment. I wonder if they make every visitor walk all the way up to the top floor of the ten-storey building? As intimidation tactics go, I have definitely seen worse.

    My legs are burning by the time I reach the tenth floor, which reminds me that I need to work on my conditioning again. I don¡¯t intend to remain in my pseudo imprisonment forever, and if I¡¯m left in the dust by my old friends because I neglected my training, then I¡¯ll never hear the end of it.

    The stairs terminate in a long, slightly less dim hallway, but it¡¯s far from welcoming. In fact, the oppressiveness factor is ratched up a notch, since the hallway is lined with arrow slits. I don¡¯t enjoy the knowledge that I could die at any moment, but it reinforces my need to stay on guard. The theater of the approach serves as a stark and necessary reminder that I am most certainly not among friends. I need to keep alert, I tell myself as I¡¯m ushered up to the doorway of Xharrote¡¯s office. Stern-faced [Inquisitors] with slender blades strapped to their hips unlock and open the iron-reinforced door that¡¯s barring our entry, and I slip inside at their urging.

    Xharrote stands by a massive window that¡¯s twice as tall as I am, his stance wide and ready for action, his back military-straight. His old, gnarled hands are clasped behind him, and he cuts a daunting, heroic figure against the backlit window. His command office overlooks downtown Modilaraon, and though it¡¯s less extravagant than Tapirs¡¯ palatial house, the single glass pane alone is worth a fortune. The trappings of luxury have been traded in for an austere authority, but it¡¯s no less imposing by virtue of sheer scale.

    ¡°You look well,¡± Xharrote says with a smirk, meeting my eyes in the reflection of the window. He does not turn to greet me. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d see the day when Scalpel took an actual interest in another person, but I suppose wonders will never cease.¡±

    I shrug one shoulder. ¡°She sees me as a useful tool. Her research is picking up speed, and we¡¯re on the cusp of some breakthroughs. I think that¡¯s all that matters to her. Keeping me fat and happy is a means to an end.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps. She¡¯s had colleagues before. None like you, though. I think she admires you. After all, not many people have the wherewithal to continue on after shattering a core. In fact, I can''t think of any example in recent history. You are officially in uncharted territory. Oh, some people have certainly recovered thanks to miraculous interventions, but they waited until after the restoration of their core and channels to continue practicing their craft.¡±

    I hold in a snort, but perhaps there¡¯s some truth to his observations. "Does that mean she''ll treat me differently if I''m no longer useful to her? Somehow I don''t think I can count on her goodwill extending very far, even if I am an oddity.¡±

    ¡°Welcome to the top of the world. What do you think?¡± Xharrote asks, gesturing around the city as though he didn''t hear my question. I suppose he hasn''t answered because there''s no point to it; we both know that Scalpel''s nature won''t change just because I''m intriguing to her.

    ¡°The glass is certainly impressive. The view ain''t half bad, either. I''d love to see the facility capable of producing this pane of glass. It''s a marvel of production. The consistency and evenness is impeccable. If I hadn''t seen it with my own eyes, I''m not sure I would have believed it was even possible.¡±

    "For a man of such varied interests and unusual accomplishments, you certainly have a one track mind,¡± Xharrote remarks dryly, finally shifting to face me.

    ¡°The entire world fascinates me,¡± I say, not sure what he¡¯s getting at. ¡°Glass is simply what I know best. Is it really any wonder that I gravitate towards something familiar? I¡¯m way out of my depth here in the capital. Let me have this one thing I¡¯m comfortable with, if you please.¡±

    Xharrote nods reasonably, and offers me a cup of tea that seems to materialize in his hands. He must have produced it somehow while I wasn¡¯t concentrating on him, although I¡¯m guessing that he simply faded the cup out of my consciousness. He¡¯s using a more advanced form of illusion or concealment than Mbukhe ever demonstrated, but it seems to work on similar principles. His mastery is on an entirely different level, however, which concerns me. I¡¯d rather not make such a formidable enemy if I can help it.

    ¡°You''re refreshingly straightforward to speak with, Nuri,¡± Xharrote says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He sips his tea slowly, gazing out the window at the bustling city far below. ¡°I corroborated as much of your story as I could. The last time we spoke you asked me about the glass competition, but I was petty about the rather innocent information. Instead of telling you how the competition shook out, I accused you of withholding details and offered a trade.¡±

    ¡°Understandable. No hard feelings,¡± I say as graciously as I can manage.

    Xharrote barks out a laugh. ¡°This is not an apology, Nuri. I¡¯m telling you that you missed your opportunity to barter while your information still held value. Now you¡¯ve missed your chance. I¡¯m fairly confident that I figured out what you kept back, as well as your motivation for hiding. Thus, your bargaining chip is worthless.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the pointers,¡± I say, forcing the words out even though I¡¯m gritting my teeth.

    He waves off my insincere thanks. ¡°Since you seem to care so much for your friends, I suppose I can let your omissions slide this time.¡± He grimaces. ¡°Besides, I''ve been instructed to leave you alone since you¡¯re a valuable asset. I don¡¯t rightly know why. Now that we have the astral navigator in our possession, there¡¯s nothing you can offer us that our specialists aren¡¯t better equipped to handle, but not even I can argue a word from on high. That means something else must be in play, and unknowns always make me nervous. It¡¯s my job to know things, after all.¡±

    We stand side by side, staring out of the window in uncomfortable stillness. There¡¯s no sense of tranquility to our repose; this is the calm of an impending storm. The tension builds the longer he looms nearby, brooding and silent, and I wonder if this is part of his Class. Maybe Xharrote is weaponizing the quietness, leveraging my own sense of unease against me.

    ¡°Do you want me to hazard a guess?¡± I eventually ask, mostly to break the oppressive silence. His taciturn glower is as suffocating as anything I¡¯ve ever felt.

    ¡°Please do,¡± he murmurs in his gravelly voice.

    ¡°First of all, I don''t buy that you don''t know what''s going on. Even if you didn''t have an inkling, then you wouldn''t tell me. You''re far too calculating for that. Second, I''m fairly certain that my current value is related to my proximity to Scalpel. The [Viceroy] already intimated that you suspect she¡¯s holding back notes. You want me to spy on her for you in exchange for a full pardon? That¡¯s the only logical conclusion, given that you went to such great lengths to make sure that I understood both the dangers of lying to you and the benefits of using my bargaining chips.¡°

    The teacups disappear, and Xharrote goes with them, fading from view. His disembodied voice floats through the office, echoing from all directions and making it impossible to pinpoint his location. ¡°I suppose a pardon could be arranged, Nuri. It all depends on how useful the information you provide actually is to us.¡±

    ¡°You people really know how to motivate your underlings,¡± I say with a dramatic sigh. ¡°All right, you¡¯ve got yourself a deal.¡±

    ¡°Excellent. Devyn, one of Scalpel¡¯s many guards, is in the employ of the [Inquisitors]. He will be your contact. You¡¯ve never met him before, but he knows who you are. Rest assured that Devyn will reach out to you when I need to get in touch.¡±

    I study the tiny forms of the people rushing about in the streets far below us, too annoyed at the manipulations to answer. I¡¯m tired of playing the part of a puppet, but I need to bide my time before I¡¯m strong enough to cut my strings and make a proper escape.

    ¡°Why hold back an astral navigator! You would have been handsomely rewarded, you know,¡± Xharrote says, his voice sounding even fainter and farther away. ¡°You could have ended this war months ago if we could find where the dimensional membranes thin. We still ought to charge you with treason for that reason alone.¡±

    Sweat breaks out on my back, cold and clammy, before I realize he¡¯s probably joking. As grim as his words sound, he would have acted against me already if he truly thought I harbored malicious intent. His mocking laughter follows me on the long march down the stairs and all the way out of the building, where I stand awkwardly on the sidewalk, wrestling with my guilt. Maybe I should have told them about everything, and avoided all this mess in the first place.

    =+=

    My meeting with Xharrote takes less time than anticipated. Scalpel is expecting me, but without the tracking runes etched on the bones in my forearm, she can¡¯t enforce her will. So, after a bit of wheedling, I convince the four [Inquisitors] guarding me to escort me to Melidandri¡¯s shop for a brief visit. I¡¯m not scheduled to arrive back at Scalpel¡¯s until evening. I may as well put my free time to good use.

    Alarm flashes across Melidandri¡¯s face when he sees me, but the illustrious master of the glass studio squashes his unguarded expression almost instantly. He offers my guards food and drink, and thanks them for displaying such flexibility and going far above and beyond the expectations of duty, etc, etc, all while herding them toward a break room where they can wait for us to finish our work.

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    When he returns to the lobby, Melidandri gestures for me to follow him up the stairs to his office. He closes the door behind us, activates a privacy rune, and crosses his arms. ¡°What in the abyss are you doing here, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean? I was hoping to get in some practice before my visit next week. Is that a problem?¡± I ask him, mirroring his standoff posture.

    ¡°What are you really doing?¡± he hisses.

    ¡°I just told you,¡± I say, confusion washing over me as I start to repeat myself.

    Before I can get another word edgewise, however, Melidandri cuts me off. He bristles with tightly held indignation. ¡°What¡¯s your real game? Why are the [Inquisitors] at my door? The [Viceroy] gave me clear assurances that they weren¡¯t involved, which is the only reason I was willing to entangle myself with matters far above my station. What changed? I will not take the endangerment of my staff lightly.¡±

    "Ah, I see your confusion,¡± I say, putting the pieces together at last. ¡°I had a meeting with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote, and his guards were kind enough to escort me here at the conclusion of our business. They only came to your shop by happenstance, not by design. I wanted to get in extra practice before I had to return to my¡ªthat is, return home.¡±

    Melidandri seems unconvinced, but his hostile stance relaxes slightly. I suppose I don''t blame him for his reluctance to believe me. No one wants to run afoul of the law, particularly not when the big boss of the infamous [Inquisitors] is personally involved. Searching my mind for a solution, I hit on a possible peace offering. ¡°Have you ever tested your mana attributes to see how you score? You seem to have an exceptional foundation, but only average Capacity as far as I can tell. Does that sound accurate?¡±

    The abrupt shift in subject seems to catch him by surprise. He nods fractionally. ¡°I¡¯m a shade above average Capacity, but you have the main thrust correct. What¡¯s that got to do with anything?¡± he asks with wariness in his voice.

    ¡°That will become clear eventually. In the meantime, I think I have a solution to offer. But I want some assurances from you before I tell you my plans.¡±

    ¡°Funny, I was going to extract assurances from you, Nuri,¡± Melidandri says, and his good humor slowly seeps back in. ¡°It seems neither of us quite trust the other, yet each of us seem to believe that we need something. Does that mean neither of us are arguing from a position of strength here? Ha. Fascinating to consider. You struck me like you¡¯re the kind of person who has everything well in hand, so this reversal of fortunes has me uneasy.¡±

    Bitter laughter bursts out of me. I shuffle over to one of Melidandri¡¯s overstuffed chairs and slump into the plush fabric seat, suddenly feeling drained. ¡°You have no idea how desperately I wish that were the case. I¡¯m not in control of anything these days.¡±

    Sighing in resignation, Melidandri bustles about making tea for us. He¡¯s nothing if not an impeccable host. ¡°Well, well, master Nuri. We find ourselves in a predicament. I won¡¯t presume to tell you that I have any answers, but if you are in a spot of bother, then I am willing to listen if you feel the need to unburden yourself.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°As much as I truly appreciate the offer, telling you what''s going on would only complicate matters. I don¡¯t want to implicate you with my problems. I¡¯d like to think that I¡¯m not such a poor guest as to repay your continued kindness so poorly. Can I count on you for discretion?¡±

    He nods slowly, as if he¡¯s worried about the implications of saying either yes or no. They both likely have consequences.

    A brief, brittle smile is all I can offer him as reassurance. ¡°If you''re willing to keep details to yourself, then I believe we can come to an understanding. My current master¡±¡ªI fight to keep the grimace off my face¡ª¡°greatly admires your talent with mana imbuing. She would like to join us next week to observe your skills in action. I promise that I have not told her of your ability to combine multiple concepts, but she¡¯s intrigued nonetheless and demands an audience. I must warn you, however: her methods of observation are far more intimate than most people will ever be comfortable allowing.¡±

    I can tell by the furrowed brow that the glass smith doesn''t understand what I¡¯m referring to. Cursing my ill luck, I venture to say her name, watching closely for a glimmer of recognition. He doesn¡¯t seem to know who Scalpel is, however, which makes me feel even worse about the thought of introducing him.

    Melidandri seems to pick up on my discomfort. He pours me another cup of tea and sits down, leaning back in the chair opposite me with his fingers interlaced over his belly. He props up his feet on the ottoman and crosses his ankles, settling into a comfortable position while he waits for me to continue speaking.

    ¡°Scalpel is not a pleasant woman,¡± I say, though there¡¯s nothing I can tell him to prepare him for the unnerving experience of someone hitching a ride on your soul. ¡°She has a peculiar and disturbing ability to delve into your core while you activate your Skills. Scalpel is attempting to unravel the secrets of skills and classes, and my brief recitation of your talents seems to have caught her eye and left us in this unenviable situation. I apologize, but I am not in a position to refuse her anything. I must insist on this meeting, but I¡¯ll try to remunerate you in kind.¡±

    He raises an eyebrow. ¡°And you wish to keep secrets from this sort of person? That hardly sounds good for your working relationship, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, we are master and apprentice by virtue of circumstance, not by choice. If it were up to me, then I would move to your studio to work full-time and focus solely on glass. That¡¯s a luxury I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t afford, however. We must all make sacrifices.¡±

    I offer Meledandri my empty teacup. He takes it to his counter with a sad, knowing look in his eyes, and brings me back another refill. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much use I can be to you, but if keeping my mouth shut about what you want to tell me is helpful in any way, then I¡¯m glad to be of service.¡±

    ¡°I am in your debt,¡± I say simply, my voice thick and husky with gratitude. ¡°Now, let¡¯s go make some glass. I have a theory I want to put to the test. If it works out, then I think you¡¯ll be very pleased with the result.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll follow your lead,¡± Melidandri says. His tall, elegant frame seems to sag a bit, but he gamely accompanies me down to the hot shop floor.

    The awkward tension hangs over our heads like a darkening stormcloud throughout the afternoon. Thankfully, working with glass has always been therapeutic for me, and I¡¯m carried away on a soothing wave of inspiration. I concentrate on the creative process, giving myself over to the task at hand, and as a small, multi-layered ball of different colored glass types come together, I¡¯m hit with a touch of nostalgia for the training globes that I created a year ago. They did their job well, and paid the ultimate sacrifice to keep me safe. Gone, but not forgotten.

    While I work, I siphon mana from the air and coax it into the folded lattice structure within the glass, imparting a sense of belonging and inertia. It hurts less than drawing mana into my core and then trying to power Skills or activate a runic array, but it¡¯s still an agonizing burn that never leaves my chest. If Melidandri notices, he doesn¡¯t mention my discomfort.

    While my ability to retain mana is poor, I am moderately proud of my efficiency. Creating the proto mana crystals in the Rift blazed a trail in my mind, and now I walk a broad, paved road instead of a scant dirt path. The mana is mine to command. No longer does it drift about like the feckless sea; now it¡¯s driven by the current of my resolute purpose.

    My gaze wanders toward the break room, where the [Inquisitors] await the conclusion of my efforts. At the thought of their presence hovering around the shop, my focus wavers for a split second. Instantly, I clamp down on the errant thoughts, returning to the work at hand and imposing my iron will on the operation. I direct the mana imbuing while burning through my last mana crystal, striving to regain control, but it¡¯s too late. In that moment of inattention, less than the space of a single heartbeat, the mana diffuses back into the ether.

    The sudden, precipitous drop in pressure is too much for the overtaxed glass bead. With a sharp report, like ice floes breaking up, or a frozen tree exploding in winter, the glass cracks in half. I growl in frustration, then instinctively flinch as the compressed glass shatters in a spray of razor-sharp shards, cutting up my hand and slicing the soft flesh under my right eye.

    ¡°Steady, lad!¡± Melidandri calls out, lifting up his hands and stopping the glass in the air. Jagged edges pull back together as time seems to reverse, and he steps forward just in time to catch the little glass globe, now inert, as it falls into his palm. ¡°A narrow escape, master Nuri. I would hate for your friends to have to report a visit to the [Healers].¡±

    Gawking at his casual display of mastery, I murmur my thanks and wipe the blood from my cheek. The glass scored a shallow groove, barely worth mentioning now that I feel at it with my fingertips. Salve and a few hours will probably be enough to keep Scalpel from commenting on it at all, if I¡¯m lucky.

    ¡°Interesting attempt,¡± Melidandri says, sidling up to me and speaking softly. I note that he is careful to shield us from the break room, obscuring the view with his body. ¡°Try again, but this time don¡¯t force it. Your will reigns supreme while imbuing, but you don¡¯t need to strongarm the mana to act through sheer strength of will. Instead, you need to envision an outcome so rich and compelling, so thoroughly convincing, that the mana gleefully complies.¡±

    ¡°You make it sound like it¡¯s alive,¡± I say. The chuckle that rises up dies on my lips as his words rattle about in my head. For all I know, the mana has its own mind and volition. I shouldn¡¯t be so quick to dismiss him, no matter how ludicrous it seems at first.

    ¡°Some say it is.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Who knows? All I can say with any certainty is that imbuing works best when the mana responds willingly, for lack of a better term. Remember: just like with poetry, compress the experience. The more expressive your ¡®language¡¯ is, the better the results. You don¡¯t need to wrestle with it for hours on end. You need conviction.¡±

    When he says the last word, the world hums around us. For a moment, the shop seems to shimmer and thrum with power, and I let out a soft gasp of wonder at the incredible display. With only a single word, Melidandri imbued the air around us with his conviction. It dissipates now, drifting away since the air is impossible to contain. After all, who can grasp the wind? It¡¯s wild and untamed, and belongs to no one.

    Yet it obeyed Melidandri¡¯s voice.

    My heart burns with the golden fire of wonder and determination. I latch on to the awe and admiration at what I just witnessed, and return to the furnace for a new gather of glass to begin anew. This time, the work flies by in a flash as I paint a picture of comfort and belonging in my mind that¡¯s so alluring that the energy of the world sings and dances in joy. Mana rushes into the glass like a tidal wave, or perhaps the power of a river breaking through a dam, unleashed and no longer restrained. The glass is the new home where the mana belongs; I believe it with all my heart, and therefore the mana believes, too.

    In the end, each of the small glass globes hold relatively little mana on their own, but when they¡¯re all strung together like a pearl necklace, they collectively hold nearly half of my old Capacity. The best part is that I can fill them up passively on my own, although it still takes me half of the day to fill a single one. By using mana crystals, or borrowing the skills of a kindly master of his craft like Melidandri, I can cheat, however.

    When I finish, I slump against the workbench. My legs are jelly. My mind feels like an old, shriveled piece of wood that¡¯s crumbling into dry rot and not even fit for the fire anymore. Tanaq is there to catch me before I fall, bracing me up with an arm slung around my back. His eyes are shining with the same excitement and esteem that I felt when Melidandri imbued the air, and it¡¯s both an honor and a shock when I realize that he¡¯s looking at me with the same veneration.

    ¡°Keep these safe. Secret,¡± I slur, pressing the beaded necklace into Melidandri¡¯s hands. ¡°Sorry they¡¯re small. So small. I¡¯ll try to¡ªno, I will. I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll do better. Next week. Better.¡±

    ¡°Please, stop talking. You still have eyes on you,¡± Melidandri whispers gently to me. He pockets the necklace, and I¡¯m confident that my first attempt at creating an external reservoir to replace my shattered core is in good hands. He pats me on the shoulder. ¡°Go rest now. You¡¯ve done it. Excellent mana-imbuing, Nuri. You¡¯ve earned the right to call yourself a master now. I¡¯m deeply honored I got to witness your ascension.¡±

    Master. A crooked smile snakes across my face. Maybe that word isn¡¯t so bad, after all.

 Thanksgiving delay and revision news

    Revision rule: No major changes to the current plot. More magic, more sense of mystery and awe. No need to reread anything, unless you''re bored or I''m slow again.

    That said, if you''re interested in the new arc that will replace or incorporate portions of the first several chapters, but don''t have the time to go back to the early chapters, then click on the spoiler below for an unprecedented, behind-the-scenes look at my actual outline notes! If you only want the tl;dr, then read on and don''t open the spoilers.

    Goals: Show genuine friendships and warmth. Aspiration for Nuri to be like his dad. Crafting emphasis¡ªput his talent on display! Show his skill and good side. It''s okay to express a tinge of sadness and feeling lost at times, but try to avoid the overwhelming whining in the original scenes. Build up more naturally to the jaguars, which are now a smaller ambush.

    Otherwise, it''s all fairly similar, just with the character interactions smoothed out.

    (Note from the future: these plans only covered the first eight chapters. I made them prior to my rewrite of book one, so the chapter numbers don''t line up anymore, and these notes don''t include the academy arc I added recently.)

    Chapter: opening with glass-making right from the beginning. Nuri is skilled, confident, and creative. Foreshadow the all-Densmore triennial glass competition.

    Nuri is overseeing a small glass studio in the neighboring town of Peliharaon. He celebrates feeling like a king for three days a week when he''s not working at the Silaraon studio. He''s entrusted with new responsibilities at a small studio and excited to teach the foundations of glass to the next generation.

    Chapter: Running the hot shop in Peliharaon is his chance to show off a little bit, so he makes something extravagant, albeit non-magical (the first intro to glass, so he makes sure it''s got some pizzazz). We see the first hint of his insecurity around Skill use due to his parents dying to mana plague. He''s self-conscious about only having a single Skill; contrast with other workers in the studio.

    Brief moment of melancholy about deceased father and mother due to reminder of the mana plague¡ªalso establish Nuri''s close ties to Mikko and his family by highlighting that Nuri just moved out on his own thanks to the increased income from this new job: though his new cabin is much closer to the neighboring village, he misses his adopted family

    On lunch break, he reads an adventure book with a recounting of Tem Cytekin''s escapades. Plant the seed of longing for an adventure of his own. He returns to the hot shop floor to finish up a project and win a lucrative commission¡ªshow strong salesmanship and competence as well as his big plans for the future

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Chapter: Actual friends! Birthday party! Family dinner and surprise presents. His friends surprise him with a birthday gift¡ªwith the help of Rakesh, the Linas tracked down a public record of an old military posting with his father¡¯s face on it thanks to a [Flash Painter]. Describe his appearance by comparison with his father.

    More crafting, friendlier banter, plans for turning the money from the commission into funding for Mikko¡¯s dream¡ªthe Iron Lunk. Until now, money has been the limiting factor. The two work together and plan ahead, fulfilling the commission (a joint project of both metal and glass, with gears and glowing glass sun) to earn the funding for the Iron Lunk. , This way, the expensive tool doesn''t just pop up out of nowhere, and it shows us that Nuri is capable of making goals for the future and seeing things through to the end.

    Chapter: Ember announces she''ll come along to audit Nuri''s administrative work over the last month and to oversee completion of the commission for Lord Garman. She''ll use one of her skills, embered heart, creating a burning SUN out of glass. They''ll work together to mount it in a mechanical system made by Mikko so that the turn of a small handle, the crankshaft will make the sun appear to rise and set, casting further shadows in the glass grotto Nuri created. She''s more of a mentor and less of a standoffish figure now.

    Along the way, Ember gets sidetracked to harvest some rare ginseng root that can be used for medicinal purposes; she''ll sell them off in Peliharaon to defray the cost of the trip (since she''s away from her own studio for the day). Nuri goes on ahead and is ambushed by the jaguars. He fights them off a little better this time than in the opening of the initial story, using his staff and fighting like Ember showed him (she trains and supports him in this version). He opens himself to his [Lesser Heat Manipulation] to alternatively burn and freeze jaguars, but Nuri still needs Ember to come in to save him.

    Although he''s wounded, they make decent time to the village, where they find more of the pack threatening the citizens. Ember finishes them off, and she personally hunts down the rest of the pack.

    Chapter: Initial discussions of more intentional mana use and training. This will reuse much of the current chapter four with Ezio, but include plans for the future and discussion of mana imbuing in regard to crafting. After this, we''ll move into the scouting arc with Tem in chapter six, etc, and that brings us to the rest of the story.

    Bonus: foreshadowing Tem accidentally responsible for the mana-burning plague by unleashing void powers on this realm.

    So, what''s left after that? The following plans are not going to happen by the 27th, but I''ll work on these changes in my spare time:

    I''ll do a quick pass on current chapters to drop the whining and complaints as much as possible, and also reduce the acerbic teasing. Nuri is more grounded and capable. I''ll adjust interactions so that Ezio and Nuri have an amicable, respectful relationship, not quite so antagonistic. In chapters seven and eight, I''ll make tweaks to the first wraith fight to make it clearer that Nuri is hiding, not fighting, so there''s no confusion about his power curve, and I will introduce the mystery with mana and void as opposites.

    In chapter twelve, I''ll edit the Labyrinth sections so there''s no talk until they''re safe; more running in silence, less breaking up the action for dialogue and exposition. Speaking of exposition, the ridiculously long chapter twenty three will be cut up a bit, as mentioned in the above notes for the new chapter five. Rakesh is a slightly more prominent character now.

    And that''s it! After these updates, I''m ALL IN on the future arcs. I hope you enjoy the rest of the adventure. It''s going to be a ton of fun.

 B3 C26: Resistance

    Pen poised over paper, I watch in pity as Melidandri grimaces at Scalpel¡¯s mental touch. She¡¯s examining him at work while he imbues mana into glass. Guilt eats at the edges of my mind at the sight of his discomfort. He only agreed to this imposition because he feels sorry for me. To his credit, the master of the glass studio gamely pushes through the unsavory sensation and completes the task at hand, deftly finishing the piece with his characteristic aplomb. Eschewing his bolder, more esoteric concepts, he makes a simple glass platter that¡¯s unbreakable, or at least thoroughly shatter-resistant if dropped.

    ¡°Undiluted expression of power. New vectors of thought,¡± Scalpel rattles off as she observes. The words grate on my nerves, scorching through the studio like smoldering lines of sulfur and saltpeter. Her unsettling black eyes are sightless, since her attention is turned inward, but somehow it doesn¡¯t seem to make anyone feel better that she''s not looking directly at them.

    Melidandri flinches; she must be moving to the more hands-on portion of her core space probe. Sweat trickles down his high, stately forehead, which is ashen in pallor and wrinkled in concentration. His gaze flickers over to me. ¡°Is this how you normally work, Nuri? No wonder you show such reticence to leave the studio.¡±

    I hold a finger up to my lips in alarm, not even daring to give voice to my dissatisfaction while Scalpel is within earshot. I have no idea how much of the outside world she''s aware of while on a delve, but I have no desire to risk becoming the target of her displeasure again. Not now, when I''m so close to my next breakthrough.

    Alas, I¡¯m not so fortunate; my master wakes from her trance and overhears Melidandri¡¯s offhand comment. She glares at me, her void-like, abyssal eyes wide open and unnerving as the full weight of her attention falls upon me, and I know she believes that his words are disparaging to her. ¡°Treachery, apprentice?¡±

    I shake my head, feigning innocence. ¡°I just like glass. You know I¡¯m making good progress here. My work here benefits us both, in the end.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± she says, smiling with entirely too many sharp teeth showing. ¡°You better start showing some enthusiasm for our work, Nuri. As my first and only apprentice, I have high hopes for you. Don¡¯t let me down.¡±

    I offer a strained, polite nod. ¡°I¡¯m flattered that you would imply that I haven¡¯t yet.¡±

    That earns me a wry smile from Melidandri, who coughs to interrupt our posturing. He presents his classically imbued glass for inspection. ¡°Do you have what you need, Mage Scalpel?¡±

    ¡°I believe one or two more sessions will be sufficient, provided you still have the mana and mental energy,¡± Scalpel says. ¡°Are you amenable?¡±

    I don''t think I''ve ever seen her make a request before rather than a demand. The words sound awkward coming from her, as though that part of her vocabulary has rusted out from long disuse. Perhaps this is simply how she reacts when she has some respect for a colleague''s professionalism and proficiency. I still don''t like her, but it is somewhat humanizing to see her in this setting. Trying to spy on her and break free from her control is a lot easier when I have no mixed feelings about how monstrous she truly is.

    Faint disappointment flashes through the glass Master¡¯s eyes. ¡°Another? Please give me a few moments to recover my equilibrium,¡± Melidandri says, his words tinged with a sort of grave and frosty politeness that endears him to me even further. I don''t think he likes her anymore than I do. Try as she might to appear accommodating, she can¡¯t help but discard people as soon as she¡¯s extracted every last bit of usefulness.

    An image of her cracking open charred bones and sucking out all the marrow before tossing the mangled remains on a scrap heap springs to mind. I shudder; it¡¯s all too real when it comes to the master foisted on me.

    Scalpel stares at Melidandri blankly, then flashes another one of her sharp-toothed, horrifying grins. ¡°Forgiveness, I am accustomed to the frailties of flesh, but I forget that it afflicts the talented as well as the unskilled. You ought to transcend the failings of your frame, [Glass Smith]. You, ah, have promise, unlike most. Wasted potential in your current form.¡±

    ¡°I will take your advice into consideration at a later date,¡± Melidandri replies stiffly.

    All the while I stare at nowhere in particular, avoiding the crackling tension that''s been building between my two masters. We might be on Melidandri¡¯s home turf, but Scalpel brought a contingent of her guards with her and clearly has binding and surgical Skills that can pull double duty in combat. If she forces the matter, then there''s no doubt in my mind who will emerge as the victor.

    ¡°Waiting is often inevitable, but inaction is inefficient. Nuri, please replicate what we witnessed today while the [Glass Smith] recovers from his exertions.¡± Just like usual, Scalpel delivers an impossible task to me, all matter of fact, as though the outcome is already assured and all that¡¯s left is for me to get to work. I suppose that in her mind, that is precisely how things are.

    Without complaint or protest, I accept the mana crystals she offers and slowly draw in energy, ignoring the all-too-familiar pain that accompanies the act. Fixing the image of what I want to convey firmly in my mind, I produce a small glass amphora that I¡¯d made during a previous visit. Working with hot glass is preferable, since it''s easier to coax the mana to respond to the emerging design, but since I made this myself, it should be compatible with the concepts I feed into it. There''s nothing particularly extravagant or special about the design, but it''s well made. More importantly to my challenge at hand, it¡¯s a nearly perfect representation of one of the classic archetypes of glassware.

    My conception of unbreakable differs markedly from Melidandri¡¯s, but that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t do what he does. I can embrace an adjacent idea and still make it work. I cast my mind back to the feeling of facing down the monster in the Lesser Rift as it charged toward me with slavering jaws and flashing claws. Immersing myself in the memory, I cling to the remembered sensation of unyielding might. Wrapped in reliving the past, I envision myself as a bulwark against the chaos of the void. Force of will marries strength of conviction, and in a terrifying surge the mana is torn from my control and floods into the amphora.

    Gasping in shock, pain, and delirious excitement, I fall back on my rear and sit on the floor of the hot shop, too light-headed to move. Scalpel throws me an approving look, though her lips thin into a line when I keep sucking air like a fish out of water. Wait, that doesn¡¯t make sense, they breathe air through their gills, I think a moment later, but my mind feels distant from my body, and I¡¯m too weak and tired to process it right now. Warm satisfaction spreads through my chest at her praise. I hate that it means so much to me. She doesn''t deserve a place of honor in my affections. What has she ever done to earn my respect?

    ¡°First try. Magnificently done, too,¡± Melidandri mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°All your hard work and practice is paying off.¡±

    I know he¡¯s proud of me, but his incredulous tone stokes the fires of competition always burning within me. I don''t simply want to match him; I want to surpass him someday. Although, I have to say that it feels good to do something impressive.

    ¡°I never would have made it this far without your help,¡± I say as sincerely and warmly as I can, bowing in turn to each of my masters. My eyes never leave Melidandri''s face, however, and I''m sure that he understands that I meant the words for his benefit alone. Despite all the progress I''ve made thanks to Scalpel¡¯s undeniable expertise, I still can¡¯t convince myself to give her any credit.

    ¡°Good return on investment,¡± Scalpel grunts, taking back the first of the spent mana crystals.

    Hmm. Interesting. It¡¯s no good now¡ªit can¡¯t be recharged without breaking it, unlike my glass prototype pseudo-cores¡ªbut she slips it into her satchel anyway. Maybe she knows something that I don¡¯t. Something to look into in the future.

    ¡°Speaking of investments,¡± Melidandri says to Scalpel, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders as he seems to gather his courage to approach her, ¡°I¡¯ve invested considerable time and effort into teaching Nuri and revealing my secrets to you. In recompense, I¡¯d like to have more time with him going forward and have him work for me part time. He¡¯s a [Glass Worker], after all; he ought to put his talents to good use around the studio. He could earn a fortune with his creativity and craftsmanship.¡±

    ¡°Mm. Perhaps after he repairs his channels. We have years of work to catch up on first,¡± Scalpel replies absently. She¡¯s already thumbing through her notes, adding in the scant words I scrawled into my notepad for her, and whispering to herself about all the possibilities. She barely pays me any mind at all as I shiver where I¡¯m sprawled on the floor, trying to stay conscious after the potent working of mana.

    My fist clenches. She won¡¯t be able to ignore me forever.

    =+=

    Despite my grandiose declaration, nothing much changes when we return to Scalpel''s mansion. She does continue to ignore me, when she doesn''t require my note taking or compilation services. All the practice I got doing paperwork with Ember is paying off I suppose, but I still haven''t been able to force the issue of repairing my cracked and diminished skills.

    I''m not sure that it matters, though. Right now the bigger bottle neck is figuring out my internal channels. I can''t store mana within my expanded, ruptured core and even if I could, activating my skills is almost impossible in the usual manner due to the significant energy leak when trying to route mana through my internal conduits. I have to bypass my pathways entirely for usable results, and that carries with it a whole host of other problems, the worst of which is the significant drop off in power and control compared with internal Skill ignition.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Pacing back and forth in my tiny, dingy cell, I recite the information I''ve learned over the last several weeks of studying with Scalpel. Simple runes are the building blocks from the universe. They are akin to the alphabet if I''m going to make a rough analogy that Scalpel absolutely despises. Mana energizes them and allows them to act in accordance with their nature. Complex runes, such as the ones in my skill structures, are more like complete sentences if I further stretch the analogy.

    Heaven-given Skills are entire paragraphs, or perhaps brief technical manuals, or¡ªor something. I snort, both amused and disgusted by my dogged determination to make the heavy-handed metaphors fit. It''s not an elegant comparison, but it gets me moving in the right direction. What Scalpel wants to do is create short stories, or poems if I follow the convention Melidandri introduced to me, instead of relying on rigid, pre-set archetypes.

    I lean against the rough wall and scratch my beard. Perhaps the more accurate comparison is that simple runes are like a single pane of window glass with a word etched on the surface. Hot. Cold. Light. Dark. Complex runes, on the other hand, are more like a three-dimensional glass sculpture of a scene or a character interaction: I don''t need to spell out the word ¡®hot¡¯ if I create an image of a desert cactus and a sun-baked man crawling in the sand with his hands outstretched and his eyes rolling back into his head. The scene shows the truth of the matter without additional commentary.

    ¡°Still heavy-handed, Nuri,¡± I mutter to myself.

    I know I can reliably use a confluence of runes to create the effects I''m looking for, but only if most of them are already present in my Skill structures. Try as I might, I still can''t replicate the success I had in Melidandri¡¯s shop. Even with the convenience of the glass cores I''m slowly adding to my collection, the sheer amount of power required to form and activate runes freestyle is absolutely staggering. Add in the inefficiency and power loss when trying to route the mana externally, and it feels like I''m trying to dig an artificial lake with a teaspoon. Technically, it''s possible given enough time, but realistically no one has the time or dedication to accomplish that feat.

    And that brings me back to fixing my internal channels. I''m still on a mana-soaking regimen that seems to slowly improve my condition, but it''s a far cry from where I want to be. Sometimes I think back to the theory posited in one of the books Ezio loaned me, which claimed that instead of draining myself dry and feeling myself back up, I ought to gently hold mana in my body and let it suffuse my entire being. I haven''t ever possessed enough free time and mana to put the idea to the test, but now I suddenly find myself in a position to take advantage of a nearly inexhaustible supply of energy. Time is still a limiting factor, but I may as well get started now and see how far it takes me.

    Mind made up, I stride down the now-familiar, sterile hallways to requisition additional mana crystals from Scalpel¡¯s workshop. She doesn''t seem to care that I blow through my annual allotment on a weekly basis, at least not as long as I continue to consistently produce intriguing results. If I ever slip or stall in my progress, however, I am sure she will cut off my resources. I guess that''s as good of motivation as any I will find around here.

    My days blur together after I put my plan into motion. Soak my entire body in mana. It feels luxurious and downright profligate to hold so much latent energy in my body even though I am not using it for anything or performing any actions. Nonetheless, I soon sink into a semblance of normality as I follow the same pattern over and over again. Soak my body in mana. Work with Scalpel. Soak my body in mana. Meet with the [Chief Inquisitor]. Soak my body in Mana. Experiment with Melidandri. Soak my body in mana. Rinse and repeat.

    It''s monotonous, and the progress is slow, but the results are undeniable. I am slowly healing. Scalpel keeps insisting that it will be the work of many years, up to a decade, perhaps, but I am determined to cut that figure down to months if possible.

    Optimism is slowly ground down by reality, however, and nearly two months pass by in a jumbled rush with only small successes. I am not content with the pace, but victories are still victories, no matter how modest. My carefully-curated equilibrium is thrown off kilter by order of the Viceroy, however. Speaking through his mouthpiece, the chief Inquisitor, he gives me an ultimatum: deliver details about Scalpel, or he''ll renege on the promised pardon for my crimes.

    Thus encouraged¡ªor, more accurately, entrapped, I muse bitterly¡ªI work up the wherewithal to act on Xharrote¡¯s ¡®request¡¯ for information. I wonder what¡¯s changed? Maybe the [Viceroy]¡¯s position isn¡¯t as secure as he¡¯s led me to believe. Or maybe they¡¯re looking for an edge in the war. Regardless, I¡¯ve given my word, so now I have to follow through. Flimsy at best is how I would describe my plan, but I haven''t been able to think of any better alternatives.

    I dally in the mess hall one day, chewing methodically on a stale crust of bread. It''s harder than the usual fare we get, but it''s intended for dunking into our onion soup, so I guess that explains its toughness. I delay my meal for so long that an irate guard approaches me and demands that I report for duty.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be there. Tell Scalpel not to get her knickers in a twist,¡± I grumble.

    The guard¡¯s eyes narrow dangerously, but I simply give him a rude gesture and go back to my food. As expected, he retreats and summons backup in the form of his superior officer and a contingent of other guards.

    I snarl as they approach. ¡°What a bunch of cowards. Send ten men to do the job of one! I know your faces. Don¡¯t think there¡¯s safety in numbers.¡±

    Their anger and fear billows out from them like a rank stench. I sigh in an exaggerated manner and scoop up my platter of food. ¡°Fine, fine. Let¡¯s see what the old lady is up to now.¡±

    While the guards choke on their disbelief over my casual disdain for their godlike master, I bring the bowl of onion soup with me as I trot off to Scalpel¡¯s workshop. They follow hot on my heels, but none of them dares risk my wrath. They saw what I did to the pair of fools who tried to strong-arm me into giving up my mana allotment. When we reach Scalpel¡¯s lab at last, I shoo them away, relieved that they didn''t call my bluff or beat me within an inch of my life.

    Inside the laboratory, Scalpel shoots me a questioning look, although I''m not sure if she''s more annoyed than I''m late or that I showed up with food, but she doesn¡¯t comment on it. In fact, Scalpel hardly reacts at all, other than gesturing for me to get in position beside the patient already sedated and waiting on the examination table.

    Hoping I look suitably wide-eyed and contrite, I rush over and take up my place next to her, fumbling to gather up my notebook and pen and prepare for my note-taking duties while my master delves into the test subject¡¯s inner world. In my haste, I manage to spill the onion soup on her white jacket, staining the pristine coat with big, brown splotches.

    Scalpel hisses in irritation, loosens the clasps on the jacket, and shrugs it off. She throws the dirty laundry behind her desk, draping the jacket over the back of her chair, and tells me to have a guard wash it once we¡¯re done. As I hoped, in her impatience she doesn¡¯t bother to put on a replacement jacket before she begins her delve, which leaves the key hanging around her neck exposed for once.

    Her eyes close, and her consciousness sinks deep into the test subject in front of her as she examines his progress since the last session. Moving my fingers mechanically, I write down her intermittent, fragmented report. In between her clipped, stilted sentences, I channel a trickle of mana from my prototype glass cores into the fractured remnants of my once-majestic artisan Skill, keeping the mana use as subtle and unobtrusive as I can¡ªI don¡¯t want to alert Scalpel to my actions by triggering one of her extrasensory, magical wards.

    I wear the hidden glass mana cores in a criss-crossed bandolier across my chest, but underneath my tunic so Scalpel doesn¡¯t see them. This is my only real advantage, as long as it remains secret.

    My plan is to leverage the tattered, barely functioning analytical remnants of the [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. I can¡¯t really transmute anything successfully anymore, not without an exorbitant amount of mana and some fancy finagling of free-form runes. Thanks to my study of Scalpel¡¯s journals and notes, I¡¯m gaining both knowledge and confidence when it comes to the foundations of the world¡¯s mysteries. I can still analyze, even though I can¡¯t activate the Skill in its entirety. If all goes well, then I¡¯ll make a delicate imprint of Scalpel¡¯s ever present key. My control isn¡¯t great, and the shaky, strung-together segments of my Skill can¡¯t handle much strain, but I hope that line of sight will allow me to concentrate enough to get the job done. I¡¯m worried about the consequences of failure, but that¡¯s not enough to deter me any longer.

    Sparse notes, I think to myself in alarm as Scalpel stirs. Memory comes flooding back to me with my mana-heightened senses, and I rapidly scrawl out a few of the missing phrases that she muttered while reviewing his mediocre progress.

    She dismisses the first patient, moving into position by the second man¡¯s side even as the guards wheel the first test subject¡¯s gurney out of the workshop. Undulating at her sides like banners dancing in the wind, her long, segmented fingers twitch and flutter. I can¡¯t help but wonder if it¡¯s in anticipation of sinking her claws into another victim.

    Repressing my revulsion, I shuffle along to take my place next to her, offering her a minor mana draught before the next delve. For as long as I¡¯m in this position, I¡¯ll be the most dutiful apprentice I can, as long as it doesn¡¯t overly violate the dictates of conscience. Nothing she does is particularly ethical, but at least I¡¯m only a notetaker, not a perpetrator.

    Or, at least, that¡¯s what I tell myself so I can sleep at night.

    Once I have her notes and I settle up with Xharrote, I¡¯m out of here. Resolutions do me little good, of course, if the [Viceroy] isn¡¯t done with me, but I¡¯m hoping that he¡¯ll come through with a pardon for my cooperation. The looming specter of dealing with the fallout with [Mage]¡¯s Cabal bothers me even though I can¡¯t do anything about it, like an itchy sweater that I can¡¯t change in public. I can¡¯t wait until I¡¯m on the other side of this part of my life.

    Xharrote has summoned me three more times now, and he¡¯s starting to apply serious pressure to produce results. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s used to slow progress. My pleas for more time to shore up my shaky, crumbling foundations fell on deaf ears; now that the mandate has come down on high, there''s no getting out of my unsavory responsibility.

    Scalpel¡¯s next delve commences, and I focus on the present again. I force myself not to set aside the notebook, splitting my mind as best as I can. Pounding like surf on the shore, my blood roars through my temples, but I press onward. I don¡¯t want to tip Scalpel off to my actions, so I half-heartedly take notes, but I need to devote most of my mental energy to free-form shaping the small glass rod in my pocket, hidden away for just this purpose.

    Praying desperately that I don¡¯t run out of mana before my glass copy of her key takes shape, I surround the glass with filaments of mana drawn from the glass beads strung around my chest. The threads of raw energy wrap the glass in a shroud, then sink inward and begin the transformation. It''s slow and ungainly, but it¡¯s working. Power surges into the glass, threatening to drain my artificial cores in an instant. I grit my teeth. It should be enough time to finish the work if I¡¯m careful.

    Like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, the glass rod passes through the enveloping mana and becomes a glass key instead. Grim satisfaction at my impending success fades to horror as the mana flow sputters. My eighth glass bead is unstable, and I can¡¯t seem to draw any more mana from the core. I should have tested it in the studio more thoroughly before this crucial juncture, but it¡¯s too late now for regrets.

    Bands of pressure loop around my head and tighten around my temples, making my vision swim. My energy flow wavers as the key extrudes, and with a groan my control slips. The complex, slender glass key bulges obscenely, malforming rapidly before my eyes like a malignant growth and taking on a hideous, unrecognizable shape.

    I hiss in frustration, clamp down on my mana in a losing effort to maintain the last few drops I still have, and stuff the misshapen key back into my pocket. Today''s failure isn''t the end of the story, I tell myself. I got a good imprint of her key, and I should be able to shape the glass to suit my needs while I''m in Melidandri¡¯s workshop. All I need to do is survive one more week. Easy, right?

 B3 C27: Restoration

    By the mercy of all that¡¯s sacred, I manage to avoid the wrath of the [Viceroy] as the week crawls along. I make contact with Devyn, the [Chief Inquisitor]¡¯s plant among Scalpel¡¯s guards, and pass along the cryptic news that ¡°I¡¯m close.¡±

    Without knowing exactly how secure of a communication channel Devyn will prove to be, I don¡¯t dare to disclose any specific details or clarify my meaning. Even so, I hope it will buy me a little time and good will with my benefactors. The arrangement still makes me uneasy.

    My nerves feel frayed by the time I reach Melidandri¡¯s shop early the next week. I can''t seem to shake the image of a cat tearing apart a rug bit by bit, scratching and worrying at it with its teeth and claws until the entire weave unravels. That''s the story of my life right now, but there''s nothing I can do about it other than soldier on.

    The chance to set aside my burdens and make something out of glass is a welcome relief, but I have a hard time concentrating, and my efforts at mana imbuing fall apart. As my frustration mounts, the good Master of the studio takes me aside for a kind lecture. He¡¯s aware of the stress I''m under dealing with Scalpel and the [Viceroy], even if he doesn''t know the particulars, so his tone is gentle and encouraging rather than strict or chastising. Nonetheless, he and I both knew that I can¡ªand should¡ªdo better.

    ¡°Nuri, why don''t you make something simple? Put aside your grand designs and start with something simple. Reestablish some confidence, and then work your way back up some more advanced designs and techniques. Center yourself and try again.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re . . . probably right,¡± I say, changing my course at the last moment. My first instinct is to grumble about wasting time, but I know he''s making sense. He''s always giving me good advice and I''d be a fool to discard it out of hand just because I''m disgruntled. The key I need to create comes readily to mind, and I feel doubly foolish for not working on it from the moment I reached the shop. I need to create a well-fitted prototype sooner rather than later; who knows when I''ll have a chance to access her workshop unsupervised? I have to be ready to strike when the iron is hot, as my brother Mikko so loves to say.

    Setting aside my fears and frustrations, I take up the tools of my trade and begin anew. This time, I don¡¯t allow the external pressures and internal doubts to distract me. I kill off every single competing thought and desire, rampaging against everything extraneous with a vengeance until only the urge to create remains.

    Lost in a fog of creative insight, I find myself at the bench with hot glass, unaware of when and how I got there. Before long, the long-awaited key emerges in exactly the dimensions and details that I remember from my imprint. Born not of magic, but through old-fashioned blood, sweat, and tears.

    It''s the most beautiful thing I''ve ever made.

    =+=

    Ironically, Scalpel delivers the perfect moment for me to infiltrate by scheduling a solo session with Melidandri. She wants to examine further intricacies of his skills without my help. Immediately, I suspect that she wants to study him and come to her own conclusions without me there to muddy the waters. On the one hand I assume she could simply tell me half of the information and keep some back, but it seems like she has other methods she wants to hide.

    I march to her workshop, stomping past her guards and glaring imperiously if any of them look like they''re about to ask what I''m doing. Purpose burns in my heart, an unquenchable fire of certainty and conviction. I let myself into the room, close the door, and lock it behind me. Thanks to my favorite position, the guards don''t usually give me much grief, but even they won''t hesitate to act if they see me fiddling with Scalpel¡¯s private safe.

    Niggling doubts eat at the edges of my mind like invasive worms chewing on the leaves of a plant and killing it before it can ever bloom. Scalpel is one of the most paranoid people I have ever met. What if she has security runes guarding the safe?

    Mulling over the possibilities, I take a seat in her chair, swiveling about behind her massive desk and pretending that I''m Lord of the manor. Think like a sociopath, I tell myself. Humorous and horrifying as the thought may be, it does put me in the right frame of mind. She trusts no one, but she also thinks people are beneath her; we are tools to her at best, and mere chattel at worst. Within the walls of her demesne, she reigns supreme like some goddess of old. Treachery most likely doesn''t even occur to her, not of the kind required to obtain the key to her safe, or produce its duplicate. Hubris will be her undoing.

    I spring to my feet, withdraw the key from my inner pocket, and slot it into the lock with growing confidence that I won''t trigger any fail-safes or further alarms. She is too arrogant to even consider the possibility that I¡ªor anyone else¡ªwill even attempt to breach her defenses.

    And yet.

    My hand trembles as I reach for the handle. What if I¡¯m wrong? What is my story ends today, right here and right now? She might have the safe warded to explode.

    I clench my jaw. I¡¯ve come too far and risked too much to turn back now. Determined now, I turn the key, tug on the handle, and pull on the door. It creaks open with only minor resistance, and I don''t sense any mana or gathering storms of power ready to incinerate me. No runes or arrays activate. All my worries were for nothing.

    Still, I don''t breathe easier until I am sitting at her desk, reading the words for myself. Flipping through her notes, I look for any sort of system or categorization of information, but it¡¯s scattered and frantic, like the wild, fractured ravings of a lunatic. My heart sinks.

    Fighting the temptation to slouch back in the chair and give up, I make myself scan through the pages as quickly as I can. Who knows when the master of the house will return. I need to take advantage of the opportunity I have in front of me. Five pages later, my persistence finally pays off.

    Running through the notes like a telltale scarlet thread is a constant theme of exponentially increasing difficulty in using runes.

    Yep, she''s definitely been holding out on us. It''s both less mysterious and more informative than I expected. There''s no secret recipe or esoteric knowledge that will propel me forward, but her research does show that she''s carefully curated a sure-fire dead end. The path she¡¯s presented to Xharrote and the [Viceroy] will only take someone so far; unless they happen to hit upon the problem and the solution Scalpel presents, they will never get beyond the basics, however.

    The secret is so simple, it''s almost insulting.

    The difficulty I have in utilizing more than two or three complex runes simultaneously is not unique. In fact, it turns out that I am something of a slight prodigy since I can activate more than a pair of runes free form. The cost in mana and mental strain is exponential. Using four or five runes without the assistance of the Skill structures is difficult even for Scalpel, and she speculates that an old monster like Tapirs will strain to sustain six. Seven? Impossible. What chance does someone like me have? I had no idea runes were so limiting compared with defined Skills, or that Scalpel herself doesn¡¯t even use them.

    Instead of leveraging runes on their own, she relies on meticulously stitching in clusters of runic amplifiers into her preexisting Skills. These arrays of specialized runes empower her to punch above her weight class, so to speak, and offer an avenue to new abilities and permutations, but they aren''t an unlimited and endless path to free power.

    In a way, that''s a comforting thought. I''m not sure I trust the Viceroy to wield even more power than he does, and I definitely don''t trust Scalpel. But it doesn¡¯t invalidate the value of her work. Using the modification arrays, in optimal settings, is enough to boost someone halfway to the next Threshold.

    In that case, why don''t people use scripts for everything? I suppose it''s cost prohibitive and too complicated for most people. That''s why earning the money to pay for the enchantments on the Iron Lunk took so long; we needed an expert with incredibly rare Skills.

    Idly, I wonder what an [Enchanter] might make of Scalpel. They use a much simpler runic script, but the idea is similar. Her method is more complex, in the same way that an academic textbook or scholastic journal is more sophisticated than a child''s nursery rhyme. In the end, though, they''re still using language to convey an idea.

    As I read on, three more key ideas emerge. First is the way she uses mana to create the blade from which she derives her name. Instead of leaning into higher-order concepts to manifest a scalpel that is sharp, her genius is in elegant simplicity: by guiding raw mana to split into two overlapping streams with a tiny bubble in between, she creates a thin layer of nothingness where no energy exists at all. Within this vacuum, the negative pressure draws in ambient energy to fill the gap, and the connections around the constituent runes in a Skill structure are severed at her mere touch. I''ll have to practice the technique before I''m confident that I can wield it with anything approaching the precision she does, but my crude attempts at copying her masterful control ought to be enough for careful experimentation.

    The second windfall leaps off the pages in the back of her personal journal. She wrote down a jumbled compendium of complex runes, many I''ve never seen or heard of. Some are neatly listed, while others are unlabeled, but all of them are fairly thrumming with power even in their shorthand form. The occasional lack of cross-references means that I don''t have an easy way to flip to the right page in the journal to look them up right now, but it''s enough to get me started. If I can find the right type of result I''m looking for, then I can begin the next phase: the painstaking work of adding a new rune to the existing set I have internally. It''s a good thing she taught me her own shorthanded code.

    The third and final piece of information I glean from her forbidden journal is at once the hardest and the simplest: how to get the heavens to verify the newly amalgamated runes as a Skill that can be used automatically and with greater mana efficiency. Ratification apparently happens on its own¡ªthat¡¯s the simple part¡ªas long as all of the proper requirements of a true Skill are met¡ªthe hard part. And that¡¯s when it clicks for me. She¡¯s not remotely interested in circumventing the way things work. Whatever system of principles or divine decree rules our world is not anywhere near as malleable as she led us to believe. Scalpel¡¯s true end goal is artificially created Skills, not unlimited rune activation.

    Incidentally, I¡¯m now certain this is why she''s so interested in how Melidandri mana imbues, since in her view he must impose his own will on reality; if she can copy his techniques, then in her mind she can command the very authority of the inviolable laws of reality to do her bidding. Whether the laws are the heavens, as some religions claim, or simply the governing scientific rules and mandates of the world, they must be obeyed. Regardless, she likely believes that she can authorize Skills on her own.

    Unfortunately for her, Melidandri is a gentle, noble soul who charms mana so it wants to help him, although I think I''m ascribing too much personhood or volition to the energy. Trying not to anthropomorphize universal laws is strangely difficult. I sigh. I''m getting off track with that line of thought. Still, his strategy is to invite, not to impose. His mana manipulation methods aren¡¯t about brute force or domination, although I suppose that those are the only tools Scalpel truly understands. Melidandri has opened my eyes to a more excellent way.

    Which makes me wonder if I already have all that I need to complete her work. She lacks perspective because she is fundamentally broken. In my more empathetic moments, I wonder what happened to her that led her to end up the way she is, but in the end I discard the idea. Horrific as it probably was, she still has a choice. She''s still responsible for her heinous actions and experiments.

    I stand up abruptly, shivering. Time is at a premium. I can''t waste this opportunity navel-gazing. Her sordid crimes¡ªand, by extension, the crimes of her superior, who is now also my boss¡ªwill one day meet with a reckoning. In the meantime, I have to fix my Skills while I have the chance.

    ¡°Power is my problem,¡± I mutter, pacing now as I think through the task in front of me. Of course, I still need to nail down which runes I will incorporate from current Skills, and which new ones to add. I¡¯ll need every mana crystal I can get my hands on to complete the process, though, so I start by looting the workshop. Take the steps right in front of you for now. Don''t worry about what you can or can''t do.

    Despite lecturing myself, I¡¯m giddy with fear that Scalpel will return at any moment. Terror and anticipation conspire to spike up my heart rate as I rush around the laboratory collecting the crystals I¡¯ll need and frantically double-checking obscure runic meaning. The hollow thud of each footstep sounds unnaturally loud in my ears. Yet, somehow, before I even realize it, my preparations come together.

    I take in a deep, shaky breath as I survey the haphazard pile of notes and mana crystals. This is it. I¡¯m as ready as I¡¯ll ever be. No more stalling. With a final nod of determination, I seize hold of the power raging at my fingertips, turn my gaze inward, and begin creating my greatest masterpiece.

    The familiar liminal space of my soul appears around me. I teleport forward, no longer restricted to traveling in a slow, straight line like I used to, but instead appear directly in front of the ruined-but-recovering mass of complex runes that comprise my various Skills. Scalpel has inadvertently taught me much about how to move within my core space, and her lessons pay off now. Locating the complicated spiral of runes in my inner world is the easy part. Reconfiguring them into a working whole is far more challenging, however.

    Thankfully, I came prepared. Portions of each of my Skills are likely salvageable in the long run, but even with the secret details of Scalpel¡¯s true research, I won¡¯t be able to rebuild them exactly as they were. For today, I¡¯m focusing on combining the most complete sections of [The Eternal Glass Forge] with [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. Losing the full functionality and prestige of my Artisan Skill will hurt, but I can¡¯t hang on to it for sentimental reasons. Right now, I¡¯m effectively crippled. I need to take advantage of every resource at my disposal.

    I already know how to combine the two Skills based on my breakthrough in Melidandri¡¯s shop, although I haven¡¯t been able to replicate my success via external mana control. Stitching them together internally with the new techniques and ancillary runes I¡¯ve learned from Scalpel¡¯s notebook should help me bridge the gap.

    Equipped with my prototype of Scalpel''s ¡°mana scissors,¡± as I dub them, I hover closer to the first pulsating, rust-colored rune I''ve identified, and begin to cut. Searing agony erupts along the line of my incision. My control over the mana wavers, and I almost lose my bearings entirely and return to my body. Groaning, I squeeze my fist and focus, determined to stay the course. How could I forget about the pain? I must have blocked it from my memory.

    Now, the raw sensation comes roaring back with an undeniable vengeance. Give up, a whisper in the back of my mind says, soft but growing louder. More insistent. This isn''t worth it. Haven''t you suffered enough? What if things go wrong? Do you want to be a ruined husk of a man forever? Think what you''re doing to your soul!

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Crazed laughter bubbles up my throat and out of my cracked, parched lips. Distantly, I wonder when I got so thirsty. The world spins around me again, but I continue to cut away the connective tissues that hold the complex runes in place. I¡¯m desperately trying to hold on to the vision I sketched out of the new Skill I¡¯ve imagined before I pass out. All I can speculate is that the sheer amount of raw mana I''m drawing from the crystals arrayed on the table in front of me is rapidly drawing out the vitality in my body and leaving me dry, like I¡¯m nothing but a haunch of meat roasting over an open fire. I have to pick up the pace before I burn myself out. I don¡¯t want a repeat of the disastrous fallout from closing the Lesser Rift in Lamont¡¯s Rapids, but stopping now is a sure way to ensure my failure.

    Now that I¡¯ve started slicing apart all my Skills, I¡¯m committed to seeing things through. Nothing in the world can convince me to stop until I finish rebuilding. Unless Scalpel shows up and forcibly drags me away from the mana crystals powering the runic transformation, I¡¯ll push forward no matter what. Fueled by my rising conviction, I accelerate the flow of mana and cut away larger and larger swathes of crystalized mana, no longer trying to preserve the shape of what¡¯s already there. All I care about now is removing anything extraneous so I can build anew.

    Complex runes flash by my inner sight, flying by so quickly that I can barely recognize half of them. I let them go unless I see pieces I need. Moving at the speed of intent and will, I snatch an intricate whorl of meaning, and then another, collecting them like cards as I assemble my deck¡ªan ¡°apt analogy,¡± I can just imagine Lady Evershed saying. I manage to smile tightly through my grit-teethed grimace.

    One rune burns with the multivariate fire of Memory. The second rune I pluck from the chaotic flow shouts Transformation to any who will listen. Another, calcified rune tells the story of Crystallization. And yet another sings the chorus of Eternity.

    I gather up the leftover mana generated from breaking down the runes I cut off the Skills, and begin inscribing my own complex rune. I firmly fix in mind my favorite memory of my father in the hot shop in my mind as I work. Tenacity, the image declares. Sinuous swirls and intricate, crossed lines comprise the new complex runes. They¡¯re dizzying to behold, but the mana flows into them willingly, providing the missing template to fill out the pattern. I don¡¯t need to possess explicit knowledge of the process; I simply trust that the energy of the world will supply whichever details I need as long as I uphold my end of the bargain and infuse meaning into the construction.

    A cleansing flood of pure mana slowly but inexorably scours away the detritus of twisted runes and damaged Skills in my soul. As my core space clears out, I find myself breathing a bit easier, although the burn of handling so much mana is still agonizing. Without the interference of the debris cluttering my view, I can now see the best way to combine the diminished remains of [The Eternal Glass Forge] with [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. The jagged, broken peaks of my targeted Skills drift together like the glaciers in frozen seas I used to read about when I was still an [Apprentice Glass Worker] back in Silaraon. I squeeze more mana out of Scalpel¡¯s stash of mana crystals, and after what feels like hours, the two structures finally grind together.

    The crash of their meeting makes my bones tremble. Shaking like islands unmoored and roaming the dangerous seas, the Skill structures creak and groan ominously, battling each other for solo supremacy. The rumble grows deeper, more profound, and I can taste the pain of their merging like dull bones, like iron on my lips and fire on my tongue. My vision swims, even here inside my inner being, and I feel myself washing away, lost in the seafoam spray cast up by the clash of the two titans¡ªI flinch, jerking back into my right mind as the two become one at last.

    Their titles flicker in my sight, like I¡¯m watching the world through the spinning spokes of a wagon wheel, phasing in and out of view. With a rattle, the words puff into smoke and drift off into the ether, leaving only rubble behind. Regret fills me at losing my chance to earn more Way of the Artisan Skills now that I¡¯ve destroyed the one I had, but sacrifices had to be made.

    Methodically replacing the broken structures with pristine new runes, I push onward until I complete the delicate surgery. The last of the mana from the crystals swirls around in cobalt and silver patterns, then settles into place with a final flash. The complex runes I created slot into the structure, and a sweet, clear chime announcing that I¡¯ve earned a new Skill rings out, echoing across my soul.

    Pale and ebullient, my inner world churns with a writhing mass of contradictions. ¡°I did it,¡± I hiss sharply, although I''m not really talking about my new Skill, or making the key, or all the work I¡¯ve done since surviving the Rift. True, I''m still reeling from the implications of breaking down and rebuilding the remnants of my once-glorious Skills, but what resonates with me now is my long-standing claim that glass is a viable path to power.

    Melancholy and unrestrained joy war within my chest. Finally, my path forward is clear. All I need now is the will to act.

    Shaking and shivering, soaked in slick, cold sweat, I slip out of my soul space. The room spins around me, but I squeeze my eyes shut until I feel less light-headed. With a shaking hand, I tear a blank page out of the back of my notebook, holding it up to one of the overhead mage lights so I can see the result of my test. Even though I don¡¯t actually have to speak in order to activate my new skill, I can¡¯t help the burst of pride that accompanies uttering the words aloud for the very first time.

    ¡°[Vitrification],¡± I command, drawing now on my glass cores instead of the spent mana crystals. Keeping my voice low to avoid giving away my actions in case Scalpel or one of her seemingly ever present guards is around, I ignite the new ability I¡¯ve created, and watch with wide-eyed wonder as the world warps to my will.

    The piece of paper transmutes in front of my eyes, turning from pulped and pressurized wood pulp into a thin sheet of purest glass.

    Vicious satisfaction boils within my chest as I hold up the proof of my success. More beautiful than any trophy, the slender pane of glass is proof that I¡¯m on the right path. I''ve been working towards this for so long. After far too many false starts and failures, my many sacrifices are finally worth it.

    I slump down in Scalpel¡¯s seat. My legs are wobbly, too weak to bear me up any longer, but I don¡¯t care. I may not have all of my old Skills and tools at my disposal, but what I''ve lost in diversity I''ve more than made up for raw, undeniable power. Chances are that I¡¯ll never truly be able to restore my core and channels, but at least I have a way forward now with a fully working Skill and my glass pseudo-cores. Today is only the first step of many.

    =+=

    Until this last week, I never truly appreciated the meaning of the saying, ¡°jumping at shadows.¡± Oh, I understand the general idea of being overly sensitive and fearful, and I thought I¡¯d felt the depths of woes during various times in my life. Dashing through the Labyrinth with Tem leaps to mind immediately. Or my awkward escape from Silaraon. Fresh in my memory is the constant sensation of prey fleeing a hunter¡ªrunning from the cadre of [Inquisitors] on my trail left scars on my psyche. Yet I¡¯ve never experienced anything as terrifying as hiding my betrayal from my perceptive and vindictive master, Scalpel.

    Spending time around her is strangely akin to spending time around a teenage crush, but in the exact opposite manner. Every little look from her sets my nerves on fire, and not in a good way. I break out into chills around her, my palm gets sweaty, and my chest tightens up painfully. Desperate to get away, I feign stomach illness and spend an inordinate amount of hours holed up in the lavatory just to get out of my note-taking responsibilities.

    I make sure to act better in the morning of the day before my scheduled visit to the glass studio. I attend to my duties in Scalpel¡¯s workshop as usual, if a bit subdued. To my great relief, she doesn¡¯t push the issue, and I survive the first week with my new Skill without making any potentially lethal missteps.

    Bidding her farewell and leaving the compound makes me positively giddy. I feel like a massive boulder has been lifted off my shoulders, and my burgeoning sense of joy only grows when I greet my only real friends in the capital, the esteemed master Melidandri and his newly Classed [Apprentice Glass Maker], Tanaq. I¡¯m happy to see Tanaq is taking his first steps on a long, arduous path, and I trust that he¡¯s in the best of hands. Melidandri will guide him true.

    Melidandri personally ushers me to his workbench. He sets up the privacy barriers to keep out prying eyes, and turns to me with concern etched on his slender, handsome face. He hands me a cup of steaming oolong tea, which I take gratefully. ¡°Trouble, master Nuri?¡±

    I freeze in place, like a hare before a hawk. Is my terror so obvious? ¡°Yes,¡± I whisper at length, covering the shaking in my hand by gulping down a steaming sip of the fragrant tea.

    The distinguished lines in his face seem to deepen in sorrow. ¡°Anything I can do about it? Or is this a burden you can¡¯t share?¡±

    I set down the tea cup, careful not to knock the fragile porcelain over. ¡°You¡¯re very kind, but not this time.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Glass, then?¡± he says with a tremulous smile.

    I nod. ¡°I¡¯d very much like that.¡±

    As usual, working with glass is therapeutic. I craft additional mana-core beads, and only half of them crack during the formation process this time. My success rate is getting better and better the more I practice, which is immensely encouraging given the obstacles I face.

    When they finish annealing a short while later, thanks to Melidandri¡¯s incredible multi-part Skill, [Elevated Art, Suspended Time], I test stringing the new beads together and draping them around my chest. As soon as the glass draws near to my previous pseudo-cores, they tremble and hum, vibrating violently the closer they get. Melidandri seizes my wrist and snatches them out of my hand, his eyes widening in alarm.

    He lets go of my bruised arm, murmuring an apology, and removes my experimental first string of beads, carrying them across the studio before he replaces them with the new, stronger batch. ¡°Careful, Nuri! That much resonant feedback between your mana-imbued items promises a truly fiery reaction. Seems you¡¯ve reached proximity saturation sooner than I expected. My fault for not warning you earlier.¡±

    The blood drains from my face as the danger of the near-miss dawns on me. Melidandri likely just saved my life by his quick thinking and quicker actions. I bow deeply, choked up by the turbulent rush of emotions, and thank him profusely. Working with Melidandri is a balm for my wounded spirit after all the abuse Scalpel has heaped on me. He reminds me of a more tranquil version of Ember, who never hesitated to step in and help me. He¡¯s a placid, soothing lake to her fiery volcano, but they¡¯re each dear to me. I¡¯ve been truly fortunate to serve under such exceptional masters in my short life.

    We work side by side on our projects for the rest of the day in companionable silence. His actions mean more to me than I know how to tell him, but he seems to understand me anyway. I¡¯ll miss him when the time comes to leave the capital, even if I¡¯m anxious to return home. Time passes by far too quickly, but my heart is lighter when I leave the studio.

    Scalpel is waiting for me when I return to the compound that night. She reapplies my security ward in quick, practiced motions, and practically drags me to her workshop in her urgency to get working. Something seems to be eating at her; I haven¡¯t seen her this agitated in a long time. I only hope that my intrusion isn¡¯t at the root of her foul disposition. I don¡¯t think I have the energy left to deal with her in this kind of mood.

    ¡°Come, apprentice. It¡¯s been too long since we¡¯ve delved into your core space. I want to compare you with master Melidandri, since you¡¯re both workers of glass.¡±

    My gut twists. If she sees what I¡¯ve done, then it won¡¯t take much to connect the dots and figure out what I¡¯ve done. I can¡¯t very well protest, however, and soon I find myself sitting on the edge of one of the examination beds. Her spindly, spider-leg fingers stretch out for me. I close my eyes in resignation.

    Her touch brushes against my skin, and I shudder involuntarily. In an instant, Scalpel is present within my core space, and her eponymous avatar freezes in place. Her shock radiates out, moon-bright and scintillating, a palpable thing in the otherwise comforting darkness of my soul, and I know a reckoning is coming. I ready myself for action, and open my eyes to see her staring at me intently.

    Without a word, Scalpel sketches out a depiction of my new Skill structure in her notes. When she finishes, she meticulously tears out the page from the book, flips back several dozen pages, and finds my original Skill illustrations. She spins the notebook around to face me, and a tremor in her arms gives away her mounting fury as she forces me to compare the two pictures side by side. Her posture goes rigid a moment later as she regains control, and her eyes bore into me with slow, disturbing intentionality. ¡°Tell me, Nuri. Where did you get these runes? I have not taught them to you, apprentice.¡±

    ¡°Are you certain? We must have been over them together. You¡¯ve taught me so many things, Master. I can¡¯t keep track of them all,¡± I reply, hoping she buys my stumbling lies.

    Terrible awareness blooms in her eyes. Impossibly, they turn even darker than before as her rage burns. The very air around her warps, drawing toward her body like dark flames of the abyss itself. The temperature in the room spikes alarmingly.

    ¡°Traitor!¡± she bellows, backhanding me into the wall. My body shudders on impact, and I collapse to the floor in a writhing heap as she stalks toward me with murder in her eyes. Flows of energy surround me, trapping me like a rat in a cage. Her claws grasp at the air around me, and she lifts me up from the ground on chains of pure mana.

    The mana gag slithers back into place like a hateful snake, clamping my mouth shut. I can''t speak, can''t move, held in place by pure energy that feels as unyielding as bonds of iron. Screaming internally, I can only watch in silent horror as she considers what to do with me.

    Anger, disgust, and disappointment flicker across my unlikely mentor¡¯s unnaturally pale face. ¡°Why, little apprentice? I taught you more than you deserved, took valuable time away from my studies to help you plan your Skills restoration, and indulged your whims by letting you play with glass. Is this how you repay me?¡±

    She actually sounds . . . sad. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her after the misery she put me through? Anger burns in me, white-hot and furious. I can¡¯t do anything, but I hope she can see the hate in my eyes as I spit venom and invective at her in my mind. After what she¡¯s done to me and to the others here, she no longer deserves mercy.

    Scalpel lifts up a sharp, glittering claw, tracing it along my cheek and drawing blood. I shiver inwardly under her touch, struggling ineffectually to free myself from the mana binding. She shushes me, still looking hurt¡ªas though she is the victim. How dare she!

    She¡¯s inches from my face, invading my space with her stony displeasure. I shrink away, although it does no good since I still can¡¯t move. An idea hits me then, and I glare all the harder, daring her to escalate. C¡¯mon, you thrice-cursed witch! Just a little closer.

    She takes the bait.

    Tutting in annoyance, her long, unnatural fingers grip my face. With a surge of power, I discharge the mana I¡¯ve hoarded in my artificial, glass pseudo-cores, activating [Vitrification] at full blast and targeting the minerals and particles in her blood and brain, hoping against hope that it will work.

    Against anyone else, this is a fool¡¯s errand. I¡¯d have to overcome the foreign mana in another person''s body, or have a vast disparity in rank, but in this case, Scalpel has opened the gates by removing her natural mana barrier¡ªthe soul¡¯s defenses against involuntarily sharing mana. Her actions are a two-edged sword: no barrier allows her to delve into others, but also leaves her without any real protection against intrusion. Or at least that¡¯s my hope.

    The pale skin on Scalpel¡¯s face erupts as shards of glass lance outward from her, jagged and blood-red, and I snarl in pent-up rage and a flood of relief. It worked. It actually worked! Her dark, wide-open eyes burst apart under the force of vitreous fluid transmuted into glass from within. Agonized screams rip forth from her throat, then cut off as her vocal cords harden in place. My Skill reaches its end, but through the waning connection, I feel the bloody spurs of razor-edged glass rip through her brain, tearing her apart from the inside out.

    Her mana control cuts out. I drop to the floor, no longer held in her grasp, and grab an actual scalpel from her workbench. Roaring in anger, I stab her through the chest, plunging the wicked, gleaming edge down into her heart over and over again until she stops twitching and thrashing on the floor.

    I flop down beside the steaming corpse, my chest heaving, resisting the urge to spit on her remains. As the fire of my wrath burns out, I feel only pity. She¡¯s a monster, but without her tutelage, I wouldn¡¯t have learned any of the mysteries of magic. I¡¯ll give her this one, final show of respect.

    I yank on the ribbon around her neck, tugging the key out from where she kept it hidden under her tunic. The blade flicks forward, slicing through the black silk, and I pocket the key. No one needs to know that I already have a duplicate. I¡¯ll make good on my promise to Xharrote to bring him the rest of Scalpel¡¯s secrets by delivering the key and letting him open up the safe for himself. Maybe it will buy me enough goodwill to go home, and they won¡¯t bother me about what I know.

    I can¡¯t leave the building, though, not with her security wards still active. I stare down at the scalpel in my hands, my chest still heaving from the shock and anger of killing her. Do I dare cut myself open and try to scratch the runes off my bones? As I try to work up the courage to perform the gruesome surgery, the sight of her glassified face gives me pause.

    Who says [Vitrification] only has to work on other people? I shuffle over to her desk, still wincing from the bruises where she flung me into the wall, and rummage through the drawers until I find another mana crystal now that my small glass beads are drained. Gritting my teeth against the hot pinpricks of pain, I draw the mana out of the crystal, using the mana to power a more delicate application of my new, self-made Skill.

    The shallow runes etched into the bones in my forearm smooth over, metamorphosed from bone to glass. I cut off the Skill quickly, only changing the surface of the bones until the runes are gone. I don¡¯t want to lose the arm if I get bumped too hard; glass isn¡¯t exactly noted for its incredible resilience, although I could always try imbuing my own arm. A task for another day. Just get out of here while you still can.

    Transformation from bone to glass complete, the rune¡¯s warding restrictions fall away. I crack my neck and grin. At long last, I¡¯m free.

    End of Book Three

 Book Four Chapter One: Reunion

    Beginning of Book Four

    The very air itself seems fresher back in Silaraon. Maybe it¡¯s the scent of freedom. I breathe in deeply, enjoying the reinvigorating crispiness of the afternoon. The fragrance of sandalwood fills me with a heady sort of joy at the familiar surroundings. I never should have left, although at the time it felt like it was out of my hands. I didn¡¯t have a choice.

    I snort. That¡¯s what I thought back then, but I¡¯ve come to despise that sort of weak-willed passivity in me. Now, I realize that I always have a choice, as long as I am willing to stomach the consequences, something I¡¯m not always ready to do.

    Consequences. My mind drifts back to my escape from the capital. After our fateful final encounter, I cleared out the ward on my arm, marched out of Scalpel¡¯s mansion like I owned the place¡ªnodding to the guards as I went, with a confidence I didn¡¯t truly feel¡ªand sprinted for the [Inquisitor] headquarters. Unlike my previous visits, where I walked up the ominous stairs, I was ushered to an inner room in the bastion and discovered that they have an enchanted lift system that carried me straight up to the top floor. Based on the way the guards smirked at me, they had a habit of initiating newcomers in this manner.

    [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote welcomed me into his office, expectation sparking in his eyes at my unannounced and harried appearance. He gave me a skeptical look when I passed along the redacted notes from Scalpel. Thankfully, he didn''t push me much when I told that I wanted to go home in exchange for handing over the intelligence he asked me to uncover. His only stipulation was that I check in with his branch offices from time to time, and that I swear an oath to answer his call if he has a mission for me.

    Privately, I think I¡¯ve gotten off pretty easy. I¡¯m concerned about what that means for my future in case he decides to cash in his bargaining chip. Neither he nor the [Viceroy] seem like the type to set aside a tool after it''s only just started to prove its worth¡ªif that is in fact what I did by delivering the goods that I plundered from Scalpel¡¯s safe box¡ªbut I have no choice but to take their offer of amnesty at face value. On the plus side, Xharrote promised that I¡¯ll be able to work with familiar faces upon my return to the Silaraon region: Casella and Mbukhe have volunteered to oversee my training and field reports, and I¡¯ll report to them while they¡¯re in town. Technically, I''m outside of the [Inquisitor] chain of command, so the assignment carries with it only loose requirements, but I have no delusions that I''m free to do as I please without any repercussions.

    Worrying about things I can''t control does me no good, however. All these concerns are for my future self to sort out. In the meantime, my only goal is to get home and resume something resembling regular old life. No one knows I''m coming. The Royal proclamation clearing my name wasn''t scheduled for release until after I¡¯d left the capital and escaped out from under the grasping hands and prying eyes of career [Politicians]. By the time my friends hear the good news, I should be well on my way to surprising them with my presence.

    Traveling home goes far more quickly than either my frantic escape from Silaraon on foot, or the cramped, torturous journey to the capital in the back of a bouncing prisoner cart. This time, I¡¯m riding with a caravan attached to a military convoy, and while I hold no rank, I¡¯m afforded the privileges and respect that comes with association with the [Viceroy].

    When we finally crest the small hill separating us from the view of the city proper, I nearly tear up at the sight of my home. I''ve been gone for less than a year but somehow it feels like I''ve returned with a lifetime of adventure and experience, both good and bad. Any irrational part of me wonders if I''ll even be able to fit into my old life anymore. Perhaps the changes I''ve undergone are more permanent and damaging than I realized.

    Now that the military convoy has reached Silaraon, I bid my farewells to the camp [Cooks] and various attendants who helped me along the journey home. I don¡¯t have a shred of loyalty to the military [Commanders], but the rank and file were friendly and refreshingly normal. No schemes within schemes, no designs on my life or Skills, and no calculating thoughts about how they might leverage our friendship for personal gain. In their eyes, I''m just a well treated civilian tagging along for a safer ride.

    My steps slow as I approach my childhood home. What if my reception isn''t all that I''ve dreamed of? What if Reijo and Kirsi think I¡¯m responsible for the attack on the barracks? What if they didn''t hear about my pardon? What if they blame me? Panic rises in my chest, but I push it down like the old [Gaffer] tamping his pipe; I only hope it doesn¡¯t keep smoldering, just to reemerge in flames and smoke later on.

    My fears aside, coming back to Silaraon feels like putting on a worn old coat, well broken in and immediately comfortable. Or perhaps it¡¯s embracing a childhood friend, whose presence is so relaxing and intimate that no words are needed to celebrate our reunion.

    Then I walk around the bend and catch sight of Kirsi, who raised me like her own, washing the laundry by the creek side. Her simple brown dress is hitched up so she can stand in the little steam and scrub laundry. Instantly, I throw out my ideas of not talking like they¡¯re nothing but dirty dish water. Words are glorious when reuniting with childhood friends and family. A million things I¡¯ve always wished I told her surge through my mind, and I vow to set things right. My feet are moving before I realize it, carrying me down the slope of the knife-edged ridge at breakneck speed.

    ¡°Looking well, mother!¡± I call out in a cheery voice, hopping down from the last basalt rock pile jutting out from the hillside to land in a puff of dusty red dirt.

    Kirsi reels back, her hands fluttering up to her face as she gasps. The color drains from her rosy cheeks, and a few strands of flyaway hair come free from her colorful headband. She tucks them back under the folded scarf. Her fingers tremble as she observes me intently. A moment hangs between us, comprised of disbelief and longing both, suspended in a thin slice of time that suddenly feels endless.

    ¡°Nuri,¡± she breathes, her voice soft and tremulous. ¡°Please tell me that you''re real, that you¡¯re not the ghost of my long-lost son.¡±

    My own voice cracks under the strain of too much joy and regret all mixed together, and it takes me a minute to respond. When I speak, my voice is thick with feeling. ¡°It''s me, mother. I promise. I¡¯m sorry I left so suddenly. I was afraid to stop to tell you that I was going. I couldn''t risk it, not when I still had eyes on me. But I''m back, and I don''t plan on leaving anytime soon.¡±

    The surprise finally wears off, and she springs forward to engulf me in her warm, strong embrace, as though she''ll never let go. ¡°But you do intend to leave again, don''t you? It might not be soon, but you were never meant for small things.¡±

    My heart aches within me to tell her what she wants to hear, but we both know that if I deny her claim it will be a lie. I can''t stay here forever, not after what I''ve seen. Instead, I step back, gingerly freeing myself from her bear hug, and smile at her as tenderly as I can. ¡°Let''s not focus on that for now. Where is everyone? I want to treat you all to a fancy dinner tonight.¡±

    ¡°Is that safe?¡± she asks sharply, her eyes narrowing as she peers at my face. ¡°Last I heard, you were wanted man. None of us believe the lies told about you, but that doesn''t mean it¡¯s smart for you to be seen in public.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve received a full pardon,¡± I say with a big, crooked grin. Joy wells up in my heart. No more hiding in the shadows like a rat for me.

    Her shoulders sag with relief. Her hands clasp together in front of her in silent supplication. My mother¡¯s eyes close for a moment, then flutter open as though she doesn''t trust me to stay in one place, or that she¡¯s afraid I will disappear again. I''m touched to see the misty glimmer of tears, and I take her hand in mine and squeeze reassuringly.

    She squeezes back, her smile growing every second that I remain in her hold. The relief and joy billowing out from her grows deeper, and instinctively she reaches for my other hand. Shock ripples across her face when there¡¯s nothing there. She touches the skin that''s grown over the end of my wrist where my hand used to be, and her breath hitches.

    ¡°My boy!¡± she cries out. ¡°What have they done to you?¡± Raw emotion make her words thick with grief and anger.

    I lift up my left arm and admire the end of my wrist. Chuckling ruefully, I shake my head at Kirsi. ¡°This? Oh, I managed to do this all by myself. Don''t go looking to start a war on my behalf, you hear? My stupidity is no one else''s fault.¡±

    I don''t blame her for looking dubious, or for the way her sturdy hands clench into fists, but to her credit she doesn''t push the issue. For now. The pointed look she gives me promises in no uncertain terms that I will endure future investigation, however. ¡°Sounds like you''re full of stories. I look forward to hearing some at dinner time. Come, let¡¯s surprise your father.¡±

    Before we start back toward the farmstead, she tuts. ¡°We''ll have to get you something else to wear, though. We can''t have you looking like a vagabond for your welcome home feast! Your hair and beard look lovely at least, Nuri. The rest of you need some work. Clearly you''ve suffered without a motherly presence in your life.¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°More than you know,¡± I murmur. Instantly, I wince, regretting my choice of words as I see terrible suspicion take root in her mind. Deep, smoldering anger radiates off her.

    ¡°Soften the news a little, my boy. I may still start a war yet, Nuri. You haven''t had it easy, and I''ve half a mind to march down to the army camp and take it out on that puffed-up [General].¡±

    ¡°He''s still in town?¡± I ask, incredulous that the Royal Army hasn''t been tracking down incursions and closing Rifts. The one that opened in Silaraon last year is an anomaly, as far as I understood it. But if that''s true, then why are they still here?

    ¡°A mystery for another day,¡± I mutter. Right now, nothing can ruin my good mood.

    =+=

    Dinner that night at the Dancing Duck is a riotous, raucous affair. My adopted family, Reijo and Kirsi, along with Mikko, insisted on renting out the entire upper balcony of the popular restaurant. Stars shine overhead, more resplendent than any ceiling. Bright crimson and gold banners flutter in the warm, gentle breeze, and mage lights glow in opalescent splendor in silver-filigreed scones in the walls. Surrounded by carved wooden pillars, which age and elements have polished to a lustrous sheen, and climbing vines topped with clusters of delicate, fragrant little purple flowers, I feel like I¡¯m in paradise. The lively music from the band on the floor below us only adds to the ambiance.

    Ember, Lionel, and the Linas show up after the final bell announces the nightly closure of the Silaraon Glass Works, and they mob me with rib-crushing hugs. Far be it from me to complain; I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. Ezio and Rakesh represent the SCA, and I can¡¯t wait to tell my old teacher about all of the secrets I learned in the capital. I wish Ifran, Calix, and the old [Gaffer] could be here, as well, but it¡¯s too late in the workday to make the journey from Peliharaon on such short notice. ¡°I even wish that Bijan were here,¡± I joke, teasing Ember about our crusty former coworker.

    She just smiles at me indulgently and doesn¡¯t even frown at the mention of the intractable man. She is seemingly overjoyed at my return. Somehow, she even found the time after closing up shop to change into her old grey and blue formal dress, courtesy of the Densmore Royal army, which tells me just how seriously she takes the feast in my honor. That simple act warms my heart more than I know how to say.

    Jumbled questions assault me from all sides as we sit down to dinner, but I don¡¯t mind the chaos. Wine and words flow with equal abandon, rushing one over another, seemingly without end. Laughter and hugs abound. I can''t keep up with the deluge of exclamations and concerns, but the beauty of it is that I don''t have to. For the first time in months, I don''t need to give a status report, or hasten to obey my masters. Right now, as I bask in the warm glow of friends and family surrounding me, I don''t have any demands on my time other than to love and to be loved.

    Slowly, bit by bit, the story unfolds. I walk them through each of my sorrows and victories since leaving Silaraon nearly a year ago: running into the leader of the insurrection in the basement of the barracks, fleeing for my life from shadow to shadow, the help I received from Casella and Mbukhe, my harried life hiding on the road, my experiments with primitive glass work without a hot shop thanks to my odd Skills, my fortuitous encounters with Vicario and Maire, my headstrong and almost lethal decision that led to plunging into the Rift on my own, culminating with the disastrous loss of my hand, and my slow recovery as I floated down the river to Grand Ile.

    News of my shattered core, raw channels, and sundered Skills puts a damper on the festive mood, but not for long. I catch the eyes of my friends, one after another, and put on a brave face. ¡°Everyone''s acting like it¡¯s my funeral. Lighten up! I¡¯ve figured out ways around the limitations. I¡¯m not bitter or upset, so you shouldn¡¯t be, either.¡±

    ¡°Well said, Nuri!¡± Ember says. She lifts up her goblet and calls for a round of toasting and applause after she hears the story of my battle within the Rift. Her eyes misty with unshed tears, she circles the long, food-laden table and grasps my shoulders in her strong hands, telling me how proud she is of my sacrifice. ¡°You¡¯re fortunate you got out alive, Nuri. Losing a hand might seem like an awful blow, but I¡¯ve lost entire squads in far less harrowing situations. It¡¯s a miracle that you survived at all.¡±

    Melina looks stricken, however, her face ashen as she stares at me with a mixture of pity and horror. ¡°But what about glass work?¡±

    I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. ¡°The good news is I can still make things. The bad news is that I''m slower than ever.¡±

    ¡°Ha, is that even physically possible? Nuri, watching you labor painstakingly over a single cup is like watching a tiny little ant trying to wade through a sticky honey spill. I¡¯ll go grey-headed long before it reaches the other side,¡± Lionel interjects. He sticks out his tongue at me.

    I return an even ruder gesture, accompanied by a laugh, glad that I have a friend who doesn''t treat me like I''m fragile just because I¡¯m missing a hand now. ¡°I can still work circles around you, Lio. Stuff your face with some of the candied dates so I don''t have to hear your ridiculous jibes. Listen to my story, and prepare to be amazed.¡±

    Lionel obliges, snatching up a handful of the sweets and munching away happily. I launch into a retelling of the rest of my adventure, regaling them with a description of traveling through the steep mountains via the lock system, and descending through seeming paradise before catching my first, unfortunately brief sight of the Ivory walls of Grand Ile. Starting with my arrival at the fabled gates of the proud trade city and farewell to my friend captain Ash, I catch them up to speed on meeting Baryl, the [Watchful Urchin]. Before long, I have them in stitches as I play up the comedy of my woebegone, unfruitful search for a glass studio in which to practice during my stay in Grand Ile.

    Spellbound by the entertaining tale and the oh-so-clever storyteller¡ªif I do say so myself¡ªmy friends fall silent one by one, listening with rapt attention and wide eyes. When I mention stumbling onto Lady Evershed¡¯s home and studio, Ember sits bolt upright. Disbelief flashes across her face, but she only shakes her head and chuckles, amused at my stroke of dumb luck. When I tell them about my ignorance of my host¡¯s reputation, she groans and insists that she certainly did teach me about Lady Evershed during our early training classes together in the hot shop. I blush in chagrin over my oblivious blunders, though it¡¯s always easier to be right in retrospect. Figuring things out right in the middle of all the craziness is the tricky part.

    As my story continues, Ember smiles at me grimly across the table, shaking her head. ¡°Well, Nuri, I¡¯m neatly caught between my happiness at your good fortunate and sighing in shame over your faulty memory.¡± She chuckles, pauses from her vicious attack on a golden-skinned crispy-fried duck, the restaurant¡¯s signature dish, and looks prouder than I¡¯ve ever seen her before. ¡°In celebration of your return, I¡¯ll stick with happiness.¡±

    I return a lopsided grin. ¡°I promise that I¡¯ll pay attention better in the future, Em. Glad to be home; I missed my favorite aunt.¡±

    She blushes at the familial title, but doesn¡¯t correct me, which is how I know she¡¯s well and truly overjoyed to see me again. How I ever mistook her gruff, demanding personality for coldness is beyond me. She has been a constant anchor for me in the middle of life¡¯s storms for as long as I can remember.

    Ember¡¯s reaction to Lady Evershed¡¯s name does make me straighten in my seat and take notice. Maybe my accidental master in Grand Ile is even more famous than I ever realized. I tuck away that detail to look into later, and plunge back into my long-winded, rambling story. Heartfelt cheers and congratulations meet my description of working glass with only one hand, and my mate Lionel slaps me on the back in appreciation when I smugly tell my old team about successfully moving on in the competition.

    Reminding myself not to let my shaking hand show, I swallow the lump forming in my throat. My voice catches despite my best efforts, but I walk my friends through my gut-churning fears in the fateful moment when I rounded the corner and came face to face, quite literally, with my own wanted poster. Fighting not to choke up, I rush through a condensed version of my long-overdue meeting with Padouk, my final entry in the competition, its ill-fated demise, and my arrest in what should have been my moment of triumph.

    ¡°Hm. I don''t know how I feel, consorting with a known traitor, ¡± Lionel says gravely. He ruins the poor joke by snickering at me and resorting to sticking out his tongue again.

    I return the childish gesture, and skip ahead in my story. I gloss over my terrifying imprisonment with Scalpel and the torture she inflicts on everyone within her demense, opting instead to focus on the nature of the runic research I conducted, and how I met the illustrious master of glass, Melidandri. The older members of my audience seem to sense that I¡¯m not as forthcoming as I was previously, but they don¡¯t press me further. Mikko and Lionel, on the other hand, want all the gory details of my escape.

    A flicker of fire from Avelina announces her murderous intent. She glowers, her arms crossed, as a thunderhead storms across her face. The fierce scowl on her intense, dusky features is rather fetching against the vibrant, summer-sky blue of her sleeveless silk dress. ¡°Give me a name, Nuri. I swear that ashes and dust will be all that¡¯s left of anyone who hurt you.¡±

    My voice quavers; old fears, buried deep, rise to the surface. I shove them down, deeper this time, and smile at Avelina weakly. I recap the deals I made with Xharrote and the [Viceroy] as quickly as I can, and state in dry, matter-of-fact terms that I fought my way free from Scalpel¡¯s clutches, sparing them¡ªand me¡ªthe guilt and horror of reliving the full truth of my horrific imprisonment. Offhandedly, I mention reconstituting my Skills into a new configuration, and promise to show off a few new tricks when we¡¯re in the hot shop and away from eavesdroppers. That certainly catches Ezio¡¯s attention; I can practically see the unbridled and endless curiosity exploding off him in waves.

    I scratch at my beard, acutely aware of the sad, knowing looks I¡¯m getting from Reijo and Kirsi, Ezio and Ember. I swallow hard, and switch over to good news in hopes of distracting them from the cruel reality of my last several months. ¡°Tough times, tough times. Oh! On the plus side, I can mana-imbue now. According to Master Melidandri, I¡¯m qualified to be called a master in my own right; he thinks that I¡¯m ready to set up shop and build my reputation. You know, mana-imbuing is pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I don¡¯t see what the big deal is, honestly. I¡¯ll bet even Lionel could do it,¡± I say in an awkward attempt at humor, but my smile is all too shaky. Nonetheless, my eyes plead with my old friends to ignore the obvious secrets I¡¯m hiding, and I pray that they take the hint and don¡¯t ask any uncomfortable questions.

    Stunned silence from all of the assembled guests in the balcony greets my casual claim of mastering mana-imbuing. And then the entire table erupts in excitement and shock as everyone starts hollering all at once. Yep, I think with a giddy rush of relief and happiness as I sink back in my padded seat and let out a contended sigh, it''s good to be home.

 B4 C2: Showmanship

    I stroll into the Silaraon Glass Works studio nearly two hours after sunrise, still yawning from the boisterous party the night before. If I still worked here, Ember would have my hide, but since I¡¯m no longer an employee, I¡¯m willing to risk her wrath. Besides, she doesn¡¯t seem as ominous as she used to, not after dealing with Scalpel. Even the memory of that witch makes me shudder.

    After I opened my big mouth last night and announced that I¡¯ve earned the right to be called a master, everyone¡¯s counting on a display of mana-imbuing from me today. I rub the rest of the crusted-over sleep from my eyes, annoyed that I¡¯m not still in bed. If I hadn¡¯t promised to give everyone a demonstration in the morning, a promise that I now regret thanks to how little sleep I got, Ember was about ready to send for a [Runner]. She would have paid to have some poor kid fetch a pile of glass from the studio and make me show off right then and there in the Dancing Duck.

    Avelina had pulled a little glass pendant from her pocket and offered to melt it down so I could remake it. Flames leapt to her fingertips, and she only doused the fire when the proprietor sternly warned her that she¡¯d have to pay for any damages caused by excessive mana use. She glowered at him, but complied, to my great relief.

    And now, she¡¯s the first one to greet me when I finally stumble through the studio door, as though she claimed sentry duty and was waiting impatiently to take out her frustration on me for stalling. ¡°Looks like your year abroad hasn¡¯t improved your punctuality,¡± Ava says in greeting, her arms crossed and her hair disheveled. She still looks grumpy from getting shut down last night, and I wonder how long she¡¯ll hold the grudge.

    ¡°My time away has done wonders for my dashing good looks,¡± I shoot back, winking when she rolls her eyes at me.

    ¡°Suppose you couldn¡¯t get worse,¡± Ava mutters, her voice pitched to carry. Not many laugh at her forced joke, but the gleam is back in her eyes, so I¡¯ll take it as a win.

    ¡°Master Nuri! You¡¯re back. I always knew you couldn¡¯t stay out of trouble for long.¡±

    I whirl around to look at the owner of the voice, which warbles and cracks with the telltale pitch of a boy on the verge of adulthood, and I smirk at the gangly form of my former assistant. ¡°Ifran, my man! Look at you shooting up like a weed,¡± I say, pulling him into a big side hug.

    He twists away, too grown up now to put up with my embarrassing displays of affection. ¡°Almost as tall as you are, Nuri. Better watch out. I¡¯m gonna catch up. And then I¡¯m gonna pass you as a glass-maker, too.¡±

    ¡°All right, that¡¯s enough sentimentality, you little traitor. Go back to helping grumpy Bijan,¡± I tease, ruffling his hair despite his howl of protest.

    ¡°I¡¯m not that grumpy,¡± Bijan¡¯s surly voice grumbles. The sour-faced man shambles over to give me a cool nod. ¡°Heard you were back in town. This better be worth my while.¡±

    I shake his hand, greeting him more warmly than he probably deserves. The struggle of running the shop and providing for his extended family over the last few years has worn on him, leaving him more gaunt than before. The lines of his face are deeper, more pronounced, and the edges of his temples are streaked with gray.

    Ember strides forward, clapping twice to call for silence. ¡°No time like the present, Nuri. Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the old [Gaffer]?¡± I ask, scanning the crowd for my friend.

    Ifran pipes up, a sad look on his face. ¡°Bad hip. Had to stay back in Peliharaon.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I¡¯ll visit him later, then. I¡¯ve got a few tricks to show him. Tell him I miss him, will you, Ifran? And that I¡¯ll always come back. Don¡¯t forget that part.¡±

    ¡°Time waits for no man,¡± Ember says, tilting her head toward the nearest workbench and giving me a stern look.

    I saunter over to the bench, trying to act cool and collected, but inwardly my nerves are twanging like a too-tight bowstring plucked by a [Hunter]. That doesn¡¯t even make sense, Nuri, I admonish myself. I take in a deep breath, lean against the workbench for support, and cling to the memory that I¡¯m back among friends. If I can imbue in the middle of the poisonous politics of Modilaraon, then surely I can handle the easygoing excitement of Silaraon. I¡¯m among family, after all.

    ¡°Ifran, do you still have the little bead-mold I made for you?¡± I ask, even though I know it¡¯s a long shot that he brought it with him. ¡°Should be about right for this project.¡±

    ¡°Nope. I moved on to free-forming by hand a few months back,¡± Ifran announces proudly. He grins. ¡°I passed your mold on to my new assistant with instructions to take good care of it.¡±

    ¡°You gave it away?¡± I say, my voice coming out as a mere squeak of indignation.

    ¡°What, was I supposed to cherish the mold forever?¡± He scoffs, but his eyes spark with mirth. ¡°I¡¯m too good for that now. Besides, she needs it more than I do.¡±

    ¡°But . . . but you¡¯re too young to have an assistant!¡± I protest, thoroughly confused now. ¡°What¡¯s going on in Peliharaon, anyway? You¡¯re making me regret leaving you unsupervised. No matter; get a gather and show me what you¡¯ve learned. I need a glass marble about as thick as your thumb for my demonstration.¡±

    ¡°You got it, boss,¡± Ifran says, snickering at my long-suffering sigh.

    I squeeze my forehead with my thumb and middle finger, rubbing my temples to stave off the threat of a headache. He knows as well as I do that I hate when people call me boss. Still, he hurries off to the furnace and gets to work, so I can¡¯t fault him too much. Is this how Ember used to feel about me all the time growing up? Lio and I were real terrors.

    ¡°It¡¯s my daughter,¡± Bijan says sheepishly, shuffling over to explain the situation to me in hushed tones. ¡°We needed the coin. I know how it looks, but it¡¯s the same as when Ember hired you for your father¡¯s sake.¡±

    I nod slowly. ¡°No need to apologize for taking care of your own. I trust that your family is doing well?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re on the road to recovery, thanks to my promotion. Even so, it wasn¡¯t right what you did. You should have asked first,¡± Bijan replies, back to his dour nature. ¡°I¡¯d have found my own way. Didn¡¯t need your charity.¡±

    ¡°Master Bijan,¡± I reply with far more formality than the situation calls for, ¡°over the last year I have seen the very worst humanity has to offer. I will give you no apologies for showing kindness when I had the opportunity.¡±

    Thankfully, Ifran returns just then with a few little rods of glass, saving me from further conversation. He grins, snaps his finger, and waves about a tiny jet of flame that shoots out, just like the one Avelina wields. She lifts her chin and smirks at me, as if to claim the superiority of flameworking. I narrow my eyes and give her a flat look, but don¡¯t reply otherwise. My attention is on my former assistant.

    He turns the rod in the fire until the glass is glowing, and gently gathers the hot glass into a little glob at the end. Usually, to make a marble quickly, most crafters spin the hot glass inside a tiny mold to smooth out the edges, but Ifran reveals his second surprise of the night. He looks up at me with his big, shining brown eyes, winks, and activates his second Skill.

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    ¡°[Perfect Sphere],¡± Ifran intones grandly. The glass compresses before my eyes, taking on a round, pleasing shape without a single bit of turning or manipulating from Ifran. The little marble, which takes him less than a minute, is flawlessly smooth and ready for the kiln.

    ¡°Pristine work,¡± I praise Ifran, although internally I¡¯m wrestling with envy. I wish I could make glass with such easy confidence, instead of the gut-wrenching battle with fear and the smolder of roiling, rebellious mana in my channels. ¡°Fetch me some gloves, if you will? I¡¯m in a delicate spot with my Skills, and I need all my focus for what¡¯s coming next. I¡¯d rather not risk the disruption of trying to activate [Heat Manipulation] in my current condition.¡±

    His eyes bug out, and his adolescent swagger screeches to a halt. ¡°Anything I can do to help you, Boss? You look like you got chewed up and spit out by one of those jaguars from a few years back. No offense.¡±

    ¡°None taken,¡± I assure him, forcing a chuckle. ¡°You¡¯re not too far off with your guess. My hand melted off in a Rift when I closed an incursion.¡±

    ¡°You might say he single-handedly won the day,¡± Lio pipes up. A few strained chuckles meet his joke, but most of my gathered coworkers look at me like I¡¯ve grown a second head.

    ¡°Shameless as always,¡± I say, shaking my head at my old friend. I snap my fingers, a habit I must have picked up from Scalpel. ¡°Someone get me the glove before the glass cools. I¡¯m in a rush; if it loses its elasticity, then concepts are harder to impress on the creation.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s true, then,¡± Melina says softly. She sidles up to me with the pair of gloves that I asked for, terrible pity shining in her eyes as she gives me one and tucks the other half of the pair under her arm. ¡°Nuri, you don¡¯t have to keep things to yourself. I thought perhaps you were playing coy last night when you skirted the issue of your Skills, or displaying new-found modesty, but you truly suffered a catastrophic loss, didn¡¯t you? How will that affect your pursuit of the peak?¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Setbacks are part of life. Might take me longer, but it doesn¡¯t change any of my plans. Now, watch carefully.¡± With only a minimum of awkward finagling, I manage to wiggle my right hand into the glove, grimacing at the sudden disruption to my showmanship. How in the world will I maintain the aura of majestic mystery if a simple glove can trip me up with ease?

    I take the glass marble from Ifran, holding it up to the crowd. ¡°See how quickly Ifran made this? Admire the uniformity of the sphere! He¡¯s a talent to watch, my friends.¡± Every eye is on me, so I puff out my chest and exaggerate the theater of my demonstration. Flourishing my wrist to ensure that the glass marble catches the fierce orange glow from the furnaces, I march in a circle so it reflects the light and they all get a close-up look.

    ¡°The key to mana-imbuing is holding an idea firmly in mind, and coaxing the mana to do the work for you,¡± I say, continuing my lecture. I¡¯ve set up on the far side of my old workbench, which acts as a natural barrier against the press of bodies. Everyone wants to learn more about the process of mana-imbuing, anxious to catapult their own careers forward, and they gather around like eager students listening to a [Sage].

    I could get used to this kind of attention.

    Unfortunately, the distraction makes it difficult for me to focus on the image I¡¯m holding in my mind. Mana fluctuates around me, agitated and capricious. Closing my eyes to block out all the competing sensations, I cast my memories back to the memory of the successful imbuing projects at Melidandri¡¯s, and embrace the same frame of mind that worked previously. For a long few moments, the mana continues to churn, but by degrees, I rein in my roiling emotions. At last, the mana seems to grow satisfied and placid, settling into the shape of the concept I¡¯m holding onto so carefully.

    Like the release of a weary, pent-up sigh, or the trickle of rising water streaming over the top of an overwhelmed dam, the mana flows into the glass marble. Poetry still isn¡¯t my forte, but I paint a picture in mind that fulfills the same role. The ambient mana compresses into the perfect ball of glass, but my glass beads drain of mana to fuel the actual working. All at once, the energy coalesces, and I sag against the bench. The glass marble appears essentially the same, visually, but a sense of latent potential pulses from it with enough potency to reveal itself even to my half-blind mana senses.

    I bow to my slack-jawed audience, and present the marble to the watching [Glassworkers]. I¡¯m balancing the glass ball on the mandatory, heat-resistant gloves the assistants all wear. ¡°Melina? Could you speed things up so we can handle it without burning? I¡¯m tired of using the glove.¡±

    She obliges, lifting a hand and channeling mana into her temporal and annealing Skills. The orb of glass vibrates with the intensity of the combination Skills at work, and the smoldering remains of my [Heat Manipulation] gauges the rapid change in temperature as the glass anneals. My suspicion that she¡¯s improved over the last year is instantly proven correct, even though I can¡¯t see the mana flows anymore. I offer her a bow in thanks.

    ¡°Ifran, as my one and only protege, I gift this glass core to you,¡± I croak out. The words come out in a rasp thanks to my parched throat. I lick my dry lips. ¡°Mikko, some water? That took a lot more out of me than I expected.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll help you out once, but you¡¯re getting your own water after this,¡± my brother teases. ¡°After all, you lost a hand, not your legs. You can walk over to the faucet yourself!¡±

    Soon he returns, carrying a fancy, crystalline pitcher that Ember probably had on display and did not intend for shop use. I drain half the pitcher. The cool, fresh water is restorative, and I drink it down in great, greedy gulps. ¡°My thanks, brother. I always knew you would make an excellent hired hand.¡±

    ¡°Nuri! You should be ashamed. That¡¯s a terrible pun,¡± Lio complains, groaning into his hands as he covers his face.

    Sensing that I¡¯m in danger of losing my audience to the two jokesters¡ªmy best friends, no less¡ªI take back control of the demonstration and ask Ifran to hold the small glass ball in his hands. He nods at the request, a bit too quickly, and swallows hard before he picks it up. The poor boy cradles it like he''s holding a baby chick, and he bites his lip as he studies it, as though waiting for some sort of esoteric reaction.

    ¡°Draw on it,¡± I suggest nonchalantly.

    Ifran shrugs and listens to me immediately, without complaint. That¡¯s why I picked him; someone older and wiser would say it doesn¡¯t make sense. My former assistant trusts me, even if he¡¯s picked up a bit of sass since I saw him last.

    He giggles nervously as the pseudo-core transfers energy to him. ¡°That tickles! Never thought I could fill my core so fast! Why don¡¯t we all draw in mana like this?¡±

    Furtive murmurs ripple through the crowd, accompanied by a gasp from Melina, whose eyes are glimmering with the faint but telltale sheen of mana. Looks like she unlocked [Manasight] while I was gone.

    She turns to me, her cheeks paler than ever, stuttering in her haste to ask the question burning on her mind. ¡°Nuri. Is this¡ªis it real? You can create synthetic mana crystals?¡±

    I yawn loudly and stretch in response. ¡°Hm? Oh, yeah, that¡¯s a fun party trick. Comes in handy for long crafting sessions, since I can refill them and they are way cheaper than real mana crystals. But I don¡¯t see what the fuss is all about. You should see what I can do when I have time to prepare properly.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Ember demands, frowning mightily. She stomps forward, squinting at the marble. Ifran startles at her sudden movement, but she pays him no mind. Her eyes are locked in a staring contest with an inanimate object, and knowing her, she will find a way to make the glass blink first.

    ¡°The inherent mana-retention property of imbued glass is extraordinarily high, which makes it well suited to creating pseudo-cores, as I call them,¡± I say, clasping my left wrist in my right hand, my arms behind my back in what I like to think of as a confident, scholarly pose. ¡°I will, of course, teach you all, but I must insist you all sign strict contracts of confidentiality, as well as non-compete statements.¡±

    Avelina scowls at me, her arms crossed. Flames flicker in her eyes. ¡°Forgot your friends while you were off traipsing across Densmore? What¡¯s with the secrecy?¡±

    ¡°I trust you, Ava,¡± I say, assuring her softy. ¡°I have met far too many people I can¡¯t trust, however. Silaraon¡ªand, by extension¡ªPeliharaon is poised to become a major hub for advanced glassworking if we approach this from the right angle. Prudence demands that we don¡¯t share the details unless we want others to copy us. Right now, I¡¯m the only one who can do what I just showed you, which means that once I teach you, we¡¯ll be sitting on a gold mine, metaphorically speaking. How long until others try to replicate our success? All it takes is one person to get greedy, or even a simple slip of the tongue, and we give away our competitive advantage.¡±

    ¡°You have a point,¡± Melina says, chiming in and placating her fiery twin. ¡°Harvesting naturally occurring mana crystals is delicate, expensive work, and you can only use them once, although there is some promising research about recharging them with the right setup. If you can reliably and cheaply produce an alternative, something thought to be impossible, I should point out, then you¡¯ll be richer than Lord Garman.¡±

    ¡°Or dead, if the [Miners] guild decides you¡¯re threatening their business,¡± Ember mutters darkly. ¡°I think you¡¯re right about secrecy, as much as I want to learn your technique.¡±

    I nod at my master gratefully. ¡°I promise to teach the rest of you how to imbue, but we have to be smart about it. Patience, friends. We¡¯re playing the long game, and I intend to win.¡±

 B4 C3: Reporting In

    My carefree existence lasts exactly one week.

    A [Runner] delivers a message to my parents before I even wake up the next morning; apparently, I¡¯m making a habit of sleeping in. I¡¯m staying with my adopted family since they missed me while I was gone¡ªand because I let my rent lapse on the little cabin I was living in previously. When I see the familiar [Inquisitor]¡¯s crest on the letter, I take an extra serving of the hot biscuits Kirsi made for breakfast. I¡¯ll need energy to face what comes next.

    ¡°Might not make it back for dinner,¡± I inform Kirsi gravely.

    She nods, glassy-eyed, and hands me a basket of food she has already prepared. She pointedly ignores the letter in my hand, and a twinge of regret makes me wince. Of course she saw the letter. Home for a handful of days, and already I¡¯m causing her grief.

    ¡°There¡¯s enough in there for lunch and dinner both, since I know it¡¯s going to be a long day for you. Send us word if you can¡¯t make it back tonight?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± I say, wiggling out of making a promise I might not be able to keep. I offer her a half smile to try to cheer her up, but my heart isn¡¯t in it. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be too bad. I¡¯m going to see Casella and Mbukhe. They¡¯ll treat me right.¡±

    Kirsi clicks her tongue at me. ¡°I''m not worried about how they treat you. I¡¯m worried about how long you¡¯ll be gone this time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving,¡± I say, but without much conviction. We both know I might have to leave again at any time. Accepting missions is the price of my relative freedom.

    My mother''s eyes grow soft and sad. ¡°Maybe not today. Maybe not this week. But I know you, Nuri. You''ve always burned with ambition. You can''t help it. Soon, you¡¯ll find that you have something important to do, and you won¡¯t be able to resist. Nor will I try to keep you, even if I¡¯m angry about not seeing you again for months. Now, give me a kiss and get going! You''ll be late if you keep dawdling and listening to an old woman complain.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ma,¡± I say, shifting the lunch basket to the side so I can lean forward and dutifully peck her cheek. ¡°Don''t worry so much. I¡¯ll bet I can bribe the [Inquisitors] with your good home cooking.¡±

    ¡°Peh! Off with you, ya little smooth-talker. You sound more like your silver-tongued troublemaker of a brother by the day.¡± She shakes her head slowly. ¡°What''s a mother to do? The two of you will drive me to an early grave!¡±

    Her rosy cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes take any potential bite out of her words, so I laugh and kiss her once more, and off I go. Yet my feet don''t carry me to the Royal army camp. Instead, I find myself wandering toward the glass works. I might not make it on time, but better late than showing up empty-handed.

    Lio teases me when I arrive that I ought to pay rent for his workbench if I¡¯m going to set my own hours and interrupt his commissions, but at a stern glance from Ember he quiets down. I offer to tutor him one-on-one later in the week to help him improve his fledgling mana imbuing in exchange for disrupting his flow, and he perks right up at his good fortune.

    I crack my neck side to side, flex my hand a few times as I stretch out my wrist, and get to work. I¡¯m not ready yet to give away the secret of my pseudo-cores¡ªalthough I suspect that Melidandri will have to report on them to the [Viceroy] eventually, like it or not¡ªbut I can still put effort into imbuing other concepts. Perhaps something soothing, for mental rejuvenation and clarity, given the difficult job Casella and Mbukhe have. They deserve a balm for their troubles.

    =+=

    The Royal army encampment is more entrenched than I recall, with spiked walls and gates creating a menacing approach. Patrols of [Soldiers] rove about with hard eyes and sharp steel. A pair of guards intercept me as I approach the gate. Their hands drift to their sword hilts and their ready stances bear the promise of violence.

    ¡°Halt! You¡¯re in the wrong place, cripple,¡± the [Soldier] growls. His sallow skin and sunken cheeks elicit more pity than fear; Silaraon seems to have had it rough lately.

    I¡¯ve dealt with dogs whose bark is far worse, I remind myself, but I keep my uncharitable thoughts silent for once. I present the letter I received from Casella, and after a brief examination to ensure the summon is authentic, they wave me through with disdainful glares. Their eagerness to put me in my place vanishes like the release of a sigh; no one in his right mind wants anything to do with the [Inquisitors].

    Skirting past the command center, I wend my way through the ramshackle rows of tents and utilitarian structures set up on a more permanent basis. The squat, dull gray, cinder-block outbuildings ring the center of the camp, like a stern column of guards standing at attention. A cynical part of me wonders if [General] Tychicus is offering up the soft belly of the rank and file as a distraction to buy him time to retaliate if another attack hits the camp.

    Thankfully, the insurgent group seems to have been stamped out entirely by Tychicus, so another attack seems unlikely. Say what you will about the man, but his ability to repay violence tenfold is an exceptional deterrent against terrorist activities. Despite the allegations leveled against me, I¡¯m no malcontent. In fact, I¡¯ve always thought of myself as a patriot, proud of the service that Ember and my father, and countless others, have rendered to my country.

    That still doesn''t mean I want to sit down for a drink with the [General] at the pub, but I no longer think of him as my enemy. He¡¯s doing his best to defend the realm, as he sees it. My feelings about the wraiths are disjointed and muddled at best, so I¡¯ve sworn off worrying about politics until I can get a better read on the situation.

    When I reach the [Inquisitors] outpost, I stand in front of the door without knocking for half a minute. I enjoyed my interactions with Casella and Mbukhe, and they¡¯re some of the few people I actually trust, surprisingly enough, but once I reconnect with the [Inquisitors] there¡¯s no going back. Maybe I should turn around, come back another time. Surely if anyone has earned a reprieve from duty, it¡¯s me.

    Knocking on that door feels like shattering the illusion I¡¯ve held onto so tightly for the last week¡ªthe soft, alluring voice that whispers I can go back to normal again. The worst part of it all is that I¡¯m not even sure I want things to remain as they are. The only thing keeping me from flinging myself back into the schemes and dangers of my life on the road is the knowledge of how much my absence will disappoint my friends and family. Less than two hours ago, I told Kirsi that I wasn''t leaving anytime soon. Now, I suddenly can''t wait for the next adventure, and the guilt is eating me alive.

    Right before I turn tail and flee back the way I came, the [Inquisitor] headquarter¡¯s heavy oak door swings open, revealing Casella¡¯s broad, friendly face. Vivid, pearly teeth flash against the dusky background of his dark skin and full beard.

    ¡°Nuri! Back where it all began,¡± Casella booms, clasping me by the shoulders with both of his big hands, his enthusiasm making me wince. ¡°You may be the worst fugitive I¡¯ve ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on, but I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve returned to us. You¡¯ve been making waves back at headquarters, so I¡¯m relieved I can keep track of you.¡±

    I chuckle weakly. ¡°Oh, you know me; always keeping things interesting.¡±

    ¡°What did you do to yourself?¡± Mbukhe¡¯s horrified voice cuts into our conversation as he seems to materialize from thin air right beside me.

    I manage not to flinch when he reveals that he''s been there all along. Bereft as I am of my beloved old friend, [Manasight], he¡¯s completely invisible now to my senses. For all I know, he may have been tailing me since I left my parent¡¯s home, waiting patiently for me to finish my glass projects, and standing quietly nearby for the last ten minutes. Or perhaps he just showed up a split second earlier. I never can tell with the elusive, secretive man.

    ¡°Thanks for the letter you gave me when I left town, Mbukhe,¡± I say, bowing instead of jumping in fright. When my heartbeat settles back down, I continue to thank him. ¡°I doubt that I¡¯d have escaped without your obfuscation artifact. As for my core space? Well. Don¡¯t you know it¡¯s impolite to snoop without permission?¡±

    ¡°A thousand pardons begged,¡± Mbukhe says gravely. ¡°But sometimes it''s worth speaking up even if my actions break convention. What has been done to you¡ªthis is an unspeakable crime.¡±

    ¡°Hardly the worst that''s happened to me since the [Adjutant] handed me off to Scalpel. She is far more hands-on; a little peeking is barely anything at all.¡±

    ¡°I always knew you were too interesting to waste on that miserable [Adjutant]. I''m glad to hear he didn''t succeed in sinking his claws into you. But enough of that. You must tell us what happened. If he''s responsible for the violence done against you, then I will avenge you. You have my word on that.¡±

    I meet his eyes and nod. ¡°I''m flattered, but as I told my mother, my stupidity is hardly grounds for a war. Didn''t Xharrote pass along details when he gave you this responsibility?¡±

    Casella and Mbukhe exchange glances. Casella doesn''t answer for so long that I don''t think he''s going to speak, but he finally breaks his silence. ¡°So it''s true. Even the Chief has a personal interest in you.¡±

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    I shrug. ¡°I think he was just annoyed that he couldn''t track me. He''ll never admit to it though. Only Tapirs intimated that he knew how I eluded your fine colleagues for so long.¡±

    Casella''s bushy eyebrows crawl up his forehead, looking like fat, furry white caterpillars on the move. ¡°Look at our little friend. He departs us as a wet behind the ears provincial nobody, and returns to us hobnobbing with the [Viceroy]!¡± He lets out a rich belly laugh.

    ¡°Sounds like you have a story and a half to tell us,¡± Mbukhe says, a ghost of a smile on his usually stoic face. ¡°Come. Sit!¡± He bustles about in the kitchenette off to the side of the Inquisitor office and soon returns with a pot of tea.

    We make our way through the entire teapot, sharing the fragrant tea in a comfortable stretch of silence, punctuated only by my long-winded retelling of the events since I last saw them. Unlike my brief summary for my friends and family, I don''t gloss over the worst of the suffering I endured. It''s not that I don''t trust my family, but rather that I don''t want them to feel sad on my account. I grieved and moved on; there''s no need to tear open old scars.

    By the time I finish, Casella and Mbukhe¡¯s faces are more troubled than I expected. They took the news in my escapades in the Rift and my abuse at the hands of Scalpel in stride, as though they''d seen worse in their days as hardened [Inquisitors] who toured the realm. Yet my words about the [Viceroy] and his perspective on wraiths, the Rift, and the state of the war has them looking like a [Seer] just pronounced their imminent deaths.

    Casella strokes his beard. His eyes shift side to side, as though considering if he should speak up. He lets out a deep, resonant hum. ¡°I take it from your silence on the matter that you didn''t get a chance to connect with Tem while you were in the capital. In fact, I suspect the [Viceroy] didn''t even tell you that he''s being held prisoner there.¡±

    ¡°By whom?¡± I blurt out. The answer dawns on me a moment later, and I clench my fist. ¡°Why is the [Viceroy] so opposed to Tem? Surely he doesn''t hold the mana plague against him. If anyone should be upset, then by all rights it should be me. But I can''t blame Tem for what sounds like an honest mistake. I don''t think he meant to unleash a plague, or knew that void powers would damage Densmore. Really, though, what''s the point of keeping Tem¡¯s captivity secret if they¡¯ve already condemned him as a traitor to the realm?¡±

    ¡°Ha. Politics are funny like that,¡± Mbukhe interjects. The taciturn infiltrator grimaces, his distaste for this particular subject clear. ¡°If I had to guess? My suspicion is that they¡¯re saving news of Tem¡¯s capture for when it will have the most impact on popular opinion. Densmore may be a monarchy on paper, but in practice it¡¯s a loose coalition of city-states and powerful nobles. Right now, [Viceroy] Tapirs enjoys a position of ascendancy, thanks to the power of [Mages] in the war, but his cabal could lose their support if they fail to close all the Rifts. Parading around a valuable prize like Tem Cytekin could buy them more time.¡±

    My mouth hangs open, slack-jawed, as Mbukhe says more in one go than I think I¡¯ve ever heard from him before. I only wish he weren¡¯t making so much sense.

    Brooding storm clouds settle over our group as we each sink into our own thoughts. I scratch my beard, feeling guilty that I brought down the mood, and decide it¡¯s high time to dole out gifts and take care of the problem I introduced. I pick up my battered old haversack, unfasten the worn leather¡ªwhich is softened over time by folding over and back again, hastened along by oil from my skin until it¡¯s supple and carries a subtle sheen¡ªand withdraw the glassware I wrapped in linen at the studio earlier that morning.

    ¡°For my only friends among the [Inquisitors],¡± I say, chuckling at the wry twist of their lips. It¡¯s uncanny, the unison they display sometimes. I give the men their gifts, one at a time, bowing formally. While I¡¯ve mostly gotten over my missing hand, right now I wish I could properly offer them their presents with both hands to show my deep respect.

    ¡°It¡¯s hardly as dire as all that. You have more friends than you know,¡± Casella rumbles, but he seems touched by my gesture all the same. He unwraps the light-blue linen cloth to peek at the glass brooch, and a genuine smile creases his face. He lifts up the golden-rayed sun with reverent care and pins it on his cloak.

    ¡°You remembered our words,¡± he says, beaming at me. Apparently, he¡¯s pleased at the shape of the jewelry more than its function, but I don¡¯t mention anything yet. ¡°The sun rises in darkness.¡±

    ¡°The sun rises in darkness,¡± Mbukhe murmurs in response. He¡¯s more traditional than his easy-going work partner, and he slips the gift into his pocket to save for later.

    ¡°I¡¯ve wondered what that meant,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Are you at liberty to share?¡±

    The two men exchange a quick look, but it¡¯s rife with meaning. Casella clears his throat. ¡°Only that truth will always triumph over ignorance. Our allegiance remains to Densmore, but we follow the truth, not directives from on high.¡±

    Casella¡¯s forehead creases in thought a moment later. He fingers the glass sun and sighs heavily. ¡°My friend, your largess is appreciated, but the soothing properties of this brooch won¡¯t do us much good while we¡¯re still on active duty. [Inquisitors] undergo rigorous training to earn Skills designed to protect our minds and souls from tampering. Theoretically, we are no longer susceptible to outside emotional manipulation, for good or ill.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps it will help you when you¡¯re on leave,¡± I reply, trying to sound hopeful. Casella¡¯s resigned weariness in response is disheartening. I wish I could do more for them.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Mbukhe says. He sits down, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on his belly. ¡°Let¡¯s hope we survive until then. The news you bring is dire; we¡¯ve known for some time that the [Viceroy] opposes us, but he¡¯s acting more brazenly now. We may need to consider advancing our plans to help Tem.¡±

    Casella lifts his head up sharply, narrowing his eyes at his companion. ¡°A discussion for later. Let us not trust overmuch in our warding here in the heart of the army.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love to show you the studio in Peliharaon sometime,¡± I say, breaking the tension. ¡°I should drop by soon to check on the progress of my student, Ifran. I would be honored if you two accompanied me; I¡¯m giving a lecture on mana-imbuing that you may find beneficial, even as non-crafters.¡±

    ¡°Ah! Yes. Excellent idea. Congratulations on your advancement. I suppose we ought to call you Master Nuri, now. Thank you for the offer. It¡¯s always good to learn something new,¡± Mbukhe says, his eyes glinting. Left unsaid is that we¡¯re likely to be left alone out in Peliharaon, away from prying eyes, where we can speak more freely at last.

    =+=

    Sunset is already painting the clouds pink and gold by the time I slip away from my meeting with the two [Inquisitors]. Thanks to Kirsi¡¯s food basket, I don¡¯t need to rush back for dinner, but all the same, my feet drag as I try to make up my mind. The relatively late hour doesn¡¯t lend itself well to social visits, but I¡¯ve yet to get a chance for a sit-down discussion with my friend and teacher, the [Scholar Nonpareil] Ezio.

    I debate inwardly about the visit all the way up until I reach the door to Ezio¡¯s office in the Silaraon City Academy, at which point I¡¯d be embarrassed to turn around. He probably sensed my strange, mangled mana signature as soon as I set foot on SCA grounds. Either that, or he has an automated ward array to do the job for him; it seems like the kind of thing that he would do in order to offload some of his attention and brain-power to other tasks. I can even think of three or four base rune combinations that might do the trick, which makes me realize how far I¡¯ve come since I was last here. Perhaps I¡¯ll ask him about the runes. He likes talking shop.

    Sure enough, the door swings open before I can knock, and Ezio sweeps me up into a big hug. His professional decorum returns a moment later, and he distances himself from the embrace. He coughs and straightens his robes, craning his neck to check the clock. ¡°Nuri! Words can''t express what a wonderful surprise this is, especially at this time of day. Come in, come in. Have you eaten yet?¡±

    ¡°I have, thank you.¡± I stride in and take a seat in his familiar office, beset by a wave of nostalgia at my return. I squint up at his pinched cheeks. ¡°I have extra, in case you got tied up with research and forgot to take a dinner break.¡±

    He ducks his head and glances away, like a kid caught sneaking out of his room at night to play with his toys. ¡°Guilty as charged. You know me too well, Nuri.¡± He shakes his head, flops down in his seat, and chuckles. ¡°When did you become the responsible one?¡±

    ¡°You can thank Kirsi for her foresight. All I did was carry the basket.¡±

    ¡°Good man,¡± Ezio says around a mouthful of dinner: savory flatbread stuffed full with a generous scoop of curried lamb and spiced yogurt. It¡¯s my favorite meal; Kirsi is spoiling me. He finishes the food in record time, sighs in contentment, and licks his fingers clean. ¡°I assume this is more than a social visit.¡±

    ¡°Astute as always!¡± I say with a laugh. ¡°That¡¯s why I know you¡¯re the right person for the job. I need help drafting a charter and coming up with creative contracts for my [Glassworkers], so we can monopolize the techniques I teach them. Most glass Masters hoard their knowledge, so it¡¯s rare to find an entire group who can mana-imbue. I¡¯m worried that we may destabilize the market prices, which means we¡¯ll probably make some enemies. Can you help us with that?¡±

    ¡°Is that all?¡± Ezio asks, drumming the tabletop with his fingertips. ¡°Likely my cousin is a more useful resource, since he¡¯s an actual [Merchant]. I will try to assist you with this, Nuri. I¡¯m far from an expert on trade dynamics, however. And, somehow, I doubt you would act quite so nervous about a simple trade agreement.¡±

    I scoot my chair closer to the desk and rub my nose with my hand, covering my mouth just in case anyone is trying to peer through the windows or scry on us. ¡°Could you please activate your silence array?¡± I whisper, relieved that Ezio is so perceptive. ¡°I¡¯d like to discuss a matter of some delicacy.¡±

    Alert in an instant, Ezio sits up tall. His fingers fly across his enchanted desk, and the mana-empowered privacy runes flare to life in response to dexterous inputs. He nods at me, now the picture of a consummate professional. ¡°Ready when you are. I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve heard an abbreviated version of my adventures in Modilaraon, but I left out a few key details about my time with Scalpel,¡± I begin. My jaw clenches, but I meet his eyes and keep going with my plan. ¡°I intend to tell you the rest of the story now¡ªincluding all the details I kept back from the [Viceroy] and [Chief Inquisitor].¡±

    At the mention of the macabre researcher, Ezio sucks in a sharp breath. ¡°I see why you requested the privacy runes. I must warn you, however, that if you tell me privileged information, and I suddenly become an expert on runic research after meeting with you, then it won¡¯t go well for you. The [Viceroy] isn¡¯t exactly going to scratch his head, shrug, and declare my newfound knowledge an impenetrable mystery of the ages.¡±

    ¡°Then don¡¯t publish any of the information,¡± I say, crossing my arms. ¡°I know it¡¯s hard for you to keep quiet on matters of scholarship, but I need your help. Telling you what I¡¯ve learned is the best way for me to advance, since you¡¯re the smartest person I know, and way better at drawing conclusions from datasets than I¡¯ll ever be.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh is excellent at that sort of work,¡± Ezio admits, rubbing his chin. ¡°He¡¯s working on a new thesis, since he had to pivot subjects after you left, but I can surely advocate to win an extension on his behalf.¡±

    ¡°Excellent! Now, you¡¯ll have to memorize what I tell you about complex runes, because I don¡¯t dare write this down anywhere. Better not to leave a paper trail. I destroyed the references in her notes to the secrets she unearthed before I gave the notes to [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote.¡±

    Mana glimmers across Ezio¡¯s eyes, and I know he¡¯s activated one of his academic Skills, probably [Eidetic Recall]. Warming to my tale, I lean forward and continue. ¡°Scalpel was brilliant. Deranged, but brilliant. You see, she discovered a method for controlling concepts directly, via complex runes. . . .¡±

    Night has long since fallen by the time I finish my report. I trudge home, wrung-out from my day and ready for a good night¡¯s rest, but with more hope for the future than I¡¯ve had for a long time. It¡¯s good to be back among allies and friends.

 B4 C4: Forging Dreams

    My muscles are surprisingly stiff and sore when I drag myself out of bed the next day, considering I hardly engaged in any physical activity in any of my meetings. Nonetheless, my knees creak on my way to the kitchen, and I stub my big toe on the left foot against the bottom edge of where the door jamb and the threshold meet. Breakfast lacks its usual savory goodness, although maybe that''s because I''m too caught up in sulking over my toe to notice. Colors appear muted¡ªeven the usually vibrant yellows and deep, full-bodied oranges of the fruits I''m eating are so desaturated that they¡¯ve shifted toward grayscale. The act of thinking itself is sluggish and ponderous; my mind is a river dammed up, no longer flowing properly.

    Mana-drain headache, I realize belatedly. It all makes sense now. I haven¡¯t suffered through this particular skull-splitting sensation since I fractured the core housing my mana pool. Truth be told, I am more or less in a perpetual state of mana deprivation these days. Over ninety-five percent of my mana use since closing the lesser Rift has relied on external sources. Energy in, energy out. Nothing is retained, not even residual mana, when I try to harvest it from the ambient magic around me. Until now.

    A shiver runs through me. I grip the edge of the kitchen table with my right hand to steady myself, squeeze my eyes shut, and turn inward as my heart thuds faster.

    Aside from the gleaming surface of my manually-crafted Skill, [Vitrification], the rest of my Skills are still in various states of disarray. Nothing new there. To my surprise¡ªand excitement¡ªthe second Skill I ever earned, [Manasight], is starting to repair itself thanks to my constant practice. It¡¯s still not perfect, but I¡¯ve noticed more activity over the last week than I have since the Rift, albeit in fits and starts. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn¡¯t be surprised. I started to sense the flows of mana by practicing it when I didn''t know what I was doing yet. That was prior to actually learning the Skill, which didn''t teach me something new; it just made tracking mana flows easier. The flickers of energy, present around us in wisps and dreams, unveiled themselves to me first, and then I earned the corresponding Skill, which certainly made the process more efficient.

    Reinvigorated by the leap forward in progress, but still harboring fears of what I¡¯ll find, I turn my attention to my core. As I expected, my channels are a mess. The mana pool itself, however, where latent power is stored within the body, ready and waiting to spring into action and shape the world around me, shows a polished sheen along the substructure of the basin. The unbroken area is small, barely enough to hold a thimbleful of drops, but the cracks are gone at the base. Now that the foundation is showing promise of recovery, all I have to do now is build back the walls.

    I drift among the tangled wreckage in my liminal soul space, committing the damage to memory. Scalpel claimed it would take me a decade to repair the devastation wrought by channeling the overwhelming force of the Rift¡¯s raw, unrestrained power. I aim to do it in half that time. Or less, if I can find a dedicated [Healer].

    ¡°Now, are my glass pseudo-cores a help, or a hindrance?¡± I mutter around a bite of sweet roll as I return to my body and leave behind my delve. The answer to that question will decide my course for the next several years. I hate the uncertainty of not knowing. Are my recent advances a mere coincidence since I''ve been soaking myself, body and soul, in mana? Or are they a byproduct of the workaround I created thanks to my improvements in mana-imbuing¡ªthat is, the glass pseudo-cores? I rest my chin in my hand, lost in thoughts. Without a baseline against which I can measure myself, I still feel like I¡¯m simply fumbling around in the dark, lost in indecision.

    ¡°Look at you living the dream! Rising in time for lunch,¡± Mikko shouts as he stomps into the house in his big boots, scattering my concentration and killing my self-reflection. He claps me on the back so hard that a bite of food flies out of my mouth, which sets him off laughing as he rounds the table to face me. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you get away with it, Nuri. Ma would have my hide if I¡¯d grown so lazy.¡±

    ¡°Envious? Wait until you see me nap the entire day away tomorrow,¡± I taunt him, tossing an apple at his head.

    He snatches the apple out of the air, makes a show of polishing it on his leather forge apron, and bites it in half, chomping as loudly as a horse. ¡°Not in the least bit envious. I¡¯m concerned for your wellbeing, my frail little brother,¡± Mikko corrects me.

    I wince at the obnoxious crunch as he gnashes and gnaws with abandon. ¡°Must you?¡±

    He tosses the last bite of fruit into his mouth, chews noisily, and swallows. ¡°What kind of hurtful question is that? Of course I ¡®must¡¯ look out for you. That¡¯s what brothers do.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what . . .¡± I trail off and make a rude noise with my lips. ¡°You¡¯re insufferable. But I suppose it¡¯s a good thing to have you on my side. After all, you¡¯re the most durable person I know, other than the Iron Lunk. Even so, it¡¯s a tossup at best given how hard your head is. If I run into any problems, then you can be a living shield to ward off trouble.¡±

    He chuckles, knocking his knuckles against his skull with one hand. With the other hand, he taps against a silver pot on the table, which rings like a struck bell. ¡°What do you know? Hollow, just like you¡¯ve always said!¡±

    I find myself joining Mikko¡¯s good-natured laughter. He¡¯s always been goofy and dramatic in equal parts. I¡¯ve missed my brother terribly during my time away.

    ¡°Besides, Ma thinks you need someone to keep you on track,¡± Mikko admits. ¡°You languish when you don¡¯t have an impossible task in front of you.¡±

    ¡°I do not! Take it back,¡± I say, sitting up in protest.

    ¡°Ha! You wallow, bro. Don''t even try to deny it. Anyway, I dropped by to see if I could issue a challenge compelling enough to pique your interest.¡±

    ¡°Tall order. Sure you¡¯re up to it?¡± I ask, raising my eyebrows.

    A mischievous glint sparks in his dark eyes. ¡°I know you¡¯re busy teaching advanced stuff at the shop and schmoozing with those scary [Inquisitors], but any chance you can take the day off tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°For you? Anything,¡± I say, my voice uncharacteristically solemn.

    ¡°Missed you, too,¡± Mikko says after a pause. He downs a glass of water, wipes his sleeve across his eyes even though he¡¯s too late to hide the glimmer of tears, and nods at me sharply. ¡°See that you wake up on time tomorrow, yeah?¡±

    I pour water into the other glass at the table, and raise it to him in a mock toast. ¡°No promises.¡±

    ¡°I mean it, Nuri! If you try to sleep in again tomorrow, I¡¯m flipping your mattress.¡±

    I groan as the memories of his favorite wake-up technique come flooding back. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare. I¡¯m too big for that now.¡±

    ¡°Seemed to work pretty well when you were twelve,¡± Mikko teases. ¡°And let¡¯s face it. Not much has changed in the last decade, except you¡¯re still scrawny, and I¡¯m way bigger and stronger than I used to be. ¡®Too big,¡¯ peh!¡±

    I sigh, resolved to rustle up my old alarm clock before Mikko can make good on his threat. He¡¯s a big softie at heart, but that doesn¡¯t mean he won¡¯t cheerfully dump me right out of bed if he thinks it¡¯s funny. I know that from experience. ¡°See you tomorrow, then. I best be off for now. Busy day and all.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, look at you! All important. Well, don¡¯t let me keep you from your grand designs. See ya around, bigshot,¡± Mikko says, waving as he leaves. He snickers the whole way out of the house.

    =+=

    As is his trademark, Lionel chooses the most inopportune time to interrupt my plans for the day. On my way to the neighboring town of Peliharaon to check on Ifran and visit the old [Gaffer], as well as continue my discussions with Casella, Mbukhe, and Ezio in a more secluded setting, I make the mistake of stopping by the Silaraon Glass Works to pick up supplies. My old buddy Lio accosts me as soon as I walk through the front door.

    ¡°Nuuri! Just the man I¡¯m looking for. Get over here and help me make this big ole vase more profitable with some of your secret sauce,¡± Lionel calls out without even turning my way, startling me.

    I saunter over. ¡°I would, but my cores aren¡¯t recharged, yet. Hey, how¡¯d you know I was here, anyway? Don¡¯t claim you¡¯re suddenly attuned to my mana signature after all these years of practically being blind, Lio.¡±

    Lionel scrunches up his nose while he puts the finishing touches on his vase. ¡°What, you don¡¯t think I¡¯m talented?¡±

    I give him a flat look.

    ¡°Ha. I saw you out the window, and I figured no one else was opening the door, so I called out as soon as the bell rang. Simple logic. Not everything about you is special, Nuri.¡±

    I clutch my hand to my heart and stagger back, feigning that I¡¯m deeply wounded. Before I can snap back some witticism, however, Ember shows up out of nowhere. She gestures at the vase. ¡°I¡¯ll put your piece in the kiln for you, Lionel. Give it here. Nuri, teach him something useful.¡±

    ¡°Yes, boss,¡± we chorus, which amuses me to no end. Old habits are too deeply ingrained to disappear, I guess, even if I don¡¯t technically work here anymore.

    ¡°I¡¯m heading to Peliharaon,¡± I announce. ¡°Lio good to come along for the day?¡±

    ¡°As long as you follow through on your promise to teach him mana imbuing, I don¡¯t care if you go all the way to Grand Ile and back. Another Master in the shop is more valuable than a dozen normal workers. Teaching us is still on the table, correct?¡±

    I nod. ¡°I¡¯ll walk them all through the steps together. Ifran doesn¡¯t have the mana Capacity or control for it, but he can at least learn some concepts that I hope will help him when he hits the First Threshold one day.¡± I stroke my beard, considering the other [Glassworkers]. ¡°Bijan might lack the imagination, and the old [Gaffer] probably doesn¡¯t have enough ambition these days, but Calix and Lionel might end up earning Skills for imbuing if they practice hard over the next year or two.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. Good luck out there, and watch out for cats.¡± Ember winks and walks off to the annealing kiln, leaving me blushing.

    ¡°It¡¯s been almost two years,¡± I mutter, crossing my arms.

    Lionel just laughs at me. ¡°What kind of friends would we be if we let you live it down?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s no laughing matter! I could have died,¡± I say, glaring at him.

    ¡°Yep. But you didn¡¯t. So. You know.¡±

    ¡°No, I don''t know.¡±

    ¡°Nuri. C''mon. It¡¯s funny that you got jumped by big ole cats. Hilarious, even.¡± Lionel gathers up his personal effects while I pretend to fume at his ill treatment. He whistles a jaunty tune, slings his knapsack over his shoulders, and gestures toward the door. ¡°Let¡¯s go, yeah? Daylight¡¯s burning.¡±

    We make good time on the pathway to Peliharaon. It¡¯s more built up than the simple dirt trail that I remember, which speaks to the increased trade between the two towns. As payback for Lionel¡¯s teasing, I stop abruptly and yell ¡°Monsters!¡± right in his ear when we reach the place the Shadow Jaguars attacked. Watching him jump in fright is well worth all the embarrassment I¡¯ve endured over the unfortunate encounter, and I laugh all the way to the town gates.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Lunch break is already winding down when we show up at the studio, but I insist on taking a few extra minutes to eat before we begin my lessons. ¡°You won¡¯t want to grapple with the extreme demands on your systems on an empty stomach, Lio. Mana control alone is complicated enough to make us sweat for months, but marrying control with all the conceptual falderal is a good way to pass out from overload.¡±

    Something about my serious tone catches Lionel¡¯s attention. He scarfs down more than his usual share of food, going so far as to borrow some leftovers from the studio stash to fill in the cracks. I follow his lead at a more sedate pace, since I don¡¯t want to get sick to my stomach. Besides, he needs the energy more than I do. All I can manage right now is guiding the workers through the motions, since my mana-deprivation headache is too severe for me to harvest much more mana. Until my glass cores recharge, I¡¯m out of commission.

    Lionel belches in satisfaction as he finishes his food. ¡°I¡¯m gonna limber up in the yard. Call me when you decide to get down to business.¡±

    ¡°Five minutes!¡± I announce to the assembled crowd, waiting for acknowledgement from each of the crafters in turn. Once I¡¯m satisfied everyone will be ready to go shortly, I slip inside the studio on my own, grateful for a quiet moment.

    I seek out the poster of my father I hung in the studio as a parting gift for the old [Gaffer]. A strange lump is building up in my throat. Standing at attention in front of the only extant picture of my father, I can¡¯t help but compare my progress to the golden standard of a talented [Glassworker] I bear in my mind. There he looms on the poster, bearded and glorious, standing a head taller than the other workers in the shop, yet somehow commanding an even more disproportionate presence and respect.

    Glory. That¡¯s the only word that makes sense to me when I try to capture the essence of what set my father apart. He burned bright and furious, like a bonfire drenched in lantern oil, but his brilliance was all too short. I hope I¡¯ve done you proud. I lean forward, resting my forehead against the celebratory image of the graduation party, and choke back a sob. I don¡¯t dare speak the words aloud, unable to bear the weight of expectations. What if I don¡¯t measure up?

    I don¡¯t know quite how long I stay there, wrapped in shadows and memories of the past. The shop bell above the front door rings, announcing that I have company, and I wipe the vestiges of tears from my eyes, turning to face my friends and former coworkers.

    The old [Gaffer] catches my gaze and gives me a kindly smile and nod. I nod back at him gratefully, and the knot of emotions and expectations within me seems to loosen at last. I have nothing to fear here. I¡¯m among family. I¡¯ve already become a Master. The rest of my story isn¡¯t written yet, but I''ve already achieved more than I dared dream of only a few years ago. I don¡¯t have to keep worrying about measuring up, because my father wouldn¡¯t have compared the two of us that way. Present or absent, he would have cheered me on, spurring me toward the heights not out of compulsion, but for the sheer joy of discovery and creativity.

    I take up my old, familiar place by the first workbench, square my shoulders, and project my voice to fill the entire shop. ¡°Who¡¯s ready to begin the journey to mastery?¡±

    Ifran cheers, but he stops uncertainly when the others just nod in response. Bijan rolls his wrist, a sour expression on his face, as if to indicate that I should get on with it, and I find myself grinning. I always do best when people doubt me, after all. A little antagonism only serves to fuel the fires of ambition, stoking them to burn all the brighter.

    ¡°Please line up in a single file,¡± I say, withdrawing a pair of large glass globes from my travel sack and setting them on the workbench. I smile to myself in satisfaction when I see the raised eyebrows and hear the curious murmurs. ¡°One at a time, you¡¯ll feed your mana into the first orb, interact with the puzzles within to imprint the pattern, and draw a replica of the pattern on the surface of the second orb in real time. Don¡¯t worry, the mana is unaspected and unattuned, so you don¡¯t need any specific Skill or affinity to use these training devices. You won¡¯t take in the mana, either, so it shouldn¡¯t hurt like a true mana control test.¡±

    Blank stares meet my pronouncement. I shudder at the memory, then shake my head slowly. They have no idea how easy they are getting off compared with my first introduction to codified mana control. ¡°Bijan, this is your studio. Would you do us the honor of going first?¡±

    Belligerent arrogance shines forth from his eyes. He straightens his plain blue frock, gestures for the other workers to watch, and stalks up to the workbench and puts a hand on the glass sphere closest to him. Wariness is hiding behind Bijan¡¯s customary bluster, however, unless I miss my mark. I¡¯ve gotten better at reading people over the last years, thanks to my time among the [Inquisitors]. No wonder they¡¯re recruiting me to carry out their dirty work; I think far too much like them for my comfort.

    Similar in shape only to the crude heat-transfer glass spheres I created back when I first began to take my mana training seriously, these balls are a far more complicated and refined mana training tool, requiring both sensitivity and coordination to complete the increasingly-difficult puzzles. I commissioned them from Melidandri before I left the capital, and I¡¯m excited to see someone else give them a try after the weeks of frustrations I''ve had training with them on my return journey.

    An uncharitable part of me can¡¯t wait to demonstrate my superiority. Then I remember I am too drained right now to complete even the first level, and I grimace wryly. My recovery is going well, but there¡¯s no way that I¡¯ve harvested enough energy since this morning to power through this test, not with my meager mana regeneration. The puzzles are too demanding, requiring rapid dexterity, complete dedication to the task, and a deeper pool than I have available to me without the assistance of the glass pseudo-cores.

    Bijan grunts as he begins, and I instinctively draw on my ruined [Manasight] to track his progress. A flicker of color and energy flits across my vision, tracing the flow of mana before the recuperating Skill gutters out, and I resist the urge to dance in excitement right in front of them. It¡¯s not a total victory, but the wave of dizziness that accompanies the mana use is absolutely worth it to see my Skill work again, even if just for a few heartbeats.

    After a moment of concentration, the pattern from the first orb swirls across the surface of the second orb, skittering about like little fireflies at night, transferred by the manifest will of Bijan. When the labyrinthine puzzle is complete, a light on the top of the glass orb winks on.

    I clap my one hand softly against the workbench to celebrate, although I¡¯m trying not to throw Bijan off his game. ¡°Level one is already complete? That¡¯s incredible for your first try. Way to set the bar high! I¡¯m not sure if the rest of us will meet the same success today. Roll up your sleeves, Master Bijan, and get to work. Let¡¯s see how far you can go.¡±

    Beads of sweat stand out on Bijan¡¯s forehead as he moves on to the second level of the orb puzzles. Immediately, the difference in difficulty stands out: this pattern is multilayered. He sucks in a sharp breath, focusing harder to keep up with the branching pathways and endless potential pitfalls and dead ends. All of the other [Glassworkers] have abandoned my request for queuing up in a single file. They cluster around the bench to watch and cheer as the Peliharaon Glass Works boss powers through another of the mana-transfer puzzles, marking the glass orb with the double pattern he sees. After a frantic few minutes of perceiving and painting with mana, the second pip on top of the sphere illuminates, signaling his success.

    ¡°Blasted puzzles,¡± he growls, starting to shake as the mana costs spike precipitously. ¡°Whichever demented mind came up with this shattering game¡ªand I know it¡¯s not you, Nuri, since it¡¯s far too complex¡ªought to be flayed alive. In public. While the rest of us jeer and throw angry fire ants.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I commissioned all these puzzles myself,¡± I protest. ¡°Who says I¡¯m not brilliant?¡± I can¡¯t keep up the haughty veneer of affronted dignity for long with Lionel laughing at me, however, so I shut up and let Bijan keep working. It¡¯s rude to break his concentration, anyway.

    He glares at me, his eyes narrowing until they almost disappear into his fleshy cheeks. He pushes onward to the third puzzle, which moves faster and takes up four layers, doubling the difficulty once more. For a tense few moments, the wisps of energy scrawl across the recipient orb as Bijan pours everything he has into the test, and I find myself leaning closer, caught up in the drama of his unexpectedly excellent progress. The lines of light sketch themselves across the surface of the glass spheres, moving as fast as the eye can follow, building up in layers and looping in gorgeous, disorienting motifs.

    With a cry of disappointment, Bijan loses control of the third layer among the four weaves, and his mana vents out into the air in a thick, visible cloud. His thick shoulders slump. He cocks his head to the side, staring at me coldly, as though he thinks I set him up to fail.

    ¡°Three cheers for Master Bijan!¡± I roar, and the crowd erupts in excitement. I squeeze his shoulder with my right hand, smiling as genuinely as I can. ¡°Impressive showing, Master Bijan! The exponential difficulty curve is intense. Level three is too much for most people to handle without significant practice. It took me half a week before I beat that level, and I drilled it daily. Your skill is undeniable!¡±

    Somewhat mollified, Bijan leans heavily on the workbench and puffs hard, trying to catch his breath. He nods at the glass spheres after he¡¯s stabilized a bit. ¡°Challenging little blighters. I¡¯ll give you that. But you¡¯re sure this is practical? I agreed to let you teach us what you learned abroad. Playing games isn¡¯t exactly gonna pay the bills.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely practical,¡± I reply without hesitation. I shift my posture, angling my body so that I¡¯m facing all of the workers. I want them to see and hear me, since I¡¯m addressing them even while I answer Bijan. ¡°Imbuing requires exquisite mana control to create a retention system to hold the mana in place. As you just saw, mana control becomes more and more difficult when you have to split your mind and focus on different tasks simultaneously. Imbuing might require you to concentrate on a dozen different details all at once¡ªwhile also making glass and holding the proper concept in mind. Believe it or not, that¡¯s the difficult part. But we¡¯ll get to that later.¡±

    Susurrus surrounds us. Already I can tell I¡¯m in danger of losing my audience. My goal is to inspire them, not to crush their spirits. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the spheres aren¡¯t a requirement for mana imbuing, my friends. They¡¯re good practice, but ultimately they¡¯re just a challenge. A true master makes more out of less.¡±

    Ifran sniffs, sizing up the glass globes. ¡°How far can you go, Nuri? Betcha I¡¯ll beat your record before long.¡±

    I smile slyly. ¡°I practiced most of the way home from the capital. I still haven¡¯t mastered the sixth puzzle.¡±

    Whoops and hollers break out. Lionel pounds me on the back. ¡°That¡¯s my boy, Nuri!¡± he shouts in my ear, carried away in his exuberance.

    I blush and admit the full truth: ¡°Master Melidandri, who made the puzzles, can best level eight. No one can do nine, as far as I''m concerned.¡±

    ¡°Me next, me next!¡± Ifran cries out, his face flushed and his eyes wide.

    ¡°Wait until they reset,¡± I tell him, waving my hand to signal for silence. The workers calm down by degrees, shuffling back a half-step at my urging to give him space to think.

    He snatches up the glass orbs as soon as the previous patterns fade and the lights on top go inert, showing that it¡¯s ready to go. His mana threads into the first orb, and he jolts at the sudden, electric connection. He grits his teeth, grinding them together in a way that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and tries to keep up with the dancing lights on the glass.

    Halfway through the puzzle he runs dry, completely out of mana. He grunts in effort, trying to force himself onward, but his eyes roll back, and he loses control as he goes limp. He staggers. Falls. The glass globes slip out of his hands, and half a dozen pairs of hands reach out to catch him before he hits the ground, buoying up the precocious boy amidst a round of ragged cheers.

    They''re too slow.

    Ifran¡¯s head hits the edge of the bench as he collapses. The sharp, polished stone gashes deep, tearing open skin and flesh. Blood paints the side of the workbench, impossibly bright as it sprays out under the mage lights, and then darkening with awful finality as it pools, rust-red, on the concrete floor.

    ¡°Send for a [Healer]!¡± I bellow out in a panic, rushing around to the other side of the bench and crouching down next to Ifran. I clutch his hand, as if there''s anything I can do to help, and glance around wildly to see who''s running to fetch a miracle worker. Terror burbles up in my chest, burning like acid. I let out a soft whine¡ªlow and tremulous, the piteous whimper of a trapped, desperate animal.

    Lionel darts over and shoves me aside. He kneels down next to Ifran, holding out his hands over the young [Apprentice], palms down. He hums quietly to himself, and threads of mana follow his bidding as they scout down into his patient and report back. The healing power dances between the two of them, gathering and intensifying with every return trip as their energies merge momentarily, and an exchange of vitality begins.

    A potent working of mana builds up in Lionel, and he frowns in concentration. His Skill ignites the gathered power, and mana surges into Ifran, knitting muscle back together and remaking skin, stitching it like a magical tailor at work until not even a seam remains.

    Ifran gasps and sits up. He coughs once, puts a hand to his head for a long, agonized groan, and looks around with confusion.

    At the same time, my old friend Lio, the goofy prankster turned saintly [Healer], sags against me in exhaustion and relief. ¡°About time that Skill finally showed up. Auntie was about ready to kick me out if I didn''t learn to dress wounds and heal sudden trauma to a satisfactory level.¡±

    I throw an arm around Lionel¡¯s shoulder and squeeze gratefully in thanks for his sacrifice. Sharing his health pool with Ifran could be risky, particularly for a novice like him, but he showed no fear at all. There wasn¡¯t even a hint of hesitation. I swallow my own worry. ¡°Maybe imbuing is a waste of your talents, Lio.¡±

    He gives me a curt nod, then yawns so wide and with such single-minded commitment that I fear his jaw might pop off. ¡°Well, duh, Nuri. Healing is more impressive than glass, my friend. Admit it.¡±

    I laugh, shaking my head ¡°After that display, I''m not sure I can disagree. I¡¯ve been so caught up in dreaming about shaping your future in glass that I haven¡¯t seen the incredible potential right here in front of me. You¡¯re talented, Lio.¡±

    ¡°Sorry about the puzzles,¡± Ifran groans, interrupting the moment. He¡¯s still touching his head, feeling at the slight bump where he had a cut.

    I pat his arm gently. ¡°No worries at all, my young friend. Thankfully, Melidandri enchanted the glass for durability. The glass spheres probably bounced off the concrete floor without incident. We¡¯ll collect them as soon as we make sure you¡¯re safe. Anyone see where they went?¡±

    ¡°I think they rolled under workbench number two, if I¡¯m reading the label right. Mind if I try them next?¡± a new voice asks.

    I leap up to my feet. ¡°Ezio! Welcome to the Peliharaon Glass Works. You''re going to put us all to shame with your monstrous control. I can''t wait!¡±

 B4 C5: An Awkward Alliance

    Rakesh puts up a good showing with the mana puzzle, but as expected, it¡¯s his mentor Ezio who truly shines. He bests the fifth level of the complex mana puzzle after three attempts, the last of which leaves him drained and dizzy. He vows to match my record within the season, which in turn spurs me to declare that I¡¯ll be an entire level ahead of him by the time he catches up with my current progress. I¡¯m not sure who¡¯s in for the ruder awakening, but chances are good that neither of us will be able to achieve our goals. This test is devilishly hard.

    Lost amidst the back and forth of banter and bravado after everyone has a go at the two glass orbs is the arrival of my [Inquisitor] friends. They fade into the background and stick to the shadows¡ªliterally, in Mbukhe''s case, although he nods to me before turning my focus away, so I know he¡¯s there. When there''s a lull in the discussions, Casella steps up and clears his throat, catching everyone¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Games are well and good, but some of us have work to do. Ready for our meeting now, Nuri?¡± He nods toward the glass puzzle orbs and grins. ¡°Or do you have more dominance to establish?¡±

    ¡°Ha. I¡¯m sure you could beat me if you put your mind to it,¡± I say. ¡°If there¡¯s one thing I learned from Xharrote, it¡¯s that you [Inquisitors] train all sorts of exotic mana tricks.¡±

    He shoots me a warning glance, and I get the hint and decide to play nice for once and not continue that line of conversation. Fine. Let him keep his secrets. I¡¯ll see what I can uncover once we¡¯re speaking in a more secure location where we don¡¯t have eyes on us.

    ¡°Ah, perhaps our timing is less than fortuitous,¡± Ezio says, sidling up to the [Inquisitors] and addressing me. ¡°Rakesh and I were hoping to discuss our plans with you in greater detail, Nuri. I hope that Casella will be so kind as to not fully monopolize your time.¡±

    Mbukhe materializes out of the shadows, making Ifran yelp and jump back, and the quiet man gives Ezio a slight bow. ¡°We are amenable to company.¡±

    I meet Rakesh¡¯s eyes, and realize our faces mirror each other: incredulous, bug-eyed looks with a spark of anticipation. He¡¯s grinning in excitement. It¡¯s not often that the aloof [Inquisitors] are willing to include others in discussions. The honor that Mbukhe offers Ezio is a sign of their deep respect for my one-time teacher.

    Or perhaps they want to be privy to our plans.

    ¡°Good first class, everyone!¡± I call out to the shop workers. ¡°We¡¯ll pick back up next week and talk about proper mana retention structures and practical applications of mana control. In the meantime, I''ll leave these glass puzzle orbs here so you can all practice. It takes months of hard, thankless work to build up the requisite control for imbuing; don''t feel bad if it''s slow going.¡±

    Leaving the workers to grapple with the difficult test, I gesture for the inquisitors and researchers to follow me into the back store room. I don''t have an office space or a comfortable meeting room, so this will have to do. The four of them pick out seats on top of the shipping crates and storage units, facing me in a loose semicircle.

    Ezio sizes up the people in the room. The muscles around his eyes tighten. After a long moment, he sighs and shakes his head. ¡°All cards on the table?¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Casella rumbles. ¡°We¡¯re all on the same side here. Nuri trusts you, and so do we. No sense obfuscating.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what? Nuri trusts me? But of course! I¡¯m an independent [Scholar] and his teacher. You lot are Royal [Inquisitors]!¡± Ezio says with a burst of laughter. ¡°I would think that the burden of skepticism lies with you, not me.¡±

    I massage my forehead with my knuckles, staring out of the corner of my eye with sudden interest at the most insane things: a whorled knot in the shop floorboards, a spattering of old yellow spots in the wallpaper, the little carved bone buttons on Rakesh¡¯s vest. Anything to avoid making eye contact with the rest of the room.

    As the tension rises, I realize I have to take charge. It¡¯s up to me to fix this problem. ¡°Listen. I am the one who pulled you all into this web of secrets: the existence of the astral navigator, the true nature of the wraiths, the withheld details of runic research, advanced mana-imbuing, and so on. I trust each of you; I need you to trust each other, too.¡±

    ¡°Care, Nuri,¡± Ezio warns me. His hands grip the edge of the wooden crate upon which he¡¯s perching, and his alarm seems to grow as I recite my list. ¡°A secret is only a secret when it¡¯s known by one person. If two people know, then it''s only a question of time until the details leak. Three or more people aren''t secret-bearers anymore; in fact, that many people practically opens up the matter for public debate! Some things are better left unsaid.¡±

    ¡°Agreed. Yet knowledge grows when we share what we know. Hoarding information only makes us less informed¡ªweaker and less well equipped. We need to work together.¡±

    Rakesh purses his lips, and raises his hand, as though he¡¯s in class instead of attending a meeting of the minds. When I nod at him, he smiles tentatively. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we meet back in the Silaraon City Academy, where we can erect a privacy ward?¡±

    ¡°We can take care of that,¡± Mbukhe offers, withdrawing a spindly set of wires. He tosses it up into the air, and the hair-thin filaments expand like a ghostly spider web catching a summer breeze, billowing out slowly to fill the space and create a translucent dome over our heads.

    ¡°Impressive,¡± Ezio murmurs. He turns to me with a single arched eyebrow, as if to ask me if I am satisfied with the one-sided warding.

    Assuming I¡¯m reading his unspoken request properly, I oblige by taking out my notepad from the travel pack by my right hip. The pack is hanging by a leather strap, slung over my left shoulder and angled across my chest, so that I have easy access with my remaining hand. I place the black-leather-bound notebook on a nearby packing crate, spin it around so that they can all see, and painstakingly draw two complex runes¡ªone on each open page.

    ¡°If you can parse these, Ezio, then you can increase our security.¡±

    He coughs into the crook of his arm. ¡°After my rather, ah, aggressive attempt at your mana puzzles, I¡¯m a bit drained at the moment. Rakesh? Would you be so kind as to implement and power these runes?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand them,¡± Rakesh admits with halting speech as he studies the complex runes I sketched. His forehead wrinkles in concentration. ¡°Should I try anyway?¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Can¡¯t hurt. As far as I can tell, if you don¡¯t have the entire rune suffused with mana, then it simply won¡¯t activate. These aren¡¯t simple runes. Failure doesn¡¯t usually mean a catastrophic blowback. They¡¯re just harder to wrap your mind around.¡±

    Rakesh places his hands on the pages. His eyes flicker briefly with a burst of mana, and then a ghostly spell matrix appears in front of us, hovering in the air. Each rune is represented in exact detail. They appear to be a perfect copy of my drawing, which leads me to realize that it¡¯s one of his Skills on display.

    Must be nice. Maybe I should double-class into [Scholar], and try to upgrade it to [Runic Researcher] someday. Maybe far in the future, I could consolidate into [Runic Glass Smith]. The thought brings a smile to my face. That title has a nice ring to it.

    Energy flows out from Rakesh, bringing me back to the present. I squint, trying hard to cycle the dregs of mana I still possess, hoping I can overlay the mana across my eyes. Perhaps my [Manasight] Skill is broken, but with effort, I might be able to copy the working vestiges of my Skill and get a sense for what¡¯s happening.

    The runes hum with power. Like a second skin, a soft, minute pattern of mana settles over the security ward placed by Mbukhe, tightening into place and dampening any sight or sound that tries to escape our little bubble.

    ¡°Well done,¡± Ezio murmurs, patting Rakesh on the shoulder. He beams with pride.

    ¡°I¡¯m amazed that the Chief let you leave after learning such things, Nuri,¡± Casella says. He crosses his arms across his muscular chest, frowning in a fierce way that I¡¯m suddenly glad isn¡¯t directed at me. ¡°You¡¯re touching on secrets we¡¯ve worked hard to uncover. Be careful, my young friend.¡±

    I smile in what I think is a reassuring manner. ¡°Xharrote knows that I won¡¯t react well to further imprisonment or coercion. We¡¯ve come to an understanding. I will work with you, rather than for you, and we¡¯ll both get what we want that way.¡±

    ¡°I sincerely hope that¡¯s how it works out,¡± Casella replies, but he still seems troubled. ¡°If he¡¯s really fine with you learning this kind of information, however, then perhaps we should be more forthcoming with our own secrets. You¡¯re not far off from learning how to peer into a core, or to gauge power levels, assuming you can find a [Healer].¡±

    ¡°Will a normal [Healer] even be able to help me?¡± I ask, intrigued that Casella thinks it¡¯s possible. The ones I¡¯ve met so far aren¡¯t powerful enough to work on internal energy systems, and Lady Evershed seemed to indicate that the level of healing required is too exorbitant even for her formidable coffers.

    ¡°If I may offer a suggestion?¡± Rakesh says, still hesitant to speak without permission. He hasn¡¯t stopped watching the [Iniquistors] from the corner of his eyes¡ªwith about as much trust as a [Shepherd] watching a mangy wolf pack circling his flock.

    ¡°Please do,¡± I say as warmly as I can, inviting him to contribute.

    ¡°Well, if I were you, I¡¯d insist on traveling to the [Menders] headquarters. Perhaps their [Headmistress] can use the Singing Azure Rod to amplify her healing Skills and restore your internal connections and reservoir. Call it a glass-making research trip, since it¡¯s related to the same Master we discovered previously.¡±

    Mbukhe nudges Casella. They lean closer together, whisper intently. The two shoot a few odd looks toward Rakesh, but finally separate, seemingly at an accord.

    ¡°What happened to sharing information?¡± Ezio snaps, his voice sharper than I''ve heard in quite some time. His face appears relaxed, but his hands are hidden in his robes. Perhaps he has some sort of escape artifact on him. Only now do I realize the full extent of how strange and perilous our connections are; we''re each taking significant risk to reveal what we know.

    Casella clears his throat. ¡°We¡¯re getting there. I can¡¯t tell you everything, you realize. No matter how much I prize transparency and teamwork, there are some things¡ªno, hear me out,¡± Casella all but growls, lifting a strong hand to forestall any response from Ezio. ¡°I¡¯m sworn to silence regarding certain topics. There¡¯s nothing you or I can do about it.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Ezio considers for a moment. He sighs and seems to swallow his anger.

    ¡°As I understand it,¡± Casella says, more sedately this time, ¡°the [Inquisitors] would be pleased to have a presence among the [Menders]. Their healing order is infamously insular, but both Nuri and the young [Healer] in the workshop would benefit from the visit. In time. We have much to teach Nuri before sending him halfway across the country.¡±

    ¡°Such as how to insinuate himself into other people¡¯s business?¡± Ezio says. He leans to the side, his lips pursed, and peers at Casella intently. ¡°I won¡¯t deny there are many things he can learn from you, but the [Menders] do good work. Please don¡¯t endanger the very lives they are sworn to save for the sake of political expediency.¡±

    ¡°Peace, [Scholar],¡± Mbukhe says. ¡°We are not at cross-purposes. I would see Nuri learn more about the inner workings of the soul. He needs to learn the theories underpinning magical realities if he wishes to take full advantage of any healing they may provide him. If he can pacify headquarters by presenting his trip as a sanctioned mission, then they won¡¯t pull him into other, less beneficial projects.¡±

    ¡°That makes sense,¡± Rakesh says, standing up and pacing in the narrow confines of the storage room. He sheds his former hesitancy, and I recognize the spark of excitement glowing in his eyes. He thinks he¡¯s on to something. ¡°Let me go with you, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere quite yet,¡± I say, although no one seems to listen. ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome to join me if I ever leave in the future.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll pack my bags tonight,¡± Rakesh teases me. ¡°Combined with the runes you¡¯ve learned, this could be my big break!¡±

    ¡°Take care how you frame your thesis,¡± Casella cautions Rakesh, stirring in his seat to face the enthusiastic young [Researcher]. ¡°Nuri¡¯s a good man, but he has yet to learn discretion. Runic research of the nature he was exposed to will certainly put the Capital on high alert if the details begin to crop up elsewhere. He¡¯s prone to sharing information he probably should keep quiet. If you learn something extraordinary, try to tone it down prior to publication.¡±

    ¡°Censorship?¡± Ezio mutters. He huffs. ¡°Typical. But not on my watch.¡±

    ¡°Self-preservation,¡± Casella says by way of correction. ¡°Or would you want both of your students to undergo imprisonment and experimentation? It¡¯s imperative that the [Viceroy] does not continue to grow stronger. He is ambitious beyond belief.¡±

    My eyebrows quirk in surprise. Real anger lurks beneath the genteel timbre of Casella¡¯s voice. I¡¯ve always known that he¡¯s a bit of a non-conformist, and he''s willing to sidestep orders, but the emotion in his declaration is personal. There¡¯s a story there, unless I miss my mark.

    ¡°We will not shy away from a discussion of the nature of magic, mana, and the observed ¡®system¡¯ of Classes and Skills,¡± Rakesh says defiantly, mostly managing to keep his words from wavering. ¡°I will publish my findings with all the integrity expected of a graduate of the SCA.¡±

    Casella lifts his eyes to the ceiling, letting out a long-suffering sigh. ¡°You are a known associate of Nuri''s. What do you think the [Viceroy]¡¯s response will be when you suddenly start using language that could only possibly be sourced from your friend? He will not let Nuri continue to enjoy his freedom. Nor will Mbukhe and I remain unentangled; he casts a wide net, and he will not hesitate for a single second to draw in the two of us as well if our order¡¯s deepest secrets show up in the hands of outsiders.¡±

    Rakesh glowers. Now that he''s discovered his backbone, he''s not keeping quiet. He steps up to the bigger man, righteous indignation blazing on his visage. ¡°And I had begun to respect you for the sake of Nuri! Bah. So that is what you meant by ¡®self-preservation¡¯ and all this talk of caution. It''s fine if Nuri risks life and limb for the sake of the realm, but as soon as your hide is threatened, you want to stop the rest of us from advancing!¡±

    ¡°Perhaps trusting each other was premature, if you insist on a suicidal course of action,¡± Mbukhe says mildly. He tilts his head toward the exit, rising to his feet and unfolding his shadow-wreathed cloak from where he''d draped it over his arm. ¡°We will take our leave.¡±

    ¡°Wait! We still need to discuss Tem,¡± I call out as the pair of [Inquisitors] make to depart. They turn back to me, their faces still as stone, and I wonder if I¡¯ve overstepped by bringing up more secrets.

    ¡°Tem¡¯s long-standing friendship with the good [Scholar] Ezio is the sole reason we¡¯re here at all, not to mention entertaining a risky partnership with civilians,¡± Casella says slowly, choosing his words with deliberation. ¡°But to speak of rescue is to open the door to treason¡ªa charge you''ve only just shaken off. Are you sure this is wise?¡±

    ¡°Tem is alive?¡± Ezio says. His shoulders sag, and he leans weakly against the nearest wall. ¡°From your grim expressions, I can only surmise that he is in some sort of serious trouble. I don''t need to know any of the details, but I want to help. I owe him a great deal, both personally and professionally.¡±

    The [Inquisitors]¡¯ combative stances fade at Ezio¡¯s impassioned declaration. Mbukhe smiles thinly. ¡°Alive, yes. Given the charges leveled against him, I¡¯m sure a smart man like you can figure out the score.¡±

    Ezio frowns. ¡°I see. He¡¯s always been a danger to [Mages] since he can bypass their senses and mana shields with his void aspect. Now they¡¯re returning the favor.¡±

    With Ezio¡¯s conclusion, the pieces fall into place. A chilling thought grips me. ¡°Does this mean that the [Viceroy] is responsible? He leads the cabal of mages in Densmore, and I know he doesn¡¯t care for Tem¡¯s viewpoints, but I never suspected that he¡¯d take such direct action against a national hero.¡±

    ¡°Tapirs has wormed his way up. He counsels the [King],¡± Casella confirms. ¡°Official sanctions from the crown have the [Viceroy]¡¯s fingerprints all over them.¡±

    ¡°He did seem personally invested in the war efforts, based on what he showed me in his magical map room. Have you seen it? I¡¯d love to introduce Ezio to Coco. His eyes would pop out of his head if he saw what that construct is capable of,¡± I say.

    Mbukhe chuckles in his subdued, private way, his shoulders shaking in silent mirth. ¡°Coco is quite the experience. Funny girl.¡± Then his eyes narrow, and his gaze turns cold. ¡°Dangerous. Easy to forget that. More than ever, we must be on guard now that they have access to the navigator.¡±

    ¡°Is this ¡®navigator¡¯ what I think it is?¡± Ezio asks, directing his question to me as he seems to connect the dots. When I nod, he blanches. ¡°You gave it up as part of your plea? Forgive me if I say it''s a bad trade. Of course I''d rather have you home safe if that''s what a pardon required. From what I understand about the nature of the realms on the other side of the astral void, escalating this war could lead to a serious warping of the very fabric of reality.¡±

    I frown thoughtfully. ¡°Destabilization is the opposite of what we¡¯re seeing. Why do things seem better than before in Silaraon? The strange, chaotic storms have stopped. Is that due to the [General]''s military actions, or is something else at play?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s helping,¡± Casella says, surprising me with the force of his conviction. ¡°He may not be a pleasant man, but he¡¯s effective.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it in Tapirs¡¯ best interest to show the trouble Tem¡¯s ideas cause?¡± I ask.

    Casella snorts in derision. ¡°The [Viceroy] wants nothing more than to win the war in as flashy a manner as possible. It¡¯s hard to present yourself as the great hope of the people if the world is disintegrating around you, but he also wants credit for saving them.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got to get Tem out of there,¡± I say, scowling at the thought of my friend stuck in a prison, surrounded by wolves like Tapirs.

    ¡°Rescue is a discussion for another time, although we will keep your willingness in mind,¡± Mbukhe says. He peers at me¡ªwithin me¡ªand then assesses Ezio and Rakesh in the same dry, detached manner. ¡°Realistically, you all need to get stronger before you¡¯ll be much help.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so dismissive,¡± I say, but Casella gives me a flat look, and the rest of my protest dies before it passes my lips.

    ¡°You seem to forget, Nuri, that we can see where you stand. While we do not have the same invasive tactics or eerie precision as this Scalpel you spoke of, we can see your Potential and Skills. That technique is something that you may learn from us since you are a hired agent, but I¡¯m afraid we¡¯re not at liberty to also teach your friends. That would go against our initiation oaths¡ªthough it occurs to me that it¡¯s a shame we can¡¯t return you to the capital for the rites. You''ll have to be responsible without the binding vow.¡±

    Ezio¡¯s eyes light up at the unexpected peace offering. When I see his excitement, I can¡¯t help but smile. I can function as a proxy for the academics, potentially bypassing the [Inquisitor]¡¯ restrictions.

    The [Scholar Nonpareil] stands up and bows. ¡°We may approach things from different angles, but I understand the prudence of your warnings. For the sake of unity and continued cooperation, Rakesh and I will abide by your recommendations.¡±

    ¡°You see? This is going well. I look forward to the rest of our convivial conversation,¡± I say to tease the young [Researcher], grinning impishly.

    Rakesh shoots a stormy look my way while he kneads his forehead with his fingertips, which only makes me laugh harder.

    ¡°Nuri, don¡¯t despair over this partnership just yet,¡± Ezio says, a slight smile on his face now that we¡¯ve gotten past the initial unpleasantness of our arguments. ¡°I¡¯ve got some good news to balance out the divisiveness and dark declarations. Remember my cousin? I¡¯ve made arrangements with him to set up trade agreements and contracts.¡±

    ¡°Already? You¡¯re as fleet as the wind, Ezio!¡±

    ¡°Thank you, but save your flattery for when it actually works out,¡± he says drolly.

    I nod. ¡°Expecting trouble?¡±

    ¡°On the contrary. I have a good feeling about your plans. In fact, when I visited my cousin, he said that his [Merchant] Skill went off as strongly as he¡¯s ever sensed, indicating that this was lucrative in the extreme. We may need to keep an eye on the established guilds, since they will not take kindly to competition. Aside from drawbacks outside of our control, we should be well positioned to earn significant money from your imbuing plans. No one¡¯s ever mass-produced imbued glass goods like you described.¡±

    ¡°We may be able to revisit your initial plans for glass armor, ¡± I muse. ¡°I believe I still owe you for that investment. I intend to pay my debts. The more we can put into motion before setting out on a long expedition, though, the better. We¡¯ll need all the funding we can get.¡±

    Rakesh pulls out a notebook of his own. ¡°I continued researching glass on your behalf, Nuri, in case you returned. My suspicion is that you still need to go to Kalhue, despite not winning the competition. Perhaps you can still gain entrance to the studio¡¯s library? Your father¡¯s swords, and the Singing Azure Rod, share many similarities. If you can uncover their secrets, I believe you¡¯ll find the path to the peak of glass-working.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already confirmed my way forward,¡± I reply, certain that I am moving in the right direction. ¡°There¡¯s a good chance I can get in, though. Zephyr, the woman who won the regional competition in Grand Ile, worked in my cohort. We spoke briefly. I¡¯ll bet she¡¯s talented enough to take the entire thing, including the follow-up round Rakesh uncovered. If my hunch is correct, then she will let me study in the library¡ªassuming she knows I¡¯ve been pardoned. I made quite the scene when I departed.¡±

    ¡°Worse than your usual fireworks? That¡¯s tough to believe,¡± Ezio says slyly. It¡¯s good to see a hint of his natural levity is back after our squabbling.

    ¡°I¡¯m only warming up. Wait until I become the new [Viceroy of Glass],¡± I say, winking at his horrified expression. What¡¯s a little light treason among friends?

    The teasing continues from all sides, lightening the mood considerably as we discuss further plans¡ªthough I note that the pair of [Inquisitors] still don¡¯t go into details regarding Tem¡¯s imprisonment. They solicit Ezio¡¯s feedback on theoretical scenarios, and I¡¯m sure that if we read between the lines we can figure out more information, but none of us push the issue.

    At last, we bid each other farewell and go our separate ways. My frenzied thoughts are running at full speed, maximum capacity, but I¡¯m glad we have a clear idea of our next two big adventures.

    ¡°Good talk?¡± Lionel asks when I emerge from the back room at last. ¡°The least you can do is catch me up on what I missed.¡±

    I chuckle awkwardly. ¡°I think so. I¡¯ll tell you what I can. Later.¡±

    ¡°You better have a good explanation for disappearing on us,¡± Lionel grumbles. ¡°I¡¯m tired of the secrecy.¡±

    ¡°Better get used to it. I¡¯m a mysterious, important person,¡± I tease. ¡°Besides, we have that expedition Mikko and Ember planned for us tomorrow. Glass-making will have to wait a while.¡±

    Lionel crosses his arms. ¡°What about teaching me to imbue? All we did today was play a game so you could show off how advanced you are.¡±

    ¡°Mana control helps! I promise you that it will bear fruit if you keep practicing.¡± I waggle my eyebrows and lean closer. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve also got a lead on your second Class. I think it may end up proving more valuable than glass-making. We¡¯ll talk about it tomorrow during the training mission.¡±

    ¡°Wait, training''s tomorrow? Already?¡±

    I nod. ¡°It¡¯s time to shift our focus. You ready to go hunting?¡±

    This time, the reminder of our upcoming adventure brings a smile to Lionel¡¯s face. My offer to help with his [Healer] class must have mollified him. He flings an arm around my shoulder. ¡°Born ready. Let¡¯s hunt!¡±

 B4 C6: Hunter

    After years of asking her for formalized military training to no avail, Ember is finally leading my small group of friends through our first real combat exercise. She helped me with fundamentals in the past, particularly after the Shadow Jaguars attacks, but my friends are fairly new to real fighting. I consider their relatively few brushes with near death a good thing.

    For today¡¯s training, I¡¯m using a sturdy, chest-high ashwood cane instead of the glittering glass masterwork swords that belonged to my father, but that¡¯s because Ember is sentimental about them. I¡®d prefer more reach, but it¡¯s difficult to swing around a full-length staff with only one hand. Still, keeping the enemy at a distance would be nice. I¡¯m not keen on getting bitten, clawed, snapped, shredded, trampled, melted¡ªI sigh in exasperation as I recall all the abuse my body¡¯s been through over the last few years.

    Well, that, and the glass swords aren¡¯t suitable for sparring, on account of slicing through armor as easily as paper unless they¡¯re sheathed. I like my friends alive, thank you very much. It¡¯s the same reason why I haven¡¯t tried to push the issue of the fine spear I found in the Labyrinth. It¡¯s in the hands of the Royal army now, and there¡¯s no way I¡¯m confronting [General] Tychicus about taking it back.

    Ember stalks back and forth in front of us, at the edge of the forest near the glassworks, her hands clasped behind her back. ¡°When we¡¯re on the hunt, my word is law. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Understood!¡±

    We chorus as one, which I suspect is likely the best teamwork we¡¯ll demonstrate for the day. I even throw a mock salute, which makes Lio snicker, but earns me an eye roll from Ember.

    ¡°Nuri, watch the joking,¡± Ember chides me. ¡°I know you¡¯ve been through an abyssal year, and this probably seems like child¡¯s play to you, but this is exactly why I¡¯ve always been reluctant to teach you all in such piecemeal fashion. You don¡¯t seem to take to heart how important these lessons are. When we''re on the hunt, your lives are in each other''s hands. A lack of vigilance could be the difference between survival, and ending up maimed¡ªor even dead.¡±

    We sober up after her announcement, glancing at each other with unease. The ferocity of the Shadow Jaguars had certainly been a wake-up call for me, and since then I¡¯ve dealt with two Rifts and a deranged fleshwarper, but my friends have emerged unscathed. They knew nothing about the jaguars until we returned to report the attack. Other than the scare with the [Inquisitors] arresting us during our escape attempt, they¡¯ve been sheltered. I¡¯m grateful for it, but it¡¯s time for them to step up.

    Ember¡¯s dire words seem to hit home. They shuffle their feet, exchanging nervous glances.

    ¡°Guess it feels real now,¡± Avelina says, her normally brash demeanor somewhat blunted by the idea of potentially dying on a training run.

    It¡¯s a level of risk that they aren¡¯t used to, and their discomfort is tangible. I apologize to Ember, vowing to take her seriously and watch out for my team. For the first time that day, she smiles. It¡¯s brief and grim, but still genuine.

    ¡°Good. We¡¯ll need that sincerity while you¡¯re on the hunt. I hope you¡¯re all prepared to make sacrifices today. Do not expect me to coddle you; you¡¯re all adults here. Barely. Know that I will not let you die, however.¡±

    Nervous energy floods my limbs. I pestered Ember about teaching me to fight ever since I was old enough to hear the stories of the heroes of Densmore in the village square, and she indulged me enough that I learned the basics. Any time a traveling [Bard] or minstrel troupe passed through town, I¡¯d sit at their feet with wide eyes and heart aglow, drinking in their stories and vowing to match their heights one day.

    After the travails of losing a hand in the Lesser Rift, not to mention my close encounter with the predatorial jaguars, I am no longer suffering from the delusion that I am a doughty warrior of renown. Martial training is the pursuit of a lifetime, not simply a few tricks I can pick up in an afternoon. The good news is that Ember will accompany our first team hunt, and I have absolute confidence in her ability to keep us alive no matter what we encounter.

    At a nod from Ember, I dive behind Mikko, my shoulders slamming into the back of his knees. As he buckles from the impact, Lionel shoves him hard, his hands hitting Mikko¡¯s shoulders and sending him tumbling to the ground over my crouched back.

    I scramble to my feet and whoop in victory. My brother gapes up at me stupidly, shock written across his usually playful features. I offer a sheepish grin in return, although we both know that the implied apology won¡¯t stop me from repeating my actions upon request.

    ¡°First lesson,¡± Ember says, ¡°never let your guard down. Even the strongest member of your party can be taken down by surprise.¡±

    ¡°If I can¡¯t rely on my friends, then who can I trust?¡± Mikko protests, brushing the dust off as he clambers back to his feet. He laughs and pulls me into a headlock, tousling my hair and reestablishing the pecking order.

    ¡°Trust no one,¡± Ember is quick to claim. ¡°All it takes is relaxing for one moment because you think that you''re not at risk, and the enemy might get the drop on you.¡±

    ¡°To be fair, we¡¯re not engaging enemy soldiers,¡± I say, scratching at the back of my head. Is this the kind of training Ember received in the Royal army? No wonder she¡¯s so dour and structured all the time.

    ¡°Monsters are no different,¡± Ember insists, a stubborn, ironclad undertone to her words. She won¡¯t bend on this point, I can tell. ¡°They prey on the unsuspecting, much like a raiding party. Take this to heart, Nuri. You of all people should understand this truth after the jaguars ambushed you.¡±

    "Point taken," I say quietly, meeting her eyes for a fleeting moment. Instinctively, I want to defend my reasoning, or explain why she''s being paranoid, but she has far more experience than I do, and insisting that I¡¯m right will only make me look like a petulant child. Far better to keep my peace and actually learn something.

    The others fall in the line as we set out for our hunt. I''m still not sure what manner of creature we''re going after, but I know that it won''t involve jaguars. We already destroyed their population in the region a few years ago. I could take care of them back when I was far less proficient in mana use, so I¡¯m confident that now I could wipe out their entire pack, provided I¡¯m topped off with mana through my glass pseudo-cores. We¡¯re hardly out in the deep wilderness, and there''s no way she¡¯ll take a bunch of raw recruits on an excursion without determining a proper threat level. So, she will probably have us go after something slow and strong, but not necessarily lethal.

    Based on my admittedly-meager knowledge of the wildlife surrounding the city of Silaraon, my bet is on a Crystal Badger. Aptly named for the strange, glass-like, organic crystalline structure that grows in a ridge down the length of their spines, they¡¯re tough and reclusive, but technically a novice threat a notch below the Shadow Jaguars.

    I¡¯ve always wondered if examining their crystal structure might be valuable for advancing my understanding as a glass-maker. If the rumors can be believed, they use a primal version of imbuing to infuse mana into their crystals for extra durability, creating a shimmering, fractal-like shield. The built-in natural armor gives the ornery creatures a chance to survive against much larger predators. Thankfully, they¡¯re nowhere near as nasty or dangerous as their cousins, the infamous honey badgers. I hope we get to catch a Crystal Badger today; I¡¯d like to compare their imbuing methods with my own.

    Hours later, as the hot sun beats down and our enthusiasm has been flattened as thin as a fine sheet of gold leaf, we still haven¡¯t located any tracks. I suspect that Ember is already well aware of precisely where we¡¯ll find our prey, but she wants us to get a taste of how difficult this training will be. Tempering us through the fires of adversity, or some such concept.

    Trudging down the forest path, we all tiptoe along, casting suspicious glances back and forth, squinting at every little shadow. We''ve seen neither hide nor hair of our quarry, but Ember¡¯s insistence on vigilance is finally getting through. All it took was stepping on a lashing vine with four-sided thorns sharp and sturdy enough to pierce even Mikko¡¯s skin for us to finally listen up and stay on guard.

    I cut off a length of the tough, flexible vine, intrigued by the possibilities of using it as a weapon in our upcoming fight. I need a way to tangle up my opponent, since I have to get up close and personal to inflict damage, and I still feel at a disadvantage without my left hand. The others wait for me to finish, since Ember insists leaving a member behind is a good way to get someone hurt¡ªor killed.

    Half an hour later, just as my throat reminds me how parched I am, Ember calls for a lunch break. It''s nearly mid afternoon, past our normal lunch time, but I feel lucky regardless. I figured that she would push us all day without food, water, or rest, just to grind us down and teach us about the consequences of our bright-eyed optimism.

    Everyone flops down, groaning in relief. Lionel even takes his boots off to rub his feet, until Ember lifts her boot heel menacingly and says she hopes that she won¡¯t crush his toes by ¡°accident.¡± His horrified look earns him a quiet chuckle from Ember, who¡¯s not actually anywhere near mean enough to follow through on her threat, but the rest of us sit up straighter and try to look alert after her teasing.

    I shoot him a sympathy look when Ember turns her attention elsewhere, but he shakes his head and looks embarrassed. ¡°Rookie mistake. She¡¯s right to call me out.¡±

    ¡°Could have happened to any of us,¡± Melina says. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sore, too.¡±

    Mikko claps Lionel on the shoulder to encourage him. ¡°You¡¯re not the big oaf who let two weaklings topple you over. And I''m the dummy who stepped on that vine, not you, so cheer up. We¡¯re practicing watchfulness.¡±

    ¡°All right, so I¡¯m a half step up from Mikko. That¡¯s exactly where I want to rank in this team,¡± Lionel says with a snicker.

    My brother growls in mock outrage. ¡°This is the thanks I get for self-sacrifice, eh? See if I block the next monster with my body!¡±

    The team joins in the good-natured teasing, and we seem to grow a little closer over the silliness with Lionel¡¯s bare feet. Despite our fruitless search, we¡¯re looking out for each other. Making mistakes in a safe environment is the point of our training; we¡¯re figuring everything out together, so I¡¯ll count this team-building exercise as a win.

    I help Ava and Mikko set up on a wide, flat rock for lunch, and we eat in shifts while the other half of the team keeps a lookout. Ember nods in approval at our precaution, offering small pointers and tips to help us get the hang of sentry work.

    Ava wolfs down her meal and swaps places with her twin. I eat at a more measured pace, and I shift over to sit closer to Melina. Something about my demeanor must set her on edge; her eyes are wary, almost resigned, as though she¡¯s expecting bad news. I lower my voice, just in case she prefers privacy. ¡°Padouk offered us shelter if we ever want to visit Naftali. Might be a while, though. I have more pressing business elsewhere first.¡±

    Melina¡¯s face is impassive, except for a single throbbing vein that stands out on the side of her temple. ¡°What makes you think that I¡¯m bound by your business? I could leave now, by myself. Visit on my own terms.¡±

    ¡°You could,¡± I say agreeably, offering her a slight smile and nod of encouragement. ¡°But if my hunch is correct, then we¡¯ll be on the move soon, and we could use a voice of reason in our group.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I can¡¯t very well leave Ava to her own devices,¡± Melina says, her lips twitching as she tries not to smirk and finally fails. ¡°Assuming she¡¯s part of this mysterious group. Who do you plan to spirit away from Silaraon this time?¡±

    ¡°Someone with impeccable communication and a head for strategy and statistics.¡±

    ¡°No! You¡¯re dead-set on taking Rakesh on another adventure?¡± Melina nudges with me with her elbow. ¡°He was shaking like a leaf last time. How could you do that to the poor man?¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°He¡¯s more resilient than you¡¯re giving him credit for,¡± I protest. ¡°Besides, he wants to be involved. He isn¡¯t content to simply track down news articles about glass, or help you find the perfect gift for my birthday. Rakesh has big plans.¡±

    ¡°He is excellent at securing presents. You know, it was Lionel¡¯s idea to look for a picture after hearing from you that your father trained the Peliharaon team. Lio mentioned it to Ava, who recruited me. All I did was get in touch with our friend Rakesh. He leveraged his contacts at the Silaraon City Academy to help comb through old news archives. He found the image for us in some obscure index.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh is an impressive [Researcher], no question. He¡¯s the perfect graduate assistant to Ezio. I¡¯m grateful for his assistance, and for your persistence. I never dreamed that I¡¯d ever see his face again,¡± I say shyly, not knowing how to express the depths of my gratitude.

    ¡°Think nothing of it, Nuri,¡± she says airly. ¡°That¡¯s just what friends do.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Mel,¡± I say quietly. I focus on tying the vine into a lasso loop, too overcome with an unexpected surge of emotion to respond for a few minutes. I look up and meet her eyes when I finish the knot. ¡°I¡¯d almost forgotten what that¡¯s like.¡±

    ¡°Enough of that,¡± Melina chides me, her tone warm, but brooking no argument. ¡°You¡¯re back among family. Don¡¯t dwell on what happened in the past. But let¡¯s stay focused on our task at hand: how does Rakesh fit into the team makeup? He¡¯s not a fighter.¡±

    ¡°Neither are you,¡± I point out.

    ¡°Yes, but I can surprise enemies with my localized temporal field. How well do you think they¡¯ll be able to fight back when they can barely move?¡± Melina asks wryly.

    ¡°Fair enough. But Rakesh is valuable because he can keep us all in touch across the entire field. He recently acquired a new Skill: [Echo of the Songbird].¡±

    ¡°Ooh, that sounds fancy. Why don''t I get the good names?¡± Melina says.

    ¡°Your Skills are amazing as it is,¡± I grumble. ¡°Let Rakesh have his moment. Anyway, the range is currently a few hundred paces, but that''s enough to act as our tactical leader. Over time, he might be able to rank it up and give us more operational flexibility.¡±

    Melina tilts her head to the side. She surveys the clearing, counting the people on the mission. ¡°So why isn''t he here today?¡±

    ¡°Bad headache. Too much mana strain. I told him that he couldn''t beat my puzzle record, but he insisted on trying,¡± I say, snickering.

    =+=

    Bellies full and spirits high, we continue on after lunch with more spring in our step. Less than an hour later, Melina shows just how meticulous her eye for detail is when she spots tracks in the underbrush that match our quarry. Ember appears at her side, silent as a ghost, and congratulates her for taking the lead in our informal investigation.

    Melina blushes but accepts the praise with good grace. True to form, she refuses to settle for a single win; she continues to look in the dirt, frowning as she studies the markings more closely while she shuffles about in ever-expanding circles. Soon, she announces that she thinks she''s found a deer run behind a thick clump of prickly, low-lying bushes with iridescent leaves. She beckons us over and asks Ember for her thoughts.

    Ember seems amused at the way we all look to her for approval. ¡°At some point, you¡¯ll need to learn to become self-sufficient. Until then: I agree that it''s not only a likely candidate for a pathway that our prey might take, but it''s also absolutely the way you should follow.¡± She sighs dramatically. ¡°It goes against my principles to make things so easy on you, but we¡¯re not equipped to stay out all night, and the lot of you have burned enough daylight as it is. Let¡¯s pick up the pace and go catch a Crystal Badger.¡±

    I grin at the confirmation that I predicted our prey for the hunt. I''m looking forward to studying the method of mana imbuing, assuming we catch the poor little thing. We¡¯ll have to be careful to walk the razor¡¯s edge to trigger the shield before our damage overwhelms it. I can¡¯t access mana as freely as I could back in the fight against the crimson crabs, but I should still be able to shred the badger with ease if I send out a burst of mana infused with sharpness.

    I chuckle to myself. What could go wrong?

    ¡°Contact ahead. Keep in a column and don''t scare it off¡ªor attract undue attention.¡±

    Ember¡¯s warning to keep quiet and stay in a single file line falls on deaf ears. We rush ahead, our boots trampling the underbrush in our exuberance to catch our target. It¡¯s a wonder we can hunt anything at all with the racket we''re making, but it seems to be a universal truth that badgers just don¡¯t care.

    ¡°There it is!¡± Mikko shouts a moment later, all semblance of stealth forgotten in his excitement to finally get into the fight. He unslings the massive, two-handed hammer that he borrowed from the forge, and prepares to smash anything in his path, a war cry on his lips while he charges ahead.

    Our black-furred, stocky quarry doesn''t retreat or hide. The badger barely reaches to my knee height, but it¡¯s heavily-muscled and stout, with the namesake crystal on its back. Now that it appears to sense us, it widens its stance, digging its claws in the hard dirt and leaving deep furrows. With a wheezing grunt, it lowers its head and huffs out a challenge.

    Before I can warn Mikko that its hackles are up and it might attack, the badger charges forward, growling and spitting. Its spiky hair stands on end, making the enraged creature look almost twice as large as usual. Lips curled back in a feral snarl, the badger launches itself at my brother.

    Mikko throws himself to the side in a spray of dirt as his heavy boots skid along the ground, and he barely avoids the wild swings of claws. They spin to face each other, but the badger recovers its balance first. Its muscles uncoil, and it springs up at him with flashing teeth. He blocks the bite with the shaft of the hammer, resets his feet, and slams the square head of the heavy tool into the bulky crystals on its back, sending it sprawling in a shower of sparks.

    Avelina runs up beside him, blasting it with fire from a distance while the creature is thrashing about in the dirt. The gout of flames surging forth from her hand starts strong, but the mana dissipates before it does more than singe the badger¡¯s fur. She backs up as it scrambles to its feet and hisses at her.

    ¡°Get closer!¡± Mikko shouts. ¡°I¡¯ll pin it down for you with another blow from my hammer.¡±

    She nods and summons her flames again, holding them in a compressed ball in her hands as she pours more mana into the Skill. They advance together, since she has to get closer to keep her stream of fire intact. Lampworking is very different from doing meaningful damage in a fight.

    I watch the brawl with semi-detached interest as I catch up with the pair. The little badger is tougher than I gave it credit for; it hasn¡¯t even used its shielding ability that I can tell, unless it¡¯s a passive shield, rather than active Skill. The crystal on its back intrigues me to no end. If I can learn how it works, then I can imbue the same concept into my glass to keep it from shattering. I could probably make relatively inexpensive armor for everyone on the team with enough time. It will be a new, improved version of my old seashell concept.

    Mikko¡¯s big forge-hammer swings down again, impacting with such force that I¡¯m sure the badger will break in half before I can get a good look at the shield. Instead of hitting the crystal, the hammer rebounds from a shimmering dome that forms around the animal, blocking the blow entirely and denting the metal in the process.

    I gasp in appreciation at the display of prowess. The badger might be nothing more than a mindless beast, but the scant flows of mana I managed to detect were expertly guided into place by the badger. Holding the image in mind, I draw on the reserves of mana in my glass cores, which are sitting at roughly half capacity, and try to copy the exquisite control I witnessed a moment earlier.

    Replicating the spell free-form is daunting, and without making glass and giving structure to the energy, I fail miserably at the mana-retention stage. Essentially, I¡¯m trying to mana imbue in real time, but without a medium on which to imprint the mana and concepts. So that¡¯s, what, enchanting? Evocation?

    ¡®Nuri! Watch out!¡± Melina calls out.

    Her warning breaks me out of my cascading pattern of thoughts. My head whips around, looking for the Crystal Badger, and I catch sight of it barrelling down on me, its eyes aglow with fury and hatred.

    Cursing my split attention, I try to dive out of the way. I¡¯m too slow; the badger headbutts me in the shin, knocking me down. I flip over its charging body, thudding into the dirt. Agony from the impact site radiates across my leg, and I grunt in pain as I writhe on the ground. How strong is that thing? That felt like getting kicked by a horse!

    Mikko is there a moment later, rushing past me to block the rampaging beast. He swings his hammer in a great, underhanded arc, catching the badger under its chin and blasting it to the side before it can gut me with its sharp claws. He draws back for another blow, but the badger is too quick and cunning to get hit again. It twists under his wild swing, darting in and biting Mikko¡¯s upper calf, just above his sturdy leather boots.

    To my shock, its needle-like teeth pierce through Mikko¡¯s [Iron Skin], and he bellows in pain and surprise. He lashes out at the badger, but its shield holds, and his hammer bounces off it ineffectually.

    I spring into action, jabbing the Crystal Badger in the eye with my short staff held out like a sword. The glimmering shield manifests again to protect its face, but I pour my mana down the wooden cane, pushing the concept of sharpness into the attack. The shield fuzzes, then bursts apart in a mist of loose mana. It flinches away, releasing its hold on Mikko¡¯s leg.

    ¡°Get him to Lionel for healing!¡± I growl, interposing myself between the badger and my brother, although I try to keep an eye on each one. Avelina hooks her arm under Mikko¡¯s armpit and tries to help him hobble away.

    Lionel dashes over, screaming a battle song off-key, his voice warbling badly. The sound gets worse the closer he comes. I stare at him in shock as I realize that he¡¯s never been in a real fight before. He¡¯s scared¡ªterrified. Hands shaking, he stabs half-heartedly at the enraged beast with his spear, but his breathing is coming faster and more shallow by the second. He lunges at our prey, slips on a clump of loose dirt, and trips, going down hard. Right in front of the creature¡¯s snarling face.

    The badger pounces, its row of sharp teeth open wide.

    Melina arrives just then. She throws up her hands, muttering as she gasps for air, trying to catch her breath from all the sprinting. A strange distortion in space catches the badger as it flies toward Lionel, and it seems to freeze in time, suspended in the air. Its eyes bulge, and the beast strains against the odd temporal interference, fighting to break free.

    Lionel crab-walks backward on all fours, leaving his spear out of reach. He leaps up to his feet as soon as he¡¯s gained some distance on the badger, and runs over to where Mikko and Avelina are crouched behind a rock. He places his hands on my brother¡¯s injury, and a surge of soothing, restorative mana courses between them.

    The healing will take a while to complete, so I step up to buy them time. I can¡¯t believe that I worried we wouldn¡¯t trigger the shield ability before we killed this thing! Arrogant, Nuri. You can¡¯t make those kinds of mistakes.

    I adopt a sword-stance Ember taught me, shuffling forward with balanced steps, keeping my weight shifted forward slightly, toward the balls of my feet. I relax my grip on the sword-staff in my hand, not letting go, but taking care not to tense up too much so that I can no longer move fluidly. Before I step into range to snap out another mana-empowered strike to pierce through its shield, however, something whizzes past my head.

    I duck instinctively, turning to locate the source of the sound. Melina is scowling in fierce concentration, her body trembling as she manifests a second temporal zone. This one is tiny, but it appears to move in the other direction; she¡¯s activating another Skill for manipulation, throwing small rocks through the field to accelerate the projectiles faster than my eyes can track them.

    Three sharp cracks ring out, and the shield shatters. Another stone¡ªthis one as large as my fist¡ªjoins the fusilade. It hums through the air with a deeper tone than the whine produced by the smaller shards of rock, and stops abruptly with a wet, sickening thud as it crunches the joints in the badger''s hind legs.

    I drop my ashwood short staff, untuck the thorny vine I braided during our lunch break, and swing it over my head like a lasso. I fling it toward the injured badger, and it loops it over the tough little monster¡¯s intact front legs. Cursing my bad luck¡ªI was aiming for the head so I could get the lasso around its neck¡ªI yank the vine tight, building a connection to the beast. As soon as I get a grip on the mana in my cores, which feels slick and unresponsive thanks to my surging adrenaline and lack of focus, I cast [Vitrification] through the vine while also pushing the concept of sharpness through the makeshift rope.

    My homebrewed Skill surges along the length of the vine and into the lasso, turning it into a glassified, razor-edged circlet that cuts through the tough muscles and tendons in its legs. The Crystal Badger howls in pain, twisting side to side and whining piteously.

    ¡°Nice job, Nuri! Way to show that badger who¡¯s boss!¡± Mikko hollers, thundering back into the fray now that his wound is closed up. Behind him, leaning against a rock for support, Lionel¡¯s cheeks have taken on an ashen pallor, likely from forcing too much mana into the connection and taking a hit to his vitality in the backlash of the healing Skill.

    ¡°Die, foul fiend!¡± Mikko roars, so loudly that I wince. He raises the hammer and enhances his swing with his greatest strength Skill, [Strength of the Forge Gods], empowering the blow to crash through the shield and crush the badger¡¯s head, putting it out of the fight for good.

    The hammer¡¯s steel handle bends, groaning on impact, and the head of the big hammer twists, deforming under the intense forces unleashed in the strike. He shouts aloud, pounding his chest in brash exuberance.

    ¡°Quiet!¡± Ember hisses, ghosting out from behind a tree. ¡°The last thing you want to do out here in the wilds is attract the wrong kind of attention.¡±

    Mikko has the good grace to look ashamed, but it¡¯s too late. An answering roar sounds from a nearby ravine, savage and predatorial. Heavy footfalls shake the earth. A surly, rust-red bear charges out of the trees, its rugged body aflame but unburnt. It lets loose another earth-shaking roar, blasting the air from my lungs in concussive force.

    As one, we close ranks, picking up our fallen weapons, and turn to face our greatest challenge yet.

 B4 C7: Gatherer

    Melina steps forward, her hands upraised. She pushes as hard as she can, slowing down the enormous bear with her temporal field. I¡¯m still amazed that she figured out how to reverse the time flow of the crafting Skill and apply it to the battlefield, but I¡¯ll have to ask her later how she does it.

    The huge, slavering beast shoulders though the impediment with barely more than a grunt, sending her staggering with the sudden Skill backlash to her modified version of [In the Blink of an Eye]. She conjures a second, much smaller field in front of us, her body shaking with the strain of exertion, but Mikko catches her with one hand and holds her up before she collapses. He leans down and grabs a rock, tossing it into her mana-powered siege engine, but the rock-throwing only seems to aggravate the bear further.

    ¡°Need a bigger rock!¡± he hollers, but no one answers. He glares at the team. ¡°What do we have that can stop that monster?¡±

    After a brief moment, his angry expression fades away. He grows solemn, his face hardening into steely resolve. Mikko sets down Melina behind him, squares his shoulders, and storms forward with a war cry. His skin glints, reflective in the sunlight with the telltale Skill [Iron Skin]. Mikko¡¯s reckless charge accelerates. He slams into the side of the flaming bear with a mighty shout as he activates [Strength of the Forge Gods], surging with power in my makeshift, home-brewed version of manasight.

    Mikko rebounds with a heavy thud. He digs a groove in the dirt with his face. The bear misses a few steps, but otherwise seems barely fazed. The massive monster swings its head toward Mikko¡¯s prone form, roaring in rage, but my brother flings himself away with a shove of his powerful arms.

    Avelina balls up her hands into tight fists. She dashes past her twin sister and blasts the bear full in the face with her hottest burst of fire yet, perilously close to the range of its burning claws.

    To my continued shock, I can still see the energy flows. They¡¯re clearer than they¡¯ve been in months, ever since I mangled my [Manasight]. She''s forcing over-mana into her Skill to empower the fire beyond her normal range and temperature. What it loses in efficiency¡ªher mana is plummeting precipitously¡ªit makes up for in raw potency. It''s a desperate act, and likely won''t end well, because if we don''t kill the bear right now then she¡¯ll be out of mana and out of the fight.

    ¡°Run!¡± I shout, willing everyone to listen to me. We have to get out of here before it kills us all. A flurry of mana gathers around the enraged beast, rippling in patterns that I recognize all too well from my sessions with Scalpel deconstructing my [Heat Manipulation] Skill. ¡°Incoming Skill! It''s going to burn you back!¡±

    Avelina lurches backward out of the way as the complex rune for fire surges out toward her. She turns away, her arms lifted up to protect her face. Waves of red-orange fire billow out from the bear, engulfing her in an inferno.

    ¡°Ava!¡± Melina screams, but I grab Melina¡¯s shoulder before she rushes over to try to help and falls victim to the attack, too.

    We stare in horror for a heart-rending moment. Then, through the shroud of smoke and fire, energy flares as the last of Avelina¡¯s own fire-based mana fights back, overwhelming the heat and snuffing out the flames. Avelina rolls in the dirt away from the bear, slapping her hands against the smoldering embers on her cloak. The stench of burning hair permeates the air.

    I sprint forward, forcing half of the mana contained within my glass pseudo cores to explode outward from my outstretched palm. The concept of sharpness infuses the burst, although I don''t have time to properly build up resonance with the concept before unleashing the strongest attack I can.

    The condensed blades of sharp mana quickly lose their coherence as they travel farther and farther from me, but it''s enough to pierce the bear¡¯s shoulder and finally draw blood. The impact sends it staggering back a step.

    She scrambles away on her hands and knees, singed and angry looking, but otherwise all right. ¡°Would have been nice to know it was immune before I tried to burn it!¡± Avelina shouts, now on her feet and staggering back toward the team.

    I don''t blame her for sounding upset. I wish her fire had burned hotter, too. I don''t see a way out of this. The bear is blazing with fury, unharmed but even more menacing than before. It rears back, roaring, and charges my friends.

    In desperation, I step forward, channeling mana from my glass cores. Relying half on memory and half on guess work, I try to crudely mimic the shield from the Crystal Badger, but the spell form fizzles as I mess up the runic matrix. My mana sputters, fizzling out, and I scream a curse in frustration. My fear at the incoming avatar of death transforms into anger.

    Gritting my teeth, I stride forward and prep [Vitrification] once more, hoping against hope that I can take out this threat the same way I killed Scalpel. Maybe I can cast it down the length of my ash wood cane and into the bear, and I won''t have to touch the flaming monster. I¡¯m not sure if I can rely on the half-finished rebuild of my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to ward off the searing heat, but if I have to trade my life for the team, then so be it.

    Implausible scenarios flash through my head like lightning as I try to think of a way to save us, but I discard them all. There''s no way I can get us all out alive; someone will have to do the hard thing. This hunt is my fault, so it¡¯s up to me now¡ªI have to kill it with [Vitrification], or we all die.

    Ember hurtles into view from the side of the path, her glass swords drawn. She pulses with dark, heavy mana that warps the air and makes me stumble. The force of her presence compels the bear to face her, drawing its attention away from us. Her twin translucent glass blades sing through the air, trailing faint grey-black smoke, and sever one of its smoldering claws with hardly any effort.

    Her follow-up strike for the bear¡¯s throat is deflected by a blinding surge of its own mana, but she wields the paired blades with confident grace, diving and twisting around the bear¡¯s wild swings and weaving in her own attacks. The bear holds out for another minute, too stubborn to give up the ghost, but her violent assault ends in what feels like an inevitable conclusion: the monstrous bear¡¯s head lying on the ground, its lips peeled back from its sharp teeth in the rictus smile of ferocious death.

    ¡°What! You soloed it? Just like that?¡± Lionel says, echoing the disbelief I feel at watching Ember make mincemeat of the monster. She barely seems winded by the fight.

    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± Avelina snaps, as she dusts herself off and climbs shakily to her feet. Her arms wrap around her torso to cover the burn marks on her stomach, where her red tunic burned through, and she hugs herself tight. A haunted look takes up residence in her eyes, which normally flash with arrogance and disdain.

    ¡°Show some respect, sister. She saved our lives,¡± Melina says, her voice coming out in a quiet wheeze. She shivers and moves to stand next to her twin, putting a comforting arm over her sister''s shoulder. ¡°Though the timing could have been less terrifying, I¡¯ll admit.¡±

    ¡°Thought I was gonna die,¡± Lionel whimpers, his face haggard. He sniffs, wipes his nose with his sleeve, and lets out a shaky sigh. ¡°Right. Who''s ready to heal up?¡± He gathers up his mana, shuffling about to administer healing spells to each person on the team with injuries.

    ¡°Thank you, Master Ember,¡± Mikko croaks out. He groans and sits upright, clutching at his chest. ¡°Can''t remember the last time I got hit that hard. Feels like I just wrestled a mountain and lost.¡±

    Ember pats him on the back. She turns to look at me. ¡°No quip or wisecrack? Now''s your chance.¡±

    I shake my head, a dull throb of pain spiking through my temples. I''m too tired to make any jokes. Besides, I seem to be the only one who realizes just how close we all came to dying. I''ve been in this position too many times before. Instead of becoming accustomed to it, I¡¯ve just grown numb.

    She cracks a slight smile. ¡°You really are growing up.¡±

    ¡°What was that hideous thing?¡± I ask quietly. ¡°Never heard of anything like that around here.¡±

    Ember¡¯s smile slips. She crosses her arms and gives me a half shrug with one shoulder. ¡°Dunno. Don¡¯t like the smell.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Stinks to you, too?¡±

    Melina shifts forward, sliding in beside me to join our conversation. ¡°I don¡¯t think that fiery bear is native to Silaraon,¡± she says. Her voice comes out slurred, like she spent all night at the tavern. Despite the seriousness of our situation, the mental image of a drunk Melina makes me smirk. I know she''s not usually given to excess which means I''m not likely to see her in this state again anytime soon.

    ¡°Yeah. Looks more like a rift creature,¡± I admit, finally giving voice to the fear that''s been gnawing at me ever since it came charging out of the cleft in the rocks. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re ready to take on a Rift, not even if it¡¯s a lesser variety. I hate to say it, but we should report this to the [General] on the chance it is not just a monster that we¡¯ve never seen before. The Army will take care of it from there.¡±

    Part of me hates to bring up our responsibility to report the attack. If a new Rift gives [Viceroy] Tapirs and [General] Tychicus one more possible vector to reaching the wraiths, then I¡¯m right back in the position I want to avoid: accessory to potential genocide. Sure, the wraiths that Tem and I killed in the Labyrinth were our enemies, and I would have no compunctions at all about ending their lives once more if I had to do everything all over again. They were combatants, not civilians. I can¡¯t shake the feeling that the same doesn¡¯t hold true for the average wraith in their home world.

    ¡°I¡¯ll report,¡± Ember offers. She squeezes my shoulder.

    ¡°Thanks. I¡¯d rather not talk with Tychicus again. But we can¡¯t risk an incursion this close to Silaraon.¡±

    Ember nods curtly. She sheathes my father¡¯s swords, which I¡¯ve taken to nicknaming Hellfire and Brimstone, and beckons us closer. ¡°Harvest the big crystals from the badger if you can cut them out. I¡¯ll take care of dressing the bear¡¯s carcass. Claws and pelt should be worth decent money.¡±

    We get to work, not shying away from the grisly task of butchering and cleaning. I shrug off my vest and draw my knife, eyeing the badger. The point of my hunting knife pierces its thick skin after some effort, but cutting along its spine is slow going. Before I know it, I¡¯m elbow-deep into the badger, trying to cut away the bulky crystal protruding from its back, blood spattered across my face and chest.

    ¡°There¡¯s gotta be an easier way to do that,¡± Mikko says, wrinkling his nose as he watches me cut and hack away at the hide with my knife. ¡°You ever sharpen that thing, bro? It¡¯s so dull it offends me.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°I miss my glass knife,¡± I mutter, sawing a little harder at the tough flesh. ¡°And I¡¯m out of mana after that fight, so I can¡¯t use sharpness to excise the crystal. Any ideas?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Let a professional take over,¡± Mikko says with a snicker. He slides his belt knife out of its sheath, swaggers over, and stabs it through the carcass next to where I¡¯ve been cutting. Without the badger¡¯s natural vitality to resist his efforts, Mikko¡¯s sharp blade and impressive strength slice through bone and muscle alike. He severs the last of the tough, ropy ligaments and hauls up his prize: a bloody lump of crystal twice as big as his head.

    I hold out my hand. ¡°Mind if I examine it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s your kill. I¡¯m just along for the fun.¡±

    ¡°You mean, you were envious you weren¡¯t there the last time Ember slaughtered monsters, so you were afraid of missing out.¡±

    Mikko dumps the crystal in my lap. ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°And?¡± I prompt him. ¡°Worth almost dying?¡±

    He hesitates, scowling. ¡°The show was pretty awesome.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes. ¡±

    =+=

    A few hours of hard labor later, we finally finish the butchering and make the long trek back to the glassworks. I slump down on the grass, groaning as I shrug off the strap digging into my shoulder. My clothes stick to my frame, damp and crusting over from sweat and salt. I don¡¯t have the luxury of switching sides and using my off-hand to reduce the load, so my right forearm is burning from the exertion of managing the travois. We each dragged portions of our kills back home atop our makeshift carriers. I mostly wrangled with the crystal and the badger remains¡ªas well as the valuable parts of the bear¡ªbut it pushed me to my limit.

    We¡¯re all dirt-stained, dragging our feet, and stinking of intense body odor. I¡¯m itchy in my most unmentionable places, and thoroughly miserable. Worst of all, we haven¡¯t even done the hardest part of the day: Ember¡¯s review of our performance.

    ¡°Sure that was worth it?¡± Avelina grumbles, stretching her neck side to side. She¡¯s more put out than I can ever remember, with her twisted locks coming free, slick and stuck to her face, and a fierce scowl for anyone who so much as looks in her direction.

    Melina joins me on the grass, holding her head in her hands. Her voice comes out far more acerbic than usual. ¡°Yes, oh sister of mine, it was worth it. Stop bellyaching. Selling off these monster parts to the local [Apothecary] should be extremely lucrative.¡±

    ¡°My master might want to look at the bear. I¡¯ll bet he could find uses for the teeth,¡± Mikko cuts in, bouncing on his toes. He¡¯s the only one of us who seems fresh after the long walk back. ¡°Maybe the bones, too? I dunno. I¡¯ve only worked with metal. Some masters can smith with monster parts, but I need more practice.¡±

    Must be nice to have a strength Skill. I shrug off my jealousy and take a deep breath to reset my mood. ¡°You know any master crafters? The only ones I know are [Glass Smiths], and they aren¡¯t from around here.¡±

    ¡°Ezio¡¯s cousin will source us buyers,¡± Ember announces as she ghosts into the yard. She claps her hands twice, and we all struggle to our feet.

    She¡¯d disappeared from our group at some point, but I barely noticed her. I must be tired; I can reliably track most people these days, out of sheer paranoia. Only Mbukhe reliably evades my detection. I sigh, making a mental note to work on my observational skills, especially when I¡¯m fatigued.

    ¡°Good work surviving,¡± Ember says. We share smiles, but she snorts and continues. ¡°Unfortunately, it¡¯s all downhill from there.¡±

    We let out a collective groan, and she cracks a smile. Hands clasped behind her back, she paces back and forth while she speaks. ¡°I threw you into the fire to see what you¡¯re made of. I didn¡¯t actually teach you anything, so expecting you to excel is unfair. I know that. Now that I know how you react under fire, though, I can help you shore up the problems. Remember: criticism here isn¡¯t personal. It¡¯s an honest assessment of your strengths and weaknesses, because I want you to keep surviving.¡±

    I nod, but I¡¯m having trouble not trembling as she levels her stern gaze at each one of us in turn before settling on me. Of course she¡¯ll make an example out of me; I¡¯m the ring-leader, the one with the most experience¡ªand her favorite. She can¡¯t appear to be biased if she wants us to take her seriously.

    ¡°Nuri, you need to fix your mana issues. Right now, you¡¯re unreliable.¡± She holds up a hand to stop me from complaining. ¡°No excuses. I know you need time to repair your core and channels. Regardless, you¡¯re a liability if you can¡¯t keep your glass cores topped off. In the meantime, you need to trust the fighting basics I taught you. Don¡¯t rely on trying flashy new techniques in the middle of life and death combat. Even ¡®novice¡¯ enemies can cause problems if you lose focus.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Master¡± I say, not too put out. She¡¯s right. Honestly, she took it pretty easy on me. I¡¯m relieved that she didn¡¯t dig into each mistake in greater detail.

    ¡°Otherwise,¡± Ember continues, addressing the entire team now instead of just me, ¡°he¡¯s powerful and fearless. He could be a one-man wrecking crew once he¡¯s healed. He needs a better attack vector to deliver sharpness, as I understand the delivery of concepts. And what¡¯s that last Skill, transforming things to glass?¡±

    ¡°[Vitrification],¡± I say. At the last second, I bite my tongue and don¡¯t tell them that it¡¯s hand-crafted based on my research into complex runes. No one likes a braggart.

    She nods, sounding out the odd word. ¡°Good. Work on that Skill. When you rank it up, I could see some impressive applications. Beyond that, I don¡¯t have much I can show you hands-on. You fight more like a [Mage] than a [Soldier] these days. I can only take you so far.¡±

    I bow slightly. ¡°Thank you, Master Ember. I¡¯ll do whatever you say.¡±

    She rewards me with a rare grin. ¡°See that you do.¡±

    Then she spins toward my brother. ¡°Mikko! Don¡¯t roll your eyes. You¡¯re next¡ªand don¡¯t you dare groan at me. You¡¯re brave and strong, and I admire your willingness to help out your friends. But you¡¯re too loud, and you don¡¯t take my instructions to heart. We wouldn¡¯t have run into so much danger if you weren¡¯t announcing our location to the entire world.¡±

    He goes crimson, hanging his head at the criticism.

    ¡°Now, the good news is that everything I mentioned is fixable. We¡¯ll work on drills to help you fix your tunnel vision when you get aggressive. Ideally, you are the team¡¯s bulwark, not the main damage-dealer. Keep them clean so they can throw out Skills and whittle down targets from safety.¡±

    ¡°You got it, Master Ember,¡± Mikko says. He lifts his chin, his jaw clenched in conviction, and she nods back in approval. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯ll do my best. Promise.¡±

    ¡°Avelina!¡± Ember barks, turning toward the fiery twin.

    With a start, Avelina jumps and summons a flame above her hand, ready to fight. She snuffs it out a second later, and tries to stand at attention, but her deep scowl ruins the image of the attentive cadet or [Soldier] she¡¯s trying to project. Her cheek twitches below her right eye.

    ¡°Good news first: fire has the highest potential damage output of any Skills the team possesses. Bad news? You¡¯re too weak to burn targets at a safe range. If you encounter another fire-aspected creature, then you¡¯ll need a way to deal with inherent resistances.¡±

    Avelina¡¯s shoulders slump.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fret. I have a few ideas in mind. We¡¯ll also work on choosing targets and keeping your cool in the midst of battle. I know the flames call to you, but try to rein it in. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Avelina says. She nods grudgingly.

    Ember returns a fractional nod, then points to the older twin. ¡°Melina, you¡¯re too reliant on the direct application of your Skills. Instead of the mana-intensive temporal fields, you would be better served laying traps and letting others shield you. Once you bully that poor [Researcher] Rakesh into joining the team, coordinate communication and planning with him. The two of you combined can control the flow of an entire battlefield. It¡¯s essential you don¡¯t get tied up in micro-fights; you¡¯re missing the forest for the trees. Think bigger, got it? Set up the team for success.¡±

    Melina doesn¡¯t respond. She¡¯s sitting down on the grass again, hunched over her notebook, busy writing down every word. The sight makes Ember rub her forehead, and then snort out a laugh.

    ¡°All right. Let¡¯s wrap this up. Lionel, you did a good job triaging and healing, but you got in the way during the actual fight. We need to equip you with a better weapon, at minimum. More experience will help you stay back and pick your moments to assist.¡±

    ¡°With respect,¡± Lionel says, his voice even as he meets Ember¡¯s eyes, ¡°my job is to heal. If that takes me to the thick of things, so be it.¡±

    ¡°Then I suggest you find some armor,¡± Ember snaps. ¡°Bravery is admirable, but it¡¯s a thin line before you cross over into foolishness. If you die, the rest of the team follows. Saving yourself is saving them.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master,¡± Lionel says, managing to look somewhat abashed. I can¡¯t wait to finish my glass armor project from last year. I¡¯ll make sure he¡¯s well-protected in a fight. Keep Lio alive, and he can keep the rest of us alive.

    She breathes in deeply, then unexpectedly smiles. ¡°Overall, a good first run. I¡¯m pleased with your grit.¡±

    We swell with pride. It might not sound like much, but it¡¯s high praise coming from Ember. She believes in us. I know it. My fist clenches tight at the thought. We won¡¯t let her down.

    Ember wipes her brow. ¡°Now. I¡¯ve got paperwork to catch up on. Scram, kids.¡±

    We chuckle and wave goodbye as she jogs to the glassworks. The mood is subdued after our debrief, but everyone seems determined to improve. Time for me to add some fuel to the fire.

    ¡°Before you all go home, gather round,¡± I call out. My friends turn back to me. Lionel shoots a questioning look my way, and Avelina¡¯s scowl is reaching epic proportions, but I just motion them all over. This is gonna be fun. ¡°I have some mana-Skill pointers to go over with you.¡±

    Mikko groans. ¡°Who made you the teacher, brother?¡±

    ¡°Shush. I¡¯m not talking to you, little brother.¡± I laugh when he rolls his eyes at my teasing. ¡°Now, listen up. Ava, the way the bear used flames could be instructive. Watching him gave me insight into the complex runes behind fire. It will take some time, but I think we can improve the heat and coherence of your [Flame Jet]. You¡¯re going to be a force to reckon with by the time we¡¯re done.¡±

    She brightens a bit at that, but still regards me suspiciously. ¡°I¡¯m not used to you talking like that. It¡¯s weird.¡± She laughs and claps my shoulder. ¡°Keep it up!¡±

    I scowl right back at her. ¡°Uh, thanks. I think. But I can¡¯t believe you¡¯ve all forgotten the best part of hunting.¡±

    I¡¯m disappointed when blank stares meet my announcement. I smack my forehead. ¡°C¡¯mon! The loot. It¡¯s time for our hard-won gains.¡±

    ¡°We already know about that. But we won¡¯t have any money until the sales go through,¡± Melina starts to explain to me patiently, but I shake my head, and she breaks off in confusion.

    ¡°Not talking about selling off the monster parts. What did I bring back with us? Any guesses why finding a Crystal Badger was so important to Ember?¡±

    Lionel¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°You¡¯re making us gear with the badger¡¯s shield Skill?¡±

    ¡°I can always count on you, Lio,¡± I say with a huge grin. ¡°Did the rest of you seriously forget that I¡¯ve become a recognized master?¡±

    Cheers break out, and Mikko and Lionel bump fists. Melina simply regards me in slack-jawed silence. It¡¯s fun to see her speechless for once.

    Avelina hugs me. ¡°Thank you, Nuri. We owe you.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± I insist. ¡°We take care of each other. That¡¯s what friends do, remember? Now, help me drag this bloody crystal inside. It¡¯s time to make armor for you all, my fragile friends. I can¡¯t have you dying on me.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m not fragile,¡± Mikko says, flexing.

    ¡°Fine. Armor for everyone except Mikko,¡± I amend with a laugh, handing him the strap to the travois with the crystal on it. ¡°His hard head can protect him better than I ever could, anyway.¡±

    Mikko just flexes his admittedly-impressive muscles again, posing while Ava pretends to fan herself in awe. ¡°Got that right, bro!¡±

    The team dissolves into laughter, and the tension and exhaustion from the day¡¯s hard work melts away as we walk into the glass studio. My brother laughs loudest of all, always a good sport when I tease him, and I resolve to make him the most resplendent armor in the world. He¡¯s loud, goofy, and brash, but I¡¯ll always love him.

    I smile softly at my friends. I couldn¡¯t ask for a better team. I¡¯ll do anything to keep them alive. Anything.

 B4 C8: Trinkets and Toys - Rakesh

    I can¡¯t stop thinking about the beast core that I acquired during my first delve into a rift with Tem. It¡¯s long-gone, claimed by the [General]¡¯s goons, but that doesn¡¯t bother me anymore. I wasn¡¯t in a position to make use of it back then. But what if this new Rift near Silaraon is fire-aspected? With a powerful enough boss, perhaps there¡¯s a chance it could drop a core. If I can get one for Avelina, then perhaps I can make her a weapon that works as a focus to amplify her [Flame Jet].

    Taking on a powerful monster of that caliber is definitely beyond my team¡¯s capability right now, but I don''t want to waste such a golden opportunity. ¡°What would she get the best use from?¡± I ask myself, muttering as I pace the kitchen in my adopted family¡¯s house. ¡°A wand? A spear? A sword? A whip? A sword-whip?¡±

    ¡°Nuri? Everything all right?¡± Kirsi calls from the other room. ¡°Hearing you recite a list of weapons makes me think I should gear up for a fight. You know, my Dad was a [Scrapper], and¡ª¡±

    ¡°And you take after him, always ready to take out the trash in a fight?¡± I say with a laugh, finishing her old joke for her. She huffs, but I can tell that my light tone sets her mind at ease. Somewhat.

    ¡°Need lunch today?¡± she asks, bustling into the room with a fragrant-smelling knapsack already packed. My mouth waters. Apparently, she¡¯s going to feed me whether I ask for food or not. I am one thousand percent all right with this arrangement.

    Grinning, I kiss Kirsi and swipe the lunch food. ¡°Off to work some magic, Ma. I¡¯ll bring you something nice later.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to it, ya rascal!¡±

    I dash out the door before she sends me off with a shopping list. Gifts are way more fun than requirements. My mind made up about the Rift, I set off to visit my first and favorite master at the Silaraon Glass Works.

    Predictably, Ember is neck-deep in work when I arrive. I tag along, wordlessly helping with tasks around the shop so that she can finish her inspections sooner. By lunch time, she tilts her head toward her office, indicating that I can unburden myself and share what¡¯s on my mind. Amusement seems to radiate from her.

    ¡°You report the Rift yet?¡± I ask as soon as she sits down at her desk to eat. She simply nods in confirmation, and turns her attention back to her lunch, so I unpack the food Kirsi wrapped up for me that morning and tuck in.

    ¡°Probably the responsible thing to do,¡± I say around a mouthful.

    She grunts, nodding again.

    I smile to mask my disappointment. ¡°You know, I kinda hoped that I might be able to harvest resources before they took over. Bet I could get a beast core for Ava. Imagine how potent her fire could be!¡±

    Ember puts down her food, regarding me for a moment, and snorts out a blast of air through her nose. ¡°They¡¯re stretched thin right now. If you¡¯re having second thoughts, you still have time to enter.¡±

    I swallow my bite and frown, deep in thought. ¡°Love ¡®em to death, but the team isn¡¯t ready. And I can¡¯t clear the rift myself.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn''t let you,¡± she scoffs.

    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯ll join me?¡± I ask brightly, although I already know her answer will be no. She has too many responsibilities at the shop. Taking the day off to train us and giving pointers in the evenings is as far as she¡¯s willing to go right now.

    ¡°No time. Hire an escort.¡± Ember finishes her last bite, brushes a crumb off her shirt, and stands. ¡°Nuri? Don¡¯t be stupid.¡± She squares her shoulders and stalks back into the workshop with the determination of a [Soldier] charging into a breach, signaling the end of our conversation.

    I take my time to finish eating, write a quick thank you note that I leave on her accounting books, and slip out before she can rope me into imbuing a piece for one of her booths at the upcoming faire. I¡¯ll help out, but later. I¡¯m focused on my own projects today.

    Hmm. What next? I ask myself as I stroll toward the town center. Perhaps my [Inquisitor] friends would be willing to come along for a price. It would afford us another opportunity to speak privately and discuss Tem in greater detail, plus Casella and Mbukhe could finally teach me more about reading another person¡¯s core. They should be plenty strong enough to handle any threats that come our way in a lesser Rift.

    I mark it down mentally on my ever-growing to do list. I already have more than I can get to in the next few years, but this one is time-sensitive. Before I can wrangle them into helping me with one of my crazy plans, I need to meet up with Ezio and go over his discoveries in seashell-based material science. He claims that he and Rakesh have had a breakthrough that will dovetail nicely with my advances in mana-imbuing.

    I¡¯m not sure I even need to use the seashell-inspired design anymore now that I¡¯m capable of imbuing the glass directly. I can create a thin, molded sheet of glass overlaid on top of a full-body suit, build in my retention lattice, and envision durable and unbreakable as my concepts. Of course, enhancing properties of the material that already exist will make it stronger, but I¡¯m not sure how much time we have to devote to the project.

    Not to mention that I no longer can fall back on either [Architect of Unseen Worlds] or [The Eternal Glass Forge] in order to ensure a shell-like structure to the armor. Chasing my original plan may not be feasible without many months of trial and error.

    My two favorite researchers are in a smug mood when I arrive at Ezio¡¯s office at the SCA. For once, they¡¯re not rushing about in frenzy mode; the two are sipping tea, seated sedately on the overstuffed, comfy chairs in front of the desk, and the faint scent of creamy vanilla makes me suspect the tea is spiked.

    Shockingly, not a single book is open.

    They didn¡¯t seem to notice me when I slipped through the unlocked door, so I cough to announce my presence. ¡°Good health to you, gentlemen.¡±

    ¡°Nuri!¡± Ezio says, rising to his feet and sweeping me up into a big hug. His cheeks are rosy, and the floral aroma of rum on his breath leaves no doubt that the pair are celebrating.

    ¡°What¡¯s the occasion?¡± I ask, chuckling as I return Ezio¡¯s unexpected show of affection. I¡¯ve never seen him so jubilant before.

    ¡°Come! Join us, Nuri. This is your success,¡± Ezio says, gesturing at the chair grandly. He leans on the desk, searching around for another mug so he can pour me a cup of the rum tea.

    ¡°How so?¡± I ask, accepting the strong tea. Steam rises in a curly-cue from the ceramic mug. I search back through my mind for a reason for his lofty claim. I haven¡¯t done anything lately, only come up with ideas.

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    Ezio pounds me on the back, making my cup of tea slosh around and spill a few drops on the carpet. ¡°First shipment sold! My fat old [Merchant] cousin said you¡¯re a walking gold-mine.¡±

    ¡°But I didn¡¯t make anything yet,¡± I protest, more confused than ever.

    ¡°Not the seashell-armor. Your imbuing prototypes were a big hit. You should be proud. There are vanishingly few masters your age,¡± Rakesh says with a salute of his tea cup, which is even more gratifying than Ezio¡¯s praise. Rakesh isn¡¯t exactly known for flattery. He tells it as he sees it, and he¡¯s downright brutal without meaning to hurt people¡¯s feelings.

    ¡°Imbuing is a game-changer,¡± I say in reply, still a bit lost. All I did was make a few lesser copies of Melidandri¡¯s mana orbs. Mine only have four levels, not ten, and they¡¯re slower and less complex. Perhaps that¡¯s why they¡¯re popular. People can finish all the levels with some practice, unlike the soul-crushing challenge of the original glass mana puzzles.

    ¡°Indeed it is,¡± Ezio says, chiming in with more enthusiasm than usual. He¡¯s positively glowing with good cheer. ¡°Now, get your notebook. We¡¯ve made a promising new breakthrough, and it¡¯s high time we got back to work.¡±

    I dutifully set down my notebook, but I can''t help but feel skeptical. ¡°Are you sure this design is worth exploring now that I can imbue?¡± I feel a bit like an icy, winter shower on a warm summer day. It''s a strange reversal of fortune; I''m not used to being the business-like or mature one in our relationship. I¡¯m extinguishing the good mood, as surely as dumping a bucket of water over a campfire, and that makes me shift in my seat uncomfortably.

    Ezio bobs his head like a chicken pecking at feed in the farmyard. ¡°Yes, absolutely. Not everyone has your talents. If we can get your colleagues to mass-produce the material, then we can still make inroads in the armor market. Add mana imbuing as a premium option, and I''m sure there will be wealthy nobles who will jump at the upsell. Mana imbuing is more lucrative, but it will probably account for less than five percent of our actual sales. We need to think about the bigger picture.¡±

    ¡°What do you think will be different this time? We never did succeed in commercializing the product.¡±

    ¡°We''ve come across a new gel derived from a type of slime monster in the Rift,¡± Rakesh explains, his enthusiasm for the topic almost palpable. ¡°We believe that it will function marvelously as a thin layer in between twin glass plates. The gel should make a superior shock absorber to our previous attempt and work in conjunction with the crumple zones from the original design.¡±

    ¡°It should, but have you tested it?¡± I set aside the teacup and cross my arms. ¡°Do you have any on hand? It will be difficult to verify the claims without a sample for testing.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Ready when you are,¡± Rakesh says. He snaps his fingers and the red flush flees his olive cheeks. His eyes are clear and composed, losing their glossy over-brightness. It must be nice to have an instant sobering Skill for times like this. ¡°We can go to the studio now.¡±

    ¡°Now? I just came from there,¡± I splutter.

    ¡°No time like the present,¡± Rakesh says crisply. He fetches a handsome leather satchel from the corner of the room, where it''s hanging from a wooden peg next to his cloak.

    Meekly, I follow him back to the glass works. Might as well trial the new material sooner rather than later, even if I¡¯m annoyed at backtracking. By the time the studio comes into view, my brief flash of irritation is long gone. The fires of ambition are burning within me once again.

    ¡°Back already, Nuri? Guess you couldn''t get enough of us,¡± Avelina teases.

    ¡°Someone has to keep you slackers in line.¡±

    ¡°My job,¡± Ember says, striding through the main workspace with perfect timing.

    ¡°Our plan is to revisit the glass armor that Ezio commissioned before I left town. Give me a bench for the day?¡±

    ¡°Sure. But it will cost you.¡±

    ¡°We will ensure you''re well compensated, Master Ember,¡± Rakesh hastens to assure her. She brightens at the promise, and he steals a glance at me to make sure I''m amenable.

    I shrug. ¡°Fine by me. Let''s get to work!¡±

    Our prototype seems more achievable than before. Armed with Rakesh¡¯s new research ideas, not to mention my advances in glassworking and runic research, I¡¯m confident of success. We might not get it this time around, but even if it takes a few weeks, I know that I''m on the right path.

    Ember rents me a workbench on credit; she expects that I¡¯ll pay her back with imbued items, which means that I¡¯m vastly overpaying. But I don''t mind, since I owe Ember everything.

    Rotating my shoulders to limber up my body, I reflect on the thought of debts and payment. I owe a great many people a great deal of gratitude. It will be nice to earn enough money to pay them back in tangible ways. Ezio definitely deserves a return on his investment. I hate leaving projects unfinished, so I¡¯m excited about returning to my old plans. It seems only fitting that Ezio¡¯s disciple, Rakesh, will receive the first suit of properly-imbued, seashell-inspired glass armor.

    Compared with my early attempts, my current approach almost seems like it belongs to a different person. My understanding of the craft is significantly more refined after working with Lady Evershed and Melidandri. Their expertise and contrasting styles pushed me forward faster than I ever dreamed possible. One day, I want to pay them back too. They deserve it.

    ¡°Now, pay special attention to the properties I''ve outlined,¡± Rakesh begins, shaking a sheaf of loose papers under my nose. He launches into a lecture, and I do my best to keep up.

    A little over two hours after we begin, I¡¯m ready to test the new materials. Initially, I planned to create my crumple zones, let the glass anneal, and then fill in the gel between the two layers. On a whim, I bond all three layers with a hot join, hoping that the fusion won''t heat up the gel too much and make it brittle.

    I¡¯m itching to practice imbuing, but it seems sensible to create a prototype first so that we clearly understand its properties. A good material that already gets the job done will only be enhanced by excellent imbuing. Strength on strength.

    Today is all about testing their discovery and experimenting with the new material. It''s all right if I don''t finish any armor just yet. Yet my enthusiasm gets the better of me, and I call over Melina and beg her to use her fast annealing Skill combination so that I can check if my improvising will pay off.

    Melina teases me for my lack of patience, but I can tell she''s just as intrigued as I am to see what I make. She sets aside her work, handing it off to her [Assistant], and rushes over to help me.

    ¡°Should only take a minute,¡± Melina says cheerfully. ¡°My combination Skills ranked up after our fight with that huge bear. I¡¯m twice as fast now.¡±

    True to her word, the annealing process is far quicker than in the past. Magic is incredible to watch when it breaks the rules of traditional glassmaking. If I had to wait for this piece in the kiln, we would have to resume tomorrow.

    ¡°I volunteer to hit it with a hammer," Melina says once the glass is ready to test.

    ¡°Hey Mel, is Nuri gonna wear it for the test?¡± Avelina asks, breaking away from her workbench to punch her fist into the opposite palm. ¡°I¡¯ll fight you for the honor of smacking him!¡±

    ¡°I have the best friends,¡± I tell Rakesh.

    He stares at me like I¡¯m crazy. Maybe I am, I think, grinning madly.

    Laughter and jokes fill the air while we run through impact and durability tests. The new design and materials hold up better than I anticipated, only cracking after a few dozen concentrated hits. Now that we know we''re on the right track, I can build an entire set of imbued armor. Rakesh will be safe if he accidentally ends up in the middle of the fighting instead of turtling up nearby and directing the rest of us with his communication Skill.

    I fling an arm around Rakesh¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Come on. Let''s get you fitted for your glass armor. You''re going to be the best dressed knight in Densmore, or at least the flashiest.¡±

    While I drag him toward the break room to get a tape and take his measurements, I wonder if I should make a set for Avelina, too, instead of trying to make her a weapon. I don¡¯t know if I can get her a beast core to help with her flames. Will I succeed in creating a suitable wand for her even if I do convince my [Inquisitor] friends to take out the Rift boss?

    Making sure that Avelina is protected from harm seems like a safer bet. Melina can take care of herself with her temporal fields, but Ava is both our highest damage dealer and least-sturdy team member. She has no defensive Skills, no healing, no battlefield lockdown capabilities¡ªif I don''t count death as the best crowd control.

    I chuckle to myself, drawing funny looks from my friends as I shake my head. Then again, maybe burning things is good enough.

 B4 C9: Trinkets and Toys - Mikko

    Sparks leap into the air with a hiss. The hammer grows heavy and slick in my hand after spending all day shaping the dense metal of the shield that''s slowly taking shape under my care. For once, I¡¯m not in the glass studio. This afternoon, I¡¯m helping Mikko at his forge. I¡¯ve spent the last few weeks finishing up Rakesh¡¯s armor, and now it''s time for the next big project: Mikko¡¯s badger-inspired shield. I came up with this particular idea while recovering from my mana-overdraw after our hunt, but I''ve been busy planning out equipment for each of my friends, not to mention joining Ember in the training yard.

    Now I finally have time to work on the shield. Today, I¡¯m helping my brother brainstorm a way to embed the crystals from the badger into a massive, rectangular shield that curves at the edges to cover most of Mikko¡¯s body. I¡¯ve never worked with metal or crystal before. Neither medium is quite in my comfort zone, but all of the underlying principles of craftsmanship and runes still apply.

    At least, in theory.

    My attempts to merge the two materials are not exactly going well. I''ve tried to cycle mana to my eyes and examine the structure of the crystals, but I haven¡¯t been able to locate any runic components. If the Crystal Badger used a Skill instead of activating an inscribed runic array created by infusing the big chunk of crystal with mana, then I won''t be able to copy it on the fly. Of course, that''s all moot if I can''t get the materials to play together nicely.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so glum,¡± Mikko says, putting down his own tongs and hammer and wiping his sweaty brow. He rolls his heavy shoulders, yawns, and grabs his water jug. After a noisy gulp, he lets out a loud sigh of satisfaction. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯d be a bit annoyed if you managed to make something amazing on your first go.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so now you want me to fail? Some brother you are,¡± I tease Mikko. ¡°What happened to encouraging me on my first day in the smithy?¡±

    ¡°Psh. Nuri. You gotta toughen up if you think this is discouraging. I¡¯m just pointing out that you¡¯ve gotta give us a chance to shine. You''re making the rest of us look bad!¡±

    I nod sagely. ¡°I am pretty incredible, huh? Look, it''s easy. All you gotta do is run for your life, fight for survival in a Rift, and get captured by a crazy lady who chops up your Skills and teaches you runic empowerment.¡±

    Mikko smirks at me, his arms folded across his broad chest. ¡°Yep. I see the problem. That''s way too simple for a prodigy like me. No wonder I never thought of it.¡± He flexes, a habit that¡¯s gotten worse since my comments after our scrape with the bear. ¡°Me? I live for a challenge!¡±

    ¡°A challenge? Like, say, affixing an organic crystal array onto a big metal shield?¡± I ask in an innocent voice.

    This time my brother just grunts and scowls at me. His eyes narrow before he blows out his cheeks in mock annoyance. He holds out a hand, gesturing for the heavy shield. ¡°Fine. Give it here.¡±

    I cross my arms in return. ¡°What are you going to do with it, muscle head? I¡¯m the one who knows how to imbue. You just hit things.¡±

    ¡°Correction. I hit things really hard. Wanna see?¡± He balls up his fist and shakes it at me threateningly, just like we''re seven and eight again, fighting and taunting each other in the kitchen until Kirsi separates us and threatens to bop us with her mixing spoon if we don''t behave.

    I let out a deep belly laugh as the warmth of memory crashes over me. It''s good to spend time with my brother again. I give him the shield, curious to watch him work.

    After the burden is gone, I wince at the strain in my fingers and forearm from wrestling with the heavy, ungainly shield all day. Maybe he can get the crystal structure to fuse with the metal using one of his metalworking Skills, then I can finish the attempt at imbuing. Team work!

    ¡°Thanks. If you get that big, shiny rock fixed in place, then I¡¯ll go back to work on deciphering the crystals so you¡¯re better protected. I don''t want to risk you ruining your delicate constitution if you run into another bear.¡±

    ¡°Thoughtful as always, brother,¡± Mikko says. ¡°But I¡¯ve survived worse. You should look out for yourself. You¡¯d lose your head, except it¡¯s attached.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not that bad.¡±

    ¡°Already lost a hand,¡± he points out, ¡°and that used to be attached, too.¡±

    ¡°Walked into that one,¡± I mutter.

    ¡°Enjoy walking while you still have feet,¡± Mikko snickers.

    This time I don''t dignify his joke with a reaction. ¡°You done? Or should I ask your boss to finish the shield for you? I want to get out of this stuffy building as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even want a shield,¡± Mikko grumbles. He heats up the metal again to working temperature, and redoubles his efforts with his hammer, pounding away at the two materials to join them together. ¡°What about swords, like Ember?¡±

    ¡°You''re our vanguard, not some [Duelist]. I''m not wasting a sharp blade on a dull brain.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, that was a good one,¡± Mikko replies, as jovial as ever. That¡¯s one of my favorite things about my brother. He never takes anything too personally. His chuckles soon turn into an amused series of sounds as he hums a lively song I don¡¯t recognize, so it¡¯s probably from a local tavern.

    I stretch out my sore neck and rub the knot in my shoulder. Everything aches. I press the tips of my fingers against the table to stretch my hand, as well. My muscles haven¡¯t been challenged this badly in a while. Not even the hike with Ember forced me to exert myself this hard. Guess that means I have to train more. Can¡¯t let my body fall behind my Skills and understanding of magic.

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    ¡°Metal too demanding for ya, young [Glassworker]?¡± a booming voice asks, shaking me from my reverie.

    Mikko¡¯s barrel-chested boss, Aatos, stomps into our corner of the smithy, a twinkle in his eyes as he watches me groan and gingerly move my sore muscles. ¡°Takes a lot out of you, eh? I give you a lot of credit for trying out a different craft. You¡¯re doing better than most first timers. Proper respect for the forge fire, too.¡±

    ¡°Terrifying heat is something our traditions share,¡± I reply deferentially. I wipe the grimace off my face and stand straight, ignoring my screaming muscles. ¡°Glass can get heavy, but it¡¯s not the same as swinging a big hammer for hours on end. Different strengths required.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± the [Master of the Forge] murmurs. His eyes narrow, and he strokes his beard as he watches me, as though mulling over an idea. ¡°Mikko tells me you¡¯ve learned to mana-imbue. Congratulations on becoming the youngest master in the city. Any hints that you might be willing to share?¡±

    ¡°Trade secrets. I¡¯m already contracted to Ember,¡± I say, shrugging as though it¡¯s out of my control.

    Aatos harrumphs, fixing me with a scowl. ¡°I¡¯d pay your Master, of course. I¡¯m not trying to weasel anything out of you.¡±

    ¡°I believe you,¡± I say with conviction. ¡°My brother wouldn¡¯t bother to work for anyone underhanded.¡±

    That earns me a chuckle and an approving nod from Aatos. ¡°Sounds like Mikko. He¡¯s a good kid.¡±

    ¡°A good man,¡± Mikko says, pausing from his hammering just long enough to stress that he¡¯s reached adulthood.

    ¡°My little forge-fiend, all grown up,¡± Aatos says, sniffing and pretending to wipe away tears. He swaggers over to examine our work. ¡°Now, move aside and let me show you how to make the metal sing.¡±

    To my surprise, Mikko leaps away from the shield with a salute and a shout. ¡°Yes, sir!¡± His eyes are shining in anticipation. I thought he¡¯d feel slighted that his Master didn¡¯t trust him to do the work, but instead he appears eager to learn.

    I vow to copy his attitude. I¡¯ve had way too many arrogant reactions¡ªmoments in my life that I''m not proud of. I want to do better. I want to be better.

    Within a few minutes, Master Aatos is done. The flashes of mana glimmer too quickly for me to follow with my half-mended sight, but I¡¯m starting to form theories of how to fold mana into other types of material. Metal may have an easier time forming a retention structure due to its higher tensile strength compared with glass.

    ¡°Watch closely,¡± I find myself saying as I step up to his side and place my hand on the chunk of crystals embedded into the shield. I barely have to create a lattice to begin the imbuing process, since the badger already prepped the crystal with a primal version of a retention structure.

    Aatos cycles mana to his eyes, activating an ability that I instantly recognize, and watches with a longing look on his face as I imbue the now familiar concept of unbreakable into the crystals. The magic takes hold easily, since mana and medium are already compatible, and I¡¯m barely sweating by the time the work is done.

    ¡°By the eternal forge,¡± Aatos breathes. He picks up the shield, cradling it like a baby. ¡°Just like that, eh? Mikko wasn''t exaggerating. You''ve got talent, just like your father.¡±

    Aatos must see the questioning look in my eyes at his comment, because he shakes his head sadly. ¡°Didn''t know him, only his reputation. Sorry to see him go all the same.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d be proud of you,¡± Mikko says softly as he steps up to admire the shield. He pulls me into a one-armed side hug. ¡°And I am, too. Thanks.¡±

    A slow smile, part melancholy but mostly satisfaction, spreads across my face. I lost a father, but gained a brother. I hope this shield keeps him safe, because I''m not ready to lose him, too.

    =+=

    The next day I¡¯m back in the glass studio, ready to create. Despite my brother¡¯s profuse thanks for his new shield, and his protestations that he doesn¡¯t need more gear, I¡¯m adamant about making him a new hammer to go along with the shield. His old hammer dented when he hit the bear, but I¡¯ll bet the monster wasn¡¯t even as tough as a Rift boss. He needs something stronger. I¡¯m not about to let him depart on another adventure without a suitable weapon. The shield is an experiment through and through, although I think it seems promising. Mikko needs at least one reliable piece of kit.

    Besides, the hammer that I have in mind is like nothing he¡¯s ever seen before. I can guarantee that. Lighter and stronger than his previous hammer, this glass warhammer will be easier to carry and swing around, but it will pack a hidden punch. My plan is to imbue a special inscription inspired by a complex rune I remember from my brief interaction with the Skill on loan from Lady Evershed. If it works as intended, Mikko will be able to unleash a burst of extra weight just before impact, doubling or even tripling the force behind his blows compared with his old forge hammer.

    The cold blowpipe in my hand gradually warms up as I turn it in the hot glass at the furnace. The warmth is pleasant and nostalgic¡ªa reminder of my early days. The gather soon reaches the size I have in mind, and I shuffle backward, away from the blazing glory of the crucible. I grip the pipe with one hand, tucking the other end under my armpit for stability, and turn toward a bucket of cold water I prepared earlier.

    I shift my grip on the blow pipe and hold the glass end down so that the entire glob of molten glass falls into the bucket as one huge teardrop. It hits the water with a furious hiss and a plume of steam. The hot glass hardens as it''s cooled at a rapid pace, creating a spiral shape in the bucket. The end that went in first is smooth and rounded, forming a broad and heavy bulb. It tapers to a long, trailing tail that ends in a delicate point.

    The resulting piece of glass doesn''t look like a carefully crafted product, but it is elegant in its own rough, naturalistic way. A well-known phenomenon, the teardrop is incredibly strong on the large rounded end, and incredibly fragile at the tip. One side can stop a speeding arrow in flight, and the other will shatter if I just flick it with my fingertips.

    Today, I¡¯m trying an experiment: using mana-imbuing to get around the inherent weakness of creating this particular teardrop. I draw on the mana in my glass pseudo cores and summon the concept of unbreakable again, willing it to infuse the glass with unyielding hardness and durability. It''s difficult at the best of times to convince a material to take on properties that are diametrically opposed to its nature, but it''s significantly more challenging when there¡¯s additional weakness in the structure to account for.

    My mana levels drop precipitously, but the imbuing takes hold. I let out a little cheer as the glass grows denser and more profound in my rapidly recovering vision. It¡¯s not true [Manasight] yet, but I¡¯m definitely re-developing the ability to sense mana. Pleasantly surprised by the success on my first try, I almost don''t know what to do with myself for the rest of the day other than practice inscribing the runic array.

    I tap my finger to my chin, thinking over my plans. I''ll fish out the glass hammer head from the bucket of water, add the complex rune, and attach an ashwood handle, which I will wrap in strips of leather around the bottom for added comfort and grip. After that? I may try to tear down the remains of my second Skill to see if I can regain [Manasight] with my fresh levels of insight. If all goes well, then maybe I can even earn the upgraded version of my old Skill. That sounds nice.

    But first, I need to finish each portion of the glass warhammer. Mikko is my friend, my brother, and my team¡¯s stalwart protector. He deserves the very best.

 B4 C10: Trinkets and Toys - Melina

    I have a problem.

    I¡¯m in the glass studio again, alternating between imbuing the final pieces of Rakesh¡¯s glass armor and doing commission work for Ember. Our goods are selling as soon as they hit the market, and Ezio¡¯s cousin is convinced that we can expand our operations soon. Unfortunately, the limiting factor is still my rather meager mana Capacity. This much imbuing everyday leaves me with a wicked headache and my channels on fire.

    During lunch break, I eat at my work station. I drum my fingers on my workbench, thinking over my conundrum. It''s an age-old question. What do you get for someone who has everything?

    For as long as I''ve known her, Melina¡¯s been the definition of self-sufficient. She quietly displays some of the most jaw-dropping Skills around, largely keeps her own counsel, and is always three steps ahead of the rest of us when it comes to life planning and the pursuit of her goals. Still, I refuse to believe that I can''t come up with a suitable gift.

    Sketches of armor, wands, and mana-imbued jewelry are scattered around my desk. For once, I''ve barely touched the food that Kirsi packed for me, too caught up in my frustration to finish. I''ve scrapped all the options so far. Melina doesn''t need the protective gear Rakesh does. She relies on her Skills to keep her safe by controlling time around her and ensuring that she''s never in a position of danger.

    Ugh. I need a better schedule if I''m going to finish these projects before Casella and Mbukhe join me for my excursion into the Rift. I can''t fight if I am constantly running on fumes. And I have no idea how quickly my glass pseudo cores can recharge in the energy deficit of a new Rift. They can often take weeks to build up mana parity with the outside. Time is working against us; Casella thinks we have about one week, at most, until a Royal army patrol can investigate.

    I push another rough sketch away from me, annoyed at my splitting headache. My tolerance to the pain seems to be going down, not up. I drop my forehead into my right palm and rest my elbow on the top of the workbench. If only I had more mana.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I say, leaping to my feet. There is exactly one thing in the world that I can give Mel without worrying: mana. It''s so obvious in retrospect that I smack my head. She¡¯s got her own methods to obtain just about everything, but thanks to my new advances with my imbued glass pseudo cores, I¡¯m uniquely equipped to give her a worthy gift. Why didn''t you think of it earlier? Silly Nuri. Get your act together!

    As advanced as she is, she hasn¡¯t broken through to the Second Threshold¡ªno surprise. She is still half a decade early for that, even as a prodigy. That means her limitations are inherently a Capacity issue, which is a problem that plagues most crafters and mage types until late in life. If I can artificially push her up half a Threshold, then she will be truly terrifying for her age.

    But why stop there? I''ll have to be careful not to go past the resonance limit, but there are plenty of options. Maybe I can make her less visible, if I can figure out how to combine the concepts for hidden or discreet along with the complex runes from Mbukhe¡¯s stealth Skill. Realistically, that level of craft is still well beyond my abilities, but as I push into my limits, I start to catch a vision of a staggering future, an unbounded horizon of endless possibility.

    I pick up my pen and twirl it between my fingers while I think. Stealth makes more tactical sense for Lionel, since he needs to pass undetected in the battlefield and deliver aid and healing wherever it''s needed. Weighing him down with armor or assigning him a bodyguard will only slow him down, not to mention spread the team¡¯s resources thin.

    What if I can make two sets of rope beads for Melina? If she stores them far enough apart from each other, then maybe she can just switch between them when one runs dry. It''s still tricky to make sure that they don''t interact, but maybe if they''re each at three quarters of the capacity my pseudo cores have, then cumulatively she''ll be fifty percent ahead. The only problem is that I won''t know her limits until after I make the investment into the cores, and if I miscalculate, then she''ll be missing out on that last quarter of potential Capacity boost.

    Might as well just get to work on a standard set for her, while I brainstorm other ideas. Maybe inspiration will strike. And even if not, at least the work will be done and I can move on to my plans for the rest of the team.

    Now that I have a plan, I''m suddenly aware of just how ravenously hungry I''ve become. My stomach gurgles in disgruntled protest at the sight of my unfinished lunch. I scarf down my meal of flatbread with goat cheese and honey, piled high with a mix of sauteed vegetables. Kirsi always spoils me. Sated, I wipe away the crumbs, and trot over to the furnace to prepare a suitable batch of glass for the compressed, artificial cores.

    I wish I had more mana, too. I lick my lips, wetting them to stave off the dry, crackling heat of the furnace. Melina and I would both benefit from additional mana Capacity; I only wish that I could stack additional strings of the cores, like layers of pearl necklaces, so that I¡¯d never run out. If I had enough mana, then I could use [Vitrification] on the shiny steel ball bearings I saw one of the younger [Smiths] creating at the forge. That would save me time making my own glass.

    I snort at the thought. I¡¯m a [Glassworker] and proud of it. When did I get so impatient? I don¡¯t need to take shortcuts, or obsess over my mana. I¡¯m not a [Mage] or a [Warrior], and I need to remember that no matter how much I might overlap with their roles.

    ¡°No buying or borrowing steel,¡± I mutter to myself as I work with the glass. I take a small section, not gathering too much for the first go. Marbles don¡¯t take that long to roll, and I¡¯m not worried about adding extra colors or crafting the most aesthetically-pleasing result, so within a few moments I have a smooth, round little globe of glass that¡¯s ready for imprinting.

    My mana control is improving each time I practice this technique, and now I rarely crack the glass or have to start over. The amount of mana I can store in each of the cores is still fairly trivial, but enough of them strung together adds up over time. I ought to be able to finish the entire set by dinner, as long as I stay focused on my work. All I have to do is keep the right imagery in mind.

    The mana is drawn to the powerful concept of home, of yearning for a place to belong, and the first core is finished imbuing with ease. An hour later, my head is starting to spin. I take a seat, trying to catch my breath, as I suffer from unexpected backlash. The problem isn¡¯t simply mana-overdraw, although I have been pushing myself hard. An entirely different source is at fault: the tension between the concept of home and the longing I have to explore. The dissonance is growing with each attempt, and if I don¡¯t take a break to sort it out, then I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be able to finish the project.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Everything I¡¯m making for the team is in service to my own plans. Yes, they benefit, but I¡¯m the one who has an insatiable need for adventure. It¡¯s like a sickness, a fever burning away within me. And now, paradoxically, the greater my desire to help my team, the worse my work turns out.

    ¡°Nuri? Everything all right?¡±

    I lift my head and smile weakly as Melina comes over to check up on me in my distress. ¡°Yeah. Just thinking.¡±

    ¡°About?¡±

    Does she always have to be so nice to me? For once, I want to avoid a conversation with Melina, since I¡¯m making her a present. I shrug and try to sound non-committal. ¡°Oh, you know. Life.¡±

    She arches an eyebrow. ¡°Should I be worried?

    ¡°It¡¯s all good,¡± I say reflexively.

    ¡°Out with it,¡± she demands, sliding over a stool and sitting down next to me. ¡°I know that tone of voice. Something¡¯s bothering you, and you¡¯re going to worry at it like a dog chewing on a bone until you¡¯re too wound-up to get anything done. So. What¡¯s on your mind?¡±

    ¡°Ah, not much. Just an imbuing roadblock.¡±

    Melina makes a face. ¡°Think I can¡¯t help you anymore, huh? You¡¯re too good for your old friends?¡±

    I laugh. ¡°Never.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought,¡± Melina says brightly. ¡°Now start talking!¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± I say with some reluctance. ¡°I need to balance out two competing concepts. I can¡¯t seem to reconcile them in my mind.¡±

    ¡°Which one speaks to you the strongest?¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Depends on my mood. But I need to focus on only a single one for imbuing, since I can''t split my mind into parallel lines of thought. That would be an impressive trick.¡±

    ¡°Indeed! I wonder if Ezio has a Skill like that. You might want to talk to him about mental abilities.¡± She purses her lips and taps her fingers on the top of the bench. ¡°Are you sure you haven''t trained to do just that with your puzzle orbs?¡±

    I tilt my head to the side and stare up at the ceiling while I think over her question. ¡°No, not exactly. Solving the puzzles is still accomplishing the same goal, even if the patterns are different. What I''m trying to do is hold on to a tiny raft of a concept for dear life while a competing concept buffets me around like angry seas in a storm.¡±

    ¡°Sounds to me like you have to believe in your vision more firmly.¡±

    ¡°But that''s just it! I don''t know if I do.¡± I find myself chewing on my lip without meaning to, and I make myself stop so I don''t look so wishy-washy and overly distraught. I set up straight and compose myself. ¡°What about you? Any changes to your dreams and ambitions since we last spoke? I still can''t believe you want to sail the seas.¡±

    Melina blushes furiously. ¡°And I can''t believe you remember that conversation! Thank you for not breathing a word of it to anyone, by the way. No real changes, although now I know who I want sailing beside me. Who knows when I¡¯ll see Padouk next at this point. He''s not well liked here, but I appreciate that you cleared the air with the others about his involvement with your escape plans.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go to Naftali,¡± I blurt out.

    Melina blinks. ¡°Right now?¡±

    ¡°Once I¡¯m done making your present,¡± I say with a wink. ¡°Well, and the gifts for the rest of the team. They''ll need them for our journey.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t just leave, Nuri,¡± Melina says, but the way her eyes dart around as though she¡¯s an animal trapped in a cage, searching frantically for a way out, makes me think she wants nothing more than to leave everything behind.

    ¡°Why not?¡± I ask her quietly. ¡°Isn¡¯t this what we¡¯re training for? I thought everyone agreed that the next time I have to leave town, you¡¯re not letting me out of sight. If I tell you that means going to Naftali, will you come?¡±

    ¡°I . . . I need some time to prepare and to pass off all my work. I can¡¯t just up and leave.¡±

    I grin. ¡°I mean. That¡¯s what I do.¡±

    Melina laughs along with me, but it¡¯s an uncomfortable, fragile sound. She squeezes her eyes tight for a long moment, then wipes away the drop of tears in the corner of her eyes and shakes her head. She looks at me sheepishly. ¡°No, no. I¡ªI need more time.¡±

    ¡°Time! That¡¯s what I was missing,¡± I shout. I snap my fingers. ¡°Mel, I¡¯m going to give you a crash course in complex runes. Then I need you to draw what you see in your Skill fractals when you use your temporal zones. If you help, then we can crack the code and copy the time-related runes. Then we can find a way to accelerate mana harvesting.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . that¡¯s the work of a lifetime, Nuri,¡± Melina says slowly. ¡°I will need to learn what I''m looking at. We¡¯ll need a baseline for how long the mana harvesting takes, like Rakesh and Ezio always say. Then we¡¯ll have to test each rune in isolation to ensure clarity and precision with the results. There¡¯s no way we can do that in the timeframe you seem to have in mind.¡± To her credit, she doesn¡¯t discard my idea out of hand, but simply moves on to discussing the nitty gritty details.

    ¡°Anyone else would take months. But you? You¡¯re a genius, Mel. You can pick up enough of the runic shorthand to help me in no time. Thanks to the literature I read about the mana control test, I don''t need to research absorption rates. They¡¯re already a known constant, apart from mana Skills. I think that¡¯s everything. So if you''re willing to draw all the shapes you see, then we can get moving quickly.¡±

    ¡°What happened to Naftali? Really, Nuri. It¡¯s impossible to keep up with you sometimes. You jump around more than a flea at a dog show.¡±

    ¡°Flattering comparison,¡± I say wryly.

    Melina laughs at my look of offense. ¡°You¡¯re a bad influence. Now I can¡¯t shake the thought of traveling to Naftali. But didn¡¯t you want to go to visit the [Menders]?¡±

    ¡°That too. We can go there later. Naftali is a perfect trial run. Padouk can sell our goods when we arrive, and then join us for another journey¡ªthis time without all the subterfuge and pretense.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re in opposite directions. Seems like it would make more sense to skip Naftali altogether,¡± Melina says, her voice going flat.

    Poor Mel. Easier to just shut down than to let impossible dreams flourish. Hope deferred is too hard to endure.

    ¡°Either way, we need to get you outfitted. I¡¯ve got to get back to work. Stop by the house tonight for dinner? Bring Ava. Reijo and Kirsi always love to see you two. I¡¯ll loan you my notes; we can put together a plan.¡±

    ¡°And my gift?¡± Melina teases.

    ¡°You wanna use your fast annealing Skills? I can have it ready for you tonight if you don¡¯t mind spoiling the surprise,¡± I offer awkwardly.

    ¡°Better have one ready for Ava, too.¡± Melina chuckles. ¡°I can see by the panic on your face that you need more time, so I¡¯ll save you from my sister¡¯s tongue-lashing and wait until everything is ready. You¡¯re very sweet to think of us, Nuri.¡±

    I sketch a bow. ¡°I have my moments.¡±

    ¡°All too rare, unfortunately,¡± she murmurs, but the glimmer in her eyes tells me that she¡¯s highly amused. ¡°Now get to work. I want my present!¡±

 B4 C11: Once More Into the Rift

    Casella and Mbukhe welcome me into the [Inquisitors] headquarters early the next morning, just as the rosy dawn paints the horizon in gold and pink. The mysterious pair replied to my request for a meeting almost immediately, which makes me suspect that they¡¯ve been monitoring me since I got back in town. From anyone else, I¡¯d find the surveillance disturbing, but the pair of wily veterans have earned my goodwill and trust.

    ¡°Look at you two! Geared up and ready to go exploring, huh? Almost like you read my mind,¡± I say mildly, although I¡¯m a bit piqued that I didn¡¯t have a chance to talk with them in person beforehand.

    Their smiles are sharp and amused, as though they see through me in an instant¡ªand perhaps they do. I¡¯m not exactly subtle. Although he¡¯s usually the more taciturn of the two, Mbukhe offers an explanation. ¡°You are a valuable asset. Neglecting to care for what¡¯s been entrusted to us would result in our dishonorable discharge. We don¡¯t mean to pry, other than that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± I allow, but my words taste sour.

    Casella pulls me inside and shuts the door behind us. He leads me into the sitting room and activates a privacy ward. ¡°If it makes you feel better, you¡¯re not the only one unhappy with our current arrangement. Tychicus isn¡¯t pleased you¡¯re back in town.¡±

    I duck my head, glancing over my shoulder instinctively as though I¡¯ll find him lurking behind the sofa. ¡°How likely is he to arrest me out of spite?¡±

    Casella snorts. ¡°Arrest you? Never. Orders from above. Plus he thinks you¡¯re intriguing, since you slipped his [Adjutant]¡¯s clutches and earned the [Viceroy]¡¯s personal interest. You''re fair game for mild harassment, though, since we¡¯re the only ones truly on your side.¡±

    When I grimace, his expression softens. ¡°You¡¯ll have to endure the unfair treatment as best you can. Keep in mind that we¡¯ll let him get away with any petty revenge he may feel, so we don¡¯t look biased. We still stand with you.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate the warning.¡± My words come out flat, like nothing could be further from the truth. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m so ornery this morning.

    Mbukhe pats me on the shoulder. ¡°Why the sad face? We have an adventure today. Don¡¯t look so defeated! It¡¯s time for us to become hunters, not hunted.¡±

    ¡°I didn''t know you were so bloodthirsty,¡± I say to Mbukhe with a sudden smile. ¡°You¡¯re right. We¡¯re going on a hunt, and I need to get into the proper mindset. Forget my troubles. Let¡¯s defy death for the sake of glory.¡±

    Casella coughs into his big, square fist. ¡°No losses this time, Nuri. We¡¯ll take things slow and steady. Life and limb are more precious than finding treasures.¡± His grave expression melts, and his eyes twinkle with merriment. ¡°Especially when some of us have fewer limbs to lose than others.¡±

    I groan at his teasing, but somehow it makes me feel better. If these seasoned veterans are composed enough to joke about entering a Rift, then I have nothing to fear. Not anymore. I nod, starting to catch the current of excitement building in the room. ¡°Thanks! You¡¯re right. This expedition will be nothing like my last, terrified delve that ended in disaster. I¡¯m glad to have you two along.¡±

    Casella raises his eyebrows. ¡°You saved an entire town from a Rift incursion. Perhaps we have a different definition of ¡®disaster.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Do you need time to pack? I have food to spare, unless you think we¡¯ll be in there for more than a day,¡± I say, deflecting his praise. My stomach twists as I think about the people I couldn¡¯t save the last time I encountered a Rift. I was too weak, even with my Skills. This time, I¡¯m stronger. Better prepared.

    ¡°Never assume anything,¡± Casella says sternly.

    I shrug half-heartedly, not feeling like an argument. ¡°The mana fluctuations seemed on par with a lesser Rift, so I don''t anticipate that we will need to prepare for a week-long excursion. Or worse. But you might be right. It¡¯s prudent to be prepared.¡±

    His voice softens but he still holds my gaze, burning with intensity. When he speaks, his voice is a bedrock of conviction. ¡°Usually, a lesser Rift poses little danger to a pair of senior [Inquisitors], but reality is unsettled these days. Things are creeping in through the cracks.¡±

    ¡°Like the behemoth that Tem and I saw.¡± My voice squeaks, and I swallow to clear the sudden lump in my throat. My words come out thin and wavering; I¡¯m a mouse given a human tongue, and not a man at all.

    Casella nods in affirmation. ¡°Just so. If we encounter calamity, then we run and hide. Better to cut our losses and come back another day.¡±

    ¡°But we have no guarantee that the Army won¡¯t claim the Rift for themselves by then. If I don''t get my hands on a core, then what''s the point of risking our lives by entering?¡± I scowl. ¡°At least at Lamont''s Falls, I was able to close the Rift.¡±

    ¡°Be happy they¡¯re allowing you access at all,¡± Mbukhe interjects. He sounds testy for once, which makes me think he''s just as displeased about this particular arrangement as I am.

    ¡°Yay for us. So happy for a handout,¡± I say.

    ¡°Enough sarcasm. We¡¯re ready.¡±

    I nod to the scout and follow their lead, grumbling as we go. ¡°I¡¯d still feel better if we were allowed to close the Rift afterward. It¡¯s too dangerous to leave it open that close to the city.

    ¡°A four hour hike isn¡¯t exactly close by,¡± Casella points out. ¡°The danger to the citizens is well within acceptable parameters.¡±

    I groan. ¡°Don¡¯t remind me about the walk. I¡¯m a delicate artist, not a field agent. Why don''t we fly from here to the Rift using your artifact?¡±

    Casella snorts. His strides lengthen, and he shakes his head. ¡°Expensive and impractical. That contraption is way too mana hungry. We¡¯d have to wait a few hours to recharge before entering, so the time is a wash. The wings are essential for certain situations, but they have limited range. I had to requisition them for our first meeting, since I was more interested in first impressions than actually trying to haul you off the capital.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Theatrics, Casella? I didn''t realize you were so crafty,¡± I say, strangely flattered that he put so much work into convincing me to talk with him. He¡¯s a formidable and clever man. I speed up, drawing even with the higher ranking duo. ¡°So, why didn¡¯t the other [Inquisitors] chase me down with the wings when I skipped town?¡±

    ¡°Mysteriously missing. Someone was using the artifact for a top secret mission,¡± Mbukhe says with a smirk.

    Casella chuckles at my response to the revelation that they were helping me indirectly. ¡°Plus you weren''t easy to find, but let''s talk about that more in the Rift.¡±

    Ah! The scrying-resistant letter. I grin at the oblique reference to the gift they gave me. Without their bit of inscripted paper obscuring my location until its internal mana ran out¡ªwhich caused it to disintegrate into dust¡ªI never would have escaped from their colleagues¡¯ clutches.

    Lunchtime has come and gone when we reach the location where my friends and I fought the fire bear. I still don''t know what that monster is named, but I bet that I''ll be well acquainted with that particular variety of beast before long. I slump down on a rock and stretch my sore legs, grateful for a break.

    My stomach gurgles, but before I can unpack my food and enjoy a break, an unfamiliar and potent mana signature presses down on my senses. Deep into the Second Threshold. I bolt upright, priming the complex rune for fire, but I release my desperate hold on my mana when I see that Casella and Mbukhe are completely at ease.

    ¡°Nicanor,¡± Mbukhe grunts by way of greeting, slipping out of his stealth Skill to nod at our muscular guest. Mbukhe folds his arms and stares down the newcomer. They¡¯re not exactly friendly, but they aren¡¯t expecting a fight, either.

    Nicanor strides through the world like a ship plowing through the waves of the sea. His powerful steps propel him forward twice as far as they should with each pace. Danger hangs about him like a cloak of violence; it feels more natural than his uniform, more true to himself. In his right hand he carries a spear I recognize¡ªthe enchanted weapon I claimed during my first foray into a Rift.

    His dark eyes glance my way for a brief moment, as if sensing my guarded hostility, and then slide past me. He casually turns his frame, angling himself to address the [Inquisitors] as though I don¡¯t even exist. He doesn¡¯t dismiss me with a sniff or a frown; he simply acts like he forgot about me already. ¡°Well, well. My favorite pair of pack rats.¡±

    I bristle in indignation at Nicanor¡¯s disrespect, but my friends don¡¯t seem fazed. Casella inclines his head. ¡°As always. We have your supplies.¡±

    Nicanor hands over his spear. ¡°Good. The Rift portal is a few thousand paces ahead and to our left; I secured the entrance before you arrived. Move on my command.¡± His craggy face breaks into a smirk. ¡°And gentlemen? Try to keep up for once.¡±

    Nicanor blurs into action, tearing up the dirt path as he disappears into the underbrush with the [Inquisitors] hot on his heels. Apparently, he isn¡¯t just making idle banter. I¡¯m about to complain about how unfair it is for him to expect us to keep up when a soft, unexpected chime in my mind makes me peek inward. My jaw drops a moment later as I read the notification.

    [Spear Commander] Nicanor is sharing Temporary Squad Skill: [My Feet Will Bathe in the Blood of the Wicked].

    Huh. I tentatively feed a bit of mana from my glass pseudo cores into the shared Temporary Skill¡ªsomething I¡¯ve never seen before¡ªand take a few steps. The surge of speed is so intense that I stumble, but I¡¯m still moving about as fast as a hunting dog at full run despite my lack of agility. I recover my balance, get back on track, and try to catch the trio ahead of me.

    Laughter bubbles up from within me at the sheer, ludicrous joy of moving so quickly. This must be how Smoke feels when she steals speed from a race horse! Then my eyes grow wide in alarm as I realize I¡¯m on a collision course with an oak tree. I shout and try to dodge the majestic trunk in front of me, but I overcorrect, trip over an exposed root, and end up eating dirt.

    I groan, gasping for breath from the force of the impact. My body aches, but nothing seems broken. At least I didn¡¯t lose any teeth, I think wryly. I stagger back up to my feet and keep running, but this time I look farther ahead so that I have more time to react to obstacles in my path.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The three men are waiting for me when I arrive in front of the now-familiar portal into the Rift. Our leader, the [Spear Commander] on loan from the Army, shoots me a scathing look when I jog into the clearing. I¡¯m lagging well behind the others, but I barely pay the bristling officer any mind. My attention is locked onto the opening in space in front of us. I¡¯d recognize that pulsating, soap-bubble film anywhere. I swallow instinctively at the sight.

    Nicanor scoffs. ¡°Now that the crippled thief has caught up, let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°What about lunch?¡± I wheeze, doubled over with my hand on my knee. I¡¯m not interested in sneaking through a Rift and fighting off monsters several times stronger than I am on an empty stomach, but from the look of incredulity on Nicanor¡¯s face, that¡¯s exactly what he expects.

    ¡°Try not to die,¡± he growls, and shoulders his way through the portal into the Lesser Rift.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s just cruel and inhumane.¡±

    My complaints go unheard, however; Casella and Mbukhe have already gone through the portal, sticking as closely to the [Spear Commander] as they can. I suppose it¡¯s only sensible to follow. Never know what we¡¯ll run into on the inside.

    I dig a bit of jerked gazelle meat from my travel sack, gnawing on the tough meat to make a point. They can¡¯t just go on without me! I complain to myself, but the longer I chew, the more I realize that Nicanor can and will abandon me. Happily. I gulp down my bite and scramble through the portal. I leave behind the plane of existence on which I was born, and once more set foot in a Rift.

    The first time, I was naive. The second time, desperate. But this time? I¡¯m ready to kick butt.

    =+=

    The first thing that stands out to me on the other side is how boxed in I am by the weathered, rust-red rock formations. The other members of my party are nowhere in sight, but I keep my mouth shut and don¡¯t call attention to myself. Shouting their names is a great way to attract Rift monsters, not to mention announce how unsuitable of a choice I am for this delve.

    I¡¯m sure Nicanor would love nothing more than an excuse to send me packing. I¡¯m probably one of only a handful of civilians in all of Densmore who¡¯s been in a Rift at all, let alone three times, but that won¡¯t carry any weight with someone like him if I screw up right at the beginning. So I make the smart choice and keep quiet.

    Grumbling at Nicanor¡¯s dismissive treatment aside, I have work to do. I breathe in through my nose, slow and silent, and hunker down behind a boulder as tall as I am. The huge rock looks like it¡¯s some sort of dark, coarse granite, but it shifts oddly out of the corner of my eye, only seeming to stay still when I look directly at it. I blink, clearing my vision, and scope out the scene before I make a move. The corridor of rough rock is as crooked as a [Politician], and clearly hasn¡¯t been hewn by any tools, but it still reminds me of the Labyrinth back in the first Rift. Great. Another maze.

    I emerged from the Rift portal right into a dead end corner of the passageway, so I don¡¯t have to worry about going in the opposite direction my team did, but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m ready to leave yet. The last thing I want to do is to rush headlong into danger. Instead, I count slowly to twenty, taking the opportunity to check for monsters and traps. Nothing stands out, so I jog out from my hiding spot, hugging the curve of the wall and keeping my eyes up so that any potential monsters can¡¯t ambush me from above.

    Mbukhe is our best scout, so I¡¯m sure he already cleared this area. If there¡¯s danger around, then he¡¯ll find it. That doesn¡¯t mean I shouldn¡¯t be vigilant, but it does make me feel less on edge.

    A few hundred paces in, the walls rise even higher on either side, leaving only a narrow strip of red sky overhead. I wonder if I¡¯ll ever get used to the color inversions in a Rift. If I stretch, I can reach out with each arm and almost touch the walls on either side. Well, I could if I still had a left hand, I think with a grin.

    Every few dozen paces, little clefts in the rock open up. They¡¯re too narrow for two men to walk side by side, but my team could have conceivably taken any of the pathways. The passage I¡¯m on hits a wall, branching into two options, and I pause to check for footprints in the dust. A few faint imprints from a boot lead off to the right, so I follow down another winding path.

    Up ahead, another passage bisects the pathway. I slow down as I approach the intersection, and prepare the rune for fire again, leveraging portions of my [Greater Heat Manipulation] in case I need to unleash an attack. Nothing moves, but I edge into the open space sideways, my hand held up at the ready and my back to the wall.

    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± Nicanor grunts as he looks up at me with a scowl before returning to his heated debate. He¡¯s squatting down next to Casella, and from what I can overhear, the two are arguing over which way to go; the [Inquisitor] is inclined to the right, where his partner is scouting, while the Army specialist wants to go left, based on a ¡°hunch.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we just wait for Mbukhe¡¯s report?¡± I say, my voice quiet so that I won¡¯t attract unwanted attention from the monsters of the Rift.

    ¡°Don¡¯t recall asking for input from a civvy,¡± Nicanor drawls. ¡°My Skills tell me that we¡¯ll find a fight if we go left. Haven¡¯t been wrong before.¡±

    I crouch down beside the pair. ¡°Do we want to fight? I thought we were just looking for the boss. I need that beast core.¡±

    ¡°You wanna just leave dangerous monsters alone?¡± Nicanor says, his tone rising at the end of his question. ¡°Can¡¯t do that. Asking for trouble.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be more responsible to close the Rift, then?¡± I ask, trying to keep the heat out of my voice. I meet his gaze, gauging his willingness to go along with my plan to erase the threat of another incursion near Silaraon.

    He shrugs. ¡°Yep. Not my call, though. Know what is? Giving orders while we¡¯re on a mission. Now move out; we¡¯re going left.¡±

    Casella catches my eye and shakes his head, so I content myself with a bottled-up sigh of frustration instead of snapping back at the imperious [Spear Commander]. I fall in line behind the pair of more experienced men, trusting that their fighting prowess will clear a way for us as we push deeper into the twisted maze of the Rift¡¯s rock formations. What is it with all the mazes?

    Nicanor¡¯s shared Squad-enhancement Skill doesn¡¯t offer much upside while we¡¯re in the tight confines of this narrow canyon. Moving faster is nice, but when we have to turn a corner every several steps, with our weapons out in case of monsters, the extra speed is closer to a burden than a boon. Our leader seems acutely aware of it, too. He swears under his breath and cancels the share, leaving me feeling dull and drained at the sudden loss.

    A moment later, he holds up a fist to signal us to stop. ¡°Contact. Two signatures ahead, maybe more.¡±

    ¡°No more that I can see. Not much here. Core is the other way,¡± Mbukhe says, dropping down from a cliff wall in front of us. I barely flinch when he reveals himself. I¡¯m getting more and more used to his wily ways. The thirty-foot drop down the sheer cliff doesn¡¯t bother him; he falls more slowly than I would in the same position, like a flying squirrel gliding on the wind, and he stops himself with a single hand on a small outcropping just above the rocky ground.

    ¡°Only cowards avoid a fight,¡± Nicanor challenges. He gestures toward Casella, who¡¯s still carrying the enchanted spear for the Army [Spear Commander], like he¡¯s a mere [Armorbearer]. ¡°Weapon. I¡¯m gonna thin out the native population.¡±

    Casella unslings the spear and presents it to Nicanor with a flourish. ¡°Good hunting. The monsters will never know what hit them.¡±

    ¡°Two fire-breathing lizards up ahead,¡± Mbukhe reports, drifting back out of the shadows he wrapped himself in a moment earlier when I stopped looking at him. ¡°Need backup?¡±

    ¡°Not likely,¡± Nicanor says. He frowns. ¡°Stand by just in case. Never know with Rifts. No sense taking needless risk.¡±

    We all nod knowingly, and follow beside him through two more bends in the passageways. Mbukhe leads us down a side-path that I missed at first; it¡¯s so narrow that we have to turn sideways to squeeze between the sharp pincers of stone. On the other side of the crack, the ground slopes down, leading to a broad, open area about as large as the courtyard at the glass studio.

    Two black-scaled creatures larger than bulls are facing off, spitting fire and stamping at the ground threateningly. Sharp spines stick out from huge, leathery neck frills, making them look twice as wide as a carriage, and their jagged teeth and long, curved claws look like they could gut a war horse with ease.

    Nicanor cracks his neck. He spins the spear in his grip twice, then beckons me over. ¡°Watch closely, boy. This is how a man fights.¡±

    He kicks off from the wall, roaring out a war cry as he accelerates away from us and catching the attention of the monsters. Plumes of dust kick up from each footfall. He vaults over a pile of loose rocks at the base of the meandering path, laughing as he soars toward the massive lizards.

    The first one growls, preparing to snap at Nicanor while he¡¯s mid air. It belches out a gout of flames and destruction, and I wince at the potency of the heat rippling off the attack. It¡¯s drying out my eyes all the way over here.

    Yet Nicanor simply flicks his spear. With a smooth surge of condensed power, an unfamiliar mana Skill activates, and the spear cleaves through the breath attack. The white-hot fire parts, gushing around him like water flowing around an unyielding boulder in the middle of a stream. If the heat bothers him, then he doesn¡¯t let the discomfort show. The [Spear Commander] slams shoulder-first into the huge lizard, caving in its skull and sending it sprawling across the ground in a spray of dark ichor.

    The second lizard spins to face him, hissing in anger. It rattles its spines, shaking its head and dancing side to side in a show of aggression. Scaled lips peel back; sharp teeth click open in a terrifying grin as its jaws distends, yawning wide like a specter of death. Air rushes into its open maw, and its chest swells up as it prepares a breath attack.

    Nicanor brings his weapon to bear. He braces himself, then shouts out a Skill at the top of his lungs, staggering me with the sheer intensity of the sound. ¡°[I Will Pin Him to the Earth with One Stroke of My Spear]!¡± His imperious voice echoes throughout the Rift¡¯s alien landscape.

    Nicanor crouches slightly, leaning forward to shift his weight in preparation for a bull rush. His spear glows as he finishes speaking, blindingly bright in my emerging mana senses, and he hurtles forward.

    The black-scaled beast buckles on impact. Nicanor¡¯s spear pierces all the way through its chest, burying itself an arm¡¯s length into the rock below and pinning his target to the ground. He stands there, triumphant, his weapon fully extended, and then floats back down to the rocky path.

    I stare, my mouth hanging slack. Guess wasn¡¯t overselling his prowess. His arrogance is earned. I¡¯m still not sure I like Nicanor, but fighting my way through a Rift with him on my side is way more fun than going through it solo.

    Nothing was as fun as exploring with Smoke.

    That stray thought brings a smile to my face as we join the [Spear Commander] in the shallow bowl of cleared-out, mottled rock. I give him a nod of respect, but he doesn¡¯t respond. He¡¯s already flicked the blood off his blade and resumed a ready stance, scanning the horizon for more threats¡ªor targets.

    Fire crackles from a foreboding corridor to the side, followed shortly thereafter by roars that remind me of the huge bear we fought with Ember. Before I can discuss battle strategy, Nicanor strides toward the ruckus, a grim smile twisting his face into a sinister mask of violence.

    Nicanor tosses the spear back and forth between his hands and cracks his neck again. ¡°Feels good to let loose again. Go on toward the core. I¡¯ll catch up after I¡¯m done taking out the trash.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you a trail,¡± Casella calls after the [Spear Commander], but Nicanor is already charging into the thick of the fray without a backward glance.

    Casella and I retrace our steps toward the intersection where I found them, while Mbukhe climbs up to the top of the cliff wall once more, watching from above so he can warn us if he comes across any danger. It¡¯s a slow, boring trek after our mad dash through the twist and turns of the maze, but with the ever-reliable Mbukhe as our guide, we make it to the narrow corridor without incident.

    Mbukhe skitters down the wall like a spider, clinging to holds in the rock I can barely make out. He seems to melt into every shadow and blend into the rough texture of the brown and dull orange rock, but if I concentrate on empowering my eyesight with extra mana, then I can follow his movements more easily. He releases his grip and lands in a crouch on the other side of us, motioning for us to follow him down a side channel, deeper into the maze.

    The three of us fall into an easy lope, trusting Mbukhe¡¯s superior sense of perception to keep us safe from attack. We aren¡¯t moving as fast as when Nicanor¡¯s Skill spurred us on, but the time passes more quickly to me anyway. Maybe the improved company helps me relax and not stress about the time constraints or the danger.

    ¡°Hold up, my friend,¡± Casella calls softly a few minutes later. We stop to see what he has in mind. ¡°We are safe, yes?¡± When Mbukhe nods, he motions for us to sit on the hard, unyielding rock beneath our feet.

    ¡°While we are far from listening ears, let us resume our training. Nuri, the time has come for you to practice viewing. While your [Manasight] isn¡¯t recovered, I suspect you¡¯ve been practicing diligently to see the flow of mana in the meantime. Tell me, can you follow what I¡¯m doing right now?¡±

    I draw mana from my glass cores and cycle it to my eyes to empower my vision, concentrating on the minute energy fluctuations in the area. At first, I see nothing other than tiny ripples, like the aftermath of throwing a rock into a pond. As I slow down and breathe, remembering the shape and intent of the complex runes that make up my old [Manasight], the spell form of Casella¡¯s Skill flickers into focus.

    I frown. ¡°Huh. But that¡¯s [Manasight].¡±

    He chuckles. ¡°Close, but not quite. Look again, my young friend. And then¡ªlook beyond.¡±

 B4 C12: Look Beyond

    Look beyond. Casella¡¯s advice rings in my ears. He opens his mouth to say more, but grunts as his teeth click together, seemingly against his will. Perhaps his vows prevent him from sharing finer details. I try not to rely on clarification, and review the advice in my mind, examining it from every angle. I can¡¯t help but frown. The [Inquisitor] seems to indicate that it¡¯s an important step, yet I feel even more confused than before. Look beyond what, exactly? I silence my inner voice and try to copy Casella¡¯s Skill again, following the flow of energy as I channel mana from my glass pseudo cores into the constituent runes of my former Skill: [Manasight]. I turn my sight inward as I practice.

    One by one, the runes light up as mana pours into them. Though I can¡¯t sustain manual activation of an entire Skill, I can at least empower my eyes to enhance my sensitivity to mana. As the energy of creation swirls around me, I try to find patterns. Geometric mysteries confront me, an endless knot of enigmas and obscurity.

    Two patterns seem to predominate. There¡¯s a fine mesh of interlocking shapes, roughly octagonal, that undergird the process. Embellishing the top of the base foundation are sets of twinned spirals in infinite recursion, like two circles attached together in an endless loop. I don¡¯t understand the implications of the mana flow, but it seems like a clue. I¡¯ll ask Ezio for his thoughts later.

    I force myself to look closer at the two higher-level men before me, seeking to pierce the veil obscuring their core spaces. How am I supposed to surpass the limits of [Manasight] when I can¡¯t even use it fully?

    ¡°Show me again?¡± I ask Casella.

    ¡°Slowly,¡± Mbukhe grunts, giving his partner a stern look.

    Casella nods and shows me the technique again, exaggerating the time it takes to gather his mana and activate the viewing ability. The effort to demonstrate a technique he''s forbidden to share leaves him shaking. His Viewing is still quick, but his deliberate, step-by-step approach gives me time to see the process more thoroughly. I¡¯m not catching his meaning about looking beyond just yet, but a few ideas are coming to mind.

    Might as well try various theories, even if I discard them. As Ezio is so fond of reminding me, rejecting a theory is not failure, but simply discarding dead weight. I try to peer past the horizon, letting my eyes grow soft and unfocused in hopes that magic will see me through to the other side. All that happens is I feel a vague headache coming on, so I write off that idea as nothing more than a distraction. I know that the destination is possible, because the inquisitors are living proof. Eliminating dead ends will leave a final, inevitable path toward clarity. At least, that¡¯s the theory.

    I fumble through another few attempts at mimicking Casella¡¯s ability, but I¡¯m burning through my mana faster than I intended while in the Rift. Better to conserve my strength for when we run across some of the big monsters, assuming that Nicanor doesn¡¯t obliterate them all and brute force his way through the Rift.

    That draws a snort of amusement from me, but I tell myself to focus. If I can¡¯t instinctively find a way forward, since I don¡¯t see any differences when I¡¯m viewing outwardly, then maybe I can try to approximate the process of looking inward. My own core space is clear in my mind with little more than a thought; perceiving my Skills and inner world is as easy as breathing. It simply happens.

    So, perhaps instead of trying to create an odd version of my makeshift [Manasight], I need to start within and then extend my consciousness out toward another person. Hmm. That might work.

    Correct route or not, I can¡¯t seem to make it work. Four or five more ideas end up on the scrap heap before I give up, rubbing my temples. Not the best timing for a headache. I slump back against the rough rock wall in frustration and let out a growl. I''m tired, sweaty, and stiff from sitting too long after all the exertion. My muscles are cramping. I need water and salts badly

    Arrogance. That''s what I¡¯m guilty of right now. Why should I expect to instantly master a new Skill that the [Inquisitors] are sworn not to spread or teach to outsiders? Despite knowing just how difficult the technique is, and despite the excellent advice I¡¯ve received from Ezio about trial and error, I¡¯m still annoyed at my lack of progress because fumbling around in the dark seems so avoidable. I¡¯m missing something important, and Casella could likely clear it up in mere minutes, except that he actually can¡¯t tell me more due to the vows of secrecy the [Inquisitors] swear on initiation.

    ¡°Again?¡± I ask him a moment later, after I''ve composed myself and regained control of my broiling emotions. I can¡¯t expect to make much progress while I¡¯m running hot. I take a deep breath and nod at my friends, ready to keep wrestling with the mystery of Viewing. I flare my mana, overcharging my home-brewed version of [Manasight], and this time a glimmer of a hint appears when Casella ignites his Skill. There¡¯s an extra layer, a twist of complex runes that I can¡¯t parse, which overlays the usual spell form.

    I close my eyes and rub the outside of my eyelids with my thumb and forefinger, relieving some of the pressure building up. A headache is coming on, but I press on, trying to feed mana into the still-intact runes in the remnants of my [Manasight], and substituting new runes to bridge the gaps. Scalpel would be envious, I think with a hint of satisfaction.

    Mana ramps up, initializing the patched-up Skill. My vision flashes white, then goes black as I collapse to the ground with a groan. A strong, sinewy pair of hands catches me under the arms and lifts me up a moment later.

    ¡°Steady, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°I still don¡¯t see what I¡¯m looking for,¡± I complain, my words slurring. ¡°Maybe we should try again another time. I don¡¯t want to run out of mana in a Rift.¡±

    ¡°Safer here,¡± Casella says. ¡°No one can see us. No one will report on our activities.¡±

    Mbukhe pats me on the back and lets go now that I¡¯ve regained my balance. He shifts to sitting in front of me and clears his throat, catching my attention. He folds his arms, then sighs, as though he¡¯s come to a conclusion that he doesn¡¯t like. He doesn¡¯t speak, just scratches in the dirt on the pathway with the tip of his boot.

    I lean forward, studying his drawing intently. At first, I don¡¯t quite follow what he¡¯s trying to get across, but I keep quiet and try to learn. Soon a square emerges. He taps it twice with his foot, raising his eyebrows expressively as if to ask if I understand.

    I don¡¯t get it, but I nod slowly anyway, hoping he¡¯ll continue and fill in the missing context. He nods and shifts his toe to draw in the dirt again, then glances away abruptly, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He coughs, backs up, takes a long swig from his water canteen, and nods toward Casella.

    Are his vows that restrictive? I thought they could tell me since I¡¯m working for their big boss. Maybe I¡¯m not officially recognized by the geas binding them because I wasn¡¯t properly initiated into their order?

    Casella shuffles closer. He leans down, casually resting his hands on the path while not looking at the shape. In one swift move, he flicks his fingers, adding four more diagonal lines to the square. When he tries to do more, he grimaces and backs away. Now he looks sick to his stomach, too. Wordlessly, Mbukhe offers him the canteen, and the two of them share a drink, pointedly not watching me or providing guidance.

    Huh. I guess their vows cover all forms of communication, spoken or otherwise. It¡¯s not about their words, but about their intent. In that case, they¡¯ve left me a valuable clue. I best not waste it.

    I turn my full attention to the shape: a square with four angled lines pointing in the same direction, emerging from the corners. I have to figure this out soon; Nicanor will be done with his hunt anytime, and we¡¯ll resume our delve deeper into the Rift. My [Inquisitor] friends have done all they can to help me. From here on out, I have to solve the mystery on my own.

    I squat down, placing my index finger in the dirt next to the little diagram, and wonder how to complete the sketch. The details finally click into place. That¡¯s it! I draw a second square next to the first one, connecting all the open lines to turn the square into a rough outline of a cube. I¡¯m looking at only a single plane; they want me to view things in three dimensions. Or more. I frown, chewing on my lip. But how?

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    If only I could already view, or if I¡¯d learned Scalpel¡¯s more intrusive method of delving, then I could watch the Skill initialize and determine if they are referring to three-dimensional runes, or changing to a three-dimensional perspective. But it¡¯s a classic case of Mikko¡¯s favorite blacksmith dilemma thought exercise: to make an iron hammer, he needs an iron hammer. I don''t have the tool I need to figure out how to use the tool I want. I grit my teeth. That conundrum is too much for me to figure out right now.

    I examine my own Skill structure once again, parsing it for clues. One of the melted complex runes is only half-formed now, but it looks vaguely like a filtering component used for excluding unnecessary information. Maybe some of the missing runes for [Manasight] actually limit the ability. I tap my chin in thought. Mana in motion is far easier to see. The small amounts of latent mana in the world around me hardly ever show up unless I''m actively pushing my Manasight. Is that by design, and not merely a function of how weak I am with the ability?

    Excitement sends a thrill through me. This is the kind of clue I''ve been missing. Perhaps I need to adjust the parameters to find what I''m seeking, like turning two sheets of polarized glass until an image appears¡ªor is blotted out. Perhaps that''s the key to unlocking my Manasight again. It might even help me look beyond the obvious like Casella suggested. I shake my head a moment later, discarding that thought. If it were this easy, then they wouldn''t need to try to circumvent their vows of silence to teach me about looking in three dimensions.

    While I¡¯m deep in the throes of pondering the new information, trying to figure out how to apply the advice to ¡°look beyond¡± in three dimensions instead of one, Casella completely ruins my concentration.

    ¡°Have you heard yet which cell block they put Tem in? Our contacts have been silent lately.¡± He turns to Mbukhe, a troubled frown deepening the creases in his face.

    I sit up in rapt attention, listening eagerly.

    Mbukhe heaves a heavy sigh. He leans back on the rock wall and crosses his arms. ¡°I¡¯m not sure we have an insider we can trust. And our network is spread thin; we might not have enough agents to start the mission, let alone finish the job.¡±

    ¡°That''s a moot point if we can¡¯t find him.¡±

    ¡°I will find him once we¡¯re there. We need a team first. Our young friends are still far from strong enough to be of actual help¡ª¡±

    Mbukhe jerks upright, cutting short the discussion of how to break Tem out of the imperial prison. Anticipation is written on his face. ¡°Monsters. Many, but weak. Good opportunity for you, Nuri!¡±

    I push myself up to my feet, following the two immediately as we rush through the crisscrossing trails in the canyon. The winding paths slope steadily upward, making me breathe harder, but I don¡¯t dare fall behind. Several minutes of hard running later, we emerge from the twisty maze and overlook a broad, barren plain totally devoid of grass. The expanse of rock stretches out in a vast, lopsided rectangle.

    We stand on the short end of the rhombus shape. To either side of the plain, the world fuzzes away into vague, cloudlike nothing, a gray void of non-existence that makes my skin buzz and itch with wrongness. Straight ahead of us, perhaps an hour¡¯s run in the distance, an ebony tower juts up into the blood-red sky. The density of mana concentration emanating from the tower leaves no doubt in my mind that we¡¯ll find the core inside.

    Probably at the very top, I grumble internally. My endurance is improving thanks to the constant training with Ember, but I still dislike running. Of course this Rift will make me run.

    ¡°Incoming,¡± Mbukhe warns.

    I snap back to the threat at hand, fully in the present. Reflexively, I check the mana reserves left in my glass cores. Still a little over two-thirds despite my practicing. I prep my [Greater Heat Manipulation] in case of fighting, and fall into a ready stance.

    The soft rustle of countless tiny feet reaches us. I can barely make out a dark line on the horizon that marks the approach of the horde. The running sounds like a handful of pebbles poured through a hollow stick¡ªa favorite noise-making toy of mine from childhood¡ªor the rush of babbling water just over a ridge. I brace myself for the impending fight, hoping that Mbukhe isn¡¯t wrong about their threat level.

    Several moments later, our mighty foes finally stampede close enough to make out the individual creatures. I squint, blink a few times, and let out a snort of disbelief.

    ¡°Are those . . . ducklings?¡± I ask.

    Casella¡¯s big frame shakes with laughter. ¡°I know we shouldn''t underestimate anything during a hunt, but I have never seen a more harmless looking bunch of Rift monsters in my life.¡±

    Right on cue, the ducks burst into flames.

    ¡°Why did you have to tempt fate, my friend?¡± Mbukhe says, nudging Casella. An amused smile is playing on the corner of his lips, however, taking any sting out of a reprimanded.

    Ducks. On fire. This is my life now.

    The fiery birds seem mindless, driven forward in a mad charge that doesn¡¯t stop, no matter what damage they cause to themselves. Every few strides one of the ducks in the vanguard falters and goes down in a spray of feathers and viscera as its bloodthirsty flock tramples over it, burning the fallen alive.

    Impossibly, the ducks seem to pick up speed as they rush uphill toward our position. Enraged squawks and squalls erupt from the monster horde, and the flames that limn their bodies rise higher, as though fueled by their anger. Their control over the fire seems poor, but their vast numbers still present a threat if we allow them to rampage unchecked.

    Mbukhe leans down and picks up a stone. He throws it down the hill, like a child skipping a stone across a pond, and knocks a bird over for the rest of them to trample to death. Methodically, he pelts the oncoming flock with more rocks. A faint crinkle around his eyes marks his amusement at the rather ineffectual approach. I think this is therapeutic for him.

    Casella holds up both hands. For once, he speaks the name of his Skill aloud. It¡¯s probably for my benefit, so I can learn how he operates in the field. ¡°[Chains of Penance]! Bind my foes.¡± All over the field ahead of us, spectral chains burst up from the ground, wrapping around the flaming birds and holding them fast.

    The vanguard¡¯s desperate charge falters and breaks, tangled up in unyielding bonds, but the momentum of the horde behind them is too much to stop all at once. The mass of ducks trips over their fallen frontline. Within seconds, nearly a quarter of the monsters have crushed themselves under their own combined weight.

    As close as they¡¯ve come, the monster horde still isn¡¯t in range for my Skills. I gather my mana and stride down the rocky, orange-black slope. The ragged pain of activating Skills is still present¡ªmy closest, most constant, and most intimate of companions¡ªbut I grit my teeth and draw in the heat from the flames ahead of me, pushing my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to new heights.

    A shimmering vortex of shimmering air and mist swirls around me as I pull in more and more heat energy. I shove it back out overhead in an explosion of super-heated air, drawing heavily from the flames and the body-heat of the monsters in front of me to fuel the transfer of heat. The intensity of the ranked-up Skill flash-freezes the battlefield in an instant. The cold is so sudden, so absolute, that several ducks in the front that aren¡¯t held down by chains stop mid-step, unable to move as they freeze over, transforming into blocks of ice.

    I pick up speed, running the last several paces until I draw even with the monsters, and reach out to the imprint of my Skill still hanging in the air. The heat transfer is complete, but the mana hasn¡¯t had time to dissipate yet. I seize hold of it and its tenuous connection to the monsters.

    ¡°[Vitrification],¡± I command, willing myself to transcend the usual restrictions of requiring physical touch to push mana into my target. I¡¯ve never tested this theory before, but what does it matter if my mana is within or without? Either way, is not mana an extension of my will? Just because I can¡¯t use [Vitrification] at a distance usually, like my old Skill [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach], doesn¡¯t mean that it¡¯s not possible. I¡¯m not willing to accept my current limitations.

    The Skill wavers at first. A wall resists my efforts to push past my boundaries. Growling in fierce concentration, I flare more mana into it and visualize the outcome I want¡ªalmost as if imbuing the Skill, instead of a glass project. The resistance increases, but now it feels less like a wall, and more like a thin film. I ratchet up the intensity, pressing until I surge past the barrier.

    It pops like a balloon. A spike of pain slams into my skull, almost sharp enough to break my focus, but I cling to the Skill. As I drop to my knees, grunting from the effort, a huge wave of mana ripples across the horde, transmuting everything my previous Skill touched into rows of writhing glass birds.

    My vision swims, and I¡¯m glad I¡¯m already kneeling. The nausea and sudden disorientation is likely enough to knock me flat on my face if I were still standing. I clench my fist, digging my knuckles into my right thigh and using the pain as an anchor in reality. I blink, my sight normalizing, and bark out a little laugh.

    Mbukhe darts about, flitting from shadow to shadow in the blink of an eye. He dispatches the last few living ducks with elegant, precise thrusts of a dagger. The weapon is dull and dusky, reflecting no light. Each swing reaps a life. Mere seconds later, eerie silence descends on the Rift.

    A familiar pressure builds up in the back of my mind. I turn just in time to see Nicanor bound out of the canyon maze, his spear held aloft, his eyes ablaze with righteous fury. He slams down to the rock next to us, sending out a shockwave of debris, and gives me a strange look.

    ¡°That¡¯s a sight I¡¯ve never beheld in a Rift. Dozens upon dozens of ducks, turned into glass statues in an instant. You¡¯re an odd one, [Glassworker],¡± the [Spear Commander] says, regarding me more shrewdly than before.

    I smile weakly. ¡°You have no idea.¡±

 B4 C13: Tower Ascension - First Floor

    After our ridiculous¡ªahem, glorious, I amend internally¡ªbattle against the flaming ducks, Nicanor and Mbukhe sweep through the plains ahead of us, checking for more enemies with their Skills. Casella and I run behind them until my feet are sore and my thighs burn. I force my leaden limbs to keep moving, following wearily as our indefatigable scouts forge far ahead. Every so often, they call out an all clear sign, which only makes me roll my eyes. If things weren¡¯t going well, then we¡¯d know.

    At last, just as I think my legs will buckle beneath me, our group reaches the base of the tall, obsidian tower. We stop in front of an open gateway, regrouping before we brave the heights of the unknown. I crane my neck, staring up at the tallest structure I¡¯ve ever seen in my life. In typical Rift fashion, the proportions are all wrong. The top of the relatively slender spire fades out of view, enveloped by the uneasy cloud of gray-black nothingness. It¡¯s impossibly thin for its height, and dwarfs the [Inquisitor] headquarters in Modilaraon, which stands at a mere ten stories.

    ¡°Gather around. Recover your energy, and then we make our battle plan,¡± Nicanor says. He paces in front of the tower, spinning his spear as though he¡¯s contemplating cutting it down to size block by block, shearing through the stone with his enchanted spear.

    I almost believe he can do it.

    Nicanor activates another strange squad Skill. I''ll never tire of seeing new abilities in action. This one temporarily loans all of us a portion of his combat experience, and the four of us hold a quick war council to determine our next steps.

    [Spear Commander] Nicanor is sharing Temporary Squad Skill: [Tactical Report].

    My inclusion in the brief discussion is unexpected, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a sign of honor or acceptance. He simply doesn¡¯t want the powerful effects of his unique Skill to go to waste. We each contribute to the plan to assault the tower, voicing our unique perspectives¡ªbut tempered with the three decades of combat experience that Nicanor possesses. While under the Skill¡¯s influence, my mind automatically filters out ineffective strategy and extraneous information. My thoughts focus on the task at hand with unprecedented ease as I think along martial lines, ensuring I only pass on sound advice.

    I wonder if Rakesh could earn a similar Skill for [Scholars], lending us a portion of his book-learning and impressive sleuthing skills. Maybe I can help him develop a synthetic version of what Nicanor possesses, assuming I can sharpen my gaze and peer beyond the veil that¡¯s obscuring his powerful core. Just trying to peek makes me dizzy.

    ¡°Race you to the top!¡± Casella shouts, signaling an abrupt end to our meeting. He takes off running, plunging through the gateway with an echo of wild laughter.

    I groan as I stare up the long, sinuous flight of steep, uneven stairs leading into the yawning darkness of the jagged black tower. Can I even keep my footing? Those stairs are way too vertical for humans. Did the wraiths create this place, too? I wonder. It¡¯s too built up to appear natural, but the rules are different within a Rift.

    Casella¡¯s light-hearted challenge rings in my ears as the other men dash through the open gateway and disappear. They run upward, further into the tower. Swallowing my fear, I take off running as fast as I can to try to keep up. My legs are like gelatin after traversing the plains, and our short rest to plan our approach just wasn¡¯t enough for me to fully recover. In only a few heartbeats, I¡¯ve fallen far behind the other three. My breath rattles in my chest, each gasp too fast. The rush of air is high-pitched, whining in my ears like the puffing of an almost-boiling kettle as it¡¯s preparing to whistle.

    Climbing the daunting heights of the tower is the last thing I wanted after running across the barren expanse at the end of the rock canyon maze, but I¡¯m determined not to come in last. We each want to reach the Rift core first. Mbukhe confirmed that he couldn¡¯t detect any traps in the steep, rough-hewn tunnel of seemingly-endless steps, so a race seemed the only appropriate challenge to decide who gets the glory of beating the Rift boss first.

    My legs pump harder. I suck air, hissing in a double-breath, filling my lungs and releasing the stitch in my side. I might be the youngest and weakest of the quartet storming the Rift, but I¡¯m not willing to cede victory to the others just yet. Grimly, I push onward, making use of Nicanor¡¯s borrowed squad Skill to assess my chances. Who says I can¡¯t kill the boss with my own hand?

    After several labored minutes of running up the steps, my stair-climbing slows to a crawl. Breathe in through the nose while I count to four, exhale slowly through the mouth. I fall into a steady rhythm, relying on the breathing pattern to keep from getting too light-headed. At long last, the steps end. The staircase opens up to reveal a broad, circular room with eight massive pillars upholding a vaulted, jet-black ceiling. A series of mana crystals glimmer every so often, embedded in the walls and ceiling of the vast, oddly-beautiful chamber.

    I stagger to a stop, brace my hand on my knee, and gulp in huge breaths of the fetid air. My nose wrinkles. It smells old and stale in here, as though something died and the rot never quite cleared out. I wish I could hold my nose and move on, but I¡¯m still dizzy and sucking wind from the last half hour of running across the empty plans. The fight and subsequent flight took more out of me than I realized.

    My breathing slows now that I''m at rest, and I shuffle onto the first floor, looking around wildly for an attack that¡¯s almost sure to come based on the strange mana fluctuations around me. Walking among the pillars is strangely solemn, like I¡¯m intruding on an ancient sepulcher. It¡¯s quiet, which only puts me more on edge. Warily, I continue my tiptoe exploration through the vast chamber. I¡¯m not used to finding such majesty in a Rift, but that doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s safe.

    Up ahead, frantic flashes of silvery blue light and the roar of clashing monsters greet me, and it¡¯s almost a relief to see things go back to normal. I clench my fist, tap into my glass pseudo cores, and circulate my mana to keep it from going sluggish and stagnant.

    The stomp of fast, heavy feet from my right makes me whip around. I shift my body to the side, dropping into one of the many martial stances Ember taught me, instinctively preparing for a fight. Mana at the ready, I seek out the concept of sharpness and prepare to unleash my attack. Not for the first time, I wonder if concepts are nothing more than unseen, strangely complex runes; I¡¯ll have to explore that connection when I¡¯m not in a fight for my life.

    A towering humanoid creature thunders my way, with veins of glowing lava peeking out between its granite and obsidian shell. Bellowing in wordless anger, the living rock slide pounds two massive fists together, showering the polished tile floor with vivid orange sparks. It raises its massive arms over its lumpy, square head, and launches itself at me with a roar like boulders grinding together in an avalanche.

    I dive to the side and roll over my shoulder to avoid its charge. Heart pumping, I leap up to my feet and unleash a sharpness-infused spear of mana into the back of its rocky knees. My arcane blade bites into the vulnerable knee joint, but most of its momentum is dispersed and turned aside by the monster¡¯s stone armor. The force of the blow staggers the stone beast and sends it careening off balance.

    The awkward hops it takes to try to recover give me an idea. Thankfully, although it''s fast in a straight line, the huge rock golem doesn''t seem particularly agile. Nicanor''s tactical Skill guiding me, I keep moving, shuffling in a half-moon curve across the tiles so that I''m constantly in its blind spot¡ªassuming that it has eyes in the front. I grin in vicious satisfaction as it follows me. Just as I suspected, it keeps hobbling in an ungainly circle to face me, but I outflank it with constant motion.

    Still. All the agility in the world isn¡¯t going to help me defeat this monstrosity if I can¡¯t hurt it. I need a battle plan. For once, I have exactly the tool I need at my disposal. Nicanor¡¯s incredible Skill, [Squad: Tactical Report], is still burning through me, and I realize that I can use the ability to report to myself and then formulate an angle of attack.

    Thump-drag, thump-drag, thump-drag. The sound of the rock golem¡¯s struggle to move is almost hypnotic. For a moment, I forget the extreme danger, savoring the addicting thrill of the hunt now that I know how to kill my prey. The golem turns in a cumbersome circle, its movements erratic and slow as it favors its injured leg. The glowing magma within its rocky form glows more brightly as it spins about, and a wave of blistering heat washes over my skin, but I snuff it out with a simple flex of my [Greater Heat Manipulation].

    The golem lists to the side, lurching like a toddler just learning to walk. It¡¯s way bigger and stronger than I am, but if it can¡¯t hit me, then it can¡¯t hurt me. I am no longer the hunted. I am the hunter, I tell myself. Emboldened by the thought, I still my racing heart and watch for an opening to attack. I¡¯m not the weak, terrified boy that I once was.

    Thump-drag. Stomp, hop, shuffle, stomp. Thump-drag, and stagger¡ªit struggles to keep up with me as I pick up the pace. Despite the overwhelming power in its rocky fists, I duck and weave, avoiding its blows as my confidence soars. Victory is certain.

    I run faster, trying to trip it up. The hulking golem twists about, slamming its fists into the ground in impotent rage. My moment arrives. It gets all turned around again, its back exposed toward me. Taking advantage of its inability to hit me from behind, I surge forward with a shout and slam my palm against its damaged leg. I cast [Vitrification] on its twisted knee, pumping mana into my signature homemade Skill.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    With a shattering sound, the knee breaks apart under the weight of the huge, top-heavy rock golem. I dart away again before it can grab hold of me. It crashes down to the tiled floor, writhing and roaring in rage.

    A savage grin splits my face at the sight of my fallen foe. I stay out of range of the flailing limbs while I catch my breath, casually checking to see if Nicanor witnessed my flawless takedown. I¡¯m doing it! I destroyed a Rift monster solo despite my missing hand and mana handicaps. I¡ª

    ¡°Get back, fool boy!¡±

    I jump in shock at the harshness of Nicanor¡¯s urgent warning. He blurs into view, charging me with alarming speed. He lifts me bodily, tucking me under one powerful arm, and runs across the room. With a heave, he tosses me behind a massive stone pillar and crouches down beside me, shielding us both with his hunched torso.

    A split second later, an oppressive wave of heat billows out from the golem. Eye-searing light bursts forth, sharp and blinding even in the shelter of the rough stone pillar. I flinch instinctively at the danger, even though we''re safe now. ¡°What is that?¡±

    ¡°Phase two,¡± Nicanor grunts. ¡°It¡¯s not a stone golem. It¡¯s magma. And you just made it mad.¡±

    ¡°Fire-aspected Rift. Of course,¡± I groan, cursing my stupidity. It¡¯s only now that I realize that the [Spear Commander]¡¯s shared Squad Skill is gone. It must have worn off during the fight, but I failed to notice. No wonder I made a tactical error; I thought I was invincible, but I was only borrowing someone else''s hard-earned experience.

    ¡°Stay put,¡± Nicanor growls. He sets his grip, holding up his spear at the ready, steps out from behind the pillar, and launches himself at the molten magma golem.

    I lean out from my hiding spot to watch. My first instinct is to lend him support with my [Greater Heat Manipulation], but at this range I¡¯m more likely to give myself another headache than anything else.

    Besides, he doesn¡¯t need my help.

    The impact of his attack shakes the ground, almost knocking me to my feet. Globs of stone and lava go flying everywhere as the monster explodes. The stifling heat dissipates almost immediately in the aftermath of the golem¡¯s messy death. ¡°Come on out. It''s gone.¡±

    I shuffle forward and bend down, peering at the remains of battered rock and molten magma to see if there¡¯s a core. ¡°Nasty brute.¡±

    Nicanor spits on the mangled golem. The saliva sizzles on the still-smoldering beast corpse, evaporating in an instant. ¡°After they take enough damage, the magma golems show their true form. Lucky for you I was nearby.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmur, swallowing hard. I don''t want to admit it, but I¡¯m unsettled by how close I just came to dying.

    ¡°Overconfidence¡¯ll kill ya. Stay alert.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be more careful,¡± I promise. Then I clench my fist. ¡°That doesn''t mean I''m backing down. Now that I know to watch out for the explosion, I¡¯d like to take on the next one myself.¡±

    ¡°And let all my hard work go to waste? I don¡¯t think so,¡± he says, scoffing. ¡°I just saved your butt. You wanna jump right back in the fire?¡±

    ¡°Fire doesn''t scare me. I have [Greater Heat Manipulation],¡± I snap back. ¡°I¡¯ve beaten a Rift boss before. I can do it again.¡±

    The domineering [Spear Commander] sneers at my cheeky response. ¡°Yeah, I read the report. You got lucky. [Gauge Enemy Threat] barely registers when I look at you.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°I have more tricks up my sleeve than I did then. Not everything in the world can be quantified. Your Skill isn¡¯t foolproof.¡±

    He spits again on the smoking corpse of the magma golem, seeming to enjoy the sight of steam and sparks if his slow, crooked smile is anything to go by. ¡°My Skill ain¡¯t let me down yet. But sure. You take on the last one solo. Why not? Less trouble for me if you don¡¯t make it out of the Rift.¡± He shrugs, turns to face the [Inquisitors] who are fighting three of the magma golems, and juts out his chin in their direction. ¡°Go on. Help em.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence!¡± I call out in as flippant a tone as I can manage while I charge toward the ongoing battle. I refuse to let Nicanor¡¯s sour mood get to me, although I stop myself from sarcastically blowing a kiss to the surly [Spear Commander]. I still have a shred of dignity left, after all.

    Casella¡¯s control Skill [Chains of Penance] is struggling to contain all three of the golems at once. The chain¡¯s ethereal links bulge and snap under the strain. He reapplies them immediately, tripping up the enemies and throwing off their attack patterns. The pair don¡¯t seem to be in significant danger thanks to Mbukhe¡¯s ability to ghost in and out of the fight. The stealthy [Inquisitor] pulls their attention away from his less-mobile teammate. Still, they¡¯re at a stalemate for the moment.

    I aim to fix that.

    Inspired by my fight with the strange, scorching ducks, I spread my mana across the chamber and draw in the rolling waves of heat radiating from the magma golems. Their turbid energy dominates the area, thick and potent thanks to their combined auras. Without my Skill to keep me shielded from the oppressive heat, I¡¯d melt on the spot.

    The childish part of me wants to shrink back from the roiling flames and churning magma. I should let the actual soldiers and scouts do their job, and conserve my own mana in case we run into a problem that I¡¯m uniquely qualified to solve. I grit my teeth and keep running. I''ve spent the last year dancing to the tunes of other people. It''s time to sing my own song, to move to my own drum beat.

    I force mana through my [Greater Heat Manipulation], harder than I¡¯ve dared to stress the tortured Skill structure in ages, pushing it to its limits. Unlike the other Skills that I tore down and repurposed, my evolved form of [Heat Manipulation] is my only original Skill that¡¯s usable, if painful. I can¡¯t sustain it for long, but at least it¡¯s still recognizable as an actual Skill. Even so, an alarming amount of mana is lost to leakage as energy floods into the cracks.

    I throw my Skill against the heat warping the air around the massive magma golems. The struggle to maintain the Skill sets my internal space groaning with effort, and a frisson of fear flashes through me. I instantly clamp down on my worries and fears about what might happen, and focus on what¡¯s right in front of me. I¡¯m draining their heat as fast as I can.

    As one, the magma golems whirl around, locking onto the new threat in their domain: me. They seem to forget about the [Inquisitors] entirely, charging toward me as the temperature plummets. The cold snap is so extreme that their steps slow, constricted by the suddenly frigid environment. Their bright orange and red shells briefly turn blue-black. The stone starts to crack, shattering under the strain and cold.

    Cackling at my success, I lift my hand up, holding out my palm at chest height while I run into battle. I narrow my field of frost to only encompass the golems in an attempt to mitigate the loss of mana efficiency. Under my relentless icy assault, crevices form across their hardened, rock-studded exteriors. The fissures widen, fracture, and explode; the frozen rock sloughs off, revealing the vicious, blazing power of their heavy magma cores. Super-heated energy blasts outward from the golems, driving the ambient mana sky-high.

    For a few heartbeats, I strive against them for control over the temperature in the rocky chamber. My arm is shaking from the effort, but the strain on my mind is even worse. The sheer volume of energy pouring off the Rift monsters is too much for me to contest control over the environment. Locked in a stalemate of my own, I shift tactics before I run out of mana and switch over to [Vitrification]. I wrestle against the limits of my handcrafted Skill, dumping every last drop of stored mana from my glass pseudo cores into the glassification process and imposing my will on the monsters.

    Glimmers of mana gather in the golems. Heat rises, turning the air to steam¡ªto nothing at all, the very elements boiled away by the intense energy¡ªand the monsters vibrate with the threat of violence.

    ¡°Mind the explosion, lad,¡± Nicanor calls out from behind me. Despite the danger, his voice is calm and unhurried¡ªhe sounds amused, of all things. In an instant, an image of him with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face, watching me risk life and limb while he stands by and mocks me, springs into my mind¡¯s eye.

    I hiss at the burning, writhing pain within me as my Skill protests the massive surge of mana flowing through its twisted framework. Complaining is a luxury only survivors get, I remind myself. Victory first. With a shout, I ignite the runes in [Vitrification], overloading the Skill and hastening it along as fast as I can.

    Pebbles ping off my chest, knocking the breath out of me and bruising my ribs. Great gouts of fire and lava strafe the chamber, turning the stately stone into a blazing inferno. Just as the magma golems unleash their mutually-assured destruction, [Vitrification] takes hold of them.

    I fall to my knees, crying out in pain as my vision slips sideways. The whole world goes white, and I blink awake again a heartbeat later to a terrible ringing in my ears at the clap of displaced air from their thwarted detonation. The transformation to glass freezes their last act of glorious destruction in time, metamorphosing the tongues of flames and towers of rock into tendrils of glass.

    Nicanor nudges me with his boot, making my ribs groan in agony. ¡°Huh. What do you know? My Skill says you¡¯re more dangerous than a kitten now.¡±

    I shoot him a dirty look, but he just chuckles and walks past me to greet the [Inquisitors]. Soot-streaked and singed, Casella and Mbukhe stumble out of the cloud of gray-black, greasy smoke hanging over the battleground. They nod to me in acknowledgement, then join Nicanor by the corpses of the floor bosses, tapping on the rocks and shifting through coarse sand and dirty chunks of glass.

    It takes me longer than I¡¯d like to admit to realize they¡¯re looking for a beast core. While not everything in a Rift drops a core, these monsters are a clear cut above most of the creatures we¡¯ll encounter in a Lesser Rift. I¡¯d put their threat level a tier ahead of the king Crimson Crab, at least on par with the hideous, hyena-like boss that Smoke and I barely managed to defeat, and maybe a half step ahead. Ignoring the thud of war drums pounding in my head¡ªthanks to a sudden-onset migraine from mana deprivation¡ªI help the others pick through the rubble of obsidian and half-glass granite, searching for a surviving core among the wreckage.

    Mbukhe shakes his head after a few fruitless moments of digging. He catches my gaze. ¡°Nothing. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°Not bad, glass-maker. Leave the rest to the professionals. We press onward,¡± Nicanor declares in his bombastic, cocky tones.

    It¡¯s the nicest thing he¡¯s ever said to me, but his words boom in my ears, and I wince at the throbbing pressure. The entire world feels like sandpaper dragged across my eyes and skin, assaulting me from all directions thanks to my complete mana drain.

    Mutely, I fall in line behind the other three. We exit the immense, smoke-filled chamber and begin climbing the next flight of stairs. My head¡¯s spinning, making it difficult for me to find my balance. The ever-present, blistering pain of mana use burns through my cracked channels, but I force myself to put one foot in front of the next. Now is not the time to fall behind. Who knows how many more levels we have to climb, or how many more floor bosses we¡¯ll encounter?

    Casella slows his steps, falling back and putting an arm around my shoulders to steady me. He doesn¡¯t say a word, but his eyes spark with the thrill of the hunt. I¡¯m out of mana and feeling useless, but even so, I smile at the big, kindly man. I¡¯m glad he''s here with me. Exploring with my friends is the most exciting thing in the world. Adventure awaits us above. I can¡¯t wait to see what we discover next.

 B4 C14: Tower Ascension - Second Floor

    Casella and Mbukhe take turns helping me climb the stairway, keeping me steady while my headache subsides. Breathing is more difficult than I expected, and not just because I¡¯m struggling to catch my breath after all the running and fighting. Within the dark, stifling confines of the obsidian tower, the air itself seems thick and cloying. In the total darkness, it¡¯s all too easy to trip over the steep, uneven steps, particularly when the flight of stairs reaches a switchback and abruptly changes directions. The landings seem to be spaced out every three dozen steps, but even after Mbukhe tells me to start counting steps, I still stumble when my foot meets empty air instead of another stone tread.

    My friends seem unperturbed by our dismal surroundings, however. They haven¡¯t stumbled, fallen, or bumped face-first into a stone wall, like I have¡ªtwice now, I think with chagrin¡ªwhich leads me to suspect that the pair of [Inquisitors] have some sort of dark vision Skill. Perhaps it¡¯s another one of the various stealth and subterfuge Skills that [Inquisitors] all seem to learn. Of course, that doesn¡¯t explain how Nicanor navigates the inky darkness so confidently, leading us up the tower without tripping or losing his bearings.

    The [Spear Commander] is frighteningly competent. His combat prowess is impressive, yes, but he also carries himself with strength and conviction. His ironclad aura of absolute certainty bolsters the rest of us, a constant bulwark against my fears of the unknown and creeping doubts that we can assail the tower and conquer the Rift. He¡¯s so unlike me; I¡¯m constantly plagued by concerns and second-guessing, but he identifies his path forward, and then moves heaven and earth to reach his goal. I find myself grudgingly admiring Nicanor, as frustrating as he is to work with. I still wish he didn¡¯t glare every time he looks my way, but I can learn a lot from his expertise.

    ¡°Second floor,¡± Nicanor calls out.

    Soft light blooms up ahead, spilling out of a doorframe at the top of the next flight of stairs, stinging my eyes with the sudden glare. I blink, squinting in the faint glow, and pick up my pace so I can reach the light again. I¡¯ve long since lost count of how many times we¡¯ve reached one of the wide landings, turned left, and continued upward into the tower, but I thought we¡¯d reach the top long before now. Unless we¡¯re far slower than I¡¯ve estimated, the obsidian tower is several times taller than I realized. Perhaps there¡¯s some sort of strange spatial magic at play.

    Nicanor bars the doorway with his arm, preventing me from charging into the chamber. He turns toward us and gestures for the team to gather closer, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. ¡°Not detecting any threats inside, but Rifts don¡¯t usually get easier the farther in you go. Proceed with caution. Keep your weapons and Skills at the ready, but don¡¯t engage unless I give the order.¡±

    I nod along with the [Inquisitors]. Their faces are grim and harsh in the shifting shadows, but their eyes seem to glitter with the thrill of exploration.

    ¡°Sense any traps?¡± Nicanor asks.

    ¡°Seems clear, but who knows what we¡¯ll find next? Rifts don¡¯t exactly come with a map,¡± Mbukhe says.

    Casella chuckles, soft and low. ¡°Ha. Got that right. We¡¯re likely the first humans to set foot in this particular Rift, given how randomly they connect to our plane.¡±

    Privately, I grumble about the inaccurate comment. The Rifts don¡¯t make random connections, not really. Predicting the intersection of the various planes of existence as they churn through the emptiness of the void is extraordinarily complicated. Not even [Viceroy] Tapirs knows how to solve that particularly sticky equation, which is why he was so excited to get his hands on the astral navigator. It should be mine, though. Tem and I should be exploring the world and clearing Rifts with my friends, not¡ª

    Nicanor claps his hands together in front of my face, making me flinch. ¡°Focus, glass-maker. Time to go. If you¡¯re out of mana, better you stay in the middle of the formation and keep watch.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m recovering. I can help.¡±

    He snorts. ¡°Not likely.¡±

    My guilt at being caught daydreaming shifts to sudden anger, and I flush at his dismissiveness. ¡°I¡¯m not a liability. I know how to survive in a Rift.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get in the way,¡± he snaps.

    With one last glare, he turns and stalks into the vast, wide-open chamber of the second floor. From the doorway, I don¡¯t see any enemies, although the others are likely to sense them before I do. Inside the second chamber, the floor is flat and level in every direction as far as the eye can see, which admittedly isn¡¯t very far in the milky half-light. Unlike the rest of the Rift, the flooring looks manmade. Flagstones are not what I expect to see in the Rift. They form a smooth pathway, fitted together with precision.

    Nicanor strides forward with the same ground-eating pace that he set previously, amazing me with his ability to move more quickly than he ought to with each step. My mind drifts back to when I first met Ezio; he had that same type of movement ability, despite his lack of martial training. Somehow, he was able to include me in the Skill effect, but Nicanor doesn¡¯t seem inclined to share.

    I wonder if this simply doesn''t fall into the domain of his Squad Skills. Or perhaps he¡¯s conserving them so that we have options if we run into a problem. Soon, I''m jogging to keep up and my idle curiosity is pushed to the edges of my mind. I glance around, determined to prove my worth as a lookout since I¡¯m not ready to assist with the fighting yet. Keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary as we run helps me stay focused on what matters. Anomalies haven¡¯t presented themselves, but I try to stay vigilant, not wanting to fall prey to an ambush. Nicanor will never let me hear the end of it if I fail to warn the team, assuming he doesn¡¯t pick up on the enemy well before I detect that something¡¯s amiss.

    Closer to the center of the chamber, the light grows stronger, pushing back the circle of darkness that hides the rest of the second floor chamber. The visible area grows wider as we trudge deeper into the vast room, and soon I¡¯m glancing upward in curiosity to locate the source of the light. The vaulted ceiling high above us is covered with some sort of moss or lichen that gives off a faint, orange-red luminance. I''ve never seen anything quite like it before. I suspect the glow is actually somewhat dim¡ªin natural sunlight I probably wouldn''t be able to see it at all. Here in the gloom of the Rift, however, we''re able to navigate by its light just fine.

    Little flecks of dust and moss float through the still air, carried aloft on some unfelt current of wind. The detritus around us floats in slow patterns and whorls, dreamlike as it dances throughout the chamber. The movement is majestic, yet unsettling, as though unmoored from time. The hypnotic rhythm of the pulses of light and shadow draw my eye; the steady ebb and flow of the light show overhead reminds me of white-capped waves crashing on a shore of black sand, the foam and water rushing up the beach and then withdrawing again, repeating in an eternal cycle.

    ¡°Or perhaps it¡¯s more akin to breathing,¡± I mutter to myself with a shiver. That mental image makes me feel like we''re stuck inside the gullet of an enormous, world-ending beast. The only thing that doesn¡¯t fit that picture is the steady movement of glimmering lights, like falling snowflakes catching the last rays of the setting sun. It¡¯s eerie and beautiful all at once, yet utterly alien.

    The further into the chamber we proceed, the closer the strange lights drift. By the time our party is halfway to the other side, by my estimate, the little dots of light surround us like a thick, mesmerizing fog. It¡¯s gone from dusk to blazing day in the last several paces. The tiny, glowing sprites are growing brighter with every step, filling the air and growing more numerous. Entranced, I watch as they spiral all around us and obscure my view of the walls.

    The ceiling is no longer visible through the innumerable blinking layers of sparks, and the floor of the chamber is hidden away from view a moment later. My boots hit flagstone, but I no longer see it or even hear the echo of each footfall; I feel like I am walking through the clouds, sinking into a dreamlike trance. Everything is dull and muted except for the orange-red haze of endlessly falling dust motes. The fiery pinpricks intensify the farther we trek ahead, reminding me of the forge glow at the shop. The light burns and burns, growing blindingly brilliant until tears streak down my face from squinting against the harsh glare.

    I turn to glance over my shoulder, planning to ask Casella if he¡¯s ever seen anything like this odd display, but he¡¯s not behind me anymore. I flinch and spin back around, squinting harder than ever to try to see through the disorienting, dancing lights as I search for the rest of my companions. Neither the formidable [Spear Commander] nor the crafty [Inquisitor] are visible. Bile rises in my throat. Separation from the team is high on my list of worst-case scenarios. I don¡¯t want to get lost in the Rift when I¡¯m so low on mana. For all my big words to Nicanor, I don¡¯t want to solo a Rift ever again. Besides, Smoke helped me, so I wasn¡¯t truly alone.

    ¡°Mbukhe? Nicanor?¡±

    No response to my tentative questions.

    Tamping down my pride and hoping that my stomach will settle down so I can avoid the ignominy of throwing up all over myself, I holler at the top of my lungs for the other men in my group. Maybe they¡¯ll hear me and come get me. I don¡¯t care if I have to admit my weakness. I need them to lead me through the bright, terrifying fog and guide me toward the exit. I call in all directions, praying for a response.

    Whispers echo back to me, faint and dissonant. No matter how loudly I shout, however, my words are swallowed up by the luminous cloud. Light and sound fade into meaningless concepts.

    I break into a jog, panic welling up within me. My paranoia swells with every stride.. I''m gonna be trapped in the wild chaos of this shattered Rift forever. This is how my life ends, consumed by the void. This is it. This is the end.

    I slap myself in the face, breaking the spiral of self-recrimination and desperation. Determination burns in my chest, warring against the cold fist of despair tightening around my heart. I will survive. I¡¯ve done it before, and I can do it again. Focusing on escape, I wave the fog out of my way as I accelerate into a hard run. No matter how much I lean forward, sprinting toward the far wall, I can¡¯t seem to make any headway. My muscles burn and my lungs scream for air, but without a fixed reference point, I have no idea if I¡¯m getting anywhere. I feel like I¡¯m wading through a peat bog, fearing that each step will be the one that pulls me under the unforgiving mud.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Illusions born of sparks and smoke meld with the tenuous fabric of reality surrounding me. All is fire, like memory fanned into flame and twisted into a grotesque parody of the Rift. In the space of a single step, the world shifts. I¡¯m back in the labyrinth, running side by side with Tem, dodging wraiths even more ethereal than the original. They burst apart at the slightest contact, dispersing back into smoke, but the touch leaves scorch marks on my clothing and skin.

    The world flickers. The scene shifts. I¡¯m back with Scalpel, watching in wordless horror as she cuts apart my Skills, my sense of self, my very soul¡ª

    I scream, flexing my mind against the vicious mental intrusion, and the fiery illusion shatters apart like a fist through cheap glass. Compared to the exquisite touch of [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote¡¯s mind magic effortlessly plucking memories of my past, this is crude and clumsy. Nonetheless, the power of hundreds or perhaps thousands of the little sprites is undeniable. Struggling against the glimmering, white-hot murk takes every last ounce of energy I can bring to bear.

    My breath grows more ragged as smoke fills my lungs. Vaguely, I wonder where the fuel for the fire comes from; smoke should be a byproduct of burning something, but these flames feel like they¡¯ve sprung forth from a higher order concept for fire, or perhaps a runic array. Coughing and shaking, I press onward. No time to tease out that thread from the tangled knot of mystery right now. The oppressive heat haze is all around me, pressing down on my skin. I¡¯m running headlong into a raging forest fire, caught in a race against time to escape from the all-encompassing inferno.

    Feeling foolish for forgetting my Skills for so long, I fall inward, seizing hold of my [Greater Heat Manipulation] and siphoning off energy until a zone of absolute cold coats my clothes in a thin layer of rime as the moisture in the air freezes. My boots crunch on the thin sheet of ice. The sound fills me with a thrill of hope, and when I look down, the pitted texture of the stone floor peaks through the crust of frost. I¡¯m doing it! I¡¯m breaking free. All I have to do is extinguish the fire and I¡¯ll break through the illusion, too. Armed with the knowledge, I begin to take the fight to the Rift.

    I marshall my willpower, throwing myself against the power of the sprites¡¯ trap. The obfuscating swirls of smoke and fire sputter and thin out, wavering as I wage war on the onslaught of illusions. The veil lifts slightly, and I catch a faint glimpse of the far wall. The real wall. As the motes of light dissolve, the heat moderates, although the second floor is still sweltering.

    I glance around, trying to get my bearings. My breathing comes a little more easily now that I¡¯m not cooking from the inside out. I keep running now that visibility is restored, desperate to be on the other side of this devious mind maze.

    My feet slip on the ice. I flap my arms, trying to catch my balance, but my feet tangle together and I trip, falling toward my left. Instinctively, I reach out with my hand to brace my fall. Nothing¡¯s there. My hand is gone, I remember belatedly as I fall.

    The moment stretches on longer than it should, as though I¡¯m suspended in time and space. My mind leaps back to my last time in a Rift. The agony when I lost my hand crystallizes in my memory, and I wrestle with the anger and shame all over again.

    Then the bizarre moment passes, and I crash face-first against the hard floor, bouncing across the flagstones twice before I roll to a stop. The sharp pain brings with it a sudden moment of clarity: I¡¯m not in here alone. Gingerly, I stand up, wincing at the bruises on my cheek, and look for the missing members of my hunting party. One of the men is nearby, swinging his arms drunkenly, as though shadow-boxing while blindfolded. Just my luck, it¡¯s Nicanor. Of the pair of [Inquisitors], however, there¡¯s not a hint.

    ¡°[Spear Commander]!¡± I scream, opting for his Class and title over his name, hoping that it will get through to him thanks to decades of Army discipline. ¡°Can you hear me? I need you to focus! Whatever you¡¯re fighting, it¡¯s not real.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t hear me.

    Grinding my teeth in annoyance, I drag myself closer to the imposing soldier and his wild fists. At least he isn¡¯t swinging around his enchanted spear, so I¡¯m not likely to die instantly if he hits me. When I¡¯m just outside of his range, I gather up the meager amounts of mana I¡¯ve recovered during the long climb up from the first floor, and flare my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. Heat energy rushes into me, far faster than before¡ªperhaps now that I¡¯ve fully broken free, I¡¯m more efficient against the sprites¡¯ magic?¡ªand I vent it away from the exit, toward the center of the chamber.

    The abrupt drop in temperature clears out a swathe of the arcane fire sprites preying on Nicanor¡¯s mind. With a shuddering gasp, he wrenches himself free of their nefarious influence. He drops down to his hands and knees, his chest heaving for air. Great beads of sweat drip from his forehead.

    ¡°Get up!¡± I roar, striding over to Nicanor and slapping him on the back. I¡¯m enjoying the reversal of fortunes more than I probably should, given the danger we¡¯re still in while the unnatural fire rages around us. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here. It¡¯s not safe. Let¡¯s go! We have to find Casella and Mbukhe and get to the next stairway. We all got separated during the attack.¡±

    He lifts his head, and I recoil at the charred, blistered skin on his face. He looks more monstrous than some of the creatures I¡¯ve fought in Rifts before. His words slur together as he struggles to string together coherent thoughts. ¡°Gotta kill the¡ªfire everywhere. What happened? Where are¡ª¡±

    He breaks off, coughing and wheezing. Hands shaking, he unstoppers his canteen of water and takes a long swig as I cool the air further to ease the mental pressure from the fire sprites. He sighs, wipes drops of water off his chin with the back of his hand, and regards me again. His gaze sharpens as he seems to recover some control of his faculties.

    ¡°I¡¯ll pierce and skewer every last one of the blighted monsters in this place,¡± Nicanor growls. He scowls at me. ¡°That was a nasty trap if I¡¯ve ever seen one. How in the abyss did you get out?¡±

    ¡°Not my first encounter with mind magic,¡± I say, my voice carefully neutral despite the anger that¡¯s churning beneath the surface at the memory of the abuse I endured. Then I grin at him cheekily. ¡°Plus, it¡¯s just fire. I told you that I have [Greater Heat Manipulation].¡±

    He snorts, and to my surprise he cracks a small smile in return. ¡°You sure know how to nurse a grudge, huh? Guess I won¡¯t hold it against you after saving me. Draining away the heat was smart.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say stiffly, not knowing how to handle his gratitude. He doesn¡¯t like me much, since in his view I stole the astral navigator and then compounded my guilt by breaking out of my prison cell and becoming a fugitive from the Army. His dislike for me isn¡¯t going to change overnight, but it seems like I¡¯ve earned his grudging respect after I fought off the mental effects of the sprites and saved his life.

    ¡°Need to move. Can¡¯t hold off the fire much longer,¡± I say, lowering the effects of my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to preserve the last of my mana for an emergency.

    ¡°Won¡¯t be a problem. I know what to guard against now,¡± Nicanor assures me. ¡°Mental traps are a single-shot. They lose their effectiveness after the trick is discovered. Let¡¯s track down the other two and get off this blasted floor.¡±

    He unslings his spear and charges back into the overheated smog, parting the fire sprites like the prow of a ship cutting through the waves. I jog behind him as quickly as I can, determined to keep up and do my part to save the others. The Rift has my friends. I¡¯ll tear this entire tower apart brick by brick to free them.

    Three minutes of hard running later, just as I¡¯m starting to get dizzy from the fumes and lack of air, I sense something peculiar nearby. ¡°Nicanor! Something¡¯s off.¡±

    He spins around, his spear ready to strike. Anger makes his voice harsh. ¡°Report!¡±

    I point off into the darkness. ¡°There¡¯s an odd void in the heat signature off to our right. These fire sprites are all around us, driving the temperature to lethal heights¡ªexcept for there. Cold zone. I only just now noticed that there¡¯s an absence of heat, but I¡¯m not sure what it means.¡±

    Nicanor nods grimly. ¡°It¡¯s either a monster cloaking its presence, or our [Inquisitors] are hunkering down and waiting out the arcane fire storm.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t sense any mana signatures,¡± I say, my voice catching. ¡°They should be well-defended against mental intrusions, but maybe the fire was too much for them. Maybe they didn¡¯t¡ªmaybe¡ª¡±

    ¡°Steady,¡± Nicanor says, more kindly than I expected. He places a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Stay behind me. Be ready for anything.¡±

    He quick-steps in the direction I pointed. His spear leads the way, ready to intercept any threat and end it with extreme prejudice.

    From out of the mists, a squat, square shape coalesces. It¡¯s long and low, and the sprites avoid it like it¡¯s dangerous. Nicanor lets out a cheer. He twirls his spear and slams the blunt end of it down onto the flagstones. ¡°I knew those sneaky [Inquisitors] would make it through all right. Let¡¯s collect them and get out of here.¡±

    Nicanor¡¯s spear darts forward, whirling in a profound pattern and clearing away the fire sprites in a burst of wind. He knocks on the outer frame of the tent with his fist. ¡°All clear! Time to finish this miserable Rift.¡±

    The pair of [Inquisitors] emerge a moment later. They eye the sprites warily, and based on the burn marks on their clothing and their soot-streaked faces, I don¡¯t blame them. The strange little creatures are a menace when they combine their strength. The two look like they weren¡¯t faring much better than Nicanor was before they took shelter in their tent.

    Mbukhe wipes his brow. ¡°We broke out of its siren call quickly enough, but the oppressive heat forced us to use an artifact to protect ourselves. We barely deployed this tent in time.¡±

    ¡°I thought you were dead!¡± I shout, running forward. I stop myself just shy of hugging my friends, suddenly feeling awkward about Nicanor witnessing our reunion.

    Casella pulls me into a rib-busting hug anyway. ¡°Glad to see you, too, Nuri. We were worried that you wouldn¡¯t be able to escape the illusion, but I guess it¡¯s a good thing we brought a specialist with us.¡±

    Nicanor pauses from applying a healing unguent to his face and arms. He shakes his head. ¡°Hate to admit it, but the glass-maker saved me, not the other way around. Guess he¡¯s made of sterner stuff than I thought.¡±

    ¡°A tenacious talent. No wonder the boss has plans for you,¡± Mbukhe mutters darkly.

    Casella simply grins. His perfect white teeth flash in the glowering gloom. ¡°Nuri proved his worth, yes? Resilient as ever. I knew you¡¯d survive until the storm dispersed.¡±

    ¡°We need to kill that thing,¡± I hiss. Hatred bubbles up within me. ¡°But how do you stop something so big?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t,¡± Nicanor says. ¡°Better to escape, not to fight impossible odds. I¡¯ll come back with a platoon¡ªmaybe even an entire company¡ªand clear out the threat later. A swarm of these fire sprites is a city-devouring threat, left unchecked.¡± He shudders.

    ¡°If you call upon us, we will shield you from harm,¡± Mbukhe vows. ¡°Once the illusion breaks, it''s just a matter of enduring the searing heat, but most of your [Soldiers] are poorly equipped to deal with mind magic. We will keep them safe.¡±

    Nicanor bows his head. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Have enough salve to share?¡± Casella asks, nodding toward the treatment that Nicanor slathered all over his blistered skin. ¡°I¡¯m happy to plan for the future, but I¡¯m hurting in the present.¡±

    ¡°We should get out of here. Talk later,¡± Nicanor says, handing over the healing balm and picking up his spear again. Gone is the rattled, half-burned man struggling to free his mind; in his place stands the [Spear Commander] once more.

    The [Inquisitors] rub some of the unguent on their faces, then strike their tent artifact quickly and prepare to march. The tent disappears into a knapsack that looks several sizes too small to hold it, but after all of the bizarre things I¡¯ve seen today, the casual display of rare spatial magic barely fazes me. Of course they have the best gear. They¡¯re always well-prepared.

    The four of us stick together in a tight group as we run toward the exit, trusting in Nicanor¡¯s spear arts and my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to keep us safe from further attacks. When we reach the exit at last, I let out a heavy sigh, as though shedding a weight I didn¡¯t realize I was still carrying.

    We leave the second floor behind¡ªfor good, I hope¡ªand climb higher into the obsidian tower. I¡¯m eager to take on the Rift boss and return home. Despite my dislike for not seeing where I¡¯m going, I¡¯ve never been so grateful to plunge into a pitch darkness. We climb onward, toward the dangerous unknown, but I¡¯m not scared. I trust the men by my side. We¡¯ll make it through, no matter what comes our way.

 B4 C15: Tower Ascension - Final Floor

    The long climb up to the third floor is blissfully free of complications. After our mind-bending, near-death encounter on the second floor, I¡¯ll take any reprieve I can get. Yet something about the climb still eats at me. Eerie stillness settles around us like a heavy cloak, profound and stifling. In a way, it¡¯s almost easier to fight, because then the enemies are visible right in front of me. The perfect dark and the long stairway never seem to end. Not seeing and not knowing? They carry the constant threat of ambush, the fear of what might be.

    ¡°Hey, you got anything left for the boss, glass maker?¡± Nicanor asks, nearly giving me a heart attack when his voice booms next to my ear without warning.

    ¡°My name is Nuri,¡± I snap, stopping myself a second before I unleash a blast of [Vitrification] at the party leader. I grind my teeth, forcing myself to settle down. I hate how rattled I am, but I can¡¯t help it. The [Spear Commander] scared me. I¡¯m annoyed that he sneaked up on me, annoyed that he won¡¯t use my actual name, annoyed that I still can¡¯t seem to win him over¡ªannoyed at everything, it seems. I¡¯ve gotten used to people liking me and coming over to my side once they get to know me. Does this mean I¡¯m less charming than I used to be? Or is he just a tough nut to crack?

    He snickers at me. ¡°Well, then, Nuri, do you have enough mana for the next floor, or should we make camp and wait for you to recover before we assault the boss?¡±

    My irritation slowly drains away as I master my breathing. He¡¯s asking a valid question. I¡¯m reacting more unreasonably than I should. Maybe the fire sprites are still messing with my mind. I breathe in slowly and let it out as I count to twenty, taking a long moment to think over his question seriously. ¡°Pretty sure I can handle low level threats. As long as you do the fighting, I can help with utility.¡±

    ¡°Very good. Onward,¡± Nicanor commands, his tone brooking no dissent. He continues marching upward, but this time his boots thud against each step, marking his ascent.

    Annoying, flux-for-brains dog of the military. Someone oughta punch him right in his smirking face. I clench my fist and keep climbing, comforting myself with thoughts of petty vengeance. I sigh. Maybe I¡¯m judging him too harshly, but his brusque, dismissive nature annoys me. Our interactions make me bristle, but I guess he just wanted to make sure that we formulate the proper battle plan for the boss, assuming that the next floor is the last.

    I hope it¡¯s the last floor. We¡¯ve been inside the Rift for long enough. For all I know, we¡¯ll be stuck in an endless series of mazes and fights and never get out.

    I stamp down that depressing thought. We¡¯ll reach the top soon, based on the mana signature of the Rift core. Even to my blunted and still-recovering senses, it blazes like the noonday sun just above us. Not too much longer now, and we¡¯ll be done with all of this, one way or another.

    ¡°You sure you¡¯re all right to keep going, Nuri? I thought that refilling your glass cores takes longer,¡± Casella says softly. His disembodied voice floats past somewhere from my left; for such a big, powerfully built man, it¡¯s impressive and more than a little intimidating how silently he pads along.

    ¡°Usually, it takes me all day,¡± I admit. ¡°But it¡¯s better now that we¡¯re deep into the Rift.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Of course,¡± he murmurs.

    While the outskirts are relatively mana-starved, the closer we get to the core, the higher the concentration of primal energy. Thanks to the increased mana density of the Rift, mana regeneration is a much smoother process than it is otherwise. I¡¯m able to function more normally. Maybe I should set up shop inside a Rift, I muse. That might help me circumvent my mana issues. Somehow, it doesn¡¯t seem like the most stable place for a studio.

    ¡°Heard rumors you could create an external reservoir that¡¯s cheaper and more reliable than mana crystals. Thought it was a bunch of rubbish till now, like the other exaggerated stories about you,¡± Nicanor says. He snorts. ¡°It¡¯s real, huh? After all the trouble you''ve caused us, it¡¯s only right that you donate sets for my team. Call it recompense.¡±

    ¡°Donate? As in, give them to you for free? I¡¯m not running a charity!¡± I grumble.

    He grunts. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re not rotting in jail after the stunts you pulled. If I were in charge, we¡¯d have scattered your ashes to the winds and already forgotten about you.¡±

    I roll my eyes, even though no one can see me in the dark. I take a moment to calm myself as we climb higher and higher. ¡°You really know how to make friends.¡±

    ¡°Call it what you want. I¡¯m doing you a favor, Nuri. When the other squad leaders see what you can do, they¡¯ll be lining up to buy their own glass cores.¡±

    ¡°Wow, that definitely just sold me on giving away artifacts. How can I ever thank you for your generosity? I suppose I should be grateful for any advertisement I can get,¡± I say, not even trying to keep the bite out of my tone.

    ¡°Yep. You should.¡±

    A hand on my shoulder stops me before I snarl back at Nicanor in anger. Talking with the [Spear Commander] is like trying to hug a porcupine. Mbukhe speaks to me in a quiet voice that likely only I can hear. ¡°Stop provoking him. Valuable ally. Dangerous enemy.¡±

    I take a deep breath and reset my emotions. The long, exhausting climb in the darkness is playing with my head¡ªI feel like an old sweater coming unraveled at the seams. ¡°I had planned to keep it a secret for a while longer, but now that I''m working with the [Inquisitors] instead of running for my life, I guess we can come to an arrangement.¡±

    Nicanor hums thoughtfully. ¡°Now that''s a story I¡¯d like to hear sometime. The chief Inquisitor isn''t exactly noted for his leniency. That tells me there''s a lot more going on than meets the eye.¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    Nicanor scoffs. ¡°That''s it?¡±

    ¡°Trade ya. My tale for my spear.¡±

    ¡°Your spear?¡± A bit of heat enters his voice. ¡°You talking about my baby right here? Why? You can¡¯t even wield a spear with one hand.¡±

    ¡°Took it from the first Rift I ever entered. It¡¯s got sentimental value to me. And it¡¯s mine by right.¡±

    ¡°Forgot about that. You went in with the Mage Killer, huh? Consorting with traitors and stealing enchanted weapons from an unregistered Rift.¡± He chuckles darkly. ¡°That definitely set the tone for the rest of your misadventures.¡±

    ¡°Quiet,¡± Mbukhe hisses. ¡°Core.¡±

    Instantly, we all fall silent. The dangers of the Rift take precedence over our bickering. The mana signature from just up ahead is burning in my mind like a blast furnace; there¡¯s no question that we¡¯ve almost reached the core.

    I lick my suddenly-dry lips. I definitely don¡¯t have enough mana to fuel my Skills for long, since I have to manually refill my glass pseudo cores. I can¡¯t regenerate mana automatically with my glass cores like I could with a normal core, and I lose a lot of efficiency thanks to the leaks in my channels if I try to hold or circulate the mana internally. Still, it¡¯s far easier to harvest mana inside the Rift than it is on the outside. Bringing a backup set of my glass cores would have been ideal, but it¡¯s unfortunately out of the question. I grimace, recalling how I almost killed myself in Melidandri¡¯s workshop due to the dangerous resonance that builds up between too many imbued items in close proximity.

    ¡°Weapons at the ready,¡± Nicanor barks. There¡¯s a faint ringing sound as the spear blade splits the air itself. ¡°I¡¯ll take point. On my mark!¡±

    We follow the sound of his voice as he leads us up the next flight to the third floor. Soon, light illuminates our ascent, spilling out from the familiar doorway of the next floor, and we enter the final floor of the obsidian tower.

    Unlike the other two floors in the tower, this chamber is surprisingly small. The far wall and the ceiling are clearly visible. No enemies are in sight. I half expect an entire horde of fire-aspected bears to attack us as soon as we enter the chamber, but an odd and persistent silence greets us instead.

    I shuffle sideways as soon as we enter the room, keeping my back pressed against the wall so that nothing can sneak up behind me. Just thinking about a potential ambush makes me shiver. I extend my mana senses, sweeping the chamber in hopes of uncovering some clue about this final challenge. If past experiences with Rifts are any indication, this will be our most difficult encounter.

    Yet, so far, there¡¯s nothing to fight. I crouch down and touch the tiles. The floor itself is surprisingly smooth. Tiled in alternating black and white, with three big white squares at the end of the room, it looks like intentional decoration. Did humans create this part of the tower? Or is this the work of the Wraiths? According to Tem, Labyrinths are distinct from Rifts, even if the two intersect frequently within Greater Rifts.

    Questions for another time. I squint, studying the three big squares in front of the double doors at the end of the room. They appear to be made up of four of the smaller white tiles in a square. Are the tiles merely decorative? Or is there a function that I¡¯m missing? Following the lead of the [Inquisitors], I cycle some of my remaining mana to my eyes, trying to engage my version of manasight. Wisps of mana rise up from the three larger squares, as though higher energy levels congregate around the tiles in that area. I scratch at my beard absently as I turn the details over in my mind. Definitely not just for show. A trap?

    I shake my head a moment later. What¡¯s the point of a trap that announces itself? If I were trying to build a trap, I definitely wouldn¡¯t paint the trigger plates a different color. But if they¡¯re not designed to stop men or monsters from reaching the Rift core, then what¡¯s their real function?

    A quick glance at the other three confirms that they¡¯re equally mystified. We¡¯re all looking around the room with suspicion, hoping¡ªand failing¡ªto reveal the secrets of this place. The chamber walls are smooth and unremarkable, comprised of some sort of dark granite that¡¯s been polished until it shines. The walls seamlessly blend into the ceiling, curving to create a lofty dome overhead.

    Like metal shavings pulled by a magnet, my gaze is drawn inexorably to an unassuming archway in the wall across from us. A set of curved double doors blocks off the exit. Extreme pulses of mana from the arch signal the presence of the Rift core. It¡¯s got to be just behind the door.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Trapped?¡± Nicanor asks Mbukhe.

    ¡°Unsure. Nothing sets off alarms.¡± The slender [Inquisitor] frowns, his eyes narrowing as he turns in a slow circle and studies the space for clues. ¡°There¡¯s something strange going on with the doors. Likely enchanted, but I¡¯m no expert.¡±

    ¡°So. A trap, or a key?¡± Nicanor casually rests his spear across his shoulders while he considers. A deep scowl creases his craggy face. ¡°I hate puzzles.¡±

    ¡°You have more experience with Rifts than I do,¡± Mbukhe replies. ¡°But if I were a betting man, I¡¯d put money on a puzzle. I don¡¯t sense danger.¡±

    ¡°I agree with that assessment,¡± Casella says. He strokes his beard and hums to himself, which makes me wonder if I look as ridiculous as he does while he thinks over the options. He squints at the doorway, as though he''s trying to suss out its secrets in the same way that he can view a person''s core, and shrugs. ¡°I''d like to take a closer look.¡±

    ¡°Permission granted,¡± Nicanor says.

    Casella summons two of his ethereal chains, ready to restrain any enemies that might appear, and nods curtly. He moves forward in fits and starts, pausing every few steps to inspect the chamber for threats or changes in the mana flow. When his foot touches the third white tiled square, all the soft mage lights in the chamber wink out.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Mbukhe calls out. ¡°I still don¡¯t sense danger, but better to be safe.¡±

    ¡°What''s going on?¡± I ask under my breath. I hate feeling so helpless. I¡¯m the worst fighter of the group, I¡¯m low on mana, and now I can¡¯t even see what¡¯s happening.

    Faint azure light blooms in the darkness around Casella. I flinch at first, sure that my big friend is caught in an attack, but I settle back down when I see that he¡¯s holding an artifact that¡¯s generating a mana barrier around him. ¡°I¡¯m going to lift my foot, see if the lights come back on. I think this tile is a pressure plate.¡±

    A second later, the lights flare back to life overhead. Casella shuffles forward onto the neighboring floor tile. His chains flick and writhe around him, ready to intercept an attack, but it never comes. Only the lights change.

    ¡°Follow my footsteps exactly. Should be safe,¡± Casella says, calling over his shoulder. He doesn¡¯t release the shield, however.

    I think I might feel better if he did.

    We tiptoe our way across the chamber, precisely copying Casella¡¯s every move. There¡¯s a scary moment in the middle when I accidentally tap on the wrong tile and we¡¯re plunged back into deep darkness, but I yelp and jump away; the lights all instantly come back on. The [Spear Commander] turns and gives me a dirty look. If Nicanor¡¯s glare could burn, I¡¯d be charred away to ashes and dust. I gulp, continuing onward. By the time we stand in front of the door, we¡¯re all sweating and nervous, but unharmed.

    Mbukhe and Casella fall into a quiet discussion, gesturing at the floor and the doorway by turns. Their voices are too low for me to hear.

    ¡°How do we open the door?¡± I ask after a while, giving voice to the question that seems to be on all our minds. Nicanor gives me another superior look, as though to remind me that I¡¯m asking a stupidly obvious question. The waiting is getting to me, though. I¡¯m ready to get out of the Rift and go back to the comfort of the hot shop. Making things seems like a distant memory right now.

    ¡°Each tile connects to the doorway with a mana conduit. We probably have to trigger the three of them simultaneously,¡± Casella says, summarizing their findings.

    ¡°Good enough. With me,¡± Nicanor orders, striding forward and planting his feet in a wide, confident stance on the middle tile. The two [Inquisitors] flank him, standing in the center of the big white tiles.

    Casella feeds more mana into his artifact, and the mana barrier swells to shield all three of them. It seems to buzz and strain, fading at the edges like it¡¯s losing definition, and I doubt he can overcharge it to include me. I¡¯ll have to stay alert.

    ¡°On my mark,¡± Nicanor says, counting down so that everyone is synchronized. As soon as he hits zero, he gives a signal. Mana vents downward into the floor from the three men at the same time.

    Nothing happens.

    ¡°Needs more mana,¡± Mbukhe declares.

    They try again, this time pushing twice as much energy into the floor, and the tiles light up for a brief moment. When nothing else happens, they release the energy flows, and the lights blink out again, leaving us no closer to getting past the door than we were before.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the answer,¡± I say hesitantly. ¡°It doesn¡¯t match anything we¡¯ve done yet. We¡¯re coming at it from the wrong angle.¡±

    ¡°Riddles in the dark. Wonderful,¡± Nicanor growls back at me, but he doesn¡¯t seem to disagree with the point I¡¯m making.

    ¡°Reminds me of your mana puzzles, Nuri,¡± Casella says, drawing a sharp look from Nicanor. ¡°You recharged yet? Could use your expertise.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t expect me to solve it if you can¡¯t,¡± I protest. ¡°I¡¯ve never done a puzzle like this before, and I don''t have a pattern to follow. I¡¯m only good at copying things I¡¯ve practiced before, not coming up with clever solutions on the fly.¡±

    Nicanor snaps his fingers. ¡°Actually, I think you hit on the solution when you said it doesn¡¯t match anything we¡¯ve done so far. This is a fire-aspected Rift. Why wouldn¡¯t the final puzzle be related to fire?¡±

    As much as I hate to give the surly [Spear Commander] any credit, I find myself nodding along. My smile fades when I realize that I¡¯m the only one with any Skills even tangentially related to fire. I let out an exasperated sigh and shoo them all out of the way. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll blast the white tiles with my [Greater Heat Manipulation] and see what happens.¡±

    The three men move behind me, just close enough for Casella¡¯s mana barrier to shield me in case anything goes wrong. The fuzzed edges and thinning form don¡¯t give me much confidence in its strength. What if it¡¯s running low on power? I gulp. I really hope nothing goes wrong.

    ¡°Burn,¡± I command, bypassing the Skill and tapping into the complex rune for fire instead. I¡¯m not sure if heat is enough to trigger anything, or if I need actual fire.

    This time, the response is instantaneous. The big tiles flare to life, shifting from white to dull, rusty red. The hotter the fire, the brighter they glow: cherry red, deep orange, bright yellow, and then all the way back to white again. The doors rumble ominously, creaking as they open a crack. Light and heat crackle in the space between the two doors, but the gap in the middle doesn¡¯t widen.

    Ignoring the sweat pouring off my face, I push more mana into the flames, gasping as the oxygen in the air is sacrificed as fuel for the fire. The flames take on a blue tint, and the heat spikes drastically as the doors are flung open with a bang.

    I collapse back, panting, and Nicanor and Casella catch me before I black out and hit the ground. They set me down, patting me on the back and offering congratulations.

    ¡°Incoming!¡± Nicanor shouts, shoving me to the side, away from the danger. He dives the other way, rolling up to his feet with his spear in hand.

    The warning saves Mbukhe¡¯s life. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he drops flat, melting into the shadows just in time to avoid three enormous, razor-sharp claws that set the air on fire in the wake of their passage. Great! Another fire bear!

    ¡°Restrain it, Cas!¡± Nicanor bellows, parrying a second swipe from the massive, flaming bear. His spear whips around, flashing in the gloom, and knocks the beast back half a step, but does little to deter its relentless assault.

    The beast came barreling out of the open doorway when I opened the doors, roaring with all the fury of an aggrieved monarch defending its home. There¡¯s no doubt in my mind that it¡¯s the Rift boss, and it¡¯s abyss-bent on tearing us all to pieces.

    Mbukhe hooks his hands under my armpits, dragging me backward and out of the way of the fight. He leans me up against the wall, pats my shoulder, and disappears. His voice drifts back to me through the shadows. ¡°Good work opening the door. Leave this one to us, Nuri.¡±

    Casella conjures his ethereal chains, more of them than I¡¯ve ever seen before. He shouts several phrases aloud that I don¡¯t recognize, layering Skills and slowing down the bear¡¯s movements just enough to create an opening for Nicanor to pierce its shoulder in a spray of blood.

    The huge fire bear shakes its shaggy head, unleashing another bone-rattling roar. It breaks free a moment later, shattering the ghostly links and sending Casella sprawling. The big man looks like a toy doll next to the Rift monster, but he bounces back up to his feet looking only slightly worse for the wear.

    Casella points toward the bear and chants a Skill. ¡°[Your Strength Shall be Spent in Vain]. Nicanor! Now! It can¡¯t hurt you for the next ten seconds.¡±

    The [Spear Commander] dashes forward, trusting in Casella¡¯s suppression Skill to protect him from the fiery bear¡¯s wrath. It swings at him in wild fury, but despite the domineering power behind the blows, its claws bounce harmlessly off Nicanor¡¯s side.

    Nicanor levels his spear and thrusts, sending the bear careening backward as he roars out a Skill name. ¡°[Sevenfold Strike]!¡±

    The spear blurs more quickly than I can follow with my eyes, skewering the monster in a spray of blood. The impact explodes like a vicious thunderclap, staggering the pair of [Inquisitors] from across the room. The shockwave slams my head against the wall, and my vision flashes white.

    By the time I regain my sight, blinking and holding my hand to my ear to stop the terrible ringing, the battle is already over. Gaping wounds all over the bear¡¯s body testify to the power of Nicanor¡¯s spear arts. The other three are butchering the remains of the carcass, searching for the beast core that such a mighty monster is sure to have.

    I gulp at the grisly sight of burnt, mangled flesh, and turn away before I throw up. I¡¯m glad that I haven¡¯t eaten lately. Violence doesn¡¯t usually bother me much, but between the mana drain and the blow to the back of the head, I¡¯m feeling disoriented and sick to my stomach already.

    ¡°Found it!¡± Casella calls triumphantly, holding aloft the glittering, bloody prize.

    The core from the dead bear is a fair bit larger than the one Tem gave me back in the Greater Rift, yet Nicanor took down the flaming monster with hardly any effort. I whistle, wondering just how strong the [Spear Commander] actually is in a fight. Mbukhe was right; I should stop antagonizing him.

    Nicanor lets out a cackle, clapping Casella on the back. ¡°Lucrative! That will look nice in my trophy case.¡±

    ¡°You know it¡¯s claimed already,¡± Casella says, nodding in my direction. ¡°We have a contract, [Spear Commander], lest you forgot already.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s still alive? Shame.¡±

    Infuriating git. Should have left him for the sprites to snack on, I grumble internally. I hope we don¡¯t have to work with him again, even if he¡¯s the most dominating fighter I¡¯ve ever seen. I hate to admit it, but he could run circles around Ember. Although, if she hadn¡¯t retired and taken up a second Class, I¡¯ll bet she could match his prowess.

    ¡°Guess he earned it, though. Pretty good run,¡± Nicanor says, taking the beast core, still steaming and dripping with gore and tossing it at me. He laughs when I fumble the catch.

    ¡°Yeah. Good run. That¡¯s one way to look at it,¡± I reply, still reeling from the fight with the Rift boss. I can¡¯t believe the core is right there, behind the open doors, unguarded now, and we¡¯re going to walk away and leave it functional.

    ¡°Best part? We still have time to get back for dinner if you¡¯re up for running under the influence of my squad Skill again. Good, yes?¡± Nicanor says, walking over and offering me a hand to help me to my feet. ¡°C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    I pointedly ignore his hand, instead taking my time to stow away the beast core in my knapsack.

    ¡°What¡¯s got you in a sour mood?¡± he demands, crossing his arms.

    ¡°Job¡¯s not done.¡±

    He cranes his neck, peering through the open doorway, and presses his lips together into a tight line. ¡°Yeah. I know.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t like it either?¡± I ask, surprised. I stand up and take a step toward the core. ¡°Then let¡¯s fix it! We can shut this place down before we head back to town.¡±

    ¡°Sorry. Orders.¡±

    ¡°Say I went rogue while you were busy fighting the boss,¡± I say, glaring at him in challenge. ¡°Pin it all on me, and I¡¯ll skip town for a while until it blows over.¡±

    He shakes his head slowly, a wistful look in his eyes. ¡°We¡¯re not alike, Nuri. It doesn¡¯t matter what I think. Even if I agree with you in principle¡ªI¡¯m a good soldier.¡±

    I scowl at him. ¡°If your commanding officer told you to leave a threat alive¡ªa knife at your back, an army at your flanks¡ªwould you do it?¡±

    ¡°A suggestion, or an order?¡±

    ¡°What does it matter?¡±

    ¡°I know how to think for myself. But orders? I follow orders,¡± Nicanor says simply. He shrugs, a wry smile on his lips. ¡°Besides, sometimes a threat is the only thing that keeps us sharp. My men will train in this Rift. They will grow stronger, or they will die. That¡¯s just the way of things.¡±

    I don¡¯t know what to say to that. Silence follows us all the way down the tower stairway, over the ash fields, through the maze, and all the way back home, although Nicanor isn¡¯t as confrontational as I expected. Our walk back to Silaraon seems to take even longer than I feared. I can barely keep my eyes open by the end. At least I got what I wanted: I finally have a fire-aspected beast core. I¡¯m going to make the best imbued glass wand for Avelina that anyone¡¯s ever seen.

    But first, sleep. I shuffle over to the bed and fall flat on my face, too tired to change out of my grimy clothes, and pass out without getting under the covers.

 B4 C16: Trinkets and Toys - Lionel

    ¡°You sure you don¡¯t want to play?¡±

    Lionel knuckles his forehead and groans. He bats away a curl of gray-blue pipe smoke that¡¯s wafting over from the neighboring table in the tavern, wrinkling his nose at the acrid scent of cheap, stale tobacco. With a sigh, he sets his elbows on the tabletop and rests his chin in his interlaced hands, giving me a long-suffering look. ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fun! C¡¯mon, Lio. Give it a try,¡± I plead, giving my buddy my best puppy dog eyes. I might as well be talking with a stone statue. I¡¯ve been trying to convince Lionel to play CnC with me for several days, ever since I got back from running the Lesser Rift. After dealing with the mental assault from the fire sprites, I could use a fun diversion. ¡°You¡¯ll love it if you give it a chance.¡°

    ¡°This is the tenth time you¡¯ve asked.¡±

    ¡°Are you counting? I am pretty persistent!¡± I say brightly, beaming my most winning smile.

    ¡°My answer is still no.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Suit yourself. I just figured you¡¯d have fun putting together decks, since you¡¯re always into theory-crafting about rare Classes and creative Skill combos. You do still enjoy innovating, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, that¡¯s different. Dreaming about earning a powerful Class is awesome. Just imagine becoming a [Peerless Bladedancer], or perhaps a [Flame-Touched Battlemage]! But CnC? That game is for weirdos,¡± Lionel insists. He scrunches up his face at me, then downs his mug of mead without even a toast to our mutual greatness.

    He might actually be annoyed for once. I¡¯m overdoing it. I gesture a waiter over and ask him for another mug for Lionel. That ought to earn me back some goodwill. ¡°How do you know? You¡¯ve never even played. You might like it.¡±

    He sets down the mug with an authoritative bang against the tabletop, sending up a light spray of foam. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m afraid of.¡±

    ¡°Admitting you¡¯re a weirdo is too scary for you, huh?¡± I tease. ¡°You¡¯ll never become a Hero of Densmore if you don''t find your courage.¡±

    ¡°Hey! Take it back. I¡¯m perfectly normal,¡± Lionel says. He grins at me like nothing¡¯s wrong, but there¡¯s an undertone of doubt nibbling at the edges of his conviction that makes me worry about him.

    ¡°By what standard?¡± I ask as I lean back in my seat and laugh softly. ¡°Admit it. We¡¯re all a little strange.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re strange, Nuri,¡± Lionel shoots back, although I can see that he¡¯s having trouble not joining my laughter. ¡°I¡¯m just an average guy who¡¯s never really left town. There¡¯s nothing unusual or bizarre about me.¡±

    I sip from my own mug of ale, watching the people in the tavern while I¡¯m preoccupied arranging my thoughts. ¡°I think you¡¯re too scared of the ¡®weird¡¯ label to accept that being unusual is a good thing. The more uncommon a Skill or Class, the more powerful. So why settle? I think you¡¯re far from normal, but in a good way.¡±

    He gives me an inscrutable look. ¡°Wanna clarify? Because that sounds like a backhanded compliment to me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the only crafter I know who¡¯s also a [Healer]. That already makes you pretty amazing. You¡¯re loyal, funny, and always know how to look on the bright side. From what I¡¯ve seen over my travels last year, that¡¯s an extremely rare combination.¡±

    ¡°Flattery sounds strange coming from you,¡± he mutters into his cup, but his smile betrays him. I can tell he finds my praise affirming.

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth. Promise!¡±

    ¡°How do I know you''re not a Doppelganger who killed Nuri in the Rift and took his place? You usually prefer teasing instead of compliments.¡±

    I shrug easily. ¡°We all have character flaws. I never seem to give my friends as much credit as they deserve. I¡¯m trying to fix that.¡±

    Lionel regards me in silence. His eyes are uncharacteristically expressive. ¡°Sometimes I barely recognize you anymore. No, don''t look like that. It''s not a bad thing. You''re just growing up, Nuri. You talk like a man now, not a kid. You''re all getting so strong and impressive. Some days, I feel like the gang is leaving me behind.¡±

    ¡°Is this about starting over in a new Class?¡± I ask softly. ¡°We¡¯re not going to leave you behind. You have the most important skills on the team!¡±

    ¡°Glad to know that it''s just my healing Skills that you''re after,¡± Lionel grumbles, crossing his arms.

    ¡°Oh, come on, Lio. You know that¡¯s not what I meant. We don¡¯t just value you because you can keep us patched up. You¡¯re our friend. The team is like family to me. That''s why I came back to Silaraon instead of working in the capital or going to Grand Ile. I''m not leaving you behind ever again.¡±

    I grab my mug and slake my sudden thirst. My throat is more parched than I realized. I frown in concentration. I''m terrible at encouragement. ¡°Look. Even if you were an idiot like me who lost all his Skills and burned off a hand, I''d want you around just for your company.¡±

    Lionel snorts trying to hold in his laughter, and then gives up entirely and sprawls back in his chair as his entire body shakes with mirth. ¡°And here I thought that I was the comic relief.¡±

    My face burns. ¡°I''m not good at expressing my appreciation for my friends. I mean it, Lio.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know. You just laid it on a bit thick, don¡¯t you think? I mean, I actually know how to keep my limbs attached to my body, thank you very much. Healing is pretty awesome. You might even say it comes in handy.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Unless you run out of mana in the middle of a fight. That worries me sometimes. You aren¡¯t as durable as Mikko.¡±

    Lionel stops laughing. He sits up and sniffs, then rubs his nose. ¡°Well, not everyone can imbue like you. Guess I¡¯ll have to make do with a normal, old-fashioned core instead of a fancy glass set.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I can make a string of glass cores for you, like I did for Melina,¡± I say. ¡°Then you¡¯ll be able to heal for twice as long.¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°If you need that much healing, then you need a higher-level, dedicated [Healer] with stronger Skills than I have. Better that I have a way to fight back.¡±

    ¡°You want a weapon?¡±

    He nods eagerly, his eyes shining.

    ¡°Hm. I don''t know if I can make you anything as good as the twin swords that Ember is using. I¡¯m not sure what suits you, to be honest.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to pull a masterwork out of nowhere. Besides, those are too big and bulky. I need to move freely. If there¡¯s trouble, then I need to be right in the middle of it so I can patch you up and get out. Or, at least, I¡¯ll dance around the edges of danger. I¡¯d feel better if I had a suitable weapon.¡±

    I scratch my beard, mulling over Lionel¡¯s suggestion. At length, I nod. ¡°Sketch out some ideas for me. I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±

    =+=

    Three days later, Lionel delivers the first batch of weapon designs for me to consider. He bustles into the Silaraon Glass Works with a smug smirk on his face and deep purple bags under his eyes. Each of his weapon suggestions are radically different: a set of three small throwing hatchets with a belt clip, a whip made of razor-sharp chain links, and a pair of studded gauntlets featuring short spikes over the knuckles and jutting out from the elbow.

    I set down the sheaf of sketches and clear my throat. ¡°Nothing screams [Healer] like getting punched in the face.¡±

    ¡°You said you liked my theory-crafting!¡±

    ¡°I do! But you¡¯re not a brawler.¡±

    He strikes a pose, his fists held up like he¡¯s ready to box my ears, his eyebrows raised. His words tumble out in an excited jumble. ¡°Imagine enchanting the gauntlets to draw vitality from the enemy, like a reverse healing spell. Every hit would hurt a monster and heal me. Sounds awesome, right?¡±

    I snicker. ¡°In theory, sure. But getting in close with one of those flaming bears sounds hazardous to your health.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d pick my battles, naturally.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s gonna enchant it?¡± I ask.

    Lionel frowns. ¡°Can¡¯t you imbue it?¡±

    ¡°With a health draining property? Maybe.¡± I tap my forefinger against my chin as I think over the possibilities. ¡°The problem is that you wouldn¡¯t have a way to guide the stolen vitality to your own body. That requires either a second imbued concept¡ªwhich I can¡¯t do yet¡ªor, y¡¯know, an actual enchantment.¡±

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d do everything.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not that good yet,¡± I admit with a sigh. ¡°If I could handle it, then I would. You¡¯re giving me way too much credit. It¡¯s complicated.¡±

    ¡°Then which one are you gonna make for me? Everyone else has something awesome! I¡¯m feeling left out,¡± Lionel says, nudging me with his elbow.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    I elbow him back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Lio. I¡¯ll make you something. Just gotta find the right fit.¡±

    Lionel bristles. ¡°You don¡¯t like any of the options. Just admit it, Nuri. You probably already have something in mind, and now I¡¯ve wasted my time drawing up plans.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I say, smirking.

    ¡°You¡¯re the worst friend ever,¡± Lionel grumbles. Then he bounces on the balls of his feet, his ever present smile back on his face. ¡°Sooo, what are you making me?¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, your dastardly friend is so terrible that he¡¯s making you an imbued weapon for free. Woe is you!¡± I put my hand to my forehead and swoon dramatically.

    He sticks out his tongue at me. ¡°Just show me what you¡¯re planning. I¡¯m looking forward to getting some practice in once you¡¯re finally done lazing around and get to work.¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine. Maybe you''ll catch the vision when I show you what I¡¯m cooking up,¡± I say slyly. I tilt my head toward the workbench at the end of the hot shop. ¡°But you¡¯re gonna have to work for it. Assist me today, and you¡¯ll get to see it take shape before your very eyes.¡±

    ¡°Deal!¡± Lionel practically shouts. He takes off running toward the workbench so quickly that I rub my neck, checking for whiplash as I turn to follow his sprint.

    I take my time ambling over to join him, picking up a collection of glass-shaping tools as I go. ¡°Been a while since we worked together. I kinda miss it.¡±

    ¡°Looking forward to making things with you. Just like old times,¡± Lionel says, bobbing his head.

    I nod along. ¡°Except we get to make our own projects now, instead of relying on commissions. I never want to go back to working for someone else.¡±

    ¡°Somewhere, Ember just felt a pinprick on her ear. She knows you¡¯re badmouthing her,¡± Lionel teases.

    ¡°Nah. I have nothing but respect for Ember. She keeps the studio running smoothly. We¡¯re commercially-focused, though. I want to create works of art.¡±

    ¡°You got paid for the grotto last year.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with it?¡± I ask while I add flux to the batch of glass I¡¯m prepping. I already prepped silica and stabilizer, but I¡¯m worried about the consistency of the batch. I stir the glass constantly while we chat. Normally, it would take a few hours to melt it all down, mix in the ingredients, and smooth out all the bubbles, but our cauldron has an enchantment that works in a similar fashion to Melina¡¯s temporal fields.

    Lionel shoos me away, taking over the stirring and prep. He¡¯s got a Skill that enables the batch of glass to turn out perfectly, so I gladly cede the work to him. He channels mana into his Skill, taking his time to sort out his words. ¡°Where¡¯s the line, then? You believed in that piece. I know it made you happy to create something technically precise, but also beautiful.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. And?¡± I ask warily, somehow sure that he¡¯s leading me into a trap that¡¯s going to make me regret my complaining.

    He shrugs. ¡°Nothing. Just talkin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°I hate when you leave me to stew in my own misery,¡± I say, but somehow he¡¯s made me stop and think. Art and business don¡¯t have to be at odds with each other. They can synergize.

    The mana flow from Lionel¡¯s Skill slows to a trickle, and he nods in satisfaction. ¡°Ready when you are, Master Nuri. Cheer up! Today¡¯s all about art, since I¡¯m not paying.¡±

    ¡°Get the star mold,¡± I say, trying not to laugh. I nod toward the rustic shelf behind the workbench, where rows of wooden blocks and iron molds sprawl in haphazard array. ¡°We need to create a textured grip for your weapon.¡±

    While he¡¯s locating the short, hollow cylinder with multiple grooves along the inside in a star pattern, I dip the blowpipe into the batch and collect a gather of glass. I tuck one end of the pipe under my shoulder to brace it in place, and spin the rod until I have enough glass. I bring it back to my workbench and blow in a few lungfuls of air, slow and steady, to expand it to the right shape and size while I roll it back and forth on the marver.

    I hop up onto the extra-high, spinning stool that I pestered Ember into getting for me, a self-congratulatory grin tugging at the edges of my lips. The leather seat is well-padded, and the metal ball bearings are magically oiled, so I can sit all day in comfort and spin in circles without the slightest of squeaks. From my new vantage point, I¡¯m at just the right height to rest my boot on the pipe and roll it back and forth, freeing up my right hand to shape the glass.

    Growing up, I¡¯d always wet down a cloth or bit of old paper and use it to perfectly round out the glass, but these days I usually rely on manipulating heat directly to keep from burning my hand. I¡¯m trying to conserve mana, however, so I revert to my old habits. The water hisses softly, turning to steam as the wet paper kisses the hot glass, and it creates a perfect barrier to keep the ink from running and staining the glass.

    I slide down to the floor and indulge in a bit of mana expenditure, using my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to keep the glass at the right elasticity and temperature. Needs to be a bit longer, I think as I examine the glass. I hold the pipe down toward the ground and swing the blowpipe with its round globe of glass side to side¡ªthe motion reminiscent of a pendulum in a big clock. The hot, gooey glass extends downward toward the floor until I deem it the right length.

    ¡°How¡¯s that mold coming?¡±

    ¡°Ready!¡± Lionel calls, placing it vertically on the floor in front of me without me telling him the next step. He¡¯s a natural assistant, and I¡¯m glad to work with him again. There¡¯s a familiarity to our work that¡¯s comfortable. It just feels right.

    Without hesitation, I plunge the glass into the mold, tamping it down several times to let the glass cool and imprint the shape. Once it takes on the characteristics of the mold, I withdraw the glass and heat it back up in the furnace¡¯s glory hole. I¡¯m nervous about spending too much mana too early in the process, so I may as well let fire do its good, old-fashioned work.

    ¡°Tongs?¡± Lionel offers the metal tool.

    I take it and shape the end of the rounded base of the glass that didn¡¯t get reshaped in the star mold. I pinch it together, creating a small ridge that will eventually become the guard of the sword. Then it¡¯s back in the furnace, heating up to working temps. I pull it out and spin the block on the marver with my boot again, pulling with the tongs to elongate the textured handle. I go back and forth to the furnace twice more, heating the glass, turning the rod, and crimping the end of the glass to create a rounded pommel.

    I roll faster with my boot, turning the pipe with urgency now that I¡¯ve finally started on the project. Transforming vision into reality is my favorite part of fashioning things with my hand. With the tongs, I twist the glass, stopping every few turns to score cross-hatching into the long, slender handle that¡¯s taking shape. When I¡¯m happy, I pinch off the glass, flip it around, and stick it to the blowpipe pommel-first. Later, when I detach the blowpipe again, I¡¯ll melt off the edges of leftover glass.

    ¡°Need a small glob.¡±

    Lionel rushes to oblige, bringing me a bit of molten glass from the crucible. He attaches it to the crimped end of the handle, following my instructions, and twists the rod sharply, pulling away to disengage his punty from the glass. He snatches up a pair of wooden paddles from the bucket of water nearby the workbench, handing it over before I even ask for the tool.

    When I take the tool, he swaps to the other side of the workbench, turning the blowpipe for me so I can work on the glass without splitting my focus. I open up the wooden paddle a little bit on one side. The back of the paddle is pinned together, like a pair of big salad tongs. I pinch the round blob of glass while Lionel spins, pressing it flat and smooth. Soon, it turns into a small rondelle, which will protect his hand when he wields the sword.

    ¡°Heat,¡± I command, and Lionel takes the entire thing back to the flames. While he warms it back up again, I drink some water and stretch out my hand and arms, rolling my shoulders to stay limber. It¡¯s nostalgic to work with glass without Skills again, but it takes longer and is definitely more demanding on the body.

    ¡°My liege,¡± Lionel says when he returns with hot glass, handing over the blowpipe and bowing with an extravagant flourish.

    I scoff at his theatrics, but it warms my heart to see Lionel in a good mood again. At the tavern the other night he seemed discouraged, and it was so unlike his usual persona that it¡¯s been worrying me ever since. What if something¡¯s really wrong?

    I put aside the thought¡ªhe¡¯s a grown man, able to handle life¡¯s ups and downs in his own way, although I¡¯ll gladly help if he needs me¡ªand get back to work. I swap out the wooden paddles for a pair of metal tweezers, which are a fair bit smaller than the tongs I use for more general shaping. Delicate work requires a delicate touch, and the tweezers are more precise. I pinch one edge of the round crossguard, stretching it out like putty and rolling it down toward the handle in a curlicue. On the opposite side, I repeat the pinch and pull, but this time I bend the soft, molten glass upward, curling it until it matches the curve of the first half of the crossguard.

    ¡°Want a hand-guard?¡±

    Lionel purses his lips, tilting his head to the side while he thinks it over. He shakes his head a moment later. ¡°Nah, I¡¯d rather be free to grab the handle in any direction. A bar or basket guard is too constricting.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Sure, sure. Makes sense with your second Class. If you lose a finger, you can just heal it, right?¡±

    Lionel sticks out his tongue at me. He goes back to the crucible to get a new gather of glass, already anticipating our next step. That¡¯s one of my favorite things about him. He¡¯s always helpful, always in tune with the needs of the shop without having to be told, as long as he¡¯s not absent-minded or forgetful.

    I close my eyes, slowing my breathing and calming my nerves. This next part is when it all comes together¡ªor all falls apart. Imbuing is fraught with trial and error, as I¡¯ve learned since my return to Silaraon. For every three or four good pieces, I completely shatter another one or two, and the blowback from the failures burns in my psyche even worse than the mana feedback stings my channels.

    ¡°All good, Nuri?¡± Lionel murmurs.

    I open my eyes, take one look at the genuine concern on my friend¡¯s face, and break out into a smile. All my trepidation fades away. I square my shoulders and jut out my chin. ¡°Ready as ever. Let¡¯s craft you the finest sword this side of the Capital¡ªer, well, third-finest, at least,¡± I say with a chuckle as my gaze flickers over to the twin glass blades hanging on the showroom wall.

    Lionel¡¯s eyes crinkle in merriment. He affixes a large clump of hot glass to the crossguard and cuts away the excess with his shears. ¡°Ha, that¡¯s the spirit! You wanna draw?¡±

    I nod in response, standing up on top of the workbench and turning the metal rod with the handle and new glass attached to it while Lionel smooths it with a wet wooden block, ensuring that it¡¯s rounded and even. When I give the go ahead, he leans back, allowing gravity to drag the soft glass downward until there¡¯s a rod about a hand¡¯s-breadth long where the blade will be. He whistles quietly as he swaps out the block for a flat length of wood, also soaked in the bucket to prevent it from combusting when it comes into contact with the blazing hot glass. It sizzles when the end of the rod makes contact, but doesn¡¯t burst into flames.

    ¡°Steady,¡± I say, leaning down and grasping the rod just below the glass handle. I pull the rod up with a slow, easy motion. The entire process of drawing out the glass, maintaining tension while lengthening the stump of a cylinder into a tall, slender blade, takes just over a minute, but to me it feels like a small eternity. If anything goes wrong, we¡¯ll have to throw out this attempt and start over.

    Lionel lets go of the wooden slat with one hand, picks up his shears, and notches the glass at his preferred length for the sword. We each twist slightly in opposite directions, and then he taps sharply on the unwanted glass at the bottom with his shears, breaking it off from the main body of the sword. A quick application of [Greater Heat Manipulation] smooths the bumps and ridges, and I sharpen the end of the sword into a wicked, gleaming point finer than any sewing needle. It''s fragile, but by the time we finish, it will hold up to the rigors of a melee.

    We repeat the breaking process at the pommel end, freeing the sword from the blowpipe. I run my fingers over the glass, keeping the skin sheathed in a barrier to stave off the heat, smoothing the rough edges until it shines like polished glass.

    While Lionel holds the sword in place, relying on thick gloves to keep from burning his sensitive skin, I spend mana like water, imbuing the weapon with the concept of unbreakable. It''s my most consistent applique, although I wish I could also give this weapon swiftness.

    The mana swirls, dancing gleefully at the mental image I paint. The image holds; the mana sets; the blade is forged.

    I¡¯m shaking and panting as my glass pseudo cores drain completely, leaving me with a pounding headache. It¡¯s a sensation I¡¯m all too familiar with these days. Either I need to improve my mental resistance, or craft a new set of cores with much higher artificial Capacity.

    ¡°Whoohoo!¡± Lionel shouts, sensing that it worked. ¡°As light as a feather, but harder to break than even your thick skull!¡±

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a sword for you,¡± I say, fighting off the pang of envy at the thought of giving away the first true masterwork weapon I¡¯ve ever created. I smile at his indefatigable spirit. ¡°Even so, I¡¯d feel better if you have some way to stay safe. Why don¡¯t we talk with Mbukhe later? He might be able to teach you a [Stealth] Skill.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have any overlapping Skills. I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯d pick one up,¡± Lionel says, furrowing his brow in thought. He stifles a yawn, stretches, and flops down in a chair with an exaggerated groan. ¡°Nice work, Nuri. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯m gonna nap before lunch break. That was more work than I''ve done in ages. You''re ruining my resolve to get fat and lazy.¡±

 B4 C17: Trinkets and Toys - Avelina

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    I hold my hand steady in the glass-making crucible, igniting [Greater Heat Manipulation] to ward off the skin-melting blaze. Orange-white flames flicker around my fingers¡ªthe ravenous tongues of a nightmare beast¡ªbut I resist the urge to snatch back my hand. Time for me to deepen my understanding of fire.

    Sinking inward, I survey the dazzling array of complex runes that make up my first Skill. Eyes closed, internal sight focused on the rune for fire, I thread mana into the Skill in a slow, steady trickle, mentally rotating the complex rune as it flares to life. I¡¯ve used fire and heat independently from the Skill itself for a long time, even before I knew what I was doing, but it¡¯s never been clear to me exactly how it works. My view of the rune is tenuous at best. I know there''s more to it than what I can see so far.

    My fascination is more than academic. I need to understand what I''m doing better. If I¡¯m going to meld my next creation with a beast core that also resonates with fire, then I want to avoid burning down the studio. Perhaps my current understanding of fire is sufficient for a decent weapon if I play it safe, but I didn¡¯t risk death and dismemberment in the Rift so I can settle for mediocrity. Avelina needs a way to fight from range. Without this wand, she has to get close, which puts her in too much danger.

    I won¡¯t get my friends killed.

    Resolved, I roll my shoulders, stretch my neck, and shake out my fingers. The weight of the world is pressing down on me, but right now I need to just put that aside and focus. There''s plenty of time for reflection and self-recrimination later. That thought brings a wry half-smile to my face.

    On a whim, I try to apply the technique that the [Inquisitors] mentioned to me in the Rift. Look beyond. While I still don''t fully understand Casella''s instructions, I get the gist of what he''s trying to convey. Simple runes are easy to draw on paper, but complex runes are multivariate. There''s an element that I¡¯ve overlooked.

    I snap my fingers. ¡°That''s it! That''s why they wanted to draw a cube instead of a square; there¡¯s a dimensional aspect that I''m missing.¡± Taking a deep breath, I calm my racing mind and try again, relying on sheer willpower to expand my view.

    And this time, my perspective . . . shifts.

    Unlike my previous view of the rune, the new perspective spins out in all directions, and I gasp in sudden shock. Pain needles at the edges of my mind, biting and snapping like a thousand tiny gnats. The dizzying array of shapes is no longer limited to what my eyes can see; I''m processing the reality of the runes with my inner sight, which isn''t bound by the same laws of optics.

    The patterns remind me of the strange, unsettling shapes I saw in the lesser Rift when I channeled the raw power of the core and turned it against itself. Back then, I couldn''t handle the strain, so I looked away, but curiosity has always stuck with me. What secrets of the universe had I peered into? A note of pride trills through me. My soul is stronger now, and I am able to wrestle the discomfort under control and gaze at the mystery.

    My mind still stutters and skips as I try to make sense of what I''m perceiving. The impossible geometries don''t match anything I could draw on a flat page, but slowly an analogous image starts to emerge. The strange, stacked shapes remind me of children playing with wooden blocks, balancing them one on top of another to create castles and towers and anything else they can conceive of.

    ¡°Three dimensional, stacked runes,¡± I mutter to myself. ¡°The runes use multiple fractals, stacked on top of each other¡ªoverlapping the same space but maybe on different planes? But why? Ah! For an increase in efficiency. I see. Mana doesn''t have to travel as far to suffuse the entire rune. That gives it more power output for the energy input.¡±

    Excitement mounting, I push the crucible even hotter, willing the fire to bend to my command. I wish I still had [Architect of Unseen Worlds] so that I could get a closer look at what''s happening. Guess I''ll have to make do the old fashioned way.

    I move my soul sight closer, straining to see what¡¯s really going on. The rune segments are all connected by glowing filaments. They appear to be pure energy, stitching the incomprehensible shapes together like thread through fabric. The miniscule holes in the rune allow for the passage of mana.

    ¡°Huh. Maybe it speeds up the magical signal if it doesn¡¯t have to travel as far. Is that why using a Skill usually results in a significant increase in power versus trying to wield freeform spells?¡±

    ¡°You talking to yourself, Nuri?¡±

    I drop out of my soul space and spin around, nearly knocking over a row of punties as I struggle to stay upright. My head is simultaneously too light and too heavy. I blink, leaning against the wall for extra stability. ¡°Lio! Don¡¯t sneak up on me like that.¡±

    ¡°Whatcha doing?¡±

    ¡°Just working through some new ideas.¡±

    ¡°Sounds profitable,¡± Lionel says, grinning at me. ¡°Make sure you cut me in if you come across any more lucrative breakthroughs. Would be nice to have some pocket change for once.¡±

    ¡°Uh. Sure. Hey, you seen Ava around?¡±

    ¡°Too embarrassed to work with a genius like me again, huh? Sorry I outshone you so much that you have to hide in embarrassment.¡±

    I glance at the slender glass sword strapped to Lionel¡¯s side. ¡°Not too late for me to take that back and use it for myself.¡±

    Amusement sparks in his eyes. ¡°Someone missed breakfast, huh? She¡¯s at her usual workbench with her twin, Sir Grumpypants.¡±

    ¡°She wasn¡¯t earlier,¡± I say, turning to check that Lionel isn¡¯t teasing me. He¡¯s definitely not above a bit of misleading information for fun.

    ¡°They were in the back room gathering materials for a project. Heard they scored a big commission with your old friend, Lord Garman.¡±

    ¡°He still has room for display pieces?¡± I ask, incredulous that the old aristocrat hasn¡¯t run out of space¡ªor money¡ªby now. He must be a bigger art enthusiast than I remembered.

    Lionel lifts his eyebrows and shrugs. ¡°No idea. But that¡¯s his problem. I¡¯ll take as much gold as he¡¯s willing to hand out. Maybe we can do a team piece for him next.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind.¡± I bid goodbye to Lionel, still trying to recover my balance and get my bearings after the mind-melting encounter with the complexity of three-dimensional runes. I thought I was becoming an expert in the magical language of reality, but now I feel like I¡¯ve gone back to the beginning. Far from becoming a runic scholar, I¡¯m crawling on the floor and sticking spoons in my mouth like a baby¡ªmetaphorically speaking, of course.

    ¡°Morning, Linas. Got a moment?¡±

    ¡°Depends,¡± Melina says, a hint of wariness in her tone. ¡°You actually have a question, or are you about to disrupt our plans?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯m as transparent as glass to you, huh? Surely you can lend me your assistant for a few hours. Lord Garman can wait.¡±

    Melina¡¯s eyes crinkle as she laughs. ¡°Some of us still have to work for a living, Nuri. You can only have her if you help us finish up later. Work for work.¡±

    ¡°Hey! Stop bartering for my time,¡± Avelina interjects, elbowing her sister in the ribs. ¡°I¡¯m right here, you know.¡±

    ¡°Shush, sis. Nuri and I are plotting.¡±

    Avelina props her elbows up on the marver. She rests her chin on her palms. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯m used to your scheming. The real question is what do I get out of it?¡±

    ¡°Hotter fire. Bigger fire. More fire.¡±

    ¡°Sold! Let¡¯s go, Nuri,¡± Avelina squeals, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me away. ¡°Time to burn stuff!¡±

    She makes it two steps before I plant my feet and pull back the other way. ¡°I¡¯m not done with Mel. I still have questions before we get to work.¡±

    Avelina rolls her eyes. ¡°Sure, sure, talk with the smart one. I get it. I¡¯m just here to make things go up in flames.¡± She grins, her eyes wide and maniacal. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I know my place. Have I mentioned that I love fire?¡±

    I ignore Avelina, shifting my attention back to her calculating twin. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking into runic arrays lately, but I¡¯m a little bit stuck. I¡¯m hoping that you can point me in the right direction if I explain what¡¯s going on.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not an expert. Ezio might be a better bet,¡± Melina responds slowly. She bites the edge of her lower lip, mulling it over. ¡°I guess I could listen, though. Maybe if you describe the problem, I can help you sort it out.¡±

    ¡°Perfect. You know how simple runes can be depicted on a page, or are visible within your soul space as part of your Skill structures? Well, I think that we¡¯re not seeing the real rune when we examine our Skills, because we¡¯re used to parsing information visually, and our eyes are limited to only three dimensions. Er, well, at least our minds are used to interpreting what we sense internally as some sort of sight, so we expect it to be two- or three-dimensional since it¡¯s what we¡¯re accustomed to seeing normally.¡±

    ¡°Aaand, I¡¯m out,¡± Avelina says, snapping her fingers and summoning blue fire. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go do some flamework. You weirdos have fun with your big ideas.¡±

    Melina waves absently at her twin as Avelina trots off, but she seems distracted by my admittedly-inadequate description. I recognize the glint in Melina¡¯s eyes, because it¡¯s the same obsession I feel when I¡¯m wrestling with a new idea and feel like I¡¯m on the verge of unlocking its secrets.

    ¡°All right, Nuri, let me see if I get it. You¡¯re suggesting that we¡¯re conditioned to perceive our inner worlds visually, but their true nature is somehow more esoteric and encompassing?¡±

    I nod vigorously. ¡°Exactly! We have to look beyond.¡±

    ¡°How does that apply to runes?¡± Melina asks, wrinkling up her nose in thought. She puts down the blowpipe that she¡¯s been holding, and taps her fingers on the workbench. Now I know that she¡¯s as intrigued as I am by this concept.

    ¡°Well, in the same way that we reinterpret the reality of magic into something lesser and more manageable, runes are infinitely more complex than simple diagrams. They¡¯re stacked in three dimensions¡ªfour or five, probably¡ªwhich makes them more efficient than the traditional depiction of runes. I think that they occupy other planes of existence, spilling into many spaces all at once! That gives them more room to gather power, but they¡¯re also able to fit within our soul spaces because they¡¯re in a smaller, folded space. The complex, overlapping fractals pack in more magical potential than a hand-drawn rune.¡±

    Melina frowns abruptly. ¡°Let¡¯s say you¡¯re right. What can you realistically do with the new information, Nuri? Can you manipulate the runes that belong in adjacent planes? Are you able to better imbue concepts?¡±

    I take a breath to respond, then pause and blow out the air. ¡°I have no idea. But it feels important. Maybe this is a path toward imbuing more efficiently, or with greater purity of concept. I can¡¯t help but feel like I¡¯m on the path to merging enchanting and imbuing.¡±

    ¡°All of this is well and good, but how is it going to help you make a better wand for Ava? You know she¡¯s dying to see what you¡¯re going to give her. Making her wait until everyone else has something is just plain mean.¡±

    ¡°How did you know I was making a wand? Have you been peeking at my notes?¡± I ask, sticking out my tongue at Melina. ¡°Because if you have, then you ought to know that I went through a lot of trouble to get a beast core from that new, fire-aspected Rift just for her.¡°

    ¡°I heard that [Spear Commander] did all the work,¡± Melina says, sticking out her tongue in reply. There¡¯s something about talking with each other that brings out the inner child in us, but it¡¯s nice to have friends, so I don¡¯t mind.

    ¡°Pfft! I had to pull ole Nic¡¯s butt out of the fire. His brain would have been turned to mush by those fire sprites if I didn¡¯t intervene.¡±

    Melina snickers at me. ¡°Oh, on first name terms now, huh? You might even say that you, ahem, gave him a ¡®Nic¡¯ name.¡±

    ¡°Did you. . . .¡± I blink in surprise, then let out an astonished, delighted chortle. ¡°Wow, Mel. Did you just make a bad pun? I¡¯m so proud of you!¡±

    =+=

    Instead of tackling the wand right away, I shift tactics and tell Avelina that we¡¯ll try after she¡¯s done with the commission for my old friend, Lord Garman. I put in a few hours of assistant work to help the sisters finish up more quickly. They don¡¯t need my help, but it¡¯s always nice to have extra people to speed up the process, and since I¡¯m doing the grunt work, my mind can wander as I think over the questions Melina raised.

    The next day, I leave them to put the finishing touches on the piece and head over to talk with my favorite genius, the [Nonpareil Scholar] himself, Ezio. I mull over Melina¡¯s questions on the way, trying to put my thoughts into a more concise form. Ezio won¡¯t mind if I ramble, but he¡¯ll likely return the favor. And, as much as I enjoy my time with Ezio, I¡¯m not in the mood to listen to two or three hours of lectures on prevailing magical theory.

    Before I know, I¡¯m back in a familiar position: sitting across from Ezio in his office while I tell him about my troubles. I tap my fingers on the desk, fumbling for the right way to explain my dilemma. Finally, he takes pity on me and tells me to just spit it out, even if it¡¯s incomprehensible and confusing.

    I nod and take a deep breath. ¡°Runes are the building blocks of Skills, or at least that¡¯s the common idea. They¡¯re responsible for organizing and shaping information so that we can use mana to affect the world around us. The more dense the layers of runes, the stronger and more efficient the Skill can be, usually.¡±

    ¡°Right, that¡¯s the generally-accepted view,¡± Ezio says, his brow furrowed. ¡°But something tells me that you¡¯re about to turn it all on its ear. Why don¡¯t you get to the point?¡±

    ¡°What if they¡¯re more than that? What if runes are conduits that borrow concepts from a higher realm? What if we only see a tiny fraction of their true form? I¡¯ve heard that some animals can hear sounds we can¡¯t¡ªeither too low, or too high. I think that we¡¯re only aware of a narrow band of existence.¡±

    ¡°Ah! Some [Zoologists] have noted that certain species are able to see in the dark, or are sensitive to colors that humans can¡¯t see. You think there¡¯s some sort of correlation in the realm of magic,¡° Ezio chimes in, his voice rising half an octave in his sudden excitement.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    I nod. ¡°Here, give me that notepad. I think I can sketch out what I mean more clearly. It¡¯s something that our [Inquisitor] friends hinted at during our time together in the Rift. They couldn¡¯t give me exact information, but it¡¯s starting to come together for me.¡±

    Ezio obliges, leaning forward in interest as I begin to draw points, lines, and cubes. I¡¯m leaning heavily on the metaphor that Casella and Mbukhe used to tell me how to look beyond, and I don¡¯t think that¡¯s by mistake. The details suddenly click into place, and I leap up to my feet with a shout, startling my scholarly friend.

    Mind racing, I try to put my new theory into practice. The [Inquisitors] can pierce the veil around people and see into core spaces because they¡¯re tapping into a different plane. They¡¯re able to interface not just with this world, but with the Concepts from which we derive the power to use Skills and spells. If I open myself up to the true concepts swirling around a person, then perhaps they can show me the runes we associate with Skills.

    Acting on impulse, I draw on my glass pseudo cores and weave my version of the [Manasight] spellform, squinting at Ezio and letting my soul sight guide me. If that¡¯s a thing; I¡¯m just making up terms now, I think, giggling at my propensity to label things that probably have real names already.

    With a gut-wrenching twist, my sight expands beyond the physical world, latching on to realities more potent than our own. All at once, I can make out the high-order concepts that are Ezio¡¯s core being, his inner self. I¡¯m not sure how to parse it, not yet, but I¡¯m acutely aware of his standing¡ªon the precipice of the Second Threshold, so close that he could teeter over at any second. His Skills glitter like cut and polished diamonds, and as I brush my senses across them, like a lutist plucking at strings, I intuitively sense how his Skills give him immense ability to think in parallel, process vast amounts of information without getting details mixed up, and verify the authenticity and validity of research data instantly.

    I slump over, catching myself on the back of the chair before I fall over, and fight to stay upright on my wobbling legs. ¡°I, uh, I think I got my answer.¡±

    ¡°Quick, write it down,¡± Ezio hisses. He taps on the privacy wards on his desk, glancing around as his eyes glow with mana. ¡°No one watching that I can tell, but if you just did what I think you did, then the [Inquisitors] will be irritated to have competition.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all related,¡± I slur, trying to scrawl legible notes before I forget the exact sensation of what I just did. It¡¯s already slipping away, too complicated for my puny mind to hold firmly in my memory forever. I grind my teeth in anger at not earning a new Skill, certain that I was as close as humanly possible to unlocking it before I lost control. I touched on secrets of the universe, but didn¡¯t gain the ability. I¡¯ll get it someday. Soon, I hope.

    ¡°Runes and Viewing? You¡¯re probably right,¡± Ezio says, muttering to himself and writing down his own notes on one of the ever-present pads of paper he keeps lying around his desk. ¡°Thanks to you, we might make a major breakthrough in our understanding of imbuing, not to mention enchantments!¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t they different?¡± I ask, pausing from my notes to ponder this new, shiny thought. It dances in my mind, and I race after it. I can almost see my mental activity diverging as more and more thoughts intrude. I¡¯m like a dog chasing after¡ª

    ¡°Focus, Nuri,¡± Ezio whispers, patting my damp, feverish brow. He lifts up a cup of tea to my lips, and I sip the hot brew greedily, gulping it down and instantly feeling more cogent.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, my teeth chattering. My head lolls to the side, and I get a close up look at the piling of the carpet. I¡¯m no longer in my seat, but lying on the floor, stretched out with a blanket over me. When did I get down here?

    ¡°You¡¯re dealing with things beyond you,¡± Ezio says sternly, but not unkindly. ¡°Take care, my young friend. Best to fortify yourself before you draw too deeply.¡±

    I nod and shiver despite the blanket, thinking of the Lesser Rift. I¡¯ve been down that path before, and I have no interest in reliving that mistake again. Slow, cautious steps; no more trying wild theories with no plan or supervision. ¡°I promise,¡± I manage to croak out, tucking the blanket up under my chin. ¡°But I still want to pick your brain about this.¡±

    He shakes his head, chuckling softly. ¡° As long as you promise to only talk. No more wild experimenting with magic beyond your ability.¡±

    ¡°Promise,¡± I mumble.

    ¡°Very well. Do you know the difference between regular enchantments and what you¡¯re doing with imbuing?¡±

    ¡°Hm. Not really, not anymore,¡± I say, speaking slowly. The medicinal tea that Ezio gave me is taking effect, and I¡¯m starting to feel more normal, but my head is still pounding. ¡°I used to think it was simple runes versus complex runes, but even the so-called ¡®simple¡¯ runes occupy multiple dimensions. Enchantments and imbuing are both forms of magic, but why are they so different in application?¡±

    ¡°I believe your experiences align nicely with some of the research you smuggled in from that frightful woman.¡± He pauses, eyeing me as though expecting a reaction when he mentions Scalpel. At my calm nod, he continues, relaxing his shoulders as though setting aside a weight. His worry for me is heart-warming.

    ¡°Imbuing essentially takes a created item and fuses it with mana that¡¯s been altered from its raw, latent state to closely align with a specific concept or axiom. This fundamentally changes the very nature of the finished product. An enchantment is more like a condensed spellform, or perhaps shorthand, that''s overlaid on a pre-existing item. It doesn¡¯t require the creation process, for reasons I don¡¯t fully understand¡ªbut I suspect it¡¯s similar to ossification, the way that bones harden in developing children and animals. Once the crafting is complete, then the object is no longer malleable, and its connections to the conceptual realm are fully-formed.¡±

    ¡°So, enchanting is about functionality, while imbuing is about identity?¡± I muse, turning the words over in my mind and examining them for any fault. It sounds correct.

    ¡°Yes, I suppose so. They do function similarly, but usually an enchantment has more flexibility. A skilled [Enchanter] can overlay multiple spellforms, each for a specific purpose, as long as there¡¯s room to add each of the engravings. Of course,¡± Ezio says, clearing his throat, ¡°we must mention the caveat that the effects are weaker, not to mention that the enchantment will degrade over time and need to be repaired or replaced.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why I prefer imbuing. It changes the nature of something, not just its use,¡± I say with a sudden flush of accomplishment. My words are veering into grandeur and glory, but I don¡¯t care. It¡¯s not often that I¡¯m so fiercely proud of who I am and what I can do.

    ¡°Ah. Just so. Imbuing carries no such risk of fading over time. Yet, like all things, it''s a trade-off between pros and cons. Imbuing is theoretically more powerful if a crafter ever makes it to the third Threshold, which is exceedingly rare, as you know. I suspect that if you continue to pursue power at such a mad pace¡ªassuming you don¡¯t burn out and die¡ªthen you will begin to gain the flexibility and multiplicity of enchantment without its downsides.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I say, chewing on the idea. ¡°Maybe not. There¡¯s still compatibility to consider. If I try to forcibly imbue something with an intent that¡¯s radically opposed to the object¡¯s purpose, I don¡¯t think that will work. It¡¯s the wrong concept; there¡¯s no resonance.¡±

    ¡°Right you are. That¡¯s where enchanting has its time to shine,¡± Ezio says, patting me on the shoulder gently. He reaches over to his desk, picks up the tea pot, and pours me another cup of the tea, gesturing for me to drink up.

    I drain the cup in small, slow sips, and by the end I feel well enough to reclaim my spot in the overstuffed chair by Ezio¡¯s desk. I stretch my neck side to side, working out the kinks from my impromptu nap on the floor. ¡°I won¡¯t stop working on this, but I may need oversight from the [Inquisitors]. Perhaps Lionel could also provide medical support.¡±

    ¡°Wise,¡± Ezio says, nodding. He squints at me for a long moment over the rim of his own tea cup, then wheezes out a chuckle. ¡°Something tells me that you have a plan in mind already to test out your new theories. You always did prefer hands-on learning over theories. Having a [Healer] nearby should be mandatory for you from now on!¡±

    ¡°Got me there. I need to learn to peer into core spaces more reliably. Then, I¡¯ll need time to access each one of your Skills¡ªyou, Rakesh, Ember, Casella, Mbukhe, Mikko, Lionel, the Linas, and anyone else we can trust.¡± I snap my fingers, sitting up straight. ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll be able to convince Nicanor to volunteer for a spar with Ember, so I can spy on his Skills without needing to tell him all the details? He has some amazing spear arts!¡±

    Ezio groans and puts his head in his hands. ¡°Bad idea, Nuri. Nevermind my suggestion earlier. A [Healer] isn¡¯t good enough anymore. We need a bonafide [Miracle Worker] to raise you from the dead after the [Spear Commander] is through with you.¡±

    =+=

    ¡°Why can''t I make it myself?¡± Avelina says with a scowl and a toss of her thick, black braids. ¡°It''s all basic technique, Nuri. A simple pull, then throw on a bit of decoration. I can do that part with flume. You ask me, I¡¯m better suited to this work than you are.¡±

    I heave a tired sigh, resisting the urge to rub my forehead. We¡¯ve been in the hot shop for half an hour, but we still haven¡¯t started yet because we keep arguing in circles. ¡°No contest there. You¡¯re talented! But you can''t imbue, Ava, so I won¡¯t risk letting you make it. One hit while we''re out adventuring and your entire wand will shatter.¡±

    ¡°Hmph. So? There¡¯s an easy solution.

    ¡°Which is?¡± I ask as patiently as I can, although my eyebrows are trying to crawl right off my forehead, and I know she knows I¡¯m annoyed.

    ¡°Teach me,¡± she says, arms crossed.

    I shake my head. ¡°No. Ohh, no. You wanna risk ruining the beast core? We might only get one shot at doing this right. I am not going back into the Rift if you break something.¡±

    Her smile brightens maniacally. ¡°Aw, c¡¯mon! You know that I learn best under pressure! It¡¯ll be fun. Where¡¯s your sense of adventure?¡±

    I throw my hand up in exasperation. ¡°Fine, you make ninety-nine percent of the wand, and I¡¯ll imbue it at the very end to make sure it doesn''t break. Happy now?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± she replies instantly, shaking her head. ¡°That¡¯s a total waste of your talent. Why not give the wand a connection to the glorious concept of fire?¡±

    ¡°Because I have no idea how to do that, Ava. Let¡¯s just stick with something that we know will work.¡±

    ¡°Peh! I know you can do it. Why else would you spend your time muttering to yourself by the crucible for days with your hand thrust into the middle of the hottest flames? You¡¯re building rapport. It¡¯s actually pretty cute!¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°For someone who works with glass for a living, you sure have a cavalier attitude about breaking things. We¡¯ve all dropped things while working. It never ends well.¡±

    Avelina walks over to the shelf of spares. She picks through pieces of glass, then lifts up a little figurine up a dove that she made a few days earlier¡ªit looks like one of the discards from the eclectic, ever-growing menagerie for Lord Garman. Light catches the delicate wings and refracts, casting a rainbow across the wall nearby. She looks me right in the eye, hunches over the bird, and says the name of a Skill I¡¯ve never heard from her before.

    ¡°[Strong as Stone],¡± Avelina declares boldly. She winks at me, and drops the glass dove onto the floor.

    Instinctively, I lunge forward with my hand open, reaching out to catch the dove before the glass shatters on the hard floor. I miss, staggering off balance but unable to look away. The dove hits the floor, wingtip-first. I wince, bracing myself for the inevitable tinkle of broken glass as the slender wing crashes down. Yet the disaster never arrives. Instead, the figurine simply bounces.

    ¡°You''ve been holding out on me!¡± I shout in excitement.¡° Why didn''t you tell me that you picked up a new Skill? I would have been happy to work with you if I had known that you had your own way to prevent the wand from breaking. I thought you were just being stubborn.¡±

    Avelina grins madly. ¡°Totally worth it to see the dumbfounded look on your face. I was going to pretend that I learned how to mana imbue on the spot, so you¡¯d hail me as a genius. I was afraid that you might try too hard to go along with my demands, though, and I''d miss out on the chance to get my new baby imbued with something more interesting than just the concept of unbreakable.¡±

    ¡°Oh, ¡®just¡¯ unbreakable,¡± I say, laughing. ¡°As if it¡¯s so common that it''s not even worth mentioning anymore.¡±

    ¡°Pssh. It¡¯s not that special, Nuri. Stop pretending like there¡¯s only one mysterious way to do things! I got tired of my complex pieces breaking in the annealer, so I experimented with ways to strengthen the glass. And here we are! Now you can imbue something exciting, while I take care of the mundane bits.¡±

    I laugh incredulously, which seems to be something of a theme when I¡¯m dealing with Avelina, and shake my head at the flame-touched woman. ¡°I admit it. You got me good! All right, why don''t you take a look at these schematics and get started with the basic structure. I¡¯ll prep the runic array for fire.¡±

    Avelina smirks. A blue-white flame leaps to her fingertips. ¡°I knew you would see it my way. Now, how about you hand me that rod of glass behind you so that I can melt it down and get started on my new wand?"

    We spend the next hour working on practice wands before attempting to fuse the real thing with the beast core. Avelina has only limited uses of her [Strong as Stone] Skill, which in theory will prevent the wand from breaking, so I hold off imbuing the practice wands with fire. I need to see how her new Skill interacts with the complex rune, but I don¡¯t want either of us to go low on mana before we work on the real thing, so we only try overlapping once.

    Based on what Ezio explained about his theory of ossification, I imbue first, and then let Avelina apply her Skill. I don¡¯t want to risk solidifying the mana and concepts contained within the wand by strengthening it first, which may cause it to reject my imbuing. It works perfectly, which makes me groan instantly. This just means Avelina will never shut up about me making her waste her time. Sure enough, she gives me a pointed look.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with,¡± Avelina says. ¡°I¡¯m tired of making perfectly-good wands for you to turn up your nose and reject. Nothing¡¯s going to go wrong. We could be blowing things up and setting trees on fire right now, Nuri! Don¡¯t you see what¡¯s at stake?¡±

    ¡°We have to do it right, Ava.¡±

    ¡°Borrrring.¡±

    I sigh. ¡°You wanna risk it?¡±

    ¡°If I have to choose between my new weapon exploding and dying of boredom, hmm, let me think¡ª¡± she taps on her lips with her finger and squints, contorting her face painfully while she makes a show of thinning it over. ¡°Uh. Yeah. That¡¯s an easy one. I choose explosions!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who needs a dedicated [Healer], not me,¡± I mutter, but she just flutters her eyelashes at me as though I¡¯ve given her a compliment for her derring-do. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s do this for real.¡±

    Avelina cheers, shooting multi-colored flames into the air in celebration. Her control is mesmerizing¡ªthe entire spectrum of the rainbow erupts from her fingertips, one shade to each finger, all at once¡ªbut I¡¯m not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that I¡¯m impressed. She¡¯ll never let me live that down.

    Thanks to all our practice, the wand takes shape in minutes. It¡¯s a simple, elegant piece, with light fluting on the sides to provide some grip. I meditate on the meaning of fire, tracing the fractals and whorls in my mind as though repeating a prayer, and ensure that I leave a space for the beast core at the end of the pattern. The core is a little larger than my two fists put together, so the final weapon will look more like a mace than a stereotypical [Wizard]¡¯s wand, but it should amplify the range and power of her spells exponentially.

    ¡°Nuri! Allll yours!¡± Avelina sings.

    I nod sharply, willing the mana to congeal around the primal image of endless fire that I¡¯ve cultivated in my mind while she worked on pulling the molten glass into a long wand shape. With a rush of power, the imbuing suffuses the wand, settling around the beast core that Avelina is holding in place for me. All the magical conduits connect, and the wand hums with power.

    ¡°[Strong as Stone],¡± Avelina says a moment later, overlaying her Skill. The wand shines as more mana pours into it, strengthening the glass beyond what should be physically possible. With a cheer, she gives me a high-five. ¡°Perfect teamwork! Let¡¯s get this to the annealer and go hit the pub for lunch to celebrate. We can make Melina speed things up so that we¡¯re ready to test when we get back.¡±

    ¡°I like the way you think,¡± I reply, returning her mad grin. She might be a little obsessive, but working with her is a blast. Sometimes literally. She keeps things light and fun, and the glass dances under her ministrations. It¡¯s fun to see everyone¡¯s unique styles while making things. We all share glass as a medium, but our creativity always expresses itself in different ways.

    Sure enough, by the time we return from the pub, our bellies full of hot, greasy food, Avelina¡¯s wand is ready. I love having a budding time mage on our side. Waiting until tomorrow to test the fireball sounds like a terrible way to live.

    Ember meets us in the doorway. She crosses her arms. ¡°You best hike down to the river before you test that wand. I¡¯ll cane you with the flat of your own father¡¯s swords if you burn down my glass studio.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d never dream of it,¡± I protest, while sharing a guilty look with Avelina. We¡¯d definitely planned to shoot off the wand in the courtyard, although in retrospect that seems like a foolish idea.

    The entire studio suspends operations, and not even Ember¡¯s threats can stop them from marching down to the riverside to watch the show. I don¡¯t blame them for wanting to see what happens. If we fail, it¡¯s going to be spectacular. This is the most excitement they¡¯ll see all week, most likely.

    Avelina clutches the wand to her chest with both hands, suddenly bashful. She bites her lip, staring at the audience. I¡¯ve never seen her act so shy before, so I nudge her with my elbow and tell her to light em up.

    She startles, as if waking from a dream, and smiles at me with her trademark crooked grin. I swear that even her eyes catch fire, flames dancing behind her pupils. She takes a deep breath and bellows out in a loud voice: ¡°Stand back, folks! It¡¯s about to get hot!¡±

    The [Glass Workers] and [Gaffers] scurry backward, giving her a wide berth. They¡¯ve all seen her in action before, and no one wants to go home with burn marks. She nods, spinning her wand in her hands like a performer in a marching band, and then points at a boulder on the far shore, nearly fifty paces away.

    ¡°Fireball!¡± Avelina shouts, pouring mana into the wand. Even though it¡¯s not a Skill, the wand lights up at her command, resonating with her desire to burn. Power swirls along the rod of glass, gathers in the beast core, and rotates faster and faster. The wand glows with a bright light, forcing me to squint to avoid being blinded, and a huge ball of fire erupts from the tip of the wand, sending Avelina staggering backward as the enormous spell detonates with the force of an [Artillery Mage] raining down destruction on a city.

    The powerful blast of ethereal blue fire erupts from the tip of the wand, screaming across the river and igniting the very air with the ferocity of its passage. Frantically, I siphon away the energy with my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to keep the onlookers from burning up just by virtue of proximity. Heat shimmers warp my view, but I can still see well enough to watch the big rock explode into tiny fragments.

    I smile in grim satisfaction. The wand may be slow to arm, and from the way Avelina is panting and holding her head while she grins, it probably drains most of her mana to fire off a massive blast like that, but the absolute obliteration is unmatched. Finally, a weapon worthy of my favorite fire mage. May you burn forever, Ava.

 B4 C18: Adventurers for Hire

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    Stockpiling imbued glass items for the business venture that Ezio and I are running takes me nearly two months of hard labor. I¡¯ve barely had any time for combat training with the team, but Ember seems satisfied with their progress, so that¡¯s good enough for me. At the urging of Nicanor, of all people, I forgo advertising the pseudo cores and keep that ability hidden a while longer, selling to the Royal army exclusively. True to his word, his fellow officers pay a premium for them, giving us enough seed money to fund the rest of our ventures.

    For our partnership with Ezio¡¯s cousin, I stick with glass daggers imbued with sharpness and then treated with [Strong as Stone], thanks to my new deal with Avelina. In addition, I make a variety of calming vases and soothing candle holders and pedestals¡ªthey¡¯re boring, but we¡¯re trying to target our wares to appeal to a specific audience: namely, one with more money than sense. Ezio¡¯s [Merchant] cousin plans to only release a small amount of items at a time to keep prices high, which sounds shady to me; he insists that it¡¯s sound financial practice, however, so I let him call the shots.

    As much as I want to travel the world with my friends, investigate the truth behind the Wraiths, and come up with an actual plan to free Tem, I resist the urge to leave right away. Kirsi and Reijo just got used to having me around again. I can¡¯t run off just yet. Plus, if I take Mikko with me, then they¡¯ll lose two sons at once. That feels overly cruel. Still, now that we have more than enough inventory to cover my absence, it¡¯s hard to justify my lack of progress to my new employer: the [Inquisitors].

    Sure enough, my reprieve is soon over.

    Casella comes to visit me early one morning at the start of the work week. I¡¯m still wiping sleep crusts out of my eyes when he arrives, but I open the door to his insistent knocking. One look at the solemn expression on his usually-friendly face tells me that this is more than a fun social visit. Something is weighing on his mind.

    He inclines his head politely. ¡°Mind if I join you for breakfast? Might be easier to discuss business over food. Bad news and an empty stomach are a bad combination.¡±

    ¡°That sounds ominous.¡±

    ¡°I wish I could deny the accusation,¡± Casella says, following me inside the house. He shuffles over to a chair at the wide kitchen table, eases it out from its spot, and settles into it with a creak and a contented sigh. His eyes light up. ¡°Kirsi made scones again? How fortunate!¡±

    ¡°Help yourself. Plenty more baking.¡±

    He takes two, one in each hand, and finally smiles. ¡°Nuri, I don¡¯t know how else to put this. Central is, well, how shall we say? They¡¯re strongly encouraging us to make use of your unique talents.¡±

    I grimace. ¡°You mean they¡¯re trying to put me to work. I figured it was only a matter of time. Xharrote isn¡¯t the type to leave resources unspent.¡±

    ¡°Good. You understand the urgency, then,¡± Casella says, then devours his scone in two bites. With a soft hum, he picks up an oblong purple fruit that Reijo likes and continues with his breakfast. ¡°I wish it were different, but I don¡¯t think either of us are in a position to dictate terms.¡±

    ¡°We lack power,¡± I say quietly.

    Casella chuckles wryly. ¡°Among other things. There are plans in motion that are well above my paygrade, which means they¡¯re definitely above yours. Dragging your feet is a good way to get us both in trouble.¡±

    ¡°What do they want?¡± I snap.

    He holds up his big, square hands in a placating gesture. ¡°This will be good for you, too. Remember we discussed the possibility of looking into fixing your cracked channels? Things will go easier for all of us if you¡¯ll agree to investigate the Menders sooner rather than later. There¡¯s some sort of conflict brewing, and they¡¯re more likely to let you in as a patient than abide the presence of an [Inquisitor].¡±

    ¡°Stop pressuring me,¡± I say, more sharply than I intend. I snatch up a scone and chew on it to cover my irritation, but my face still flushes with heat. I¡¯m not even sure if I¡¯m talking to Casella, or to myself. I¡¯ve only been back home for a few months now. I should enjoy my time with family, not eagerly consider traveling halfway across the country. My guilt over wanting to leave again so soon is eating at me, and it¡¯s making me crabby.

    Casella frowns, and his entire face creases in thought. He clicks his tongue. ¡°I¡¯m on your side, Nuri. Don¡¯t take out your frustrations on me.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I mumble around another bite of my jellied scone, which is delicious enough to almost make me reconsider the thought of leaving. ¡°It¡¯s not you. Lots on my mind lately.¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell,¡± Casella says, rumbling with his deep, quiet laughter. ¡°If it makes you feel better, we¡¯ll give you a pilfered messaging construct so you can send notes back home.¡±

    I pause on my last bite of the scone. ¡°Is it that obvious why I¡¯m delaying? Or is this some sort of [Inquisitor] Skill at play?¡±

    ¡°Ha! You¡¯re not exactly subtle. I don¡¯t need any Skills to figure out that you¡¯re yearning for the open road again. You thrive on adventure.¡±

    ¡°Feels wrong to leave,¡± I whisper.

    ¡°That¡¯s to your credit. Most people like you don¡¯t have the joy of a loving family,¡± Casella says. He sets down his half-eaten purple fruit, wipes his lips with a napkin, and leans forward with his elbows propped up on the table. His eyes grow soft and distant. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you how many times I¡¯ve seen adventurers start off in a blaze of glory. Things go fine for a while, but the urge to explore and test themselves catches up to them. Most end up dying alone. Don¡¯t look at your friends and family as a chain around your neck. They¡¯re a blessing, not a burden.¡±

    I hang my head. ¡°I know. I¡¯m just getting pulled in a dozen different directions. How do I know which is the right way to go?¡±

    ¡°Let me simplify things for you, Nuri. Your pardon is contingent on your employment with the [Inquisitors]. Distasteful as they may be at times, they¡¯re not all bad. Information and truth is not inherently evil, although I don¡¯t always agree with how the information is used at the top. But working for someone you don¡¯t love?¡± He shrugs his big shoulders. ¡°That¡¯s often just the way of things. Your feelings don¡¯t factor into things. I¡¯m sure that your parents will understand. Besides, haven¡¯t your friends been training hard to join you on the road? You won¡¯t be alone.¡±

    I pick at a knot in the wooden tabletop, digging up a tiny splinter with my fingertip. I stare at it intently, not meeting Casella¡¯s gaze. ¡°You make it sound like a foregone conclusion.¡±

    ¡°Because it is.¡±

    ¡°What if I don¡¯t wanna go?¡±

    ¡°Nuri, don¡¯t be stupid.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this about Nuri being stupid again? Let me know if I have to box his ears. He¡¯s not a little kid anymore, but he¡¯s never too old for some tough love,¡± Kirsi says, breezing into the kitchen with a sprig of fresh-smelling herbs in either hand. She hangs them on opposite sides of the kitchen, grinning at me as she bustles about tidying up the place.

    ¡°Not my place to say. Ah, but I must point out that the scones are excellent, as always,¡± Casella says, rising from his seat and offering a formal bow. He¡¯s always polite to a fault around my family, which makes Kirsi blush and stammer, and that usually causes Reijo to laugh in turn. The pair isn¡¯t quite sure how to act around the [Inquisitors].

    ¡°This mean old man wants to kidnap me,¡± I say, winking at Casella behind Kirsi¡¯s back. ¡°Are you really gonna stand by and let that happen?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get my spoon! He¡¯s no match for the daughter of a [Scrapper],¡± Kirsi growls, shaking a fist at Casella in mock anger.

    ¡°Enough of that now,¡± Casella warns sternly, scowling back at me. ¡°Be respectful to your mother and stop stirring up trouble for once.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t. Troublemaking is in his nature,¡± Kirisi says, walking over to tousle my hair. She laughs when I try to duck away from her show of affection. Instead, she throws her arm around my neck and squeezes me even closer so she can plant a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek.

    I hug her back, fighting off the urge to cry. ¡°I might be gone awhile. I was hoping we¡¯d have longer before I hit the road again. I¡¯m sorry to spring this on you so suddenly.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, my love, don¡¯t insult my intelligence,¡± Kirsi says gently, patting my cheek. ¡°I already knew you wouldn¡¯t be able to stay for long, much as I¡¯d love to keep you here forever. All of your muttering to yourself and carrying on lately was a dead giveaway. You¡¯re restless. Agitated. Only one fix for that, and it¡¯s diving headfirst into the biggest whirlpool of trouble you can find. I¡¯ve been baking travelers bread for your team. Just say the word, and I¡¯ll load you all up with dried meat and cheese wheels, too.¡±

    I hug my mother again, basking in her warm, comforting presence. ¡°Thank you, Ma. For everything. I love you,¡± I whisper into her shoulder. This time, I don¡¯t hold back the tears.

    =+=

    ¡°All right, listen up, friends. We¡¯ve got a job to do.¡± I meet everyone¡¯s eyes¡ªRakesh, Melina, Avelina, Mikko, and Lionel¡ªone by one, as I turn to look across the room at my team. We¡¯re upstairs at the glassworks, using a spare office that Ember loaned us for this debriefing.

    I force myself to smile and keep a level tone, but my hand is under the table so that they can¡¯t see how badly I¡¯m trembling. ¡°You¡¯ve all worked hard to get to this point. Now we see if our preparation is up to the challenge. We¡¯ll leave the day after tomorrow, so that gives you time to pack your things and say your goodbyes. We¡¯ve got a long journey ahead of us, but at least we¡¯re in this together.¡±

    ¡°I only hope it turns out better than the last time we all tried to leave town,¡± Lionel says.

    Mikko snorts with laughter. ¡°Couldn¡¯t exactly be worse. I¡¯ve never been so terrified as when they dragged us in front of the [General]. He¡¯s even bigger than my forgemaster.¡±

    ¡°Which way are we going?¡±

    Melina¡¯s quiet question cuts through the boisterous laughter and teasing at the table. Her eyes are sad, as though she knows already that Naftali will have to wait, but her jaw is set, and her gaze never wavers. ¡°I¡¯m with you either way.¡±

    ¡°Look on the bright side,¡± I say, choking up. ¡°You might finally get a chance to go sailing! I¡¯m sorry, Mel. I am. I wish I could tell you that we¡¯re on track for a rendezvous with Padouk, but we¡¯re more likely to visit Osaria first, if all goes well on our trip.¡±

    ¡°Hm. There¡¯s an ongoing battle on the Eastern front,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°I suppose going West is smart if we don¡¯t want to embroil ourselves in conflict.¡±

    ¡°Nuri! Look at you growing up and avoiding trouble!¡± Lionel wisecracks.

    I chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s for your benefit, Lio, so try being serious. We¡¯re visiting the Menders. They might be able to help you level and learn new Skills. Think how strong you could become after studying with dedicated [Healers].¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that for my sake, Nuri,¡± Lionel says, looking abashed. ¡°You know I¡¯m only teasing you.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°I know. And I¡¯m glad you¡¯re coming with us. I wouldn¡¯t trade your jokes for anything. But I¡¯m not as altruistic as you might think. This journey isn¡¯t for your benefit alone. I¡¯ll be working as an inside informant for the [Inquisitors]. Associating with me could end up being dangerous to you. If anyone wants to sit this one out, I completely understand. It¡¯s not going to be a vacation.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Think they¡¯ll recognize you? I saw your face on wanted posters for a while. Maybe you should consider a disguise,¡± Melina says.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get a haircut. I guess I could also shave my beard, but I¡¯d rather not,¡± I say, my voice cracking at even the thought of getting rid of it. My entire reason for growing out my beard was my connection to my father. Getting rid of it feels like betrayal.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Nuri,¡± Melina says. She gets up from her chair, walks over to my side of the table, and squeezes my shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re with you. We¡¯ll come up with a different way to disguise you without dishonoring your father¡¯s memory.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I whisper, glad that she¡¯s so perceptive. I don¡¯t know if I could manage to find the words to explain myself. ¡°Keeping such a recognizable identifier is definitely not the smartest thing I¡¯ve ever done, but it feels wrong to part with it.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the job?¡± Mikko asks.

    ¡°Right. The job. Thanks for keeping us on track, bro.¡± I say, coughing and clearing my throat pretentiously. ¡°Believe it or not, I made a bit of an impression on Nicanor, the [Spear Commander] who helped me clear the fire-aspected Rift we discovered. He¡¯s happy with the glass pseudo cores I¡¯ve made for his senior officers. He¡¯s actually the one offering us this job.¡±

    ¡°Way I heard it, your help was just lighting up some square tiles at the end,¡± Mikko says. His grin deepens. ¡°Does that mean we¡¯re solving puzzles? Maybe lighting a bonfire with Ava¡¯s new firestick?¡±

    ¡°Very funny, Ko. This is a real job. And I helped! I saved their lives on the second floor of the tower. Didn¡¯t I tell you about¡ªoh. I see what¡¯s going on here.¡±

    As the team laughs at my indignation, I can¡¯t help but join in. I guess I have bragged a lot about my contributions to clearing the Rift and saving the [Inquisitors] and [Spear Commander]. It¡¯s only fair if my roguish friends make fun of me for bringing up my heroics nearly every day.

    ¡°The Royal army is spread pretty thin lately. Too many Lesser Rifts opening up to close them all. They¡¯re not able to keep up with the influx of requests for fending off monsters and patrolling more remote regions. That¡¯s where we come in.¡±

    ¡°They seriously don¡¯t have anyone better qualified?¡± Rakesh asks, his voice coming out in a thin squeak. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly combat-proficient.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯re our master communicator and tactician, Rakesh. You won¡¯t have to fight. We¡¯ll keep you safe.¡±

    ¡°Unless something goes wrong,¡± Lionel says, frowning. He stares at his hands. ¡°Please try not to die. I can¡¯t do anything for fatal wounds. Not yet.¡±

    ¡°Stop scaring him, Lio,¡± Melina chides. ¡°Ava will take out threats from a safe distance. She¡¯ll be right beside you, Rakesh. Don¡¯t worry about anything.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but clearing a Rift by ourselves? That¡¯s dangerous. I¡¯m not sure my Skills will be a good match for that kind of task,¡± Rakesh says, chewing on his lower lip. His eyes dart about, as though he¡¯s looking for a way out.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go inside,¡± I say gently. ¡°You can stay in town and sort out our lodging and logistics. We¡¯ll be grateful for your work when we return.¡±

    ¡°Are you all going in?¡±

    We glance around the table, gauging each other¡¯s responses. Everyone nods in turn, and by the time we get all the way around the circle, Rakesh looks like he¡¯s made up his mind. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and nods. ¡°Very well. Then so am I.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit!¡± Mikko shouts, clapping him on the shoulder and almost knocking him out of the chair. ¡°Just watch. A few missions like this, and you¡¯ll get the taste for violence. We¡¯ll make a [Berserker] out of you, I¡¯ll bet.¡±

    ¡°Uhh, I¡¯d rather not reclass.¡±

    ¡°At least a [Warrior], then!¡±

    ¡°Pass,¡± Rakesh says adamantly.

    Melina claps twice, imitating Ember. Long years of ingrained behavior kick in, and all of the workers from the glass studio sit up at attention. Melina nods and allows herself a slight smile of satisfaction. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on the specifics of the job. Nuri, got any details for us?¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Mel. Our first stop is a small town called Mahkaiaraon, about three day¡¯s journey West of here. It¡¯s not quite as large as Silaraon, but it¡¯s bigger than our sister town, Peliharaon. Apparently, they only have a small militia. The local [Lord] wants to hire someone to clear out his ancestor¡¯s keep that¡¯s fallen into ruin. It¡¯s become a haunt for monsters spilling out of a Lesser Rift.¡±

    Lionel scoffs. ¡°Does he know that the Royal army is planning on sending us instead of a real squad?¡±

    ¡°We were billed as specialists.¡±

    Melina rubs her temples with her fingertips. ¡°That sounds like a good way to start off on the wrong foot. He may not be happy about the bait and switch when he sees us.¡±

    ¡°Technically, I¡¯m a veteran of clearing Rifts. I¡¯m practically an expert,¡± I point out. ¡°Oh, and besides, Ember said you¡¯re ready.¡±

    ¡°She did?¡± Avelina asks, her eyes widening and flames dancing across her fingers. ¡°I¡¯m so flattered!¡±

    ¡°Wellll. Her actual words were, ¡®they probably won¡¯t die,¡¯ but that¡¯s pretty high praise from her. We¡¯re about as close to low-level [Mercenaries] as the [Lord] of Mahkaiaraon will find on short notice.¡±

    ¡°Adventures for hire. That¡¯s us,¡± Avelina says, jerking a thumb toward her chest. ¡°I like the sound of that.¡±

    The flames around her blazes hotter, making Mikko lean away dramatically. He puffs up his cheeks and pretends to blow out the fire. ¡°You just wanna burn things.¡±

    Avelina¡¯s eyes narrow dangerously. The temperature in the air surrounding her spikes, but I tamp it back down with [Greater Heat Manipulation], snuffing out the blaze with a flex of my will and earning a grumpy frown in return.

    ¡°C¡¯mon. Save it for the monsters.¡±

    Her angry face relaxes, and she laughs at Mikko. ¡°Guilty as charged. Point me at the monsters and watch the show. I¡¯ll roast ¡®em to a crisp with my new wand!¡±

    The thought of my friends in real danger keeps me from joining her laughter. The little Crystal Badger was one thing, but what if we face a Rift boss that¡¯s too powerful for our team? We could barely handle the flaming ursine. If Ember didn¡¯t step in, who knows what would have happened? My good mood freezes as though someone dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

    ¡°You should have commissioned Mikko to make armor for you, since you have to get in close to do your highest damage. I¡¯ll feel responsible if you leave on my account and end up gutted and gored by a monster because I didn¡¯t take the time to properly outfit the team. Why did I make so many vases instead of gear for us? Stupid, Nuri, stupid!¡±

    Avelina scowls at me. ¡°I¡¯m quite capable of accepting responsibility for my own actions, Nuri. I wanted to come. You didn¡¯t force me to do anything. Besides, we agreed that this wand is the best way to fix my range deficiencies.¡±

    I slump back in my seat and nod. ¡°That¡¯s true, and won¡¯t steal away your responsibility. But you don¡¯t have the mana reserves to use it more than a few times at medium power. I still worry about all of you getting hurt. Let me do my best to keep you safe.¡±

    ¡°How about this? If I get in over my head, then you can jump in and rescue me. Deal?¡± Avelina says, holding out her hand toward me as though we¡¯re about to strike a bargain.

    I pull a face. ¡°You¡¯re the worst damsel in distress of all time. I pity the poor knight who rushes to your aid.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Got that right.¡± Avelina crows.

    I snicker. ¡°Only you would sound pleased over getting called the worst at something. I¡¯m not sure what I expected, though. Either way, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re coming with us. We¡¯re gonna need all of your fire power.¡±

    =+=

    Our expedition begins with an air of unbridled excitement. If I¡¯m honest, I¡¯m terrified that things will go horribly wrong¡ªwe¡¯ll take a wrong turn and get lost in the forest, or perish fighting off a massive gaggle of geese before we¡¯ve made it to our first destination¡ªbut so far, we¡¯re having a grand time. I force myself to lock away my hundred other fears.

    It won¡¯t last, I tell myself, but part of me wonders if I¡¯m just lowering my expectations so that disappointment won¡¯t hurt as much if we fail. After all, the last several times I set out on an adventure, I nearly got eaten by cats, found myself sucked into an interdimensional Rift, ran into a swarm of crabs, lost a hand, cracked my core, and ended up imprisoned by a crazy person. Why should this one turn out any better? Well, at least this time I¡¯m with friends. We¡¯ve trained for this moment. Surely it will all work out in the end.

    ¡°Ugh. When¡¯s lunch?¡± Mikko asks.

    ¡°Hungry again? How is that possible?¡±

    ¡°Shush, Lio. We¡¯ve been walking for a solid half hour already. A man¡¯s gotta keep up his energy. I¡¯m gonna waste away to nothing on the road.¡±

    ¡°That would take a long time, given how fat you are,¡± Lionel shoots back, snickering.

    ¡°I should have worn a sturdier, more comfortable pair of boots,¡± Rakesh mutters from behind me. ¡°I¡¯m getting a blister on my right heel. I¡¯m not cut out for this kind of travel.¡±

    ¡°Why all the complaining, everyone?¡± I ask, putting on a plucky smile. ¡°It¡¯s a bright, beautiful day, we¡¯re surrounded by good friends, and we have a glorious adventure awaiting us. What could go wrong?¡±

    Mikko groans. ¡°Great, now you¡¯ve done it. I thought we had a small chance of success, but now you¡¯ve pretty much doomed us to abject failure.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, Nuri. Way to go,¡± Lionel says. ¡°Don¡¯t you know anything?¡±

    Melina tuts at the two. ¡°Don¡¯t be so superstitious. Nuri asking a question can¡¯t possibly change the flow of destiny, or the fate of history, or whatever you want to call it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that bet,¡± Lionel pipes up. ¡°Nuri is uniquely talented at creating chaos. You¡¯re just not giving him his proper due. ¡±

    ¡°Yeah. [Chaos Bringer] is practically my second Class now. You better watch out!¡± I say in low, sinister tones.

    ¡°Stop that,¡± Avelina says, snapping her fingers and hurling a tiny ball of flames my way. ¡°Sorry, sis. I¡¯m with Mikko and Lio. I¡¯ve read enough adventure stories to know how this ends for us if Nuri keeps tempting fate.¡±

    ¡°With a barrel of gold and the adoration of the townspeople?¡± I ask innocently.

    I duck the next miniature fireball, then take off whooping and hollering as Avelina draws her wand and chases me down the road, threatening to bean me over the head with the beast core. Three minutes later, the rest of the team catches up to find us sprawled out in a patch of burnt grass, panting from the exertion of sprinting and flinging fire at each other.

    Lionel quirks an eyebrow. He glances down at the still-smoldering ground, up to the soot on my face, and over to Avelina¡¯s scowl, and promptly bursts out laughing. ¡°Yep. It¡¯s official. We¡¯re all gonna die.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Avelina asks, standing and putting her fists on her hips. ¡°It¡¯s never too early to start burning things.¡±

    ¡°In that case, heat up my brunch,¡± Mikko says, rummaging around in his pack and finding a hunk of dried meat. He shakes it at the [Flameworker], who obliges by summoning an orb of red fire and lobbing it at Mikko¡¯s face.

    We break out the snacks while they joke and run around, although I keep an eye on the brush with my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to make sure that I can snuff out any potential fires. At this rate, we¡¯ll be lucky not to burn down half of Densmore. Hunger sated, we¡¯re soon on our way again, and we make good time for the next couple days.

    Spirits run high into the evening of the third day, but eventually we all grow tired and silent, too busy focusing on putting one foot in front of the next to keep teasing each other as it grows dark out.

    Night falls before we reach the gates of Mahkaiaraon. By the time we finally arrive at our destination, everyone is footsore and hungry. Even Lionel isn¡¯t cracking jokes anymore.

    ¡°Well. We¡¯re here,¡± I announce.

    ¡°Thanks. Hadn¡¯t noticed,¡± Mikko grouses. He taps on the gate with his hammer, but no one appears on the top of the short, crenelated wall to challenge or question us. ¡°Not much of a welcoming committee, huh?¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just climb up and lift the rest of us over?¡± I suggest to my brother. ¡°It¡¯s not that high. I¡¯m sure you can make it without much trouble.¡±

    Mikko eyes me for a long moment. Then he grins. ¡°How about I pick you up and fling you to the top instead? You can find the gatehouse and open up the gates for us.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Sounds fun,¡± I say, far more cavalierly than I feel. Just my luck, Mikko will throw me all the way over the wall. It¡¯s not going up that I¡¯m worried about; it¡¯s coming down hard on the other side.

    ¡°Or we could just use that side door,¡± Melina says, pointing to a dark outline at the base of the wall a few paces down. She strides over and pulls on the chain near the door. A sonorous bell chimes faintly from somewhere in the village, announcing our arrival.

    A moment later, the door creaks open, and a helmeted head pokes out, accompanied by a sputtering torch. ¡°Not from around here, huh? Curfew¡¯s in effect, but I ain¡¯t gonna waste my time arresting the lot of you. Hurry, ¡®fore I change my mind, hear? Ain¡¯t safe in the streets lately, y¡¯know.¡± He sighs wearily. ¡°Eh, I imagine you¡¯ll be wanting a place to stay for the night? Inn¡¯s two streets down. Don¡¯t thank me; their food is terrible.¡±

    We exchange bemused glances, then follow the lazy watchman inside. He looks us over once, sniffs, and jerks his head toward the inn he mentioned previously. ¡°Go on, then. Clear out. Back to bed for me.¡±

    We shuffle through the town, all alone on the dark streets. It¡¯s strangely quiet for this time of night; while it¡¯s after supper time, it¡¯s not exactly late. No lights spill out of the windows. No one passes by on the streets. Even with a curfew, I expect a few people to ignore the rules.

    No music plays when we reach the inn. No one greets us at the door until we bang on it a few times. The [Innkeeper] gives us a dirty look when he shows up and we ask for rooms. He ushers us inside and tells us to wait while he finds a few spare keys, muttering all the while that times ¡°ain¡¯t what they used to be, with brigands and shifty folk about.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not as glamorous as I expected,¡± I admit, glancing around a table in the main room a bit sheepishly. ¡°But look on the bright side! We made it through the first day without a calamity, and we¡¯re not in jail despite breaking the curfew. I¡¯d say that¡¯s worth a round of drinks.¡±

    ¡°The fact that you¡¯re so giddy over mere survival makes me seriously question my decision to join your expedition,¡± Rakesh says.

    I grin and open my eyes as wide as I can, leering at him while I cackle like a madman. ¡°Too late now. You¡¯re stuck with me.¡±

    Rakesh rolls his eyes. ¡°Technically, since I¡¯m the team¡¯s treasurer, I could leave at any time with the money, and you¡¯d be out of luck. You know, if you think about it, I suppose that means that you¡¯re stuck with me.¡±

 B4 C19: Combination Crafting

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    The next morning, after a listless night of little sleep, I meet up with the team in the common room again. I¡¯m holding my lower back, massaging a knot I got from the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. I don¡¯t know whether to feel better or worse when I see that the others are stretching out kinks in their neck and grumbling about their own lack of sleep.

    ¡°Nice to see you all suffering, too,¡± Lionel says, clearly not sharing my compunctions. He flings himself down into a creaky chair and props up his boots on the table. ¡°Whew! I was worried that the [Innkeeper] didn¡¯t like my wit and hexed my room or something. What a relief.¡±

    ¡°Keep acting so chipper this early in the morning, and hexes will be the least of your worries,¡± Avelina grumbles, holding her head. She lets out a pitiful moan and drops her forehead to the table.

    ¡°Oho. It¡¯s already mid-morning, Ava. Someone had too much to drink last night, huh? I would have thought with all the fire in your veins that you could just burn off the alcohol,¡± Lionel says, snickering.

    Avelina sits up slowly. Her eyes narrow, sparking dangerously. She rubs her nose, then sneezes at Lionel, sending a shower of sparks his way. ¡°Shut it. You had twice what I did. Keep jabbering away so loudly and I¡¯ll burn your room down around your ears, ya pest.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m shaking in my boots!¡±

    ¡°Stop antagonizing my sister. And no burning down the inn, Ava. We have to live here for the next week.¡±

    ¡°Aw, c¡¯mon, Mel! You¡¯re no fun.¡±

    ¡°Not burning things seems like a good policy,¡± Rakesh says, glancing around the table nervously. ¡°Please, let¡¯s try not to antagonize our hosts.¡±

    I wink at Avelina while Rakesh is looking the other way. ¡°On second thought, go ahead and blaze away. Just wait until we¡¯re out of reach and they can¡¯t throw us in prison. I¡¯ve had enough of jail to last a lifetime.¡±

    Rakesh buries his head in his hands and groans. ¡°I¡¯ve made a terrible mistake, haven¡¯t I? Master Ezio warned me that this would be a growing experience, but I didn¡¯t take his words to heart. Why can¡¯t an adventure simply be fun, not challenging?¡±

    Mikko passes a platter piled high with warm rolls slathered with honey and butter. ¡°Breakfast isn¡¯t bad. Eat. Relax! No one feels good on an empty stomach.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Rakesh says, accepting the rolls.

    ¡°Truth is, an easy trip isn¡¯t much of an adventure,¡± I say, holding up my left arm and nodding to the empty spot where my hand used to be. ¡°Sometimes it might not seem worth the tradeoffs, but tough times force you to take a good, hard look at yourself. Easy living doesn¡¯t tend to lead to much introspection, at least not in my experience. Maybe I¡¯m just hard-headed, and need extra knocks to learn my lesson, but it seems like I discovered the most about myself when my back was up against the wall.¡±

    Lionel snatches a roll away from Rakesh and stuffs it into his mouth. His cheeks bulge out like a chipmunk¡¯s while he chews, talking noisily around his chewing. ¡°When you put it that way, I¡¯m fine with not knowing much about myself. Doesn¡¯t seem like a very nice trade.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t even start, Lio,¡± I say, shaking my head at him. ¡°I know you¡¯ve got big ideas rattling around in that half-empty bucket you call a head. You¡¯re a lot sharper than you let on. Now pass me a roll, will ya?¡±

    He tosses a roll at me, but I manage to catch it just before it splatters honey all across my cheek. It¡¯s a close call, and I give him a flat, unamused look, but that just seems to encourage him to throw even more food.

    Lionel slides a bowl of pistachios closer and piles up a handful in front of him. He alternates between eating them and flicking them at me one by one. I dodge and weave, catching the pistachios in my mouth until he picks up the pace and I start to miss. One bounces off my nose, skitters across the table, and drops down to the floor right in front of our [Innkeeper].

    The [Innkeeper]¡¯s face clouds over. He sets down his tray of drinks at our table with more force than is strictly necessary, bends down to pick up the pistachio at his feet, and glances up at us with a raised eyebrow. ¡°Staying long?¡±

    ¡°Not likely,¡± Lionel says, all rosy-cheeked innocence as he smiles up at the man. ¡°Thanks for breakfast. We¡¯ll be on our way soon.¡±

    ¡°I look forward to my peace and quiet,¡± our host mutters. He distributes the mugs, crunches down on the pistachio, and shuffles off back to the kitchen with the now-empty tray tucked under his arm.

    ¡°This town just oozes hospitality.¡±

    ¡°Shush, Lio,¡± I hiss. An unhappy [Innkeeper] can make our lives miserable if he decides to get payback. Clean rooms and food that doesn¡¯t give us the runs rely on his positive attitude toward us. I just hope he didn¡¯t hear us complain.

    For once, my friend listens. Maybe it¡¯s simply too early for Lionel to think of a good comeback, but I¡¯ll take the little victories as well as the big ones. We finish our meal, collect our day packs, and trudge outside.

    I gather everyone together in a somewhat-empty corner of the town square. Compared with the capital, not many people are about their business, but the foot traffic is still on par with Silaraon during a busy hour of the day. I glance up at the sky, squinting, and confirm that the sun is still a few hours away from noon. Even so, it¡¯s already ablaze with golden glory.

    I close my eyes, letting the resplendent heat warm my face. When I open them, I feel a surge of vitality and excitement. ¡°All right! Listen up. This morning, we¡¯re going to practice our combination casting. It¡¯s been a while since we''ve made anything together, but our Skills have grown more varied and powerful since the last time we all linked up. Without a studio, we¡¯ll need to rely on our Skills more than ever. I have faith in you.¡±

    Mikko raises his hand as though he''s back in class. When I call on him like a student, switching to my best professorial tone, he crosses his arms and snorts at me. ¡°That might work for glass, but I brought an anvil in my backpack since I can''t shape metal with my bare hands. I have a hammer and material. All I need from you is heat. Do you think your upgraded [Heat Manipulation] or Ava¡¯s fire will get hot enough and last long enough to get through a day at the forge, or should I ask for temporary space with a blacksmith?¡±

    I frown in thought. ¡°Unsure. It all depends on how much mana it takes to sustain your working temperatures. I think steel melts at a slightly lower temperature than glass, so I should be able to handle it. But if I have to pull double duty to keep the glass malleable as well, then I dunno if a mobile workshop is doable if we''re only relying on me and Ava. We might have to stick to just glass for today.¡±

    Avelina hums, pursing her flame-red lips as she considers the question. ¡°With my wand, I can sustain a pretty long output of lower-intensity fire. As long as I''m not trying to burn down a city gate, I think it will work. We might as well give it a trial run.¡±

    ¡°Right here, with everyone watching?" Lionel asks. His bronzed face takes on a sickly pallor. ¡°Remember how many times I failed when we tried to make something together before? Mana leakage is embarrassing. I don¡¯t wanna do that in public!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll attract customers,¡± I say.

    Lionel blanches. ¡°Failure doesn¡¯t sell.¡±

    I nod back at him with more confidence than I feel. ¡°People love to see a spectacle. If we can show them what we can do with our unusual Skill combinations, then they¡¯ll be more likely to come to us for their own projects.¡±

    ¡°But what if I mess up?¡±

    ¡°Easy,¡± Avelina interrupts. ¡°Don''t fail.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t I think of that?¡± Lionel says.

    ¡°Hey, be nice to Lio,¡± Mikko rumbles.

    ¡°Look at you learning to be polite,¡± Melina says with a chuckle. ¡°You¡¯re growing up right before our eyes.¡±

    Mikko shrugs, but he looks pleased. ¡°Never know when you might need him to patch you up, so I¡¯m staying on his good side. Being mean to our [Healer] is stupid.¡±

    ¡°Wise policy. Now focus, everyone.¡± I take a deep breath to calm my racing mind, and try not to think of what might go wrong. ¡°Let¡¯s get to work. Combining our Skills successfully takes practice, and today¡¯s just the start. It doesn¡¯t matter if we don¡¯t do everything perfectly.¡±

    ¡°Actually, Lionel has a point,¡± Rakesh says, catching me off guard. He¡¯s still wearing his robes from the academy, which makes him stand out in the middle of the working class crowd. He leans against a weathered post near the edge of the town square, a mournful expression on his face, and the juxtaposition between the earnestness of his baby face and the pitted surface of the rock pillar behind makes me smile. Somehow, despite his youth, Rakesh manages to look even more worn down than the post itself.

    I give him a lackadaisical shrug. ¡°As our treasurer, you know exactly how much we have in the coffer. We can last a while. We aren¡¯t in this for the money this morning. We have enough for the journey. Whether or not we sell to the local crowd isn¡¯t going to make or break us.¡±

    ¡°Right, but reputation is worth more than gold. How do you think the local [Lord] will feel about the squad the army offloaded to him if he hears we can''t even handle crafting? Speaking of him, have you even checked in to let him know we¡¯ve arrived? You shouldn¡¯t ignore him just because you want to practice.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not expecting us until tomorrow,¡± I say, which seems to help Rakesh relax. ¡°Might as well make use of our time, right?¡±

    Rakesh nods diplomatically, but he still seems uneasy. ¡°Yes. But creating things comes more naturally to you than violence, so it¡¯s not a good look if we display any incompetence in that field. Might make the [Lord] doubt we can handle his request.¡±

    I wrinkle up my nose. ¡°You got a point.¡±

    That brings a faint smile to the overly-serious young [Researcher]¡¯s face. ¡°Thank you. I do try.¡±

    Lionel just chuckles. He smacks Rakesh on the shoulder. ¡°For someone so smart, you sure are good at overlooking the obvious.¡±

    ¡°Oh? And what, pray tell, have I missed?¡±

    ¡°No worries, my [Researcher] friend, you¡¯re still a shattering genius. You¡¯re not alone here. Everyone keeps making the same key mistake when it comes to Nuri: they somehow think violence is his secondary talent. But! They forget that he''s uniquely gifted when it comes to breaking things.¡±

    ¡°You don''t have to sound so smug about it,¡± I say, shoving my hand in my pocket and ducking my head. ¡°I¡¯d still rather make something than destroy things.¡±

    ¡°C''mon, Nuri. Don''t get it twisted,¡± Lionel says, throwing an arm around my shoulder. ¡°I''m proud of you! Name me one other civilian crafter who has earned the respect of a Second Threshold [Spear Commander].¡±

    I shift my posture so that I''m facing in towards the group and passersby can''t hear me as well. ¡°You make it sound like I''m some bloodthirsty barbarian! You know me better than that.¡±

    Everyone in the group avoids my gaze for a moment, coughing to cover up their amusement. I lift up my chin imperiously. ¡°I see. It''s like that, is it? Then I suppose I¡¯ll show you just how ruthless I really am.¡±

    Mikko lets out a gut-busting laugh. ¡°Oh, now you¡¯ve done it. Nice work, Lio. Have fun with my crazy brother.¡±

    I grab Mikko''s arm as he''s about to walk back to the inn. ¡°You aren''t getting out of things that easily, Ko. Based on the city map I perused last night, there should be a river a few streets over. Go down by the stone supports of the bridge¡¯s archways and dig up some silt and sand. I¡¯ll need at least a few bushels full, maybe even half a dozen, so find a large barrel or crate to carry it in. Time for you to put those big old muscles to work.¡±

    ¡°Yes sir, big boss!¡± Miko salutes with a flourish and jogs off in the direction I pointed, whistling a jaunty tune and dodging between carts and pedestrians. I hope he''s up to the task, since I need a whole lot of raw material before I can cast [Vitrification]. I don''t want to muck around with a few pitiful handfuls of glass for our practice session. I want to put on a show so spectacular that it sets the entire city buzzing with feverish excitement.

    My mind drifts back to the absurd street performance I saw in Modilaraon. I¡¯m not skilled enough with words or storytelling to write a script, but their performative spirit inspires me all the same. We¡¯re going to gather an audience and dazzle them. I just hope that Lionel''s concerns about something going terribly wrong aren¡¯t prophetic.

    ¡°Let''s review our roles while we''re waiting for my lunkhead of a brother to come back with the start of our new batch. If you have any new Skills, or if you¡¯ve ranked up your old Skills since last time we tried this, then make sure I know about it.¡±

    Melina laces her fingers together. She tilts her head toward me. ¡°Shouldn''t Rakesh coordinate? He has a communication Skill, and he¡¯s the best at collating data. Just because this is your expedition doesn''t mean that you have to bear the burden of leadership. In fact, sharing the load sets us up for better long-term success.¡±

    I take a breath, prepared to shoot down her argument, but the words die on my lips as I think over her suggestion. Huh. She¡¯s probably right. If I try to do everything myself all the time, then I¡¯ll just burn out. Real leadership isn¡¯t about seizing power, but about presenting a vision of the future and putting the right people in positions to succeed so that the envisioned future becomes reality. I nod at her. ¡°All right. Sounds good to me. Rakesh? You''re up.¡±

    His eyes widen in alarm. ¡°I can facilitate communication, but I don''t know anything about making glass!¡±

    ¡°Pfft. Don¡¯t worry about it. Glassmaking is so easy, even Nuri can do it,¡± Lionel quips.

    I groan. ¡°I have the worst friends.¡±

    ¡°Uh, you mean best,¡± Lionel says.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°I say what I mean and mean what I say.¡±

    Lionel quirks his brow. ¡°On backward day.¡±

    ¡°No. Every day, you flux-brain.¡±

    ¡°Skills, if you please,¡± Rakesh interrupts in a crisp, businesslike voice. He has a notepad in hand, his pen poised over it like a falcon ready to dart down and strike its prey. ¡°Mikko will be back before you know it. We ought to be ready when he returns.¡±

    ¡°I assume you only want my glass-related Skills?¡± Lionel asks. At a nod from Rakesh, he continues. ¡°I have [A Perfect Prototype], [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness], [Fault Finder], [Quick Cool], and [Lesser Resistance: Mental Strain].¡±

    Rakesh writes it down faithfully, never once looking up from the page. His eyes glimmer with mana as he mulls over the Skills, no doubt due to activating his own analysis Skills. ¡°Useful for planning and discerning potential problems. Good. You are essential to creating models and mock-ups. If we can eliminate problems before they begin, then we will be well-positioned for success.¡±

    Melina raises her hand eagerly. ¡°Me next! I have [Compositional Analysis], which helps me to mix a perfect batch each time. [In the Blink of an Eye] is a localized temporal Skill. I often use it in conjunction with [Lesser Object Manipulation] so that I can keep the glass free-floating and prevent it from deforming by coming in contact with anything. I have [Flawless Annealing], which helps me avoid cracking or discoloration while the glass cools. I also recently picked up [Artisanal Acuity], which seems to speed up my thoughts and guides me to more aesthetically pleasing results. I¡¯m curious if it applies in a more academic setting, but that¡¯s outside of the scope of today¡¯s activities. Maybe you can help me with it another time!¡±

    Rakesh cracks a slight smile. ¡°My pleasure. Sounds like you¡¯re next in line after Lionel. If you two allow me to use [Shared Synchrony] on you, then you can intuitively communicate and work on something at the same time. Your Skills are actually quite complementary, so I¡¯m glad to have you two go first. We¡¯ll all be able to see the glass take shape in the air as you bring the prototype from concept to reality.¡±

    Avelina yawns. ¡°You talk too much, sis. Our little scholar is smart enough to figure out how to apply what we can do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a [Secretarial Researcher], not a mere [Scholar]. And you owe me Skills,¡± Rakesh says with great dignity.

    Avelina laughs easily. ¡°Fine, fine. But you gotta trade me info. Skill for Skill? I¡¯ve always been curious about the SCA. You¡¯re all odd.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not¡ªyou know what? Nevermind.¡± Rakesh taps his pen on his notepad. ¡°Let¡¯s try to stay on topic. Skills, please.¡±

    ¡°All right, all right. I¡¯ve got [Flametouch], [Command: Cinder and Spark], [Strong as Stone], [Decorative Touch: Fantastical Glassware], and a crazy new one: [Adjuration of the Phoenix]. Bet you haven¡¯t heard of a Phoenix. Figure out what it does, and I¡¯ll be impressed.¡±

    ¡°Intriguing names.¡± Rakesh knits his brow. His hand flutters up to touch his temple, and a sudden swirl of arcane mana warps the air around him.

    The mana is so intense that it obscures my still-developing mana sight, which makes me frown. I have to come up with a way around its current deficiencies, but my homemade solution is lagging behind the real thing. I can¡¯t wait to get a true [Manasight] Skill again, or an upgraded version thanks to all the practice I¡¯ve had looking beyond, as my [Inquisitor] friends taught me. That would be nice. I¡¯m overdue for a Skill, by my reckoning.

    A moment later, Rakesh smirks, unable to hold back his smug reactions. ¡°According to my Skill [Epiphany of the Scholar], the Phoenix is a mythical creature with strong fire magic and mystical abilities. Some even claim they''re capable of resurrection, rising up in a blaze of glory. I assume that Adjuration is not only a massive boost to your control over flames and gives you powerful regeneration, but it also enables you to either summon a familiar or temporarily borrow the power of a being beyond you. How am I doing?¡±

    Avelina whistles. ¡°Told ya he¡¯s a genius. Yep, I can borrow some extra fire power, but my mana costs triple. That¡¯s how I blew up that rock with my wand! It¡¯s fun.¡±

    Melina nudges me, leaning in and whispering so her sister can¡¯t hear. ¡°She¡¯s easily impressed by other people, but not by me. When I told her the same thing about Phoenixes, she said that I was showing off. I think all that fire means she¡¯s inhaled too much smoke. It¡¯s given her brain damage.¡±

    I snort back a laugh. ¡°I¡¯m just glad that we¡¯ve got someone to put her in her place. Ava is a lot of fun when she¡¯s threatening to burn things, but I won¡¯t lie¡ªsometimes I worry she¡¯s going to follow through. Rakesh is a restraining presence.¡±

    ¡°As for my research-related abilities,¡± Rakesh continues affably, having risen to Avelina¡¯s challenge, ¡°I also have [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities], [Shared Synchrony], and the communication-oriented [Echo of the Songbird]. Like you, I¡¯ve also recently acquired a fifth Skill, but it¡¯s classified.¡±

    Avelina squeaks. ¡°Tell me, tell me!¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°But I gotta know!¡±

    Rakesh shrugs. ¡°Take it up with the SCA.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not smart like Mel,¡± Avelina protests.

    ¡°Ah. Shame,¡± Rakesh says, a touch smug.

    ¡°Make way! Coming through! Don¡¯t wander, though; you¡¯re about to witness a display of magic and mastery like nothing you¡¯ve ever seen before!¡± Mikko¡¯s voice thunders over the crowd, interrupting their ridiculous argument and making me wince from the sheer volume. The crowd scatters, heeding my brother¡¯s warning, and re-forms around us in a semi-circle to watch what¡¯s going on.

    ¡°Will you look at that,¡± I mutter, staring at the approaching cart in disbelief. ¡°Mikko must be more charming than I ever realized.¡±

    The oxen-led cart wheels into place right by our group, creaking to a stop as the driver pulls back on the reins.

    ¡°Hey, everyone. This is Kofi,¡± Mikko says, nodding at the rail-thin driver. He hops down to the cobblestones in the town square, pats the ox closest to him on the flank, and grins. ¡°Met him down by the bridge when I was digging up sand, and he agreed to lend me his cart as long as I helped him offload his fish. He¡¯s a [Fisherman], which he claims is an upgraded version of [Layabout], since he works even less but makes more money.¡±

    I wave at Kofi in greeting, and he doffs his straw hat and winks at me, seemingly amused by the introduction¡ªalthough I¡¯ll bet anything that Mikko stole the joke from him. Kofi doesn¡¯t seem to mind in the slightest, however. I like the [Fisherman] immediately. He seems nice.

    I raise my voice, although I can¡¯t match Mikko¡¯s stentorian tones. ¡°Thanks, brother. Could you make sure the crowd stays on the perimeter? Dump the sand in a pile where everyone can see it, but keep them back far enough to keep us from, ahem, burning anyone.¡±

    That gets people talking.

    Mikko makes a show of squatting down, then swings his arms and leaps all the way over the oxen and up to the back of the cart, landing lightly on his feet. He bends down, slides open the latch, which groans as the rusty metal protests having to move, and heaves an enormous, woven-reed basket down to the cobbles with a heavy thud.

    The impact sends tremors up my feet, and I raise an eyebrow. ¡°How much sand did you gather? I don¡¯t know if I can transmute all of that.¡±

    ¡°And which Skill was that? I¡¯ve never seen you jump so high,¡± Rakesh says, walking over to stand shoulder to shoulder with me. He squints, examining Mikko instead of the huge delivery of sand and silt.

    ¡°Huh? Oh, you mean [Strength of the Forged Gods]?¡± Mikko booms, ensuring that all of the audience we¡¯ve acquired hears his pronouncement. He winks at me while excited susurrus spreads through the crowd.

    ¡°Yes. What else?¡± Rakesh demands, wielding his pen like an [Emperor] with a scepter. He waits for Mikko¡¯s reply with imperious expectation.

    ¡°Uhh, let¡¯s see.¡± Mikko scratches his head, suddenly looking abashed at all the attention on him. ¡°I got [Iron Skin] thanks to fighting with my brother, [Eye of Discernment] after I created my first solo commission, [Refine Material: Metal] since I was too lazy to melt the metal and scrape off impurities by hand. Oh! And I have [Greater Endurance]. And before you ask, I got that from working in the forge for a week straight.¡±

    Lionel snickers behind me, but I shoot him a glare before he cracks a ribald joke, and he shuts up with a roll of his eyes. I know the team sometimes thinks I¡¯m no fun, but it¡¯s just not my kind of humor.

    Rakesh turns to me expectantly. ¡°You¡¯re up next, Nuri. I have to admit that I¡¯m looking forward to hearing your list, particularly since I can compare it against the one Ezio had me compile before you left Silaraon last year. You¡¯ve picked up some unusual abilities.¡±

    I grin at the team, no longer embarrassed that I only have two Skills now. ¡°You already know about [Greater Heat Manipulation], but I also made [Vitrification].¡±

    He gawks at me, picking up on the wording, but we move on before any of the shrewder people in the crowd realize that I created my own Skill from scratch. I¡¯m not too worried, though; it sounds so ludicrous that no one would believe me, anyway.

    Rakesh clears his throat, pitching his voice so that it carries, like he¡¯s giving a lecture. I never took him for much of an [Actor], but he takes to the role well. ¡°It stands to reason that in order to make something out of glass, we¡¯ll need glass first. Master Nuri, as the senior crafter in our illustrious party, please go first. Show us [Vitrification]!¡±

    I lift my hand above my head, waving to the crowd and playing up my role in our street performance. A few half-hearted cheers sound out, but I don¡¯t let the lukewarm reception get me down. Once they see the Skill in action, they¡¯ll come around.

    I walk over to the big sand pile, place my hand on the top, and bow my head. I draw in as much mana as I can from my glass pseudo cores, hoping that I have enough false Capacity to transmute the entire pile, and speak in a low, authoritative voice. ¡°[Vitrification].¡±

    Power blooms at my fingertips¡ªmana made visible due to the intensity of the Skill casting¡ªand blue-white wisps of energy spiral through the sand and small stones. The Skill ignites, surging through the raw material, and it glows so brightly that I have to squeeze my eyes shut while the sand pile transforms into a huge pyramid of glass.

    Gasps and applause meet my display of power. I wave again, all smiles as I bow, but I soon back toward the team and cede the floor to Lionel, who is going to create a prototype, and the Linas, who will use Avelina¡¯s fire to melt down the glass while Melina levitates the project in the air for everyone to see while she shapes it telekinetically.

    While Rakesh consults his notes, analyzing optimal Skill combinations and assigning the team roles, I sink inward, seeking the truth behind their abilities. Piercing the veil of magic and beholding the three-dimensional nature of the complex runes is both dizzying and exhilarating, terrifying and deeply addicting.

    ¡ªfour dimensional? Five? I¡¯ve lost count.

    I sway on my feet, shaken by realities beyond me. Thankfully, the others ignore my drunken stagger, still caught up in the game of comparing Skills and discussing how they can work together. It¡¯s like assembling a jigsaw puzzle, and they¡¯re all invested in putting together the pieces so that they can enjoy the final image.

    Focus, Nuri. You can do this.

    I ignore the strange looks from some of the passersby closest to Kofi¡¯s cart, although a distant part of my mind notes that the audience is growing. I take things more slowly this time, watching a single rune activation as Melina lifts a ball of glass into the air. It¡¯s less strain on my psyche than trying to wrap my mind around an entire Skill all at once.

    Flight is a concept for me, There¡¯s something carefree and mischievous about it, but the way Melina is applying her Skill, it¡¯s perfectly controlled¡ªnot constrained as though the energy is imprisoned, but channeled into something productive and perfect, like the line a falcon makes when it swoops down on its prey. Streamlined, powerful, frighteningly fast.

    ¡°What next, Nuri?¡±

    I flinch, startled back to the waking world by Lionel¡¯s question. He nods to a fancy goblet that¡¯s spinning slowly above the crowd, shining like a rainbow as Avelina uses her [Decorative Touch: Fantastical Glassware] Skill to add color and fire to the design.

    ¡°Nice. But how about something more fun?¡± I suggest. My mind drifts back to Ifran and his [Perfect Sphere] ability. ¡°How about a set of marbles? You can use [Quick Cool] along with Mel¡¯s annealing Skill to bring the little set down to temp so we can give them to a lucky kid in the crowd.¡±

    ¡°Excellent suggestion,¡± Rakesh murmurs approvingly. He makes a few notes in his book, which leaves me feeling both flattered and ashamed.

    ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to take over. You clearly were doing well, directing them to make a goblet that nice while I was indisposed.¡±

    Rakesh smiles and waves me off. ¡°If I¡¯ve learned one thing from Ezio, it¡¯s that [Scholars] are a prideful, prickly bunch. They often chase selfish vainglory instead of seeing the value of teamwork. How many discoveries have we missed because we didn¡¯t listen to other voices? You have more experience; I¡¯d be a fool to ignore your input.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here, Rakesh,¡± I reply warmly. ¡°You¡¯re a good man. Looks like I can learn a lot from you, too.¡±

    Our moment is interrupted by squeals of delight before Rakesh can reply, which is a relief to me anyway. I¡¯m not good with affirmation and emotions. The children in the crowd see the tiny flames trapped inside of the marbles, courtesy of Avelina¡¯s impressive designs, and as soon as she gives away the first one, they clamor for more.

    ¡°I want two little soldiers! One with a red cap, and one with blue, so they can fight!¡± a small boy with a big voice calls out, pushing through the crowd to stand at the front. His unruly mop of dusty-brown curls, bright green eyes, and gap-toothed grin instantly brings a smile to my face as I think of my friend Baryl.

    I miss that little brat, I think fondly. Hope he¡¯s doing well back in Grand Ile. Maybe Lady Evershed hired him for her shop. He¡¯d make a great errand boy and lookout.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Lionel replies without thinking, grinning back at the young boy. A moment later he blanches as other children in the area mob us with demands.

    ¡°Should have seen that coming,¡± Mikko says, bumping me with his shoulder. ¡°I see that you¡¯re gonna be popular with the kids, at least.¡±

    ¡°I can think of worse things to do with my life than making toys and giving them away for free. Not everyone is a curmudgeon like you, Ko,¡± I tease him.

    I wink as he laughs, then lend my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to the cause, bringing the rest of the glass up to a more malleable temperature so that my other three coworkers from the Silaraon Glass Works can fill the orders that are flying in fast and thick. We work at record pace, crafting little figures and marbles, eschewing fancier projects for the sake of speed.

    ¡°Oi! A couple of dolls for my girls, and be quick about it. I hafta get back to my shop,¡± a heavy-set [Butcher] bellows, panting from the exertion of running over. He wipes his still-bloody hands on his apron, scowls at the blown glass on display, and harrumphs. ¡°But not too fragile. Girl¡¯s gotta be able to play with ¡®em. I want my money back if they break.¡±

    ¡°They are made of glass,¡± I say wryly, about to point out that it¡¯s not much of a refund if we¡¯re giving them away free, but he scowls and stomps off without another word to spare.

    Melina gives me an odd look. ¡°Ava could have taken care of the dolls with [Strong as Stone], you know. No need to be rude.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°I can do without that kind of patronage, Mel. Those kids are cute. They¡¯re not making demands; they¡¯re just telling us their dreams. We¡¯re making their day! That guy? He couldn¡¯t even wait his turn.¡±

    Lionel sets down his blowpipe and gives us a cheeky grin. ¡°Oh, the [Butcher]? Yeah, I agree. He was pushy and rude. You might even say he was a bit ham-fisted.¡±

    ¡°You ought to be ashamed of yourself,¡± Melina says, burying her face in her hands just as I groan and tell Lionel how terrible his puns have become.

    ¡°What?¡± Lionel says innocently. ¡°I think I spotted a rasher of bacon hanging out of his apron pocket. Seemed appropriate.¡±

    Movement on the edge of the town square catches my eye, sparing me from answering Lionel about his bad jokes. I glance over to see a pair of guards part the crowds, heading our way with frowns on their faces. Uh oh. Show¡¯s over.

    I motion the Linas closer. ¡°I don¡¯t know if we¡¯ll need a permit to set up shop here, but I¡¯m counting on us getting off light because we¡¯re not selling anything. What else can we do quickly to use up the rest of the glass?¡±

    ¡°More marbles. Tops!¡± Melina says.

    ¡°I could probably do a Phoenix,¡± Avelina says haltingly. She looks down, chewing on her lip. ¡°Not sure if it¡¯s worth the headache of invoking my best Skill, though.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Animal figurines are certainly a popular type of glass figurine, but save that for another day. Maybe after we have a permit to sell, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Smart. That¡¯s why you¡¯re the boss.¡±

    Melina sighs. ¡°I could have told you that, Ava. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to realize that.¡± She breaks off a second later as her sister snickers at her. ¡°Ava! Stop playing dumb! I know you¡¯re not that scatterbrained.¡±

    Avelina winks. ¡°No, but it¡¯s fun seeing how indignant you get when you think I¡¯m stupid. I just like messing with you.¡±

    I shush the twins as they tease each other, and step forward to greet the two [Guards]. I sketch a quick bow. ¡°We¡¯re almost out of toys for the morning, but I¡¯m sure I can eke out one last souvenir for your kids. How old are they?¡±

    The pair exchange glances. The woman on the right tucks a stray strand of hair back under her helmet. ¡°Nice try, but attempting to bribe a [Guard] is a class three violation.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Not a bribe at all! We¡¯re just putting on a little demonstration to raise everyone¡¯s spirits. People seemed a bit down, so we wanted to cheer them up.¡±

    ¡°New around here?¡± her partner grunts. He shifts his shield to his back and plants his spear, seeming to decide we¡¯re not much of a threat. ¡°Of course people are on edge. Monster sightings in the woods lately.¡±

    ¡°Ah, about that. We¡¯re actually here to take care of that problem¡ª¡±

    ¡°No selling without a permit,¡± the first guard says flatly. She gives me a withering look. ¡°Whatever excuse you¡¯re about to make, stow it. You¡¯re all under arrest.¡±

    ¡°I knew it!¡± Rakesh wails, overhearing the last part of our conversation. He gives me a look of pure despair at the announcement. ¡°You said we were going to avoid prison, Nuri. I¡¯m too young to rot away my life in jail!¡±

 B4 C20: Toy-Makers and Monster-Slayers

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    I hold up my hand and smile at the crowd. ¡°Please disperse, everyone. We¡¯ll be back once we sort out this misunderstanding.¡±

    The [Guard] closest to me adjusts her helmet, as though she¡¯s worried she may have to rely on it shortly. ¡°Bold words for a con artist.¡±

    ¡°Why arrest us without looking into the facts? We haven¡¯t sold a thing. We¡¯re just introducing ourselves to the city,¡± I say with as much sincerity as I can. I don¡¯t want to come across as a know-it-all, but I¡¯ve also had enough of being bossed around to last me a lifetime or three.

    The big [Guard] with a shield frowns. ¡°He¡¯s not lying, unless he can bypass my Skill.¡±

    ¡°How should I address you, officers?¡± I ask with a slight tilt of my head, relieved that this [Guard] has a truth-related Skill. ¡°My name is Nuri, but I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve caught your names yet.¡±

    The shield bearer chuckles. ¡°Well, well. See something new everyday. Our criminals want to make formal introductions.¡±

    ¡°Shut up and cuff them!¡± his partner snarls at him. She twirls her baton and steps forward to arrest me, but the stern light of unyielding justice in her eyes fades into uncertainty when my brother shoulders past me to tower over her.

    Mikko cracks his knuckles and pulls a full-size anvil out of his enormous backpack. He tosses it from hand to hand like it''s a child''s toy, grinning all the while.

    The guard lifts a small runic device to her mouth. Instantly, old fears kick in, and I start to breathe faster, each breath coming low and shallow. I have no desire to return to prison. Instinctively, I reach for my [Greater Heat Manipulation], about to melt the object and make her drop it so she can''t summon backup, but thankfully my brother diffuses the situation and gives me space to calm down.

    Before she can activate the communication device, Mikko sets down the anvil in front of him and sits on it, crossing his legs. He waves. "Hi, I''m Mikko, a [Blacksmith] by Class and a part-time monster hunter by choice. Who are you?"

    ¡°You really just want our names? Thought you were about to bash my head in with that hunk of metal,¡± the shield bearer says, laughing nervously. "I''m Uchenna. This is Nala. She¡¯s the [Guard] supervisor for this part of town.¡±

    ¡°A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Uchenna. You too, Nala, even if you still look like you want to toss me in prison,¡± Mikko says, laughing in his simple, unpretentious way.

    His good cheer seems to put them at ease, which is a skill I¡¯ve always admired and envied. I¡¯m good at convincing people that I¡¯m on their side, or that they should be on my side, but I¡¯m not good at actually making friends. There¡¯s a difference between allies of convenience and true companions.

    I put a comforting hand on Rakesh¡¯s shoulder now that the immediate threat seems to have passed. ¡°Snap out of it, buddy. We need you to put that big brain to work.¡±

    The overwhelmed, panicked look slowly drains from our [Researcher]¡¯s face. He stands up straight, smooths out his robes, and taps into his Skills. ¡°[Guards], if I may direct your attention to your city bylaws, please note that class 3, section 6 States that, pursuant to the exchange of¡ª¡±

    I sink inward, watching the activation of his scholarly abilities. Once again, the glimmer of mana I sense when his Skills ignite almost seems to trigger something deep within me. A new Skill is at hand; it¡¯s so close that I can almost taste it. Invariably, though, the faint wisps of meaning evaporate like fog over a lake burned off by the blaze of the morning sun. Ugh. How long until I finally earn the elusive Skill I''ve been chasing?

    ¡°. . . Busking charges then,¡± Nala says.

    I blink. I must have been out of commission again, because the conversation is moving on faster than I can follow. I need to get better at not spacing out when we¡¯re in the middle of something. If I pull a stunt like that in a Rift, then it might be the last mistake that I ever make. I have too many people depending on me for that.

    ¡°Did we pass a hat? I think not. Again, no money exchanged hands, nor did we solicit favors or the promise of future trade or discounts,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°In fact, my team was simply introducing ourselves to the townsfolk.¡±

    Rakesh smiles thinly, but there''s an undeniable hint of a predatorial air in his eyes when he continues. ¡°Would it put your minds at ease if we move on to paperwork? I¡¯d be happy to fill out the requisite forms for selling and buying, since I¡¯m aware that, according to your charter and constitution, you do restrict public stalls to licensed [Merchants] and peddlers.

    ¡°Please note that we do have a writ of introduction from the Royal Army, which entitles us to make use of your city¡¯s resources as we see fit and to interview the general population as necessary. I believe that my colleagues were interested in hearing from your citizens about the reported incursions in a carefree setting, without biasing their remarks. Sharing our crafting expertise and making small talk is simply a tactical choice, and not an endeavor to bypass jurisprudence.¡±

    Faced with the onslaught of legal jargon and the unassailable logic of a man who clearly loves paperwork more than they do, Uchenna and Nala put away the manacles. They fall back a step to confer in quiet whispers that grow increasingly urgent. After a moment, Nala grimaces and looks up with an exasperated sigh.

    ¡°Fine. You talk a big game, and Uchenna insists that you¡¯re not lying. That doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re strictly telling the truth, either. We¡¯ll take you to the [Magistrate] and let him sort it out.¡±

    I nod agreeably. ¡°That¡¯s reasonable. We¡¯ll join you, as long as we¡¯re unchained and not under threat or coercion. I don¡¯t take kindly to abuses of power.¡±

    Nala gives me an odd look. Something akin to sympathy flashes in her eyes, although it may simply be my imagination. ¡°Neither do I, Nuri. I also believe that no one is above the law, however. Don¡¯t think that a Writ entitles you to bad behavior. If it¡¯s real,¡± she finishes quietly.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, team. We¡¯ve got work to do,¡± I say. The others gather around me, and we stroll off in the direction Nala indicates.

    ¡°Hey, what about my fish, young man?¡± Kofi calls out. ¡°I was promised help for carting in all that sand!¡±

    Nala whips around, her glare back in place. ¡°You left that out, conman. Convenient. Start talking, and no tall tales.¡±

    ¡°My brother asked for help carrying sand up to the town square and he promised the [Fisherman] Kofi that he¡¯ll help unload the fish at his store," I say, chuckling weakly. "Last I checked, there''s certainly nothing illegal about that."

    "Is this true, Kofi?" Nala asks.

    "Nala, good to see you," Kofi says, tipping his big, floppy straw hat. "Yep yep. Big ole kid asked for help. We got ourselves a deal. Don''t go looking for trouble where there ain''t any. Just might find it."

    "I''ll keep that in mind," Nala says, sighing.

    "Come by later for your usual order?" Kofi asks.

    She nods. "You vouch for them?"

    "Reckon so. Nice kids."

    "All right. Mikko, is it? You can go with my friend Kofi. Treat him right, or else I''ll hunt you down. Got it? As for the rest of you, let''s get to the [Magistrate] so I can get back out on patrol.¡± Nala cracks a smile¡ªher first sign of positive emotion since she showed up. ¡°Kofi, you best not sell out before I get there. Ma was proper angry with me last time.¡±

    "Wouldn''t dream of it, Nala."

    I wave at Mikko as we part ways. I''m glad that his penchant for making friends is paying off, but I''m always disappointed when we aren¡¯t able to adventure together. Ha. If I''m honest, I''m just envious that he''s going to get out of appearing before the [Magistrate].

    For some reason, I''m expecting Nala and Uchenna to lead us on a trek far across the city, but we only walk for a minute or two across the central square before I catch sight of our destination.

    The town hall rises above the square like a regal lion surveying its kingdom. Built of white marble and finely dressed stone, the imposing, three storey building stands taller than the shops around it. There''s a sense of pride in every hard line and edge. Gleaming white in the mid morning sun, the hall spins a narrative: the nobility here clearly consider it a beacon of hope and prosperity. It''s as much of a symbol of the city''s wealth and power as it is a place where people come to conduct business.

    What does that say about the people who work inside? I hope they listen to what we have to say instead of acting pompous. Of course, I''ve put our team in an awkward spot by not registering our arrival immediately. I guess I should fix things, since it''s my fault.

    ¡°State your business!¡± a burly [Guard] barks as we approach the front entrance. His eyes stare straight ahead, never seeming to inspect our group even when Nala presents her badge and authenticates our visit.

    ¡°Badge! You¡¯re entitled to one hour.¡±

    Without further ceremony, Nala accepts the burnished bronze badge granting us entrance and ushers us into the town hall. She seems tightly-wound, like a spring on the edge of failure, but once we walk inside, her tension melts away. ¡°Pompous git,¡± she mutters under her breath.

    Like the facade of the town hall, the interior is also made of white marble, as far as I can tell. I¡¯m not an expert on stone, but it sure looks like it¡¯s made of an expensive material, not a counterfeit. I wonder how a moderately sized town like this one could afford something so prized for its beauty. Maybe it¡¯s quarried in the nearby mountains?

    Regardless, the luxurious surroundings are enough to cut my musing short. I knew the building was large, but the grand entrance didn¡¯t prepare me for such a spacious, august interior. The first room is absolutely massive¡ªa waste of good space, it seems to me¡ªbut if the goal is to leave visitors feeling insignificant, then mission accomplished. The stately entrance is flanked by two large columns, and murals of past heroic deeds decorate the walls.

    ¡°Impressive, huh?¡± Uchenna says, gesturing grandly with his spear. ¡°Not many outsiders get to see it their first day in town, so consider yourselves lucky.¡±

    ¡°Arresting us is a strange way to show our good fortune,¡± I reply, but he just grins at me. Now that he¡¯s not sizing me up for a stay in the dungeon, he seems fairly affable.

    We traverse the vast, empty entryway and pass through a vaulted tunnel that ends in an arch three times our height. Twin sets of curved stairs sweep up along the walls on either side. Nala nods to the right, and we follow her up the stairs, down a long, broad portico that overlooks the river Mikko visited, and into a spacious but sparsely appointed office.

    The [Magistrate] looms over us from his elevated seat. He¡¯s perched behind an imposing oak desk in the town hall, his face expressionless as he regards us. He seems tall and lanky, an older man with a receding hairline and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, but not frail. His clothes are neatly pressed, and his hair is combed back in a severe style. He looks like the kind of man who takes his job very seriously.

    Great. Just what I was afraid of.

    The [Magistrate] shoos away his aide. He purses his lips and locks eyes with Nala while she explains the situation, then rolls his wrist in my direction as if to indicate that I need to get on with my side of the story. His eyes bore into me the entire time I speak, but he doesn¡¯t say a word. When I finally finish, he takes a deep breath, never stopping in his death-stare, and begins to speak in a harsh, clipped tone.

    ¡°Impersonating agents of the Royal army carries severe penalties. Under the Greater Densmore Unified Penal Code, section¡ª¡±

    ¡°Thirty-two, paragraph five is what you¡¯re looking for,¡± Rakesh interjects. ¡°It does not apply to us, however, since we have an authenticated Writ from [Spear Commander] Nicanor, which I can present if you¡¯ll allow me to approach.¡±

    The [Magistrate]¡¯s frown deepens, but he motions for his armored bodyguard to stand down when the man bristles and half-draws his sword. ¡°And you are?¡±

    Rakesh clears his throat and lifts a hand in greeting. ¡°I am Rakesh, a [Secretarial Researcher] from the Silaraon City Academy.¡±

    ¡°Ah. A borderlander.¡± The sneer oozes through the [Magistrate]¡¯s voice, making exceedingly clear his thoughts about Silaraon, despite its relative proximity to Mahkaiaraon.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    I bristle. We¡¯re a bigger city with more trade traffic, not to mention the presence of an Army camp led by a [General] in the Third Threshold. Why does he think that a long day''s walk is worth anything? I''ve been to the Capital. It wasn''t all that. I manage to swallow my anger and defer to Rakesh, however.

    ¡°Please review this documentation,¡± Rakesh says, withdrawing the Writ from Nicanor and offering it to the [Magistrate] with both hands. He bows over his hands, just the bare minimum to avoid giving insult¡ªwhich is an insult in itself.

    ¡°Crest appears accurate and sealed,¡± the [Magistrate] says. He winces, as though the admission hurts him physically. He waves a hand, and the paper pops out of Rakesh¡¯s hands and lands on top of the desk. A swirl of mana surrounds the dour man, and his eyes flicker back and forth while he scans the content. His lips move soundlessly, and by the time he reaches the end, his entire demeanor changes.

    ¡°Authentic indeed.¡± He delivers his verdict with more enthusiasm than I expect. He rises, straightens his robes, and strides down the broad steps of his platform to shake our hands. ¡°Rakesh, Nuri, welcome to Mahkaiaraon. We¡¯re glad that such an illustrious group has come to assist with the monster incursions; your attached resume is fascinating. Now, if you¡¯ll come with me, we¡¯ll arrange badges for your team so that our industrious [Guards] don¡¯t bother you during your stay.¡±

    ¡°Nala and Uchenna have been most helpful,¡± I say, smiling at the pair of [Guards], who are now extremely nervous looking. ¡°We¡¯d appreciate their continued guidance, if you don¡¯t mind. Perhaps they can be temporarily relieved of their patrol duties to help guide us to the old keep?¡±

    ¡°Heaven help us. We¡¯re all gonna die,¡± Uchenna murmurs, his friendly, umber-colored face turning into an ashen mask of terror. The sudden fear in his eyes makes me wonder if agreeing to come here was a mistake.

    =+=

    Sorting out the details with the [Magistrate] is fairly straightforward in the end, but our [Guards] are painfully awkward after the fact, treating us like visiting dignitaries instead of criminals. It occurs to me that we could have saved everyone a lot of trouble by just checking in with the [Lord] or his appointed [Magistrate] first, but sometimes I¡¯m just too shortsighted for my own good.

    Ah well. Lesson learned.

    Maybe.

    I turn to our legal expert. ¡°Hey, Rakesh? Thanks for bailing us out. I¡¯m sorry that I didn¡¯t let you take the lead when we first got to the city. You clearly understand how to navigate these situations better than I do. You should be our coordinator on the road.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate the honor. I¡¯ll do my best.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. Now that we¡¯re in the clear, I want to go back to workshopping our workshop-less work. But first, we need to pick up Mikko.¡± I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck to get rid of the last bit of headache, wishing that I could clear the lingering tension with a blast of concentrated mana. Maybe Lionel can help with that, since he¡¯s a [Healer], too.

    I wave over our [Guard]-turned-guide. ¡°Nala, is it time for you to get some fish? I don¡¯t want my poor brother to wonder what became of us. If we don¡¯t find him soon, then he might charge right through the wall in his eagerness to ¡®liberate¡¯ us. He might look like a harmless lummox, but he¡¯s incredibly strong and has a masterwork hammer.¡±

    Nala blanches. ¡°Next street, take a left. Two blocks down, and then another left should get us to Kofi¡¯s shop. I thought he was a [Blacksmith]?¡±

    ¡°He is. But your Class doesn¡¯t define who you are. It¡¯s just a handy collection of tools,¡± I reply, thinking back to my discussion with Smoke about Class and identity.

    ¡°You certainly have strange ideas,¡± Uchenna mutters. ¡°Are you really a [Glassworker]? I¡¯ve never heard of anyone hunting monsters with glass before. It sounds, well, it sounds¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ridiculous?¡± I supply helpfully.

    ¡°A bit,¡± he admits. ¡°No offense.¡±

    ¡°None taken. I get it. Glass is fragile and finicky. It takes a lot of coaxing to get it to act as tough as metal, or as strong as stone.¡± I wink at Avelina, who beams in response to me calling out her new Skill. ¡°But there¡¯s more to fighting than weapons, just like there¡¯s more to you than being a [Guard]. Haven¡¯t you ever done something in your off time that was different from what your Class suggests you can do?¡±

    Uchenna chews on the inside of his cheek while we turn left, heading down the street that Nala indicated. ¡°Guess so. I only use my Skills while I¡¯m on the job, usually. Sometimes, if I¡¯m not sure if my cousins are teasing me, I check that they¡¯re telling the truth, but that¡¯s about it. I don¡¯t use Skills when I¡¯m playing games with the boys, or when I¡¯m out hunting.¡±

    I nod, encouraging him to continue that line of thinking. ¡°Many [Glassworkers] gain Skills related to heat. I can freeze you where you stand, or burn down the city with a burst of pure fire. It¡¯s all from a Skill granted by my Class, but it¡¯s only tangentially related to glass, if you really think about it.¡±

    ¡°You burn monsters?¡± Uchenna asks.

    ¡°Nah. Too unreliable. Sometimes they¡¯re heat-resistant, or fire-aspected, like the huge flaming ursine in the fire-aspected Lesser Rift I delved recently. That was an interesting change of pace compared with the other Rifts I¡¯ve cleared.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve cleared a Rift?¡±

    The disbelief in his voice makes me snort. ¡°I know, I know. I don¡¯t look like much, do I? Missing a hand, not particularly big or muscular, unlike my brother, and not sporting a weapon.¡±

    Nala smacks Uchenna across the shoulder with her baton. ¡°Stop antagonizing him. The Royal army says that they can help. Might as well trust that they know what they¡¯re doing. Sorry about him. He¡¯s still young.¡±

    ¡°I like making conversation,¡± I say with a slight smile. ¡°It¡¯s nice to talk with people who are curious about our team and don¡¯t have an ulterior motive.¡±

    Uchenna ducks his head. ¡°Sorry, sorry. I wasn¡¯t trying to imply that you can¡¯t handle yourself in a fight. Clearly your team knows what it¡¯s doing, if you¡¯ve been commissioned by the Densmore army as a special unit. I¡¯m just curious about how it all works!¡±

    ¡°Lead us to the old keep, and you¡¯ll get a chance to see for yourself,¡± I promise. At the [Guard]¡¯s look of profound uneasiness, I chuckle and clap him on the shoulder¡ªmore gently than Nala did. ¡°Look, you don¡¯t have to fight any monsters with us. Just stand back and watch us at work. You might pick up some tricks. Who knows? You may even earn a new Skill.¡±

    ¡°If you do a really good job, Nuri might even make you an imbued spear to replace that stick with a pointy bit on the end that you call a weapon,¡± Lionel pipes up. ¡°That would set you apart, eh?¡±

    Uchenna misses a step, almost falling over as his head whips around to stare at me. ¡°You¡¯re a Master craftsman? How? You don¡¯t even look as old as I am!¡±

    ¡°Uhh, I don¡¯t like to advertise that fact,¡± I say, giving Lionel a pointed look. ¡°But let¡¯s just say that it was a period of accelerated growth caused by extreme stress. I don¡¯t recommend it.¡±

    Uchenna¡¯s eyes flick toward my missing hand, and he grows quiet. I don¡¯t follow up on the conversation, leaving him to his thoughts while we make the final turns and soon reach the fish shop where Kofi sells his daily catch.

    Mikko is lounging on the front porch in a rocking chair opposite of Kofi. They each have a drink in hand, and somewhere along the line, my brother picked up a floppy straw hat that¡¯s a match for Kofi¡¯s.

    Nala glances at him, then turns to look at me with raised eyebrows. ¡°I can see he¡¯s ready to break you out of prison at any moment.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d have come for me. Eventually.¡±

    ¡°Not in jail, I see. Good news!¡±

    ¡°Good to see you too, Mikko,¡± I say, hailing my brother, who doesn¡¯t bother to stand up to greet us. Instead, he beckons us toward the pitcher on the small, rickety end table nearby.

    ¡°So? We good?¡± Mikko asks.

    I nod. ¡°Once Rakesh presented the writ that Nicanor gave us, the [Magistrate] changed his tune. We¡¯re free to go. Nala and Uchenna will guide us to the old keep when we¡¯re ready.¡±

    ¡°Aw! I thought that we didn¡¯t have to go until tomorrow?¡± Mikko complains. He drains his cup, burps, and rocks forward to hop to his feet. He doffs his hat toward the friendly [Fisherman] who shared food and drink with him. ¡°Kofi, it was an honor. I¡¯ll be back to fish with you once we deal with the pesky beasts.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not leaving just yet,¡± I clarify. ¡°We need to get a map, ideally, meet with the [Lord] to assess the threat, and run through the battleplan with Rakesh. Plus, none of us have our weapons, unless you¡¯re hiding a hammer in your back pocket.¡±

    ¡°Nope. Just an anvil,¡± Mikko confirms, hefting his oversized backpack and rapping on the side with his knuckles. ¡°Speaking of, you wanna test it out? I¡¯m still curious to see if your paltry little fire magic can keep up with my mighty forge.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re on!¡± I shout. ¡°All right, everyone, it¡¯s Mikko¡¯s turn. Making glass went pretty well, earlier but we¡¯ll see how this goes when we try to help him with his [Blacksmith] work.¡±

    ¡°We almost got arrested,¡± Lionel points out. ¡°Is that what you call going well?¡±

    Avelina shrugs. ¡°We¡¯re fine now. All I heard is an excuse to play with fire. You can sit this one out if it¡¯s too hot to handle, Lio.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯d like to go back to the inn and prepare for tomorrow, actually,¡± Melina says. She gestures around the street, busy with foot traffic and wooden buildings built close by each other. ¡°Besides, this isn¡¯t exactly the safest place to play with fire.¡±

    ¡°True. We should find a more open spot,¡± I say, nodding in agreement. ¡°Don¡¯t want to burn down our new friend¡¯s shop if something goes awry.¡±

    Lionel snickers. ¡°With you, that¡¯s a guarantee.¡±

    ¡°Very funny, Lio. Why don¡¯t you, Mel, and Rakesh head back to the inn and prep? Leave the heavy-duty work to the professionals.¡±

    He winks. ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d say that. Anything to get out of actually working. I''m a delicate [Healer] now.¡±

    ¡°I like your style,¡± Uchenna says, grinning at Lionel. ¡°Can¡¯t believe I was going to arrest you. This is going to be such a great story to tell my mates at the pub later!¡±

    ¡°You can guide them back to the inn,¡± I suggest. ¡°Nala, could you suggest a better spot for a training area? And do you mind staying with us so that we know how to get back when we¡¯re finished?¡±

    She tilts her head to the side, frowning in thought. ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s an old quarry a little ways outside of town. All the valuable rocks ended up in the town hall. Now, it¡¯s stripped bare and long since abandoned. Nothing left but rocks and water; if you can burn that down, then I¡¯ll be impressed. Come with me. I¡¯ll show you the way.¡±

    Nala keeps giving me the side eye as we walk. Twice she takes a breath, as though she wants to ask a question, but each time she looks away and bites her tongue. Maybe she¡¯s feeling unsure about how to broach the subject after the turn of events in the [Magistrate]¡¯s office. At last I catch her eye and hold her gaze until she blinks and looks away.

    ¡°Something on your mind, Nala?¡±

    ¡°Are you really crafters? I mean, I get that [Blacksmiths] are strong and can hit hard, but I¡¯ve never seen glass-makers fight. People are scared. Can you¡ªwill you actually help?¡±

    I smile as gently as I can. ¡°We¡¯re good at what we do. I¡¯ve closed Rifts and slain their bosses. Kicking out some overzealous monsters will be child¡¯s play.¡±

    ¡°Child¡¯s play. I see,¡± the Nala says, her tone dry. ¡°And that¡¯s why you made trinkets for kids in the town square. It all makes sense now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s us. Toy-makers and monster-slayers,¡± I reply with a jaunty bow. ¡°I¡¯ve outfitted my team with imbued glass, as Lionel mentioned. But do you see me using any weapons made of glass? No. Why? Because I don¡¯t need them.¡±

    Nala doesn¡¯t answer, but my dramatic, slightly over-confident boast seems to have put her at ease. She picks up the pace and leads us out of Mahkaiaraon, through a gate staffed with more [Guards] than I usually see in one place during times of peace. I suppose to them, this is war. We make our way up a wide road into the rocky foothills near town, and soon arrive at our destination.

    An enormous pit, like an open wound, marks where the quarry used to be. From what Nala says, they dug down and stripped the ground bare to extract precious stone, and then moved on to a new spot to plunder the treasures of the deep earth. They had the decency to put up warning signs, but it still looks like a lethal fall if someone ignores the clear danger.

    We march down a winding path until we reach the bottom of the empty quarry. Nothing flammable presents itself, which is a relief. I¡¯d rather not drive off the incursion just to come back and find that we burned down half the town. Pools of water fill in the jagged rocks, which should help quench the finished projects. The abandoned quarry is the perfect place for us to experiment.

    ¡°What¡¯s first, Ko?¡±

    Mikko looks the part of a blacksmith: tall and muscular, with heavy shoulders and a face that could pass for an anvil in its own right. I elect to keep that opinion to myself. He wears a leather apron and a pair of thick gloves, although with [Iron Skin] he probably could hold hot iron in his bare hands for a while before it burns him. He twirls a big hammer in one hand, and hoists up his anvil in the other.

    ¡°A toy soldier. Maybe Nala can help us find that kid in the crowd this morning. I know Ava made a figurine for him, but what¡¯s more fun than a few soldiers? An entire army!¡±

    I grin. ¡°Fantastic idea.¡±

    ¡°Are they magic soldiers?¡± Nala asks. She frowns at the bar of metal that Mikko pulls out of his bag, then snorts in disbelief as he bends it in half in a casual show of strength.

    ¡°Nope. The magic is all in your imagination,¡± Mikko replies, tapping a finger to the side of his head. ¡°Now, Nuri, stop schmoozing up the local [Guards] and start throwing some heat my way. You and Ava can compete over the hottest fire.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re on!¡± Avelina squeals.

    Fire leaps to her command, wreathing her hands in multicolored flames. I wince at the roiling intensity of the energy that heeds her beck and call, and marshall my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to ward Nala before the skin melts off her face.

    ¡°Careful, Ava! That anvil isn¡¯t as sturdy as Mikko¡¯s thick skull,¡± I call out, laughing at my brother¡¯s dramatic expression of wounded dignity.

    He grunts. ¡°It¡¯ll hold. My master made it to withstand his own forging. Little Ava has a long way to go before she can melt this metal.¡±

    I close my eyes and focus on the heat within me, calling on the primal rune for fire. The power sings, building to a crescendo, coiling like a serpent in my belly that¡¯s poised to strike. I open my eyes and release the accumulated heat, sending it shooting towards the anvil. The metal on the anvil glows red hot, and Mikko begins to work it with his hammer.

    Avelina steps forward, summoning more and more of her own magic and adding it to the mix. Her fire dances around the metal bar, heating it even further than my own magic, and I have to admit that she¡¯s eclipsed me when it comes to manipulating fire.

    Mikko¡¯s hammer rises and falls almost too quickly for me to follow, each strike ringing out like hail on a rooftop. He flattens out the bar in seconds, folding and shaping the metal in ways that only multiple Skills can accomplish. The joy shining on his face warms my heart. I don¡¯t get to watch him work very often, so seeing him hammer out the details of the armor and sword for the little metal soldier makes me happy.

    Bit by bit, the toy soldier emerges, taking form with each tap of the hammer. The toy is about the size of a child¡¯s hand, but astonishingly detailed. A shiny silver helmet crowns the figure, and somehow, Mikko¡¯s adorned the toy in a red coat. I don¡¯t even know how he did it; he doesn¡¯t have paint, and he used the same metal. Must be a byproduct of one of his Skills. I look closer, admiring the fine details on the little sword in its hand. Mikko¡¯s improved by leaps and bounds with delicate details. He¡¯s as meticulous as he is fast, making sure that the toy soldier is a worthy gift.

    Mikko holds the toy soldier up to the sunlight, turning it around and examining it with a critical eye. He frowns in dissatisfaction, mutters to himself, and twists the angle of the sword arm. He waves it at me and finally cracks a smile. ¡°Now. That¡¯s a toy soldier that any child would be proud to have.¡±

    Nala creeps closer to the makeshift, outdoor forge as the heat dies down, wonder written across her features. Tentatively, she holds out a hand. ¡°May I?¡±

    ¡°Wait until it cools. We still need to quench it. But it¡¯s all yours,¡± Mikko says with a grin, his impulsive generosity rising to the fore. ¡°I¡¯ll make another for that cute kid. This one can be your good-luck charm.¡± He lowers his voice and winks. ¡°Just between you and me, we¡¯ll pretend that I meant to make a [Guard] instead of a [Soldier].¡±

    Seeing her soft smile makes nearly getting arrested worth it. This is why I wanted to go back on the road. Meeting people and making things is a magic all of its own¡ªone that not even all the runes in the world can match.

 B4 C21: Secrets and Ciphers

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    ¡°Heard you¡¯re cleaning up the old keep. Mighty tall task for a group of youngins like you.¡±

    I pause, one foot on the final step of the creaky stairway in the inn. I¡¯m on my way down to breakfast, and admittedly preoccupied on the short walk downstairs from my room on the second floor as I head to the common area, but the comment stops me dead in my tracks. I turn toward the [Innkeeper] and cross my arms, trying hard not to scowl. ¡°News travels fast. You eavesdropping on [Lord] Dimitri?¡±

    The dour-faced man grunts noncommittally. ¡°You know how it is. Word gets around. My, uh, nephew works in the town hall. Anyway, you shouldn¡¯t have paid for a week in advance. Waste of good coin, I tell ya. I almost feel bad taking your money.¡±

    I laugh. ¡°Almost, but not really?¡±

    He smirks back. ¡°Business is business.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for your concern, but we¡¯ll be fine,¡± Melina assures him. The serious young [Gaffer] sounds so overly sincere, and smiles at him so sweetly, that I wonder what he did to make her dislike him so much. She¡¯s not usually so saccharine and scathing all at once.

    He takes a breath, then shuts his mouth, shrugging as he seems to reconsider his next words. ¡°Ah well, your funeral. Gotta run; bacon will be ready in fifteen.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll bring you back something nice. Maybe the eyes of a vampiric bat, or the head of a giant snake,¡± I reply, waggling my eyebrows at the [Innkeeper], but he¡¯s already striding off to wait on another table and check on the cooking¡ªnot that I can blame him with bacon on the line. Life in an inn seems perpetually busy and chaotic.

    Melina waves me over to her table. ¡°Stop threatening gross stuff, Nuri. Let¡¯s stay focused on our plan for the day. You¡¯re up late, and we need to get moving.¡±

    I hook a chair leg with my heel and scoot it out from the table so I can sit down beside her. Sighing in contentment, I stretch out and help myself to a honey sweet roll. ¡°Hey, where¡¯s Rakesh? I thought he was going to coordinate communication and tactics for us.¡±

    ¡°Visiting the local library. He said he had an idea he wanted to look into before we got ourselves in trouble,¡± Melina says.

    ¡°Bit late for that,¡± Lionel pipes up, hopping down the last three stairs and jogging over to our table. He looks like he slept significantly better last night than he did during our first evening in the inn, which makes me a little envious. I slept like the father of a newborn¡ªthat is to say, hardly at all¡ªexcept without an actual excuse.

    ¡°Before we got into even more trouble,¡± Melina clarifies, a smile playing on her lips. ¡°But I expected him back by now, honestly. We might have to leave without him if we¡¯re going to keep to our schedule.¡±

    Mikko flops down next to me, scrubbing his sleepy eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving until I finish breakfast. I need to keep my strength up. Who knows what we might find out there?¡±

    ¡°Which is exactly why Rakesh wants to check the library,¡± Melina replies, unruffled by his grumpy attitude. ¡°Knowledge is power, Mikko.¡±

    Mikko makes a rude noise with his tongue. ¡°If that were true, then [Librarians] and [Scholars] would rule the world.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s gotcha there!¡± Lionel says. ¡°Or, at least, if libraries were all you need, then people would have figured out a way to clear the monsters themselves. Why do the beasts congregate around the old ruins, anyway? If they¡¯re actually from a Lesser Rift, you¡¯d expect that they would appear more randomly.¡±

    ¡°Wow, Lio. You¡¯re surprisingly insightful sometimes,¡± Melina says.

    ¡°Nothing surprising about it. I¡¯m a genius,¡± Lionel shoots back.

    ¡°You bring up a good point,¡± Melina continues, ignoring his boast. She frowns, tapping her finger on her chin as she thinks. ¡°It seems like there¡¯s something else going on. What could draw monsters to a specific location? Incursions are more disorderly than what the people are reporting.¡±

    I sip my lukewarm tea, set down the chipped cup, and lick my lips. ¡°Are we sure about that, Mel? From what I can tell, although the old keep is a hot spot of activity, strange creatures have been sighted by [Merchants] on their way into town. People are scared to travel lately.¡±

    Her frown deepens. ¡°Talk later?¡±

    I¡¯m about to ask why we can¡¯t discuss it right now when her implication catches up with me. I shrug as casually as I can and go back to drinking my tea. ¡°Sure. Why don¡¯t we finish up and go get Rakesh? He can fill us in on what he¡¯s discovered.¡±

    ¡°But what about the bacon?¡± Mikko asks, his eyes widening in alarm. ¡°It¡¯s only been a few minutes!¡±

    I pat my brother on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. There¡¯s always tomorrow. If we survive. Good incentive, huh?¡±

    Mikko scowls at me. ¡°Nuri, be reasonable. We can¡¯t leave with bacon on the line. That¡¯s a crime against all that¡¯s right and decent.¡±

    ¡°All right. You can stay.¡±

    Mikko pumps his fist into the air, but his celebration is short-lived. He stands up as tall as he can, towering over me, and glares. ¡°That was way too easy. What¡¯s the catch?¡±

    ¡°You. You¡¯ll have to catch up.¡±

    Lionel slaps his hand against his forehead and groans. ¡°Seriously? That was the worst pun I¡¯ve ever heard, Nuri. You¡¯d never catch me stooping that low, and that¡¯s saying something.¡±

    I roll my eyes at Lionel. ¡°Peh. Can¡¯t outdo a master, I see. Well, there¡¯s more where that came from if you don¡¯t get moving, folks. Library. Now,¡± I say, swiping one last roll as I head for the door.

    Melina catches my arm before I take more than a single step. ¡°Nuri, wait a minute. Has anyone seen Avelina? I know she¡¯s not always an early riser, but she wasn¡¯t in the room when I left this morning. I assumed she was getting breakfast, but she still hasn¡¯t shown up.¡±

    Lionel shakes head. ¡°No wonder it¡¯s been so blissfully cool and quiet. No threats, no fire. A guy could get used to this.¡±

    Melina smacks his shoulder.

    ¡°Maybe she went to the library with Rakesh,¡± Mikko offers, in between longing glances toward the kitchen. He¡¯s eating his last bite of starfruit, chewing with exaggerated slowness, clearly stalling so that he can take some bacon for the road.

    ¡°Not logical,¡± Melina says immediately. ¡°Rakesh already ate before you came down, and he told me about his plans. If Ava went with him, then I would¡¯ve seen her.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Yeah, that makes sense,¡± Mikko says distractedly. ¡°Hey, maybe she went to see what¡¯s on the menu in the kitchen. Why don¡¯t I go check real quick?¡±

    ¡°Fine!¡± I say, throwing my arms up. ¡°We can stay for bacon, as long as you share. Then we find Ava, collect Rakesh, and head out to the keep.¡±

    Mikko grins. ¡°All I heard was bacon. Good call on letting us stay. I knew you¡¯d make a great leader, Nuri! Keep it up.¡±

    =+=

    After a frantic search in all the usual places¡ªthe bar, the fireplace, the candy store two shops over¡ªwe finally find Avelina in the stables. She¡¯s crooning to a horse as she brushes its mane and grooming him. Every few brush strokes, she slips him a treat, which he chomps with huge, wicked-looking teeth.

    The enormous bay roan wickers softly, tossing its head as we approach. To my surprise, the muscled horse shifts around Avelina in the stall, putting its body between her and us like it¡¯s a trained warhorse. I¡¯ll have to keep my distance from that one.

    ¡°What a charmer,¡± I call out.

    Avelina jumps to her feet with a yelp and a plume of fire. She spins around, catches sight of us, and snuffs out the flames gathering into a white-hot orb above her hand. ¡°What are you all doing here? Are you spying on me?¡±

    Melina waves. ¡°No, it¡¯s just time to go. What are you doing here, Ava? It¡¯s not like you to be up and about so early. We were worried.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s sweet of you, sis.¡±

    Melina gestures toward the horse, which is stamping its feet and blowing out its lips in a threatening manner. ¡°Make a new friend?¡±

    ¡°Something like that,¡± Avelina says. She pats the horse, ducks underneath its powerful, arched neck, and leans out the stall door. She peeks around her sister, looking about the stable as though she¡¯s searching for something specific. ¡°Following up on a hunch, actually. I saw a young man tailing us after we left the town hall yesterday. At first, I thought it was simply a coincidence, but I woke up early this morning and happened to catch sight of him through the window. He was loitering in the alleyway, so I slipped out to spy on him.¡±

    I scratch my nose, not sure where the story¡¯s going. Avelina isn¡¯t always noted for her ability to stay on track. ¡°Well, what did you find? Is this his horse?¡±

    ¡°Oh, no. This was my cover.¡± Avelina chuckles. ¡°He spun around while I was following him, like he could sense me even though I was trying to keep my mana cloaked, so I ducked into a stall. I stayed in here for a while, hiding behind this gorgeous horse while he was working on a carriage. They just left a few minutes ago. I guess the horse and I bonded.¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Melina demands.

    Avelina crosses her arms defensively. ¡°I dunno, Mel! It seemed way more important this morning. And exciting! I thought I was having an adventure.¡±

    ¡°Hang on. There may actually be something to it. Quiet, everyone,¡± I say, holding up a hand to stop them from talking. I close my eyes, concentrating, as a faint mana resonance in the area calls to me. It¡¯s thin and distant, but foul, like a whiff of curdled milk from the next room over. I grimace. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what is going on, but someone tried to use a runic array here.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡± Melina asks.

    ¡°It¡¯s . . . it¡¯s like a failed imbuing attempt,¡± I say, trying to put my knowledge into words and failing. I search for an analogy and give up. ¡°I don''t know how to explain it. I just know.¡±

    Avelina¡¯s eyes shine with excitement. ¡°What do you think the mysterious stranger was trying to accomplish?¡±

    ¡°I think he was looking for you,¡± I say slowly. I squat down, trying to follow the trail, and chew on my lip. ¡°Or, no, maybe trying to form a connection? I can¡¯t tell. But for the first time in my life, I wish Scalpel were here. She would be able to puzzle this out.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s the [Innkeeper]¡¯s nephew,¡± Melina interjects, sounding too hard like she¡¯s trying to be sensible, but there¡¯s an undercurrent of excitement in her voice. ¡°He does work at the town hall.¡±

    ¡°But why would he be outside my room?¡± Avelina asks. ¡°Creepy! He seemed to just show up this morning, waiting for me.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he likes you,¡± I tease.

    Avelina glares at me, but just as she¡¯s about to reply, she suddenly freezes. She lifts her nose up and sniffs. ¡°Is that bacon? It is! You¡¯re so sweet, Mikko! I didn¡¯t get breakfast yet.¡±

    ¡°Oh no. This is mine,¡± he snarls.

    ¡°Oh, c¡¯mon! I¡¯m starving.¡±

    ¡°No. Get your own breakfast.¡±

    ¡°We''re short on time,¡± I remind Mikko, tilting my head toward Avelina and frowning at my brother in my best impression of Reijo.

    Mikko groans in defeat, pulls out the bundle of wrapped-up bacon, and peels off several strips. He hands them over to Avelina, staring longingly at them the entire time. ¡°I take it back, Nuri. Worst. Boss. Ever.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a compliment,¡± I say, nodding at the horse in farewell. It glares back at me with an evil eye, tracking us the entire time as we leave the stables.

    Melina shivers once we¡¯re back outside. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you made friends with that horse, Ava. That thing scares me!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my naturally-friendly disposition. Something you wouldn¡¯t know about,¡± Avelina says, winking at her twin. ¡°Also, I may have threatened it with fire if it didn¡¯t keep quiet.¡±

    I scoff, setting course for the library, which is housed in a wing of the town hall, according to Nala¡¯s tour yesterday. ¡°Animals are afraid of fire, Ava.¡±

    She blinks innocently. ¡°A mystery indeed, Nuri. Sometimes, you just have to establish dominance.¡±

    The team¡¯s banter continues all the way until we reach the library, but I tune their teasing out, reflecting back on what Melina suggested. What if it is the [Innkeeper]¡¯s nephew? And what if that¡¯s not as innocent as it sounds?

    Rakesh brightens when he sees us, although he holds out his hands, palms down, and pats the air in a futile attempt to get Lionel and Mikko to be quiet in the library. He hurries over, waving a sheaf of papers at us.

    ¡°Follow me. Study room up ahead on the left.¡± Without another word, he takes off at a fast clip, practically running, one hand hitching up his robes so that he doesn¡¯t tangle up his legs as he goes.

    I¡¯ve never seen him act that way inside a library. Intrigued, I urge everyone to pick up the pace, and we all pile inside the room and activate the silence array that¡¯s designed to keep any conversation inside from disturbing library patrons and desecrating the sacrosanct silence of the institution of knowledge.

    ¡°Melina, you know how I wanted to collect some preliminary information about the type of monsters sighted in the area?¡± Rakesh says, spitting out his words rapid-fire. Before she can say a word in response, he rattles on, his words overlapping so quickly that I can barely follow.

    ¡°Well, my Skills started vibrating almost immediately while I searched through the data. I was checking reports filed with the [Guard] and looking up any news articles from publications that cover local events, and patterns started emerging. I set them aside at first, but the longer I looked, the more confused I became, since something didn¡¯t seem to match the requisition that the town sent when asking for assistance.¡±

    He pauses just long enough to take a deep breath, then blurts out the rest of the story. ¡°I was curious why we met with the [Magistrate] instead of the [Lord] who issued the request, so I used Nuri¡¯s communication construct. You know, the one that the [Inquisitors] loaned to him before we left Silaraon? I know it¡¯s a breach of protocol, but I asked them to check the classified documents to see the actual wording of the request.

    ¡°I know, I know! It¡¯s out of character for me to break the rules like that. But it paid off. By comparing the notices and analyzing them with my Skills, I can say with over ninety-seven percent confidence that the local [Lord] didn¡¯t send the request to the Army. In fact, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he didn¡¯t know we were coming, not until we showed up and pulled that ridiculous stunt to announce our presence¡ªno offense, Nuri¡ªto the entire town.¡±

    I rub my forehead. ¡°Why is that so important, again? The [Magistrate] seemed to expect us. He was relieved we were here. Happy, even.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my point!¡± Rakesh all but hisses, his eyes aglow with exhilaration. ¡°He¡¯s hiding us from the [Lord], or at least our mission. Something strange is going on.¡±

    Avelina slaps her hands down on the table triumphantly. ¡°I knew it! That guy was spying on me. You all act like I¡¯m crazy, but my wild ideas aren¡¯t crazy if they¡¯re true.¡±

    ¡°Looks like you might be right, Avelina,¡± I say gravely. I grin at her smug expression and nudge her with my elbow. ¡°This time, at least.¡±

    =+=

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe that you told the [Guard] that this would be child¡¯s play,¡± Mikko grumbles as he hacks at an overgrown vine with a machete he made the day before, after he finished up a batch of toy soldiers. The broad, sharp metal blade is more suitable for cutting than the slender rapier I crafted for Lionel, so my burly brother is on weed whacking duty.

    ¡°Did you really brag like that? Your head¡¯s getting way too big if you keep disregarding common sense and tempting fate. Nuri, are you trying to get us all killed?¡± Lionel teases me.

    ¡°Lio, Lio, Lio. My friend!¡± I say, fighting to hold back my laughter. ¡°You¡¯re still worried over a silly thing like me jinxing our adventure simply because I expressed an appropriate level of confidence?¡± I sigh theatrically, dragging aside the growing pile of vegetative debris from the overly-enthusiastic weeding session. ¡°What did I tell you? I¡¯ve got this.¡±

    Lionel and Mikko exchange glances, their dubious expressions mirror images, and I swat them both for implying that I¡¯m getting us into any worse trouble than we would have otherwise. They should know by now that we signed up for trouble. It¡¯s part of the job description.

    ¡°Your turn, Lio. I¡¯m bored,¡± Mikko says, handing off the machete to our friend. A mournful look shadows his face. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m all out of bacon. Why should I work for free?¡±

    ¡°All Ava¡¯s fault, eh?¡± Lionel rolls his eyes, but he accepts the sharp, heavy machete and attacks the tangled vines with enthusiasm. The snarl blocking our path slowly thins out under his care. He swings harder, severing a dark green vine, and cracks his neck. ¡°Of course I¡¯m still worried, by the way! Don¡¯t you believe in tempting fate, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°No. We make our own fate.¡±

    Lionel pauses in between swings, breathing heavily after only a few moments of wielding the thick blade. He shifts his body to face us and squints at me as though I¡¯m crazy. ¡°I¡¯m gonna say ¡®I told you so¡¯ now, so that there¡¯s no question that I called it when we run into trouble.¡±

    ¡°You have no faith in me.¡±

    He scoffs. ¡°I¡¯m just realistic.¡±

    ¡°Wow. Hurtful.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll become fate for all three of you if you don¡¯t stop arguing,¡± Avelina snaps, igniting a snarling, crackling ball of fire that hovers over her outstretched palm. ¡°Now, get out of the way, slowpokes. I¡¯ll burn us a path.¡±

    None of us pause to consider if Avelina¡¯s serious. We all scramble out of the way a moment before a hot plume of fire turns the climbing vines into cinders. I shield the other two with a pulse of [Greater Heat Manipulation], just in case they¡¯re not sturdy enough to handle the heat.

    ¡°Effective,¡± I admit, poking the toe of my boot at a still-smoldering bit of vine and peering down the glowing line of embers. A swath of forest a few dozen paces long is open ahead of us, clearing our way to the outer wall of the keep.

    ¡°Thanks for making me waste my time swinging around that oversized knife when we could have had Fire-lover over here do all the work. Really, it¡¯s the least she can do after eating all my bacon,¡± Mikko grumbles, but he looks so impressed by Avelina¡¯s magic that it takes all the bite out of his complaining.

    ¡°Make sure you preserve some mana,¡± I say to Avelina. ¡°We don¡¯t know how long we¡¯ll be out here, and you don¡¯t exactly have copious amounts to work with.¡±

    Melina wanders over a moment later, her nose still buried in the notes Rakesh gave us. He scrawled them out hastily before he returned to the inn to try to unravel the mystery of what¡¯s going on between the [Lord] and [Magistrate]. Like the rest of us, he shares the suspicion that someone might be working at cross-purposes against us.

    Now that the five of us are all together, we march down the pathway that Avelina burned for us. I move cautiously, extinguishing any blazes that still remain, wary about what we might find as we get closer to the cratered shell of the castle.

    At last, we¡¯ve arrive. [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s Old Keep. Something rancid dances in the air, but I try to shrug off the feeling of wrongness. Focus, Nuri. We have a job to do. It reminds me all too much of the scent in the stables, and I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a connection between them.

    Despite the unsettling circumstances, the overgrown, broken-down castle keep is a sight to behold. Time has not been kind to the once-proud structure. Generations ago, the old keep was the seat of power in the region. Now, little more than a single tower and half a manor house remain. The rest of the castle is a pile of rubble, with moss and clinging vines creeping over its crumbling walls. Still, there¡¯s something poetic about imagining its former glory as I take in the tall, arched doorway, which still stands open¡ªas if luring us within its walls.

    As I step inside, I¡¯m immediately struck by the visceral sense of decay. The air is thick, choking me with dust, and the only light comes from the caved-in ceiling above. Technically, a window is still intact, but it¡¯s filled with vines and mosses, obscuring the sun. The floor is littered with debris, and the walls are covered in faded scripts that look suspiciously like markings left behind by intrepid youths who likely only ventured inside the keep on a dare.

    I creep my way through the ruins, careful not to trip over the fallen stones, and scan the area with my burgeoning mana senses. The odd resonance I sensed earlier in the stables is back, stronger than ever. The deeper I go, the more overgrown the castle becomes, and the more pungent the taste of decay and chaos. The vines are so thick in places that they block out the light completely.

    I glance up at the vine-covered ceiling and frown. I could have sworn they weren¡¯t there a moment ago. Couldn¡¯t I see the sun a few steps earlier?

    I¡¯m about to ask the others for their opinions when a low, sonorous sound reverberates through us, shaking my bones it¡¯s so deep and intense. Fire springs to life around Avelina, and I bring sharpness to the forefront of my consciousness before I even realize I¡¯ve tapped into one of the concepts at my disposal, ready to channel my mana into a fine mesh of murderous cutting intent.

    Below us, uncovered by the retreat of the suddenly-shifting vines, a dark portal pulses. Half-hidden by the fallen rubble, the viscous pool of blackness murmurs and bubbles. My heart races; it looks like an opening to a Rift, but somehow different. Less wild and primal, but more dangerous, perhaps, in a way that makes my skin prick and the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

    The portal is dark and foreboding, swirling like iridescent oil and black tar, a mesmerizing scar on the ruins of a once-majestic castle. The broken teeth of the towers above us stand tall and serene, quiet despite their fractured glory, but the portal promises violence.

    That¡¯s it! I think, my gut twisting at the realization. Against all odds, there¡¯s a higher-order concept at play in these ruins.

    I call the others over and explain the impossible phenomenon. They shuffle away from it as I speak; my unease seems contagious. ¡°All right. This is it. We have a job to do, my friends.¡± I swallow hard. Can I really ask them all to risk something so menacing?

    ¡°So far, we haven¡¯t encountered anything lethal, but this gives me a bad feeling. Mikko, you¡¯re up first, since you have [Iron Skin]. Lead the way.¡±

    ¡°You got it, Boss.¡±

    ¡°And Mikko?¡± My voice cracks with a sudden flood of emotion as I look my brother in the eye. ¡°Don¡¯t die.¡±

 B4 C22: Arcane Domain

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    Stepping through a hole in the fabric of reality will never feel normal. The blackness recedes unwillingly as I step through, as if reluctant to relinquish its prey, to reveal lush pastel jungles and a pulsing, purple sun. If this place isn¡¯t a true Rift, then it¡¯s a near cousin. The colors are strangely inverted from what I¡¯m used to seeing. I shake off the alien, itching sensation of pushing my way through a portal and take stock of our situation, [Greater Heat Manipulation] at the ready in case we meet enemies.

    ¡°That was awesome!¡± Avelina screams.

    ¡°Quiet, Ava,¡± I hiss, pulling her down into a crouch next to me and putting my finger to my lips to try to impress upon her the need for caution.

    ¡°Sorry, Nuri,¡± she whispers back.

    I scan the surroundings for danger, but the dense vines and towering tree trunks limit my visibility, and after a few fruitless seconds, I give up on visual cues. Opting to scan the area with my developing mana senses instead is equally frustrating, however. As usual, despite my repeated practice, the feedback comes and goes. One second, everything is in sharp focus, and I feel in tune with the world around me; the next moment, it fizzles away completely. I might as well be imagining that it existed in the first place.

    No immediate danger manifests. but I¡¯m still wary. If we run into the wrong beast, then my team¡¯s little adventure will be over, just like that.

    Melina staggers through the portal a moment later, gagging. She clutches at her sister for support and then doubles over, vomiting up her breakfast all over the ground. Lionel is a split second behind her, likewise spewing scones and honey.

    ¡°Ah. Right,¡± I mutter, feeling bad that I didn''t warn them about how disorienting the experience of portal jumping is. They¡¯ve never been in a Rift before, so they don¡¯t know what to expect.

    ¡°Form up. Mikko, you¡¯re on point. Ava, wand out and mana circulating. Burn anything that moves; don''t hesitate. We can¡¯t afford to wait to find out if something is a threat. Consider everything hostile. Rift rules apply, even if this place is different,¡± I say, quietly calling out commands.

    Mikko looks pale under his bronzed skin, but he''s still on his feet, thanks to his sturdier constitution compared with the others. He holds his glass hammer at the ready, vigilant and heroic looking. He¡¯ll fight if the need arises. I¡¯m proud to have him by my side.

    I nod at my brother and help Melina recover her footing. ¡°It passes. The first time is the worst. You never get used to it, but you get better at pushing on, anyway.¡±

    ¡°This is why you should always travel with a [Healer], Nuri. You¡¯ve been missing out. [Soothing Touch],¡± Lionel says, reaching out and laying a hand on Melina¡¯s shoulder. He repeats the gesture on himself a minute later. Almost instantly, the healthy flush of vitality returns to their faces. He gives me a crooked smile. ¡°Ready to go, Boss.¡±

    I smile back tightly, but my attention never leaves the treeline. I¡¯m expecting an ambush at any moment, and no matter how hard I strain, I can¡¯t seem to sense any mana. It¡¯s got me feeling jittery. I¡¯m not sure I can stand hours of jumpiness like this without cracking under the pressure.

    ¡°Nuri? Which way?¡± Melina asks.

    I clear my throat, still squinting at the trees as though I¡¯ll find a clue. ¡°Formation, everyone. This doesn¡¯t seem like a regular Rift, but the principles should be similar. Lionel, stay in the back with me and Mel. We¡¯ll keep threats off you, as long as you keep us alive. Let¡¯s get moving; it doesn¡¯t matter which way we go. We¡¯ll sense the ambient mana density increasing or decreasing, and adjust accordingly.¡±

    ¡°When do I start burning things? What¡¯s the plan?¡± Avelina asks, her voice low. She shuffles closer and almost whispers her question, as if to make up for her earlier brashness. I shouldn¡¯t get so irritated at her for not being stealthy like Tem or Mbukhe. She¡¯s our highest damage-dealer; she doesn¡¯t need to have scouting skills, too.

    ¡°Burning starts as soon as we find monsters. Let¡¯s not rush it. I don¡¯t want anyone to get hurt. This is supposed to be a simple extermination mission, but something¡¯s not right. If we can find the core, then we should shut this place down and make a dash back to the surface. Keep your eyes peeled, folks.¡±

    ¡°I lost communication with Rakesh,¡± Melina announces softly. She shifts closer to the rest of us, as if drawing courage from our nearness. ¡°Where are we, Nuri? Why can¡¯t I reach him anymore?¡±

    ¡°As best as I can tell, we¡¯re in a space between worlds,¡± I say as we walk, although I know it¡¯s an incomplete answer. Melina isn¡¯t going to be satisfied with half-truths and speculation, but I don¡¯t have any real information to go on. ¡°This isn¡¯t a Rift. Or, if it is, then it¡¯s not normal. My guess is that someone has modified it¡ªtampered with it, somehow.¡±

    ¡°Sounds dangerous,¡± Mikko murmurs solemnly. He hefts his hammer, tightening his hands on the handle until it creaks under his prodigious strength. ¡°You sure we should keep going? Maybe it¡¯s best to scout it out and come back another time.¡±

    My brother¡¯s concern gives me pause, but eventually I shake my head and keep trudging onward, pushing pale pink leaves and too-bright vermillion vines out of the way. The leaves are soft, but the bark on the tree trunks looks more like quartz, or some sort of crystal, rather than organic matter. I make a note not to touch them if I don¡¯t have to; I don¡¯t want to cut myself.

    ¡°Let¡¯s map out what we can while we¡¯re here. Knowing the way through this Rift, or whatever it is, will prove beneficial. Besides, if Rakesh is right about something going on between the [Magistrate] and [Lord], then I¡¯d rather not draw more attention to ourselves and give them time to tie us up. Getting caught in the middle of some petty feud or bureaucratic maneuvering sounds like a real quagmire.¡±

    ¡°Getting eaten by monsters sounds worse,¡± Lionel grumbles from behind me, but there¡¯s not much teeth to his words. He hastens his pace, falling in beside me with a grim set to his jaw.

    He sounds nervous and looks worse. I¡¯m starting to wonder if I should have given them more time to train before taking on such a dangerous mission. My gut tightens at the thought of someone sustaining serious injuries. Self-doubt rears its ugly head. What if I get them killed because of my impatience?

    ¡°Contact!¡± Mikko roars, shattering my brooding.

    Up ahead, a flash of obsidian scales and viridescent markings bursts through a narrow gap in the gnarled, crystalized tree trunks. An oversized lizard leaps into the air, clearing a boulder the size of a cart in a single bound. Fanged and covered in scales that gleam like links of chainmail, with heavy armor on its chest and barbed crests jutting out from its back, the huge lizard looks like something out of my worst nightmares. The serpentine-like creature contorts past trailing vines and dodges through the underbrush with the preternatural grace of a mana monster. A dense mana-signature signals a powerful beast, and I swallow hard as my mouth suddenly goes dry.

    ¡°Skill user!¡± I shout, furiously trying to look beyond the veil around its core so that I can see what its Skills do. I spread out my mana with an instantaneous flex of will and activate [Greater Heat Manipulation] to siphon away energy, dropping the temperature around the monster until frost glitters like shards of broken glass strewn across the leaves of the bushes in front of us. Maybe I can stop it before it reaches us, or at least give the others a fighting chance.

    The pony-sized lizard grows sluggish, its vitality sapped by the extreme cold, but it doesn¡¯t falter. Instead, its entire face unhinges along two criss-crossing jawlines, its four-sided maw opening wider than should be possible. A second¡ªno, third¡ªrow of sharp, serrated teeth glints from inside its terrifying mouth, and the sharp, knife-like fangs brim with hissing green saliva. A drop falls to the ground, where it steams and boils, eating through the thick grass.

    A surge of mana gathers, and I shout out a warning just as the lizard unleashes a mighty roar. The mana-enforced shockwave knocks me back a few steps. I stagger, trying to regain my balance, and thud down to my knees. The layer of ice freezing it in place shatters, and it catapults itself forward despite the thin coat of rime across its scales that should slow its movements.

    Mikko lowers his center, widening his stance and raising his hammer as the lizard monster charges at him. He plants his feet, twists his hips to avoid the snapping jaws, and smashes the glass weapon into the side of the creature¡¯s torso while activating [Strength of the Forged Gods].

    His body blazes with power in my mind¡¯s eye, limned with the fiery, telltale light of his empowering Skill, and the concussive blow sends the creature cartwheeling. The scaled beast flies across the clearing and slams into a rock with enough force to crack the chitin armor.

    I pump my fist in the air, about to cheer for my brother¡¯s quick takedown, but a buzzing in the back of my mind stops me. For once, my recovering mana senses work properly. My eyes widen in horror as I realize it not only lived through the devastating attack, but it¡¯s back on its feet and flaring its mana, about to use another Skill.

    ¡°Skill incoming! Take cover!¡± I bellow.

    My teammates drop down to the ground, huddled behind Mikko for protection. We brace ourselves just in time as the lizard¡¯s discordant shriek echoes through the jungle again. This time, I¡¯m only pushed back a half a stride by the disorienting attack, anchored and prepared as I am, but it buys the monster time to close the gap.

    Quick as a wink, it¡¯s on us. Claws flashing in the garish, purple sunlight, it springs on Mikko, who deflects the attack with a wild parry of his hammer. The sinuous beast changes direction in the space of a heartbeat, spinning around and lashing out with its clubbed tail and smacking Mikko in the chest.

    I reach for my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to burn it to a crisp, but Mikko is faster. He recovers his footing, counters the followup swipe, swatting aside the claws with ease. His hammer whirls around, and he cracks open more plate armor when he connects with the lizard¡¯s back. It rebounds, head whipping back, and careens through the shrubbery with an angry snarl.

    ¡°Mikko! Aim for the head!¡± I yell, drawing on the energy in the air to cool down the beast and slow its movements again. ¡°The armor¡¯s too thick to easily break otherwise.¡±

    ¡°On it!¡± Mikko calls. He thunders forward, shoulder-tackling the monster to the ground and driving the air from its lungs. He leaps to his feet while it¡¯s still struggling to breathe after the massive collision, raises his hammer, and swings it two-handed.

    The lizard¡¯s screams end in an abrupt yelp as its face craters. Its broken, mangled body bounces off the ground and crashes into a thick, dark-red, crystalline trunk. The giant tree shudders under the force of the impact, dropping leaves and a few strange, small, shriveled purple fruits that pop open with a fizzle when they hit the ground, releasing a puff of superheated steam that resonates with my heat Skill.

    And then, silence.

    I extend my senses, straining to detect other threats, but I don¡¯t pick up anything. The frantic fight is over, but I don¡¯t feel good about our showing. The others are still huddled behind us, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, without having lifted a hand to participate in the brutal melee. I clear my throat, breaking the quiet born from shock, and gesture everyone closer.

    ¡°Impressive job with that hammer, Ko,¡± I say, slapping him on the shoulder. ¡°Glad you¡¯re on my side. Everyone else all right?¡±

    Shaky nods and murmurs of affirmation meet my question. I take a moment to smile and offer a few encouraging words before I let my gaze grow stern and heavy. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re all unhurt. That was only a single enemy, however. The rest of you need to react more quickly next time. What if we¡¯d been flanked by a second lizard? Or what if it had bitten Mikko and he was dying to its acid breath? We need you to be ready, Lionel.¡± I click my tongue, thinking it over. ¡°A temporal field could have helped, too.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Nuri. I should have¡ªshould have¡ªslowed it down,¡± Melina says, hanging her head. ¡°I¡¯ll try to do better next time.¡±

    ¡°No room for trying,¡± I shoot back, more harshly than I intend. ¡°Just act. Do what you have to do, and do it fast. We¡¯re all relying on each other.¡±

    ¡°Tough to clear out the monsters if Mikko smashes them all,¡± Avelina interjects, matching my frown with a defiant glare. Guilt flares into anger in the space of a blink. ¡°¡®Sides, you froze the ground. What did you want me to do, contest the frost with fire? Sounds like a good way to create elemental backlash.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that, Nuri. I just heal things,¡± Lionel says, his voice wavering a bit before he regains his groove and grins. ¡°I knew Mikko was too tough for that overgrown gecko.¡±

    I¡¯m about to snap at Lionel for not taking things seriously enough when I see the way the others relax a bit at his joke. Maybe his humor is exactly what we need to balance out my paranoia and need for control. I bite my tongue, settle for an exasperated scowl instead, and walk over to check the big lizard¡¯s mangled corpse for any sign of a lingering mana signature. Luck isn¡¯t on my side.

    ¡°No core. Probably too small. Let¡¯s keep moving, but keep your mana at your fingertips. I want to see everyone¡¯s Skills in action the instant a threat shows up. No hunkering down behind Mikko, even if he is a glorious meat shield. Got it?¡±

    Nods all around. I crack a small smile so that they know I¡¯m not angry at them, just nervous about getting through our first real mission without something going disastrously wrong. I don¡¯t want my friends to get hurt. ¡°Excellent. I knew I could count on you. Now, let¡¯s march!¡±

    =+=

    An hour later, we¡¯re still trudging through the sweltering jungle without reprieve, hacking at the thick vines and ducking under low-hanging branches. The landscape looks pretty much identical in every direction. Other than the markings Mikko leaves behind with his machete, we don¡¯t have any way of tracking our progress to make sure we¡¯re heading the same direction. The odd purple sun overhead never moves, so the direction of the shadows can¡¯t guide us. It simply beats down on us with relentless, suffocating heat. I¡¯m trying to conserve mana, so I don¡¯t shield the team from the elevated temperature by running [Greater Heat Manipulation].

    I walk up and tap Mikko on the back to alert him to stop. When I¡¯ve got everyone¡¯s attention, I pull out my water flask and take a long swig. ¡°Take five. Drink up, everyone. It¡¯s hot and sweaty, so you need to replenish your fluids to keep your energy high.¡±

    I ease myself down onto a fallen, moss-covered log, sinking into the thick layer of verdant growth with a contented sigh. After an hour of clearing out a path through the thick vines, taking a break feels nicer than I want to admit. I¡¯m supposed to be a seasoned veteran of this kind of adventure, but I¡¯m ready to be done for the day.

    The others chat quietly, subdued but in good spirits. Even though they froze up, other than Mikko, we handled the first monster with relative ease. I suppose that a confidence boost is good for them. They finish drinking in a couple minutes, and I know that I should order everyone to keep moving so we¡¯re not wasting time, but it¡¯s peaceful here. I feel refreshed, and it¡¯s hard for me to begrudge the others their rest.

    Melina tiptoes over, clears off a pile of the hand-sized, pale pink leaves, and plunks down next to me. Her lips round into a circle as she also sinks into the luxurious moss, and she pokes at the springy surface with a gentle smile.

    ¡°Pretty soft, eh?¡± I say, nodding at the moss. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of taking some back with us to stuff into a pillow. Not even that drafty inn could keep me from a good night¡¯s sleep after that!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . not a bad idea.¡±

    I smile smugly. ¡°Yep! I know.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, I think we¡¯re going the wrong way,¡± Melina says, leaning toward me and pitching her voice so that it won¡¯t travel too far and alert the others. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re sensing something I can¡¯t, and I know you¡¯re the resident Rift expert, but it seems like the ambient mana is getting thinner out here compared with a quarter of an hour ago. I suspect we have to backtrack.¡±

    That¡¯s an hour wasted! I groan internally, not interested in retracing our steps, but I school my face so that the others don¡¯t see my bad attitude. I¡¯m in charge, so I have to set the emotional tenor of the trip. Still, it irks me to know that my senses are so unstable. I don¡¯t begrudge Melina for having a better feel for energy flow than I do right now, but it does make me feel the keening ache of my lost Skill.

    I give her a tremulous smile and nod. ¡°You¡¯re probably right, Mel. I¡¯m less reliable than I used to be. I trust you, though; if you say this is the wrong way, then that¡¯s that. All right, let¡¯s break the bad news to the team.¡±

    ¡°Nuh uh. That¡¯s all you, Boss.¡±

    I squint at her, wrinkling up my nose in distaste. ¡°I hate that nickname. But fine. Someone has to do the dirty work. I guess that¡¯s what it means to be a leader.¡±

    Melina graces me with a brilliant smile. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, Nuri. You¡¯ve really come a long way in the last few years. Don¡¯t feel bad about the nickname. You¡¯ve earned it! It might have started off with Lio teasing you, but the rest of us mean it seriously. You¡¯ve been through a lot, but instead of getting bitter, you¡¯ve grown up. That¡¯s why we follow you. We trust your judgment.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Mel. That means a lot coming from you,¡± I say after a moment of dumbfounded silence. She¡¯s rarely so unreservedly positive about anything, tending to simply tell us the unvarnished truth. She¡¯s not cruel, although sometimes she can be thoughtless, but she doesn¡¯t go out of her way to build people up with meaningless words.

    I stand up, tucking away my water flask and scanning the area for threats. No joy; my senses are still muted¡ªblunt and dull where they were once sharp and vibrant. Melina seems to pick up on what I¡¯m doing, and she nods in encouragement. Now that I¡¯m sure we¡¯re relatively safe, I gather everyone together for a quick talk. ¡°Good news. We¡¯ve filled in more of our map, and already crossed off this way as an option. That will save us time for future exploration.¡±

    Avelina snorts. ¡°You mean, we went the wrong way, and now we have to backtrack since you got lost.¡±

    I open my mouth to defend myself, but the flickering gleam of fire and amusement in her dark eyes stops me short. ¡°Am I really so transparent?¡±

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    ¡°Clear as glass,¡± Avelina rejoins. She laughs quietly, like rain tinkling against a window pane. ¡°Plus, I grew up around Mel. You think I¡¯m not used to the way she goes from precise and incisive to overly diplomatic whenever she¡¯s wrong? I¡¯d have to truly be an idiot not to pick up on that kind of equivocation. You don¡¯t think I¡¯m an idiot, do you, Nuri?¡±

    I roll my eyes at her fluttering eyelashes and overly-wide smile. ¡°The only people who think you¡¯re an idiot are the ones you don¡¯t actually get to know you.¡±

    ¡°Got that right!¡± Avelina crows. ¡°People think I¡¯m dumb, when really it¡¯s just that I¡¯m not pretentious like some people I know.¡±

    ¡°All right, all right, that¡¯s enough making fun of me,¡± Melina says, looking like she bit into a lemon. ¡°We all have different communication styles, as my twin so clearly pointed out. Let¡¯s focus on the news that we have to turn around.¡±

    ¡°Hey, look on the bright side,¡± Lionel says, throwing an arm around Melina¡¯s shoulders. She shrugs him off, but he continues undeterred, grinning in his sunny, trademark manner. ¡°At least we have a clear path now. We¡¯ll make it back to the portal in half the time, I¡¯ll bet. Maybe even a third!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good point,¡± I say, chiming in before Melina can retort. ¡°And for the record, I¡¯m serious about this being good news, now that I¡¯ve had more time to think it over. Eliminating a direction means that we can safely go the opposite way. Imagine if we took off at a ninety-degree angle? We could have been moving perpendicular to the core, or in a circle instead, and the ambient mana levels would never change. If you look at it from that perspective, this is a huge time saver in the end.¡±

    ¡°Huh, I didn¡¯t think of it that way. Good idea, even though I think you made that up on the spot,¡± Mikko says, winking at me. ¡°Let¡¯s pick up the pace. I¡¯ll bet we can get back in a quarter of an hour if we jog. Lionel¡¯s right; there¡¯s no more underbrush or roots in our way, so the path is open.¡±

    We take Mikko¡¯s challenge, setting off at a steady lope as though we¡¯re a pack of wolves on the hunt. I¡¯ve always been fascinated by their capacity to run at a low, constant speed for hours and hours on end, coursing after prey until they win by sheer dint of superior endurance. That¡¯s us. A pack of wolves. Superior predators. Not to be messed with! I think, grinning as we run back the way we came.

    All of our hard work training with Ember is paying off now. We run at a good clip, able to talk and move without running out of breath. Mikko takes the lead and sets the pace, relying on his [Iron Skin] for protection and [Greater Endurance] to keep him moving. Our mood is rising like the morning sun, warm and jubilant.

    And then the path disappears.

    We stumble to a halt, glancing around in confusion at the sudden wall of vines blocking our way forward. I squat down and peer at the weeds and bushes in our path, checking for the marks we left on the ground. Signs of cuts from our earlier passing are there, but they¡¯ve healed over like scar tissue covering old wounds.

    ¡°Are we back at the beginning?¡± Mikko asks, a note of uncertainty in his voice. He seems to know the answer already, but he still looks at me with such a hopeful expression that I feel guilty delivering the bad news.

    ¡°This is between the first and second marker, as near as I can tell. See here? There are cuts on the vines, grown over like scabs. We came through here, all right, but the forest is taking back what belongs to it.¡±

    A vine unfurls behind us, crossing the path and threading into the tangled net of long, ropey roots and branches on the other side. A dozen more overly-bright green tendrils join the first, weaving through each other to heal the pathway we hacked through the trees. They quiver with so much mana that I can see it with my naked eye, growing as fast as thought, flourishing like no plant is able to back on our plane.

    ¡°It¡¯s boxing us in,¡± Melina breathes.

    Fear rises in my teammates, crashing and urgent like a crescendo. I know that I have to do something before panic renders them frozen in place, incapable of action until it¡¯s too late. If we stay where we are, the living jungle will strangle us where we stand.

    Cursing, Mikko jumps forward and slices away the growth with his trusty machete. ¡°Let the forest try to kill us! As many times as it rises up, I¡¯ll cut it down again. Let¡¯s move!¡±

    I attune to sharpness, weaving a lattice of mana filaments many times finer than a single human hair. Flinging out my hand, I unleash the attack, slicing a swath of vines from the trees to make a road broad enough for us to run side by side. We surge into action, charging down the new path as fast as we can while Avelina blasts aside trunks and tendrils alike with brief bursts of fire from her wand.

    Grateful for my brother¡¯s steadying presence, I run close beside Mikko, drawing strength from his steely determination. With him here to shield us, we just might make it through. Yet I can¡¯t shake the feeling that we¡¯re heading straight for a trap.

    ¡°Keep a sharp eye out!¡± I roar, abandoning all pretense of stealth. ¡°Lizards are the least of our worries, now. The Rift is aware of us. I¡¯m almost certain that it¡¯s seeking equilibrium. If we cut something down, it will regrow it. The trees don¡¯t seem malevolent, at least not yet, but the more we fight, the more likely it is that the jungle will see us as interlopers.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Melina yells, running up to join our efforts. She creates a few localized temporal fields in front of Mikko and Lionel¡¯s blades, allowing them to put less force into their swings but still accelerate the cuts enough to cause the same amount of destruction. ¡°Trees aren¡¯t sentient, Nuri!¡±

    ¡°Not outside a Rift,¡± I reply grimly, supplementing the violence against the vines blocking our path with an invisible blade of sharpness and clearing out a dozen strides of trees with one burst of mana. ¡°Down here? Nothing is off limits. If this jungle gets angry enough, it might try to remove us directly. I know it sounds crazy, Melina. Trust me, I get it. But I¡¯m not willing to risk my survival by debating whether or not the trees are sentient. Throw away everything you think you know about how the world works, Mel.¡±

    ¡°That seems like a good way to get ourselves killed,¡± Melina grumbles. ¡°Just because the world works differently inside a Rift doesn¡¯t mean that nothing applies. There are still rules! There are always rules, Nuri. We just have to figure out what they are.¡±

    ¡°Work on that when we¡¯re safe. We need to get back to the portal and reconsider if we¡¯re ready to delve any deeper today. It might be better to cut our losses and come back when we¡¯re properly kitted out to deal with heavy brush. Might need axes and saws.¡±

    ¡°Or a flamethrower!¡± Avelina yells.

    ¡°That¡¯s you, Ava,¡± Lionel replies.

    ¡°Incoming!¡± Melina warns.

    A moment later, I sense it too, a trio of strong mana signatures gnawing at the edge of my consciousness. I shout, spinning to my left and striking out with [Greater Heat Manipulation]. I flood the area with my Skill, draining the heat from the environment¡ªand, more importantly, naturalizing the energy to match my own. A second later, three of the same type of lizards we fought earlier crash through the undergrowth.

    ¡°On it!¡± Mikko growls, hurling his machete at the first monster and unslinging his glass hammer for follow up.

    The armored lizard disappears in a puff of quick-cast mana, blinking forward past the projectile instead of dodging.

    Mikko chops his feet and comes to a halt, slack-jawed in shock at the unexpected Skill on display from the monster. He yelps and twists aside just enough to avoid losing his throat to a razor-sharp claw strike. For all his speed, he¡¯s not fast enough to get out of the way. The tips of the monster¡¯s talons catch his shoulder, slicing through his tunic and vest and digging deep furrows across his muscular frame, despite his [Iron Skin].

    ¡°Mikko!¡± Lionel screams, dashing over.

    Mikko smacks away the lizard, bellowing in pain and rage as he gains distance from the threats. He lifts his glass hammer and lays about with savage blows, knocking two of them over, but their armor holds.

    ¡°You¡¯re poisoned,¡± Lionel says, sprinting over to Mikko¡¯s side. He ducks away from the prowling lizards and places a hand on Mikko¡¯s bleeding wounds. ¡°[Lesser Neutralizing Touch]. That¡¯s the best I¡¯ve got, big guy. You¡¯ve gotta fight it off on your own!¡±

    Mikko sweeps Lionel out of the way of a snapping lizard, pushing our [Healer] behind him with one muscular arm. He lurches forward and kicks out, sending a lizard spinning into a tree. The bark splinters, sending shards of razor-edged crystals all over, but the hit is enough to stun the monster momentarily.

    The hulking [Blacksmith] crushes the lizard¡¯s skull with a massive, empowered swing. He trembles with rage, howling like an ancient, bloody god of vengeance incarnate, and lumbers after the other two.

    The cunning monsters break rank, dashing away from Avelina¡¯s searing streaks of fire and splitting up to force us to choose between them. They dart into the twisted cover of brush and tangled roots, and disappear into the thicket.

    For a minute I think they¡¯ve fled, and my shoulders sag in relief. My intermittent mana senses kick in again just then, however, and I spin around in alarm as I realize that the pair is doubling back. I track their mana signatures as they pick up pace. They¡¯re sprinting straight toward Melina, the most vulnerable member of our team.

    ¡°Avelina! Protect your sister!¡± I yell, running back to our [Gaffer], who throws up a slow field on either side of her to buy time.

    The scaled beasts burst from the cover of the jungle, converging on Melina. One goes down to a fireball, but it screams and rolls in the dirt, extinguishing the flames. The other hits the temporal phenomenon and strains to keep moving, pitting its might against Melina¡¯s magic. It slows just enough to allow Melina to run off in the opposite direction.

    I see the battle unfolding with sudden clarity. Mikko stomps toward the heavily-armored lizard, but he¡¯s not going to make it in time to save Melina now that the first monster is back on its feet and gathering itself to pounce.

    It¡¯s up to me to act.

    Before Mikko can reach the monsters, I seize control of the mana in the air, contesting the ambient energy with my own. I cast [Vitrification] through the mana I¡¯ve claimed, forcing it to bend to my vision of what could be. Despite lacking a physical connection, the Skill flares to life, leaping like lightning along the ethereal pathway I¡¯ve traced out in my mind.

    The pair of slavering monsters shiver, vibrating in place as the Skill imposes my will on them, and their heads transmute to glass, killing them instantly as the brain stem is severed by the merciless, unyielding nature of [Vitrification].

    I drop to one knee, panting with the exertion of surpassing my limits, but there¡¯s no time to rest on my accomplishments. All too aware of our vulnerable position¡ªfighting with Skills is like sending up beacons of mana, inviting more monsters to join the fray¡ªI push myself harder than I have in ages, seeking outward with my sputtering mana sense. I can¡¯t let my team down. I can¡¯t let monsters ambush my team. They¡¯re my friends. My family.

    I can¡¯t remain weak forever.

    More enemy signatures suddenly show up in my awareness. The mana in the immediate vicinity paints a picture in mind so vividly that it almost hurts, outlining locations and shapes with startling clarity, but I have to do more. I grit my teeth, gather up most of the remaining mana in my glass pseudo cores, and push.

    Something deep inside me thrums in recognition of what¡¯s happening. My mana churns and dances, roiling like an angry sea during a tempest. Magic flows freely, moving to the grand, esoteric rhythms of a many-splendored, unseen will that¡¯s vast and domineering, like a red sky at sunrise that presages a coming thunderstorm.

    A long-awaited chime sounds deep in my soul, filling me with glee and gratitude in equal measure, but I shake my head and ignore the temptation to check on what I¡¯ve received. I don¡¯t have time to sink inward and examine the name of my new Skill, not now when our blood is up and battle rages around us. Nonetheless, I know instinctively from the shape and flavor of the hundreds upon hundreds of runes etched upon my soul that it¡¯s an upgraded version of my old [Manasight], which I¡¯ve been desperately trying to earn again for months. I hope it¡¯s combined with some sort of Viewing functionality that my [Inquisitor] friends tried to teach me.

    I force myself to my feet and grab Avelina¡¯s arm to keep from collapsing from dizziness as I push beyond my limits. Knowing what¡¯s at stake, I tap into my newest Skill. Regardless of the name, I recognize just enough to know it¡¯s useful. Details can wait for when we¡¯re alive and on the other side of the fight.

    I channel my mana, nearly spent from so many quick casts of sharpness in a row, into mapping out the region around us. I¡¯m not down to the last dregs yet, but I¡¯m uncomfortably close to where I¡¯ll need to start rationing my Skill use if I don¡¯t want to drain myself dry.

    Especially with a third Skill.

    An intricate network of mana blossoms in my mind. Mikko, Lionel, Melina, Avelina¡ªeach one of them stands out like delicate flowers growing on a lattice framework of pure energy. And worming toward us in virulent, vibrant tones are a score of the scaled lizards, about three to four hundred paces out. They¡¯re led by an intense mana signature, a beast that¡¯s half again as large as the rest of them and glowing with a strange sense of violence.

    Just like the portal, a distant part of me observes with interest. Something to discuss with Melina while we piece together the rules of this strange place. But first, we have to survive this upcoming battle. From what I can see with my expanded mana senses, that¡¯s no easy task.

    ¡°Rift boss!¡± I yell in a panic, pointing toward the threat. I¡¯m almost certain that I¡¯m wrong, but I don¡¯t want them to underestimate the threat. A true Rift boss usually lives nearer to the Rift¡¯s core, and we haven¡¯t reached high enough mana density to justify my hasty conclusion. Yet I¡¯ve never encountered a creature like this before, one so in tune with a specific concept that it¡¯s tangible on my tongue. I taste the warping in the air, that curdled-milk wrongness that ought not be, and it terrifies me more than I let on.

    The others spin around, torn between determination and dread. I grit my teeth and force out the words, eyes squeezed shut to deal with the headache. ¡°A pack of them are heading this way! On the other side of us from the last time. I¡¯m seeing at least eighteen¡ªno, twenty-three. Form up. We only have about fifteen or twenty seconds until they get here.¡±

    Melina tilts her head to the side, looking at the forest with pursed lips. ¡°I don¡¯t sense a thing, Nuri. You sure?¡± Her thoughtful expression suddenly shifts, and her face lights up. ¡°New mana sensing Skill? Took you long enough.¡±

    I nod curtly. This isn¡¯t the time to boast, but I can¡¯t help but smile at Melina anyway. ¡°Yes, new Skill. Well spotted, but we¡¯ll talk later. Avelina, we need you. Summon your flames. Hold nothing back, you hear me? It¡¯s do or die time. Burn them all.¡±

    Avelina nods, a savage grin spreading across her face. She lowers me down to the dirt, pats my arm, and steps past me with her wand in hand. ¡°My turn, Nuri. You¡¯ve done more than enough already. Get some rest.¡± She spins the fire-aspected wand once, sets herself, and takes a deep breath as the blood-curdling baying of the predators reaches us. ¡°Let me show you how far I¡¯ve come. [Adjuration of the Phoenix].¡±

    My newest Skill is still running when she taps into the power of the mythical Phoenix, unveiling the power of the Skill dominating her core space. I am not prepared for the sudden bloom of harsh, pale light as a seemingly endless flood of energy rushes in from elsewhere. A hundred new runes I¡¯ve never seen before blaze into glorious, overwhelming crimson.

    I cry out, a sunburst of pain blossoming in my brain, as more information than I can handle surges through me. I see not only the flow of mana, not only the runes etched on the Skill in Avelina¡¯s inner world, but also a glimmer of insight into the concepts from which they¡®re distilled. It¡¯s too much for me: the grit of sand and rust dragged across a naked eye, the char of burnt-bones in the nostrils, the despair of¡ª

    I shut down the Skill, sinking down to the ground and shaking from sudden withdrawal as my mana disappears. The beasts arrive a second later, slavering and snarling, and are met in turn by a scintillating lightshow. Flames hotter than even I can produce pour forth from the wand Avelina and I made together, outshining the sun, transforming the entire world into light and heat and unbearable, all-consuming power. Hot, hungry tongues of orange-white fire in its purest form engulf them, immolating the lizards and melting skin and scale alike.

    Only the big lizard remains by the time Avelina¡¯s flames gutter out. Her eyes roll back in her head, and she slumps over, falling to the dirt next to me with a thud. I check her pulse to make sure she¡¯s still breathing, then turn back toward the smoking battlefield. A mana signature still flutters weakly, and it draws my attention like a moth to the flame.

    Heh. No pun intended.

    The leader of the pack teeters toward us, swaying and stumbling. Its mana is sluggish as it tries to rally enough energy for a Skill, but it¡¯s clear from its shaking knees and lolling tongue that it doesn¡¯t have much strength left. I glance over at Mikko, expecting him to crush it with his hammer, but for the second time in this fight, he¡¯s too slow to act.

    ¡°Die, ya oversized salamander!¡± Lionel screams, emerging from his hiding place in the shade of a tall, sprawling tree. He leaps up behind the lizard, his glass rapier in hand and his arm extended, dashing forward like an arrow shot from a bow. The glittering glass point pierces the brute¡¯s skull, ending its life and snuffing out the gathering mana.

    Whooping in exhilaration at the clean kill, Lionel braces his boot against the neck of the corpse and pushes with his legs while he tugs on the handle, ripping the weapon free.

    ¡°Nice one, Lio!¡± I shout.

    Mikko moves up to congratulate Lionel, wrapping him in a one-armed hug. ¡°Look at you go! Most fearsome [Healer] around.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± Lionel boasts, slapping Mikko on the back. He pulls away and puffs out his chest. ¡°I¡¯d like to see how we¡¯d do against that flaming bear now. We¡¯re way stronger than we were a few months ago.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope that we don¡¯t have to face anything on that level until Ava and I regenerate our mana, since we¡¯re the main damage. Lionel, can you check that she¡¯s all right? I think she overdrew her power. Mikko, stand guard?¡± I ask.

    My brother slams his glass hammer down against the ground, sending up a shockwave of dirt and dead leaves. ¡°Nothing gets by me. Do your thing, bro.¡±

    I offer him a tired smile and settle down on the ground, sinking inward to examine my new Skill properly. Excitement courses through me when I turn my inner sight on the brand new Skill structure that rises up in my core space, soaring above the rest. It¡¯s absolutely colossal, folded in on itself in a bewildering, spellbinding fashion, and every bit of its surface is covered in runes I don¡¯t recognize yet. I can¡¯t wait to catalog and decipher them with Rakesh and Melina to help me.

    I drift closer, borne aloft on wings of willpower, and circle around the monumental Skill to see its true name. Emblazoned on the side is a pristine golden banner. Bold words etched across it in midnight-black ink that seems to drink in the light proclaim the title:

    [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil]

    What¡¯s a domain? I wonder.

    I¡¯ve never heard a name like it before, although as I drift closer I realize that I recognize at least a few of the constituent runes. As I suspected, the base is a heavily-upgraded variant of [Manasight], but the rest of the Skill is new to me. The odd, three-dimensional map that extends my mana senses over many hundreds of paces is powerful already; the second half of the Skill, however, is what truly excites me. Based on the way I almost blinded my spiritual senses when Avelina activated her Skill, all my hard work to look beyond, as Casella instructed me, is finally paying off in a big way.

    A grin splits my face, making my cheeks ache. If I¡¯m right, I¡¯ve achieved some measure of proficiency in Viewing, the ability to peer into someone¡¯s core space.

    Maybe now I can finally suss out how Mbukhe melts into the shadows. If I can find a way to transfer that to a bracelet or necklace, then I can keep Lionel safe. He can dance around the battlefield, cloaked in shadow, emerging at opportune moments to heal¡ªor to reap lives.

    My mind is spinning at the thought of how my new Skill will eventually empower my teammates, but I put it aside for now. I open my eyes, climb to my feet, and take stock of our situation. Wincing at the pain in my head, I nevertheless push forward, gathering the remains of my mana and reactivating my new Skill: [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil]. I feed all my remaining mana into it, straining to encompass as much of this strange Rift as possible in my new arcane domain.

    My consciousness billows outward as my mana sweeps across the strange realm we¡¯ve invaded. I don¡¯t reach any limits of my sight, at least not within the first few seconds. I don¡¯t have much left to give, but the Skill drinks it all down greedily, seemingly endless in its thirst for more and more power. The further my mana travels, the larger the map that begins to build itself in my mind.

    Our position fills itself in on the glowing, arcane lines that delimit the space we¡¯ve traveled. There¡¯s an anomaly a ways up ahead that I presume is the portal back to the surface. It feels cooler than the oppressive heat of the jungle, but also less antagonistic.

    I roam through my expanding domain, aware of everything in stunning detail. I stumble across a roving pack of more monsters, pinpointing their location and making a mental note to avoid them until we are recovered enough for a full-on fight. Their signatures are different from the lizard monsters we¡¯ve seen so far. I don¡¯t sense any Skill usage, but based on the feedback from my Skill, they feel physically stronger. If I had to gauge their combat prowess, I¡¯d put them somewhere in the middle stage of the First Threshold¡ªabove our group, at least individually. Our teamwork and imbued glass equipment might make up the gap.

    I¡¯m almost out of mana, but I keep up my silent cartography. The more information we have to work with, the more likely our delve is successful. Still, some limits are hard and fast. I¡¯m low on energy, and the Skill doesn¡¯t seem to want to expand much past its current range without more power. At the ragged edges of my awareness, a long, unnaturally straight line appears. It takes me a moment to figure out what it is, but as I concentrate on the structure I¡¯ve discovered, walls and towers take shape in an eerie, glowing mental map.

    Aha! They¡¯re ruins! They look like a mirror image of the towers above us. But how in the abyss did the Old Keep manifest inside a Rift? Perhaps Melina will have more insight into it than I do. I might claim to be an expert in Rifts, but it¡¯s mostly practical experience, not scholarly learning. Melina might have an idea of what¡¯s happening, or at least she might be able to help me form a workable theory.

    In the very center of the twisting maze of walls, right where the old throne room probably resides, a dense spot I presume is the core blazes in my mind. It¡¯s a bonfire, a beacon, a burst of starlight against the dark of the night sky.

    Just as I¡¯m about to end the Skill, since I¡¯m running out of mana and I should probably report on my findings to the team, my domain shudders. I pull back instinctively to try to hide, but it¡¯s too late. I¡¯ve brushed up against a cold, twisted aura, an alien presence here in the Rift alongside us.

    And unless I miss my mark, it¡¯s angry.

 B4 C23: Evasive Tactics

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    I shrink back from the oppressive presence, feeling small and alone in the face of overwhelming power. Gasping for breath, I shut off my new Skill and clamp down on my mana. My body is trembling, wrung out from the emotional rise and fall of the day and from the strain of expanding my core space without the proper support of a working core and channels. The glass cores can only help so much; now that I¡¯ve earned a third Skill, I¡¯m struggling to function properly, and it¡¯s dragging down my entire being¡ªbody, soul, and mind.

    The last several hours crash over me again. The meteoric heights of our victorious clash with the lizard monsters and finally earning a new Skill. The abyssal depths of stumbling across something greater than I can truly fathom. The constant, nagging worry for my teammates. The mystery of the Rift that¡¯s clearly not a Rift.

    It¡¯s all too much.

    I fall back bonelessly, collapsing into the soft, pink ferns and moss that cover the jungle floor like a luxurious carpet. For a long moment, I don¡¯t move¡ªcan¡¯t move. My breath is a reedy, rasping rattle that comes quick and shallow. I stare up at the purple sun in the foreboding sky, licking my dry lips, and fight the urge to vomit. At times like this, when I reach the end of myself, I wonder why I¡¯m driven to explore and create. I love adventure, but why can¡¯t I just be content to stay home with my family? I miss them right now.

    ¡°Nuri, be calm. You¡¯re safe now,¡± Lionel says softly, placing a hand on my forehead. He smiles down at me, although the skin around his eyes is tight with worry over my condition. Still, it¡¯s more reassuring than I ever thought Lionel could be; for all his goofiness, he¡¯s taken well to becoming a [Healer].

    Like a cool breeze on a summer¡¯s day, the refreshing mana from his Skill sinks into me, easing the effects of overdrawing my magic and clashing against a strange entity so far beyond me. The [Healing Touch] flows through my body like a gentle stream, washing away the anxiety and damage from the inside out, leaving me feeling clear-headed and more stable.

    Melina joins Lionel by my side, kneeling in the spongy undergrowth where I¡¯ve fallen. Her face is creased in concern. She tuts at my condition, mops my sweaty, sticky brow with a handkerchief, and helps me drink from my flask of water. ¡°We need to keep moving, Nuri. Can you walk, or does Mikko need to carry you?¡±

    ¡°Unsure. Give me a moment.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll cradle you like a baby if you need me. But I¡¯d prefer it if you get up,¡± Mikko says. He smiles at me in his good-natured way, but there¡¯s a tightness in his voice and a trembling in his hands that¡¯s hard to hide. Our battles have shaken him more than he lets on.

    ¡°Melina¡¯s right. We can¡¯t stay here. Something found us. Someone, maybe? I¡¯m not sure what it was. Hide your mana signatures and move,¡± I croak out. Whatever that vast, alien will belongs to, it¡¯s buzzing with wrath and a sense of wrongness, like a mouthful of vinegar setting my teeth on edge. I withdraw my mana further, terrified that I¡¯m too easy to find.

    Ignoring the burn in my channels, I extract the last few precious drops of energy from my glass pseudo cores and bring them within. I hide them in my mana pool to separate them from the outside world. The barrier won¡¯t last forever, not with my broken condition, but if I focus hard enough, then I can keep this small amount of mana imprisoned.

    ¡°One thing at a time,¡± Melina says crisply. ¡°We¡¯ll deal with that after we make sure you¡¯re all right. Let us help you, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, but we should get moving,¡± I mumble, although I¡¯m still too drained from the strange encounter to stand up. Whatever my new [Arcane Domain] Skill is, clearly I can¡¯t take it lightly. I need to be more careful when I¡¯m testing things out.

    Mikko forces a chuckle, drawing closer to listen in to our conversation. He never takes his eyes off the tree line, however, and his glass hammer is still in his hands. ¡°Your call, bro. You know I¡¯d love to tell the story of how I had to rescue you from a Rift. You''re not going to take that joy from me, are you?¡±

    ¡°Help me up? If I can¡¯t walk, then you get to play hero and carry me. But we shouldn¡¯t stay here any longer than we have to.¡±

    ¡°What did you see, Nuri? Is something after us?¡± Melina asks. She twists her fingers into the handkerchief. ¡°What was it, anyway?¡±

    I shrug, at a loss for words.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like you to go all silent on us,¡± Avelina says, her head poking into my view just above her twin¡¯s face. She casts a shadow on me, blocking the sun overhead. The shade is a relief to my burning eyes, which sting from the bright sunlight. She squints down at me from just above Lionel and Melina. ¡°Something got you spooked, huh?¡±

    ¡°Guess so. I . . . I found something. Or it found me. Within my new Domain. And I think it¡¯s sending company our way,¡± I whisper, my eyes darting around nervously. ¡°Don¡¯t use mana. It can sense us.¡±

    ¡°You said that already,¡± Melina says patiently, but she shares a quick, worried look with Lionel that makes me concerned that I might be worse off than I realized.

    ¡°No time to argue. We need to go!¡± I say, my voice low and urgent as I beg them to listen to me. I¡¯m pleading: my voice, my eyes, my posture. So why aren¡¯t they paying attention?

    Melina nods her head. ¡°I trust your judgment, Nuri, but you hardly look like you¡¯re in a condition to run. Let¡¯s head back to the inn and rest up.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t even know what we¡¯re dealing with yet. I hate leaving without more information about what we¡¯re up against,¡± I say, sitting up. As soon as I do, the world starts spinning around me, but I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on breathing.

    ¡°Any guesses?¡± Mikko asks.

    ¡°If I were a betting man, I¡¯d say that whatever I stumbled on¡ªwhatever noticed me¡ªis the Rift itself. It didn¡¯t feel particularly intelligent, but it¡¯s definitely aware.¡±

    Avelina groans. ¡°Great. And now it knows where we are. Mel, stop trying to convince him to take it easy. We should run while we still can!¡±

    ¡°I agree. Let¡¯s go back to the inn and regroup,¡± Mikko says, cutting in before Melina can reply to her twin. ¡°We¡¯ll talk with Rakesh and come up with a plan.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure it was the Rift?¡± Melina asks. She frowns, reaches down, and touches the back of her hand to my forehead, as if expecting me to be feverish.

    I pull away. ¡°C¡¯mon, Mel. I¡¯m worn out, not crazy. Am I sure it was the Rift? Of course I¡¯m not sure! It wasn¡¯t a being of emotion and intellect. It certainly didn¡¯t come with a label.¡± I snort through my nose in derision, and Melina smiles back at me thinly. ¡°But if I had to describe it, I¡¯d say it was, like a bundle of primal forces and urges. I couldn¡¯t tell much, but I did get the distinct impression that this is its home, and it doesn¡¯t particularly like outsiders. We¡¯re intruders, and it¡¯s probably going to defend itself. Does that make sense?¡±

    ¡°All the more reason to get out of here.¡± Mikko reaches down and hauls me up to my feet after I explain my theory. ¡°Take a few steps. I¡¯ve got you.¡±

    I¡¯m still wobbling like a newborn calf, but between my brother¡¯s strong hand holding me up, and Lionel¡¯s restorative [Healing Touch], it¡¯s enough to get me shuffling again. I turn and walk toward the portal back to the real world on shaky legs, but an instant later, I draw short with a sharp intake of breath.

    The eye-searing, overly-green vines are moving again, slithering like snakes instead of plants. It defies my understanding of the natural order, but there¡¯s no denying what¡¯s right in front of my eyes. The thick vines, covered in a profusion of wildflowers, grow across the path as though an entire season just went by in the time it takes me to blink. They choke off the way back to where we entered the Rift.

    I can¡¯t help but think that the trees and vines are following orders from the immense presence I encountered earlier¡ªmarionettes moving to the puppetmaster¡¯s commands. It¡¯s not going to let us out, not this easily. The thought makes me shudder, as though someone poured cold ice water down my back.

    ¡°Don¡¯t cut a path,¡± I snap, stopping Mikko as he¡¯s about to swing his machete. ¡°We don¡¯t want to alert it to the damage we¡¯re causing. Something tells me that hurting the plants will only tick it off. Pull your mana inward and clamp down. All of you. No scanning, no Skills to boost yourself. Try to hide while we move, so it can¡¯t find where we went.¡±

    The bite in my voice seems to be enough to convince my friends to listen to me at last. They fall in line, and we set off at a right angle to our original path, slipping through gaps in the brush. It¡¯s slow going, but I¡¯m serious about not disturbing the equilibrium of the place. Who knows how the Rift will respond if we anger it further?

    Mikko supports me with one hand, his glass hammer in the other, and leans close to talk quietly as we walk. ¡°We should still try to leave. Let¡¯s circle around and make for the portal. It¡¯s a bad idea to stay without better preparation.¡±

    ¡°We can try, but what if it¡¯s got a way to defend the exit? Let¡¯s find a place to hole up and recover first. I need mana, and so does Avelina. We can¡¯t fight our way through right now.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± Mikko growls.

    ¡°Me neither, but I don¡¯t see a way around it,¡± I reply. ¡°Until we¡¯re back in fighting shape, it¡¯s just you against whatever bars the way. Melina¡¯s great at supporting, but she isn¡¯t a fighter like you are. Lionel¡¯s not a good matchup for the armored lizards, either, if we¡¯re honest.¡±

    Mikko grunts, but I can tell my argument will win him over. Running into a single pack of monsters will doom us all. Avelina and I are the only ones with viable ranged firepower.

    Our group trudges along, huddled together for support. We don¡¯t talk much, saving our energy in case of an emergency. Every shadow grows more ominous by the minute. The longer we go without encountering an enemy, the worse fate my mind¡¯s eye conjures up.

    As we hike deeper we move into the forest, I¡¯m amazed by the sheer variety of plant life all around us. This space is far more vibrant than any of the Rifts I¡¯ve been in before, with both old growth and new. It seems more established, somehow, like it¡¯s lived in; the roots go down deep. The sensation is so strong that it¡¯s hard to reconcile this foreign place with my experience of other Rifts. In the same vein, the wild riot of color seems at odds with the malevolence of the entity I encountered. What¡¯s actually going on here?

    ¡°This place feels alive,¡± I mutter. ¡°Not like a Rift at all. The colors are all wrong, but the world itself is real.¡±

    Melina shivers involuntarily. ¡°Other Rifts aren¡¯t real? You mean that you got pulled into a dream, or a parallel dimension? What makes this one different from before?¡±

    I pause to catch my breath, leaning on Mikko¡¯s arm for support. ¡°Yeah. Rifts are real, but not in the way you¡¯re used to¡ªthey¡¯re like an idea made solid, a manifestation of imagination. The ineffable becomes tangible for a brief moment, all powered by the primordial miracle of raw mana.¡±

    ¡°Poetic,¡± Avelina snickers.

    I narrow my eyes at her, but otherwise I don''t rise to the challenge. ¡°Thing is, Mel, they¡¯re not like our world, with history and permanence. Maybe the ones with Labyrinths come close, if the Wraiths have a real civilization like Tem says, but I don¡¯t know enough to say either way.¡±

    Deep baying in the distance cuts me off. The eerie, basso sounds resonate the entire world, like the ringing of a struck bell. The ground vibrates; my rib cage rattles.

    ¡°Bloodhound trackers,¡± Mikko growls.

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna die in here,¡± Lionel moans.

    I snap my fingers. ¡°No, this is good!¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Mikko demands, scowling.

    ¡°Fine, guess it¡¯s both good news and bad news. But look on the bright side: it means that the Rift needs eyes and ears. I don¡¯t know how much it can sense through the trees and plants we''re touching, or if it can triangulate our position through the tremors of the earth when we walk, but I¡¯ll bet almost anything that it sent these dogs after us, which means it¡¯s not able to track us without help.¡±

    ¡°They sound like they¡¯re coming from the direction of the exit,¡± Melina says. She pulls the straps of her pack tighter, like she¡¯s getting ready to run. ¡°Might mean that doubling back so we can return to the inn will need to wait after all.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s go to the last place they¡¯d expect. We¡¯ll head inward, toward the core.¡±

    ¡°So we can destroy it?¡± Avelina asks.

    I nod grimly. ¡°Burn it all.¡±

    ¡°Burn it all,¡± Avelina repeats reverently, with almost religious fervor. She lifts her jaw and squares her shoulders, a new determination burning in her eyes.

    Lionel tugs on my sleeve. ¡°Hey, remember when we used to steal milk from old [Farmer] Yttin? I went by myself one day, and he sicced the dogs on me to teach me a lesson. I knew I couldn''t outrun ¡®em, so I climbed a tree near his field, waited until they lost interest, and then backtracked by swinging from branch to branch. He never expected me to come back to the scene of the crime.¡±

    ¡°Clever,¡± I say. ¡°Same plan?¡±

    Lionel winks. ¡°Swiped his lunch on my way home, too. Let¡¯s see if we can do the same thing here.¡±

    ¡°I like the plan. Let¡¯s give it a go.¡± I lean my head back, squinting up at the pastel colored tangled canopy soaring far overhead. ¡°One problem. I don¡¯t think we can climb that.¡±

    ¡°I still think it¡¯s smarter to get out instead of looking for the core,¡± Mikko says, glaring at every bush with suspicion. He hefts his glass hammer in his free hand. ¡°I¡¯ll fight if we have to, but I don¡¯t want the entire realm coming after us and tearing us apart.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Lio has a point. Most intruders will flee, not try to infiltrate the Rift¡¯s seat of power. They¡¯re going to block the exit, but I¡¯m afraid they¡¯re heading our way already. It¡¯s not going to take long to pick up our trail.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly selling this plan,¡± Avelina says, chewing on her lip. ¡°But as much as I hate to admit it, I¡¯m useless in a fight until I regain my mana. Regeneration is pretty fast in here, though. It¡¯s nice.¡±

    ¡°Careful not to overdo it,¡± I caution. ¡°We still don¡¯t know how much the Rift can sense. If we¡¯re sloppy, we might as well put out a sign announcing where we¡¯re hiding.¡±

    Avelina nods. ¡°Noted. We¡¯ll do it your way. Oh, I brought rope. Why not send Mikko up there with a coil? See that enormous branch? It¡¯s so big we could build a house up there! He can climb the tree and pull us up one by one.¡±

    ¡°That does sound like a dashing, heroic entry in my story about how I saved your butts in the Rift,¡± Mikko says, stroking his chin. He grins. ¡°Let¡¯s do it!¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Avelina quickly unslings her heavy pack, tossing it down to the ground with a thud. She rummages about for a brief moment, scowling fiercely with the tip of her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in concentration, and soon emerges from the back pack with a huge bundle of rope. ¡°Aha! I knew this would come in handy. Every adventure story I¡¯ve ever read needs a rope at some point. Didn¡¯t want to be the fool who¡¯s unprepared.¡±

    Mikko shrugs one end of the loop over his shoulder. He settles the thick bundle across his chest. ¡°Oof! This is heavy-duty stuff. I can¡¯t believe you dragged this with you all day.¡±

    Excited barking echoes through the jungle. I give Mikko a small shove. ¡°Show us how strong you are, bro. And for the love of all things good, hurry!¡±

    Gathering his strength, Mikko crouches down. He bursts his mana, not worrying about giving away our position now that the bloodhounds¡¯ cries are getting closer and closer, and launches himself up to the massive branch. It¡¯s easily as high as the multistory inn where we¡¯re staying in town, and as wide as one of the rooms there.

    Mikko reaches up and snags a thick, study branch sticking out of the side of the even bigger branch, swings his legs up, and straddles it like he¡¯s riding a horse. With a grunt, he pulls himself up and over to the main tree branch. The enormous tree limb is so thick that he disappears from view on top of it.

    ¡°No time to go higher!¡± Mikko calls out. He tosses down the end of the rope. ¡°Ready when you are! Tug the rope to signal the ascent.¡±

    Avelina¡¯s hands blur, tying a bowline as soon as she catches the line. She slips it over her head and shimmies until it fits snugly under her armpits. She tugs on the rope twice. ¡°Pull me up, ya big lunk!¡±

    ¡°Only you would insult your charming rescuer, Ava,¡± Mikko says with a laugh, heaving on the rope and lifting her up in the air. ¡°Ooh, look! I think I caught a big one. [Fisherman] Kofi will be so jealous!¡±

    ¡°You better not catch and release me, Ko!¡± Avelina shoots back, giggling as she reaches the top of the climb a moment later and clambers up. She braces her feet against a knob on the smaller side branch, and gestures for my brother to grab on and pull her up the rest of the way. Soon, she too disappears from sight, safely hidden beside my brother on the gigantic limb.

    ¡°For once in my life, I''m glad to be caught,¡± Avelina says, so quietly I can barely hear her. Her laughter echoes through the jungle, and she stops abruptly. ¡°Now, look out below!¡±

    ¡°Nuri next. He¡¯s about to collapse,¡± Lionel says, catching the bowline and helping me hook it in place. He also tugs twice on the line to signal that we¡¯re ready, since they can¡¯t see us over the curve of the branch, and Mikko hauls me up hand over hand.

    I spin helplessly in the air, trying and failing to ignore the pain of the rope cutting into the soft flesh under my arms. It only takes ten or fifteen seconds to reach the top, but it feels like a small eternity. And all the while, the snarling and snapping draws closer.

    ¡°Hurry!¡± Melina calls, her voice pitched low and urgent. ¡°I¡¯m just starting to pick up a few mana signatures now. We have less than a minute. I¡¯ll speed you up.¡±

    I¡¯m only halfway onto the branch by the time Avelina drags the rope off me and flings it down to her sister. I clutch at our [Flameworker] in terror, too dizzy and weak to climb up over the rough edge by myself after all I¡¯ve been through today. Tears spring up in my eyes. I¡¯m the leader; I shouldn¡¯t look so frail in front of them. I can¡¯t recall feeling so exposed and vulnerable, not even after I lost my hand in the lesser Rift, but Avelina doesn¡¯t let go.

    ¡°I''ve got you, Nuri,¡± Avelina whispers.

    ¡°I can pull you both up at once!¡± Mikko yells. ¡°Hang on and don¡¯t look down. I can see bushes swaying in the distance. They¡¯re almost here!¡±

    My heart leaps to my throat. Once Avelina hauls my body to safety on top of the broad branch, I shift sideways and peek over the edge to watch. Each time the bloodhounds on our trail howl, I flinch involuntarily. I reach back and squeeze Avelina¡¯s hand as hard as I can, not trusting myself to hang on if I lean too far over the edge.

    My eyes track Melina and Lionel with trepidation as the last two members of my team fly up in the air under the combined effects of [Strength of the Forged Gods] and [In the Blink of an Eye]. Even with their combined weight, they move more quickly than I did as Mikko heaves on the rope and grunts in exertion. I can barely stand to watch in case they fall, but I can¡¯t bear to look away, either.

    Dangling like two flies caught in a spider silk thread, my friends ascend upwards toward salvation. It feels painfully slow to me, but I have to trust that Mikko will come through. All I can do is pray that they¡¯re fast enough. If we¡¯re gone when the hounds arrive, then we can wait them out. If not¡ª

    Don¡¯t finish that thought, Nuri.

    Strong, callused hands grab hold of Melina and Lionel, pulling them up to safety. I let out a quiet sob of relief, scooting back and leaning against Avelina for support. Electric fear courses through me. My entire body threatens to go limp, but I drag myself back from the side of the big branch so that they can¡¯t see me.

    That was terrifying.

    Avelina pats my shoulder. She eases me along, guiding me down the center of the wide limb. Her voice is soft and encouraging, but her grip is like steel. She doesn¡¯t once let go until we reach the huge trunk itself, where we¡¯re hidden by the bole of the tree. I lean back against the odd, crystalline bark, side by side with my friends and plenty of room to spare, and breathe out a sigh of gratitude.

    ¡°We¡¯re alive. Good work, team.¡±

    A minute later, the ground shakes as a pack of enormous bloodhounds thunder by underneath us, circling the massive tree and sniffling the ground. Their savage barking and deep baying shifts into a frenzy of confusion and anger.

    They know we¡¯re here.

    I can¡¯t stop shaking, but Mikko grips my shoulder with his strong hands, and Avelina clasps my hand, feeding warmth from her latent flames into my cold body. I¡¯m spent, devoid of energy, but I can¡¯t relax with the raucous snarling in the clearing far beneath us.

    Close your eyes. Ignore them. Keep your mana still. Wait it out. You can do this, Nuri.

    A wet, snuffling wheeze from right below us makes my hackles rise. It''s all I can do to resist the temptation to burn them all with a blast or my [Greater Heat Manipulation], although I don¡¯t have enough mana to cast the Skill. I¡¯d gladly spend it all, even risking the potential wrath of the Rift, to clear out the hounds.

    The day seems to stretch on forever. We¡¯re frozen in time, trapped on the side of the tree with only the alien, purple sun high above to keep us company.

    After ten harrowing minutes of crisscrossing the clearing and digging in the dirt below the huge tree, the trail seems to go cold. They huff back and forth in agitation, but grow silent at last. I¡¯m terrified that they will sound the alarm, correctly deducing that we were stuck in the tree, but apparently size and speed are the only blessings of mana-empowerment. The monstrous red and black bloodhounds don¡¯t seem particularly intelligent; they¡¯re just a pack of oversized dogs, in the end.

    Enraged, the leader howls once more, deep and resonant, with blood-curdling malicious intent, and dashes away. The rest of the pack follow, likely still searching for the interlopers, and their paws thud against the ground with each mighty bound, echoing more and more faintly as they finally depart.

    They may have left us for now, but it seems like hours before my heart stops threatening to pound right out of my chest. It¡¯s not until their cries fade away completely in the distance that I can finally breathe easily again.

    =+=

    My little team of emerging adventurers looks only slightly worse for the wear after our harrowing close call. We haven¡¯t checked on the exit, still too nervous about the possibility of monsters guarding the way out to venture toward the portal. We¡¯ve been huddled up on the top of the giant tree limb for hours, taking turns resting. Two of us stay on watch on either side of the branch, anchored by the rope, while the three in the middle sleep. By the time everyone is ready to go, we¡¯ve spent nearly a day on the branch, by Melina¡¯s reckoning. She¡¯s got the best sense of time, on account of her time-related Skills, so I defer to her expertise.

    Mana harvesting is slow, since we¡¯re trying to only allow a little in at a time without letting any leak out, but we can¡¯t help the situation. We need mana in case a fight breaks out. At least the mana density inside a Rift is higher than usual, making regeneration easier.

    Despite all my practice with the mana control puzzles, I still have an uphill climb due to my cracked core. The glass pseudo cores allow me to function, but they¡¯re finicky to refill in the best of times. With the extra caution required, I¡¯m having a bad go of it. Even so, I¡¯m not much slower than Lionel, who¡¯s always struggled with mana control. I remember how embarrassed he was about mana leakage when we first started combination crafting back in Silaraon. That feels like a lifetime ago now. I should have insisted on making him solve puzzles with me for extra practice.

    The Linas show the highest aptitude for fine mana control, recharging entirely while Lionel and I are still struggling just past the halfway mark. With our strongest ranged attacker topped off at last, we finally dare to toss a second rope over to another colossal tree and begin the arduous trek through the jungle canopy, heading toward the core. After our close encounter with the tracking bloodhounds, I don¡¯t dare attempt to return to the ground.

    Thankfully, Mikko doesn¡¯t use much mana normally, since his Skills are either passives or short-duration power-ups, which means the long term mana drain isn¡¯t terrible for him. He''s still in good spirits, full of vim and vigor, and in many ways he¡¯s better suited for this life of adventure than I am.

    Lionel, on the other hand, is sweating, cursing under his breath as he leaks mana in fits and starts. He''s always had the lowest aptitude for controlling his mana, unable to fully suppress his energy flows, but the extra pressure of the tense situation seems to exacerbate the problem, and it¡¯s clearly bothering him.

    ¡°Need a mana regulator?¡± Avelina asks.

    Lionel glowers at the mercurial [Flameworker]. ¡°Probably. Why, got one in your pack? Maybe it¡¯s next to the pile of gold bars and pixie dust.¡±

    ¡°Nope! Just tossing out an idea.¡±

    ¡°Your ideas stink,¡± Lionel grouses.

    ¡°Just be glad I didn¡¯t call it a mana diaper,¡± Avelina says, rolling her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s more fitting, anyway, since you¡¯re being such a baby.¡±

    ¡°Ava! Be nice," I chide her. How can she be so sweet sometimes, and so annoying a heartbeat later? We never did find a good solution for Lionel¡¯s mana deficiencies, but I¡¯m not about to bring it up to him. What¡¯s the point in making him feel bad?

    ¡°Sorry, Lio,¡± Avelina mumbles.

    Lionel quirks a half-smile. ¡°Forgiven and forgotten. We¡¯re a team, after all. Besides, it¡¯s hypocritical of me to complain about teasing.¡±

    I sidle up to Lionel and place a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Why don''t you take a break?¡± I say. ¡°We can work on improving your mana control another time. Just lay low and recover your energy. Don''t worry about the Rift. I¡ªwell, I may have gone overboard when I described the threat. In fact, I suspect that unless I¡¯m actively seeking out its presence, it can¡¯t actually sense us based on Skill usage alone.¡±

    ¡°You seemed pretty convinced earlier, ranting about how we were all gonna die,¡± Lionel says, still looking miffed over his continued trouble with moderating his mana.

    ¡°Yeah, but that was before the bloodhounds sniffed around and failed to find us. I just got spooked,¡± I say. I let out a shaky laugh. ¡°If you felt what I felt, then you''d be nervous too. But feelings ought to be subordinate to facts. Tem taught me that. Always check your gut feeling against what you can observe, and adjust your conclusions accordingly.¡±

    Melina smiles softly. ¡°Sounds like a few hours of sleep was good for you,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear you sounding more like yourself and less like a raving prophet of doom.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s still plenty of time for doom to strike,¡± I say morosely. ¡°But now that we know the immediate danger is past, Skills should be fine. I still think that we should strike a course for the core.¡±

    ¡°Point me at it,¡± Avelina says. ¡°If you can burn one out, then so can I. My wand and I are itching for some more fire action.¡±

    ¡°And maybe I can even help you keep your hand intact,¡± Lionel snickers. ¡°It might stretch my healing magic to the limit, but I¡¯ll do my best to help you not end up like Nuri.¡±

    Avelina pats her left hand and smirks at me. ¡°That¡¯s a relief. I already have one annoying twin. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want another.¡±

    ¡°Twinship is about blood relation and birth, Ava,¡± Melina says. ¡°Just because you might theoretically have matching missing limbs after braving the Rift core doesn''t mean that¡ª¡±

    Melina breaks off from her speech when her sister dissolves into giggles. She crosses her arms and sniffs. ¡°I can¡¯t believe that I fell for that dumb act again. You¡¯re incorrigible, Ava.¡±

    Lionel chuckles. ¡°She got you good!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just too much fun to tease, Mel,¡± Avelina says innocently. ¡°But I do appreciate that you¡¯re always willing to explain things to me. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve got my own walking national Index, right here beside me.¡±

    Melina gives them both a death glare. ¡°Avelina¡¯s theatrics notwithstanding, the point remains that we don¡¯t precisely know which way to go.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I have enough Mana to power up my skill again,¡± I admit. ¡°And I don''t know if I want to, either. I do wonder if I can access my new map without extending my senses and intruding where I¡¯m not welcome. That was not a pleasant experience.¡±

    ¡°Worth a shot. We¡¯re all rested up, and I think Avelina¡¯s recovered enough to burn up any monsters from relative safety up here. We¡¯re in a good spot,¡± Mikko says.

    ¡°Unless they¡¯re flying monsters.¡±

    ¡°Shut up, Lio!¡± I say, laughing as I elbow my friend in the ribcage. ¡°You¡¯re not helping boost the team morale right now.¡±

    Lionel smiles at me beatifically. ¡°On the contrary, my [Healer] senses tell me that I¡¯m directly and drastically improving everyone¡¯s mental health right now. You wouldn¡¯t want to interfere with a professional at work, would you, Boss?¡±

    ¡°And what do your ¡®[Healer] senses¡¯ say would happen if I pushed you right off the tree?¡± I reply, cackling at the mock expression of horror on Lionel¡¯s face.

    ¡°All right, boys, knock it off before I knock your heads off,¡± Mikko says in a falsetto voice that¡¯s a perfect facsimile of our mother¡¯s warning tone.

    Lionel and I glance at each other and start chuckling. I shake my head at my brother. ¡°Nice to be reminded of home. That¡¯s uncanny, Mikko.¡±

    ¡°Thought you could use a reminder,¡± he says, his eyes crinkling up as he grins at me. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get moving. We¡¯re burning daylight.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think the sun ever sets here,¡± Melina points out. She scrunches up her nose. ¡°I wish it did. Purple looks strange on you. I¡¯m not used to seeing your faces like that.¡±

    I briefly tap into my new [Arcane Domain] Skill, feeding the meager amount of mana I¡¯ve collected into the constituent runes that seem most likely to have something to do with the mapping function and bracing myself for another potential showdown with an eldritch spirit.

    Nothing happens.

    I frown, give up trying to parse the runes on the fly, and access the full Skill to pull up my mana map of the area. I keep my senses under tight control, tightening the range of the Domain and not allowing my perception to spread out across the Rift. After a long, tense moment of no alarms , I finally let myself relax.

    ¡°The core is that way,¡± I announce, pointing. ¡°The underbrush looks like it¡¯s thicker than ever, so I¡¯d like to stay in the trees, if possible. Mikko, do you think you can jump from branch to branch? If you tie off the rope, we can shimmy over behind you. That¡¯s probably the safest way to travel without exposing ourselves to ground-dwelling monsters.¡±

    ¡°Easy,¡± Mikko replies confidently.

    ¡°Excellent. We¡¯ll follow your lead.¡±

    =+=

    Three tree-jumps later, ¡°easy¡± is the last word that comes to mind to describe our escapades. My hand is chafed and raw from rope-burns, and I¡¯ve almost fallen twice since I can¡¯t hold on as well as the rest of the team can. Sliding my bodyweight plus my pack of supplies along the rope is far more painful than I anticipated when we started.

    Even Mikko is starting to get tired, since it¡¯s on him to scout out the route, jump to the nearest tree, and haul over the ropes and most of the equipment we¡¯re carrying. Thanks to Mikko¡¯s powerful build and robust Skills, I always think of him as utterly indefatigable, but he¡¯s only human. I¡¯ve pushed him to the limit today, and I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯m about to demand more from him. I¡¯ll do it anyway, because I have to.

    Being a leader is awful.

    ¡°How much further?¡± Lionel groans, flopping down on the latest massive branch we¡¯ve just migrated to seconds earlier. It¡¯s not as wide as the first one, but we all still fit.

    ¡°How much farther,¡± Melina says.

    ¡°Huh? What¡¯s the difference? And why does it matter?¡± Lionel asks, stretching out on the tree limb and rubbing his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m done with school. I don¡¯t wanna go back.¡±

    Melina hunches her shoulders defensively. ¡°One has to do with progress, while the other is a measure of relative distance.¡±

    Lionel cracks open one eyelid. ¡°Fine, what¡¯s our progress to the core? Is it close? Or is the distance still inordinately, stupendously, superlatively far away?¡±

    ¡°Ha. Ha. Ha,¡± Melina says sarcastically.

    I check my map, wishing it came with a sense of scale. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re close. You two, save your energy for the enemy. We¡¯re all in this together.¡±

    ¡°Sorry I¡¯m so cagey right now, Lio,¡± Melina murmurs, rubbing her face. ¡°I¡¯m just tired and on edge.¡±

    ¡°All good, Mel. Me too.¡±

    ¡°Me three,¡± Avelina chimes in.

    ¡°Me¡ª¡±

    ¡°We get it!¡± I interrupt Mikko before things get any more out of hand. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on our fact-finding plan. We should get to the core in a few minutes, and I want to make sure we¡¯re all on the same page.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s there to discuss? Get in, shut down the Rift core, and get out. Easy as ready, set, burn,¡± Avelina says brightly.

    ¡°This is why you¡¯re not in charge of planning, Ava,¡± I reply quietly, but her enthusiasm in the face of danger is making it hard for me not to laugh. ¡°I want to have eyes on the keep as soon as possible. Once we scout it out, then we can relax and catch up on sleep if we find a suitable spot to rest. Safety first.¡±

    Despite his grumbling, Lionel is up on his feet and moving before I finish giving my speech. They seem to want to be done with this delve as much as I do. We fall in line behind Mikko again, and he soon blazes us a trail right up to the edge of the towering trees.

    Overlooking the keep, I immediately see a few problems. A series of winding walls form a maze-like approach to the main gateway, with numerous switchbacks and dead ends. A few packs of the armored lizard monsters roam the grounds, sweeping back and forth and leaving few gaps vulnerable to infiltration.

    But the worst part is the guards.

    As we inch back into the camouflage afforded by the trees and the profusion of big, leafy fronds that make up the jungle canopy, I turn toward my brother in utter amazement. ¡°No wonder Rakesh thinks the [Magistrate] acted without the [Lord]¡¯s awareness. Or approval. The guards down there all bear [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s sigil. And based on their lazy postures and bored expressions, they''re used to this kind of work. That means they¡¯re not fighting monsters or clearing out the Rift.¡±

    Mikko gazes back at me with a similarly disturbed look in his eyes that slowly hardens into resolve. He puffs out his cheeks, then blows out the air slowly as he thinks. ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re keeping monsters in, Nuri.¡±

    I nod, coming to the same chilling conclusion, and finish his thought for him. ¡°I think you¡¯re right, Ko. They¡¯re keeping people out.¡±

 B4 C24: Infiltration

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    Mikko and I tiptoe along, balancing on branches only as wide as my shoulders. Tiny, brilliant butterflies flit about. They remind me of fireflies, but with bigger, more vibrant wings. Winking in and out behind the leaves, they¡¯re just one more reminder that there¡¯s an entire ecosystem in here that doesn¡¯t usually exist in a normal Rift¡ªaside from the monsters, of course.

    We¡¯re higher up in the canopy now, picking our way back toward the team after spying out the keep. It¡¯s a slow, silent retreat to reach the spot where we left the team guarding our gear, but my mind is abuzz with the implications of what we just saw.

    We drop down from the branch above the rest of the team, landing on a wide limb with enough room for all of us to stand side by side. One look at our solemn expressions is enough to make them scramble to their feet and reach for their weapons, but I hold up a hand to stop them from going on the warpath just yet.

    ¡°Looks like [Lord] Dimitri is part of things,¡± I say, and launch into an explanation of what we saw while scouting out the keep. I¡¯m close enough now to the Rift core that I don¡¯t dare risk using my [Arcane Domain] again, so we have to settle for more old-fashioned methods of reconnaissance. I still don''t understand exactly what a Domain is, let alone what the implications are for testing the Skill near an entity that can sense me, but I¡¯m fairly confident that triggering the effects here is a bad idea.

    ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡± Avelina asks me with more excitement than I expected. ¡°Are we going to fight our way in?¡±

    ¡°So bloodthirsty,¡± I say with a shake of my head. ¡°No, we¡¯re not going to kill anyone until we have an idea of what¡¯s going on.¡±

    Avelina lifts her hand up. Flames pool in her cupped palm. ¡°That [Lord] is no good. I¡¯m telling you, this entire situation stinks worse than rotten fish. No one back in the city would be in danger from attacks if he took care of this situation the right way. He created the problem; we should solve it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re probably right, Ava,¡± I admit, although the resolute violence on her face is more than a little unsettling. ¡°That still doesn¡¯t mean that we can murder the [Guards] without any further information. If they did something wrong, then we can try them in the court of law, along with [Lord] Dimitri. He won¡¯t get away with this forever.¡±

    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± Melina asks.

    ¡°Good question. I¡¯m sure that my friends in the [Inquisitors] will be extremely interested in this situation. Calling them in will probably earn us some goodwill, to be honest.¡±

    Avelina¡¯s shoulders slump. ¡°Boring!¡±

    ¡°Practical,¡± Melina says. She slides a slim, leather-bound notebook back into her pack, straightens the straps, and gives me a nod. ¡°I don¡¯t fancy bringing down an entire garrison on our heads. We¡¯ll never make it to the Menders at this rate.¡±

    ¡°Agreed. I¡¯ve had enough running away to last me two lifetimes. Hey, look at the bright side! At least we¡¯ll have an exciting story to tell when we get out,¡± I say. ¡°Think of poor Rakesh. He¡¯s probably bored to tears out there, waiting for us back at the inn with nothing to do.¡±

    ¡°Something tells me that he¡¯s probably holed up in that big library, having so much fun reading that he forgot to eat,¡± Mikko says, pretending to flip pages in an imaginary book. ¡°He¡¯s having the time of his life, guaranteed.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be too sure,¡± Melina retorts. ¡°If I know Rakesh, he¡¯s too curious for his own good. Ezio and Nuri are a bad influence on him.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± I protest.

    Melina gives me a prim look. ¡°It¡¯s true, Nuri. You have a knack for throwing caution to the wind. He¡¯s not as resilient as you are, but he¡¯s also missing a certain sense of, well, let¡¯s call it decorum. You have enough self-preservation instincts to know when to be diplomatic. Rakesh is more forthright.¡±

    Mikko scratches his jaw, nodding along slowly. ¡°Got a point there, Mel. For someone who thinks for a living, he doesn¡¯t do a great job thinking through the consequences of his words and actions sometimes. Maybe we should get back to check on him.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh is fine,¡± I cut in, more harshly than I intend. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on the task at hand. We should chart out the [Guards]¡¯ rotation. Once we know where and when they patrol, we can find a way to slip through the gaps.¡±

    ¡°And the monsters?¡± Avelina asks. She grows surprisingly solemn. ¡°We can¡¯t leave them alive, Nuri. I know you¡¯re worried about tipping off the [Guards] to our presence, but who knows what we¡¯ll encounter inside. If we¡¯re leaving in a hurry, and then have to fight off a big pack of beasts to escape, things could get messy.¡±

    ¡°Well said, sister,¡± Melina says, stepping up to hook her arm through Avelina¡¯s. ¡°I could try to lure them away, or we could drag off the bodies. I¡¯m not sure how attentive the [Guards] are, but from what Nuri said, they may not be interested in the monsters.¡±

    ¡°Guess I better take things seriously if you two are in alignment,¡± I say, cracking a smile at the twins. They¡¯re such studies in opposites, teasing each other relentlessly, yet whenever a real threat emerges, they always close ranks. I admire that about them.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think that the [Guards] will be suspicious if the lizards all leave to investigate a disturbance?¡± Lionel says, piping up finally. He¡¯s been remarkably silent since we fled from the pack of bloodhounds, staying far away from the edge and looking strangely sallow, even though it was his idea to climb into the trees.

    ¡°Yes, if they all rush off at once,¡± Melina says, conceding the point readily. Experience has taught me that if she¡¯s willing to admit something, it¡¯s usually because she has another idea ready to go. Sure enough, she smiles at us, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and lays out a potential plan.

    ¡°The secret is pulling them away a few at a time, so that it appears natural. If they all go at once, it¡¯s strange. If they meander off over the course of an hour, then no one will likely care. They¡¯re just monsters, after all.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough, but how?¡±

    ¡°Luckily for you, Nuri, I checked the remaining corpses for beast cores while you were incapacitated. I didn¡¯t find anything worth mentioning earlier, but I did slice open their stomachs while I had the scales and flesh peeled back.¡±

    ¡°Ew! Why, sis?¡± Avelina asks.

    I screw up my face in distaste, copying Avelina¡¯s expression. ¡°That¡¯s a great question. I take it you had a reason?¡±

    Melina shrugs. ¡°Call it professional curiosity. I¡¯ve been trying to learn more about Rifts since our encounter with that flaming ursine. Monster physiology isn¡¯t well understood or widely documented. So, I¡¯ve been keeping notes.¡±

    ¡°You want to publish a field guide?¡± I ask, intrigued by her enthusiasm for the subject. ¡°I suppose Rakesh could sponsor you, since you lack credentials. No offense.¡±

    ¡°None taken! I agree with you. And, yes, he and I have been talking about a joint project of sorts. The extant bestiaries are limited in scope. But that¡¯s not the point right now. As you just said, let¡¯s focus on the task at hand: luring away monsters.¡±

    Abruptly, I snap my fingers as the rosy dawn of understanding dawns on the nightscape of my ignorance. ¡°Ah! I get it. You found out what they like to eat?¡±

    ¡°Got it in one, Nuri. Well done!¡±

    I grin, glad that my mind is finally starting to feel more facile again after the strain of using my [Arcane Domain]. ¡°I assume it¡¯s not a rare item, or else we¡¯d spend hours scouring the jungle for delicacies. But if it¡¯s not hard to find, then are you certain it will be alluring enough?¡±

    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± Melina responds. ¡°But, yes. I¡¯m quite confident.¡±

    ¡°You make them sound like normal animals instead of savage beasts,¡± Lionel says, his eyebrows raised in doubt. He hunches his narrow shoulders. ¡°I¡¯d feel better if we just took them out one at a time and dragged the bodies into corners. Shadows should cover them. Trust me, [Guards] never pay attention to whatever¡¯s hidden in the shadows.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll probably adopt that strategy if we can¡¯t pull away all the monsters, but let¡¯s try out Mel¡¯s idea first. Having a backup plan is smart, but this is our strongest option,¡± I say, deciding on our course of action.

    I half expect pushback to making an executive decision, but everyone nods and looks to Melina for follow up. It¡¯s gratifying how they¡¯ve accepted my leadership. I hope that I continue to prove worthy of their trust.

    ¡°Do you see these little purple berries?¡± Melina says, plucking one of the glistening, deep purple treats off a nearby branch and passing it around. ¡°Memorize this: they grow in the shade, under trefoil leaves, and seem to be in season. There are few of them on the ground, which at first I thought was odd since they detach with barely a touch, but clearly those armored lizards have been eating them. Let¡¯s collect as many as we can to start.¡±

    Mikko coughs into his fist.

    ¡°Yes?¡± Melina asks him.

    ¡°Uh, what does ¡®trefoil¡¯ mean?¡±

    Avelina bursts out laughing. ¡°I¡¯m glad someone asked. I was confused, too. Mel¡¯s got a big ole brain, but sometimes she forgets we¡¯re not quite on her level.¡±

    ¡°It just means three of them in a specific pattern,¡± Lionel says, shaking his head at his friends with an exaggerated expression of sadness on his face. ¡°I thought everyone knew that, but your education seems lacking.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, Lio actually knows the answer for once. I¡¯m impressed! Just one question: where was that all during school growing up?¡± Mikko says, winking at the [Healer].

    Lionel places his hand over his heart. ¡°I regret to inform you that my [Healing Touch] doesn¡¯t work on verbal burns. You¡¯ve mortally wounded me, Ko.¡±

    I chuckle, then stride over to a clump of leaves on the far side of the branch to check it for berries. ¡°All right, all right. Let¡¯s get to work. If you¡¯re not sure the berries are ripe, then get them anyway, and bring them back to Mel for the final word. Oh, and whoever gets the most will earn a bonus.¡±

    My friends instantly scatter, each scrambling to a different branch to look for berries. I have no clue what I¡¯ll pay out as a bonus, but that hardly seems to matter. The promise of a win is enough for everyone to search with determination.

    Joke¡¯s on them. I¡¯m going to win.

    =+=

    We re-assemble about an hour later, our packs and pockets fit to bursting with berries in various states of ripeness. At Melina¡¯s recommendation, I tried to avoid any berries that looked green or white. According to her¡ªI have no idea how she figured it out, but she¡¯s usually right about this sort of thing¡ªthe berries start off pale and darken over time into a pleasant, plum-like shade of deep purple. I can¡¯t always tell, so I just poke them to see if they¡¯re slightly soft, which probably means they¡¯re ripe. Even so, I¡¯m uncertain if all of the berries are suitable for our plan.

    ¡°Keep your piles separate!¡± Melina hollers. ¡°I can¡¯t certify a winner if your berries aren¡¯t clearly in your own pile.¡±

    I sit back against the enormous, crystalline tree trunk and rub my forehead. ¡°Me and my big mouth,¡± I mutter. ¡°I just had to promise a prize to the winner.¡±

    ¡°Not gonna go back on your word, are you?¡± Mikko says, flopping down next to me. ¡°I worked way too hard to find out it was all a ploy to get us moving.¡±

    ¡°. . . no, Lionel! You can¡¯t count the ones you ate,¡± Melina snaps, berating our [Healer] for his trickery. ¡°We need to count how many we each found. No claiming that you got another fifty percent that aren¡¯t visible.¡±

    Mikko and I chuckle at the familiar scene, and I finally take pity on Melina and rejoin the festivities. ¡°Well, squabbling over what counts as ripeness is not exactly how I envisioned our first Rift excursion turning out.¡±

    Melina puts her hands on her hips. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have to argue if everyone paid attention to my clear and repeated instructions about what qualifies as ripe.¡±

    ¡°I listened!¡± I insist.

    ¡°I know. That¡¯s why you won. The rest had more, but half of their berries were unusable. So, that leaves you.¡±

    ¡°What is this, the county faire? Who made Melina the judge?¡± Mikko protests, shaking his fist at our [Gaffer] in mock anger when he comes in last. ¡°Nuri, you¡¯ve gotta be cheating! Did you pay Mel off? There¡¯s no way that Mighty Mikko could ever lose!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m shocked to discover that you ignored the rules, O Mighty Mikko,¡± I reply, grinning at my brother. ¡°While we prepare the lures, why don¡¯t you and Lio write down the movements and times for the [Guard] patrols?¡±

    Mikko shoulders his glass hammer. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll do it, even if it¡¯s punishment for coming in last.¡±

    ¡°No punishment. Just figured you¡¯re suited for the job. Now scram,¡± I reply to Mikko, prompting the two biggest jokesters in our group to go make themselves useful.

    ¡°Sounds boring, but I can see why you¡¯d want a security expert on the job,¡± Lionel says. ¡°I am the best at sneaking.¡±

    ¡°Probably should have sent you in the first place,¡± I say agreeably as I wrap berries in a long, flexible leaf, not looking up from the work in front of me. ¡°This will probably take an hour or two, so no need to rush.¡±

    ¡°Oh, we won¡¯t,¡± Mikko says. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly keen on getting on to the next stage. Hitting a monster is one thing; fighting against people isn¡¯t what I signed up for.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m with you,¡± I assure my brother. ¡°If all goes well, then we won¡¯t have to fight. Better to take our preparations slow and steady now, so that we¡¯re not caught unawares later. We want to infiltrate bloodlessly, if possible, and document what¡¯s happening inside that strange echo of the keep. If we can destroy the core, that¡¯s a bonus.¡±

    ¡°You can count on us, Boss,¡± Lionel says with a salute and a smirk. He knows how much I hate the nickname, which means I¡¯ll never be free of it, so I roll my eyes at the title, just for his benefit. He chuckles as the two of them saunter off to scout the old keep further.

    ¡°Sure that¡¯s smart idea?¡± Melina asks me in a low tone. ¡°From what you¡¯ve told us, Rifts tend to unravel after they lose their cores.¡±

    I frown, pausing from mashing up berries and binding them in leafy poultice. ¡°You think the guards won¡¯t make it out in time?¡±

    ¡°Tantamount to murder, don¡¯t you think? Doesn¡¯t matter if we burn them, stab them, or strand them in a collapsing dimensional space,¡± Melina replies after a while, chewing her bottom lip in thought. ¡°In fact, stabbing might be a mercy in comparison.¡±

    ¡°Burning isn¡¯t,¡± Avelina says. Fire plays across her hands. ¡°It¡¯s a nasty way to go. I don¡¯t feel bad for the monsters, but you¡¯ve got a point. For all my bravado earlier, I¡¯m not sure that I can stomach killing people. Melting skin and hearing bones crack under the heat and pressure is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s make sure we sneak by them without tipping off the [Guards] to our presence. As for the Rift core: I¡¯ll think about it. Closing down the source of monster incursions in the area seems like a no-brainer, but we¡¯d also be destroying evidence, and maybe killing off the people.¡±

    Melina folds up another pack of berries, expertly folding the ends of a leaf and tucking it into itself to make a package of monster bait. ¡°Hmm. I¡¯d rather you leave this place be, Nuri. It¡¯s not as important as potential murder, but the amount of plant and animal life in here is far from insignificant. Doesn¡¯t it make the world a poorer place to destroy it?¡±

    ¡°I hear you, Mel. I do. But what¡¯s the worth of a thousand beautiful butterflies compared with a single child attacked by monsters?¡±

    ¡°Life¡¯s not an equation,¡± Melina says. She tucks her legs underneath her and sits back on her heels. ¡°I know, that¡¯s strange coming from me, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯m all about rules and math and making sense of this strange world we inhabit. But why do we always pose theoreticals as two things pitted against each other? Can¡¯t we think more creatively¡ªlive more creatively? There¡¯s got to be a more attractive solution than mere equity.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with fairness?¡± Avelina interjects. ¡°Some deserve to live, some deserve to die. Even if I don¡¯t want to do it myself, I¡¯ve got no problem with that delinquent [Lord] getting his just desserts. He¡¯s terrorizing a region that he¡¯s supposed to protect.¡±

    ¡°That still eats at me. Why¡¯s he doing that? What does he possibly stand to gain from the arrangement? Locking down his citizens can¡¯t be good for business, or for Mahkaiaraon¡¯s larger reputation in Densmore.¡±

    Melina sets aside the folded leaf lure. She starts on another one, working steadily with her hands while her mind is engaged. ¡°I hear you, Ava. Sometimes, people forfeit their lives. But that¡¯s for the law to decide, as Nuri said. Stil, while the monsters are a constant threat, while the [Lord] oppresses the region, then trade caravans are unable to enter the territory bearing food and supplies, which leads to famine and suffering. That¡¯s the opposite of what a good ruler ought to be doing.¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°We¡¯ll hold off making any decisions for now,¡± I say. ¡°I bet Nala and Uchenna would be willing to organize a schedule to watch the portal, anyway. We could set up a patrol rotation and keep monsters from breaking free while we figure out the rest of this tangled-up situation.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Nuri, know how I like to undo knots?¡± Avelina asks innocently.

    ¡°Burning them,¡± I reply, my voice flat.

    ¡°You¡¯re no fun!¡±

    Melina finishes another lure, which means she¡¯s outpacing Avelina and I put together. She always did excel at steady industry. I should try to become more like her. ¡°Nala already said that she lacked the strength to deal with the monster incursions herself. Why do you think that she¡¯d be suitable for a potential posting as a watcher, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll make them weapons,¡± I say, a note of fierce defiance slipping into my voice. ¡°With the right tools, they can handle whatever comes through the portal.¡±

    ¡°Assuming we take care of the [Guards] who are in on the scheme,¡± Melina replies more cautiously. Her brows knit together. ¡°There¡¯s something else going on. We¡¯re missing something, Nuri. It¡¯s bothering me.¡±

    I pin a leaf in place with my left forearm, fold the end of it over with my hand, and nod at Melina. ¡°Same here. But don¡¯t take on the burden solo. Rakesh is investigating. He¡¯s got more access and analysis abilities, anyway.¡±

    ¡°I just wish I could do more,¡± Melina breathes out, staring at the pile of monster lures in front of her with such vehemence that I almost expect them to burst into flames. Avelina isn¡¯t the only one of the twins with smoldering intensity.

    ¡°Hey, none of that! We¡¯re doing more than anyone else. We¡¯re in a Rift, risking our lives just to fix things. You¡¯re an integral part of the team, so stop with the foolishness.¡±

    ¡°See, Mel?¡± Avelina says, piling on her sister. ¡°I¡¯m not the only one who thinks you¡¯re too focused on what you lack instead of what you have. Without you, we wouldn¡¯t have made it this far. We wouldn¡¯t have a plan of attack. And we certainly wouldn¡¯t know what ¡®trefoil¡¯ means!¡±

    I snort, failing to hold back laughter, and Melina reluctantly joins in. ¡°Avelina always gets right down to the heart of things, huh? Trefoil is definitely the important takeaway from this talk.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s got a rare talent for understanding what¡¯s important,¡± Melina agrees with a laugh. She presses on her lower back, wincing as her spine pops, and stands up.¡°All right, that¡¯s the last of the lures. Let¡¯s check in on the boys, shall we?¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°Good call. Who knows what kind of trouble they¡¯re getting into unsupervised? I almost expect to find that they¡¯ve burned down half the keep without us.¡±

    Avelina sniffs. ¡°Hey! That¡¯s my job. If they burn things without me, I¡¯m gonna be upset. All I got to do is stain my hands purple.¡±

    ¡°At least it¡¯s your hands, and not your face, like Lionel,¡± Melina says primly. ¡°That greedy guts ate more berries than the lizards ever will. It¡¯ll serve him right if he gets a tummy ache.¡±

    ¡°Good thing he¡¯s a [Healer],¡± I quip. ¡°All right. Pack it up, Linas. Let¡¯s collect the boys and lure away the monsters.¡±

    =+=

    Lionel waves at us when we emerge from the thick leaves, joining him and Mikko on the edge of the treeline overlooking the old keep. He¡¯s practically vibrating with excitement, which makes me simultaneously proud and nervous. Who knows what he¡¯ll come up with this time.

    ¡°I think I recognize a pattern!¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Mikko says, turning and quirking an eyebrow at Lionel¡¯s enthusiastic declaration. ¡°Is that pattern sitting on their butts and guzzling down ale, by any chance? Because that¡¯s all I¡¯ve seen so far.¡±

    ¡°Pfft. This is why you send an expert,¡± Lionel says dismissively, waving off Mikko. ¡°Ignore his sour words. He¡¯s just upset that he wasted all this time. With me here, he¡¯s totally redundant. No, that¡¯s not quite right; that would imply he¡¯s my backup. Nah, Mikko is useless at this kind of work. Thankfully, you have me.¡±

    Mikko stifles a snicker. ¡°Not wrong, buddy. I have no idea what I¡¯m looking at. Explain it to the rest of us?¡±

    ¡°With pleasure! Gather ¡®round, folks.¡± Lionel pauses dramatically, waiting for us to cluster close by and give him our attention. He nods in satisfaction. ¡°Good. Good. Now listen up. This is only one group of three. They¡¯re not moving for another two hours, but then they¡¯ll turn in for the ¡®night¡¯ and get some sleep, even though the sun never changes. The next patrol will relieve the current [Guards], but they¡¯ll only move one quadrant over, where they can see the other side of the forest but still keep an eye on the gateway, too.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re making this up,¡± Mikko accuses, chuckling quietly. He shakes his big head. ¡°How in the abyss do you come up with that kind of detail just from watching them shoot the breeze and sit around scratching their butts?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a gift,¡± Lionel replies loftily.

    ¡°So, you are guessing,¡± Melina says. She folds her arms and gives him a flat stare. ¡°Are you teasing us, Lionel? This isn¡¯t the time for jokes.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Mel! I thought that you, of all people, could appreciate some fine investigative work. Don¡¯t you love obscure stuff?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Melina replies hesitantly, as though she¡¯s expecting a trap at any moment. ¡°But if what Mikko says is correct, then they¡¯ve just sat around doing nothing. You can¡¯t extrapolate additional data points if you only have a single one to begin with.¡±

    ¡°Right, you need at least two, and preferably three,¡± Lionel replies. ¡°What? Don¡¯t give me that look! I paid attention in school. Well, sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Now I¡¯m intrigued,¡± I say. ¡°What have you noticed? I believe you, but I¡¯m curious to know what you picked up on that the rest of us missed.¡±

    ¡°Pee stations,¡± Lionel says triumphantly.

    Melina groans, burying her face in her hands. ¡°You really aren¡¯t joking, are you? I almost preferred it when I thought you were making stuff up.¡±

    ¡°And you doubted me,¡± Lionel says, shaking his head reproachfully. ¡°Once I saw that the [Guards] all did their business in the same place that they discard their snacks¡ªapple cores, cheese rinds, and so on¡ªI tried looking around the rest of the keep for similar trash piles. And what did I find?¡±

    ¡°Only one other pile,¡± Melina says. She taps her index finger to her pursed lips. ¡°That¡¯s a surprisingly clever way of figuring out where they set up their stations. I¡¯ll admit that I didn¡¯t think of that at all until you brought it up. But how does that lead you to such confidence about the time of their shift swap?¡±

    ¡°Mysteries of the universe.¡±

    ¡°Lio!¡± Melina hisses.

    Lionel smirks. ¡°Let me have my fun, Mel. It¡¯s not often that I get to stump you. Mikko, are you sure you didn¡¯t notice?¡±

    My brother frowns. ¡°Unfortunately, no.I did notice that the leader kept checking a pocket watch. But how could you see from this far away? None of your Skills are vision-related.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. None of my glass-related Skills help me here. A full telescope would be nice, instead of just this eyepiece, but I¡¯d need to have a ton of glass available. I¡¯m not like Nuri, transforming things at a touch of his magic hand,¡± Lionel says with a soft snicker.

    ¡°Your [Healer] class is about restoring the body,¡± I muse. ¡°Maybe you have a new Skill that augments you instead?¡±

    ¡°No, but that would be awesome. Now I know what I want for my fourth Skill,¡± Lionel says, a wistful expression on his face.

    I don¡¯t tell him that I¡¯ve continued to look into synthetic Skills based on Scalpel¡¯s notes. No point in getting his hopes up if I¡¯m not able to deliver on my claims. Still, I add it to my ever growing to do list. Maybe when we finally reach the Menders¡ªassuming we survive this Rift and unravel the mystery surrounding [Lord] Dimitri¡ªI can surveil some of the higher-Threshold [Healers] and glean inspiration from their core spaces.

    ¡°You¡¯re killing me, Lio,¡± Avelina bursts out. She looks annoyed, but she has the presence of mind to keep her voice down. None of us want to alert the [Guards] to our hiding spot.

    ¡°Sorry, sorry! It¡¯s just so fun to be the one to notice these things. Usually it¡¯s Melina with her booksmarts, or Nuri with his lucky bits of magical insight. He¡¯s like a golden child.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s me. The universe¡¯s golden child,¡± I deadpan, holding up what''s left of my arm. ¡°Must be why my core is so advanced and I have so many awesome Skills.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re destroying my fun,¡± Lionel says with an exaggerated sigh. ¡°Look. It¡¯s actually simple. See the [Guard] closest to us? He¡¯s got a stick lying next to him on the low stone wall. It¡¯s got the secret.¡±

    Melina squints, peering furiously at the stick that Lionel pointed out. "Can''t quite make it out, to be honest."

    "Try this eyepiece," Lionel offers.

    Melina borrows the small monocle, squinting so she can see better. I''m not sure what the answer to the mystery is, but I can tell that she¡¯s going to slam against this mental wall face-first until it cracks under the pressure. There¡¯s no way that she¡¯ll give up and admit that she needs Lionel to spell things out for her. Sure enough, a few moments later, she pumps her fist.

    Lionel grins. ¡°You got it?¡±

    ¡°Of course! He¡¯s notching cuts into it with his boot knife. We¡¯re so far away that they look tiny. I barely noticed at first, but the ones lower down the stick are already dried out. The ones at the top are still green, which means they¡¯re fairly fresh. Six marks. I¡¯ll bet that you saw two new notches in the hour and a half you¡¯ve been out here: one just after you arrived, and the second a little before we joined you.¡±

    ¡°I still don¡¯t get it,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad, my scrawny brother. Me neither,¡± Mikko says cheerfully. ¡°But as long as Mel says it¡¯s legitimate, then we can rest easy knowing that Lionel isn¡¯t making things up.¡±

    ¡°Oh! He¡¯s just tracking how many hours into an eight-hour patrol they are,¡± Avelina says, bobbing her head. ¡°Great catch, Lionel. And nicely done, Melina. You¡¯re as clever as ever. Good work, you two.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Observant,¡± I say, more than a little ashamed that I didn¡¯t notice it sooner. ¡°It¡¯s all so clear in retrospect¡ªjust like most mysteries, I guess. Knowing which clues to look for makes a huge difference, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m impressed,¡± Melina says, tilting her head and giving Lionel an appraising look. ¡°You have a talent for this sort of thing, Lionel. I didn¡¯t know you were so good at reconnoitering. You should handle all of our scouting and investigative work in the future.¡±

    Lionel shrugs. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s still better to have a team. We all bring different perspectives. I just got lucky this time.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still assuming they work normal hours. What if they stay out here for ten hours? Twelve? We probably shouldn¡¯t count on the shift change.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we have to worry about that. Seems to me like we can just approach from the opposite side of the Keep,¡± Mikko says. ¡°I¡¯m not sure they¡¯re keeping a very close eye on things, to be honest.¡±

    Lionel cracks his knuckles. He¡¯s staring into the distance, watching the side of the old keep without any [Guards], past the roving band of armored lizards. ¡°Nuri, did you happen to see another entrance when you were mapping things out?¡±

    ¡°No, but we could probably climb up to a window. If the lures work, then we¡¯ll be able to get past the monsters without raising the alarm. Shouldn¡¯t be too much work to clamber up the stones. Maybe Mikko can haul us all up with a rope again.¡±

    ¡°Nuh uh. You¡¯re too fat, bro.¡±

    I poke Mikko in the chest. ¡°Didn¡¯t you just call me scrawny a minute ago? Make up your mind!¡±

    He swats my hand away before I can jab him in the ribcage again. ¡°I did make up my mind. That¡¯s why the answer¡¯s no.¡±

    ¡°Quiet, you two,¡± Melina admonishes. ¡°We¡¯re too close to the [Guards] for that kind of teasing.¡±

    I smile sheepishly at my brother. ¡°She¡¯s right. Sorry. Time to get serious. I can probably climb up under my own power. The stones in the wall don¡¯t look like they¡¯re very smooth, so it should be about like climbing a ladder. Only one way to find out, though. Let¡¯s deploy some bait and clear out the monsters.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll stick with you just in case you¡¯re about to fall,¡± Mikko says. ¡°You know I¡¯ll always help you out, Nuri. You¡¯re too frail to fend for yourself, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Love you too, ya lunkhead.¡±

    We fall silent after our last barbs back and forth, and retreat into the leafy canopy to stay hidden. Mikko lowers us all down to the forest floor on the rope, then hops down, relying on his strength and durability to handle the thirty-foot fall. As one, we turn and sneak toward the maze of outer walls as we prepare to infiltrate the Old Keep.

    =+=

    Most Classes and professions make sense to me on some level. On a purely intellectual level, I understand the utility of a high-ranking [Rancher] who can provide beef to the city, or perhaps an [Exterminator] who can take care of pests and weaker monster infestations. But if I¡¯ve learned anything about myself today, it¡¯s this: I hate working with animals.

    Inching forward on my belly, I stop at the closest intersection of broken-down stone walls and listen, signaling for silence so I can hear. Heavy claws scratch against rocks up to our right, accompanied by the huff of noxious breath and the occasional clank of metallic scales scraping up against other scales as they headbutt each other and jostle for supremacy.

    I fish out a lure, tied to a slender bit of cord, and unfold a flap of leaf. With a quick jab, I crush a few of the vibrant, deep-purple berries. A sweet, pungent scent fills the air. I toss it past the corner, throwing as gently as I can so that it doesn¡¯t make much noise, and shimmy back as quickly as I can.

    The rattling of neck spines and an angry hiss tells me that they noticed the bait. Two of the armored lizards are posturing, prepared to fight each other for the delicacy that suddenly appeared in their midst. After luring away over half a dozen of them into the jungle already, I¡¯m well acquainted with the process.

    I still don¡¯t like it.

    A thump that rattles the walls announces that one of the armored lizards succeeded in establishing its dominance. It jogs toward the berries, its sharp claws scritching against the ground as it goes, and I shuffle backward as quickly as I can manage while staying hunched over. Another one¡¯s fallen for the bait. Now to reel it in.

    I pull on the line as I go, keeping it just out of reach of the creature. Turn left, back a few dozen paces, turn right, then veer left three more times¡ªnot full turns, just enough to stay on the confusing pathway. Once I clear the last line of walls, out of sight from the area where the [Guards] are camped out, I straighten up and break into a run, still dragging the lure.

    I make it to the treeline and duck behind a shrub, breathing hard. Thankfully, I¡¯ve been fast enough to stay ahead of the armored lizard monster, so it doesn¡¯t charge me in rage. I¡¯ve timed things just right and it¡¯s still tracking the lure. Twice, earlier in the day, I went too quickly and lost the lizard, but through practice, I¡¯ve finally gotten the timing down.

    A quick glance back over my shoulder reassures me that the beast is following. The big monster emerges from the maze only a few steps behind the berry and leaf package, its golden eyes locked on its prize. Its forked tongue flicks the air, and it crouches down, going completely still before exploding into motion and sprinting toward its prey.

    I haul in the line, running to keep the distance, and don¡¯t stop until it¡¯s in the jungle, only seconds behind me. My heart is thudding in my chest, and not just because of exertion. If the lizard catches me, I¡¯m done. I don¡¯t have good melee abilities other than [Vitrification], and I want to save my mana for once we¡¯re inside the Old Keep. I could also either burn or freeze the lizard, or use sharpness if I¡¯m in a bind, but I¡¯m nervous using mana so close to the Old Keep. What if the base consciousness of the Rift core inside finds me? The fear that I¡¯ll give away our position haunts me with every step. Maybe it¡¯s foolish of me to worry about, but I¡¯m too scared to try anything else.

    Rustling leaves give the lizard monster a split-second of warning before Mikko surges up from his hiding spot under a pile of detritus right beside me. I turn around in the nick of time to watch my brother charge forward, the telltale glow of mana empowerment limning his body in white-gold glory. He¡¯s getting better and better with the hammer, and I¡¯m no longer worried that he¡¯s going to need help.

    The monster hisses, flaring its neck frill and rattling its spines. Its vertical eyes widen a moment later¡ªor is that my imagination?¡ªand it shrieks, stumbling to the left in a futile attempt to dodge the hammer.

    My brother brings his huge hammer to bear, swinging it so fast that it whistles through the air. He slams the weapon against the side of the lizard¡¯s head, where it¡¯s less armored, and instantly crushes its skull.

    ¡°Woohoo! Nice job, Nuri!¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I gasp out in between panting for air. I¡¯m hunched over, with my hand resting on my knee, trying not to pass out. ¡°I¡¯m glad I made it to you in one piece. Each time it feels like it¡¯s going to be my last. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m getting slower, or if it¡¯s just getting scarier.¡±

    ¡°Looked plenty fast to me. Fear gives you wings, apparently,¡± Mikko says with a chuckle. He rips a pastel-pink fern up from the ground, using the broad leaf like a cloth to wipe the blood off his hammer.

    I shrug. ¡°Yeah. Guess so. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t keep tempting fate like this. I¡¯m starting to regret this plan.¡±

    Mikko sucks on his teeth. ¡°No one doubts your courage, that¡¯s for sure. Look, if you draw me a map, then I can take a turn. I just need to know where I¡¯m going, so I don¡¯t get lost on the way in and out.¡±

    ¡°Not worth the risk,¡± I reply immediately. ¡°Even with the mana map in my head, it¡¯s tough to navigate. That place is confusing. If you get turned around, or have to rethink things as you go, it might slow you down enough to force you into a fight.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. I can kill them quickly,¡± Mikko insists.

    ¡°Yeah, but we¡¯re trying to be stealthy. You brawling in the middle of the maze isn¡¯t going to help us sneak by undetected.¡±

    Mikko scowls, but he doesn¡¯t disagree. After a moment, he sighs and claps me on the shoulder. ¡°Just stay safe, yeah? I¡¯m worried about you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Ko. Love you, too.¡±

    I¡¯m rewarded by a crooked smile. Lionel¡¯s faster than I am, and Mikko is more suited to close combat if things go wrong, but he knows that I¡¯m the only one with the map in my mind. ¡°How many are left? Need a break before we finish thinning the herd?¡±

    ¡°Three are still blocking the path. There¡¯s a fourth, but we might be able to work around it if we¡¯re careful.¡±

    ¡°Best to get ¡®em all.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re probably right,¡± I say, biting my tongue before I complain about it. I need to show a better attitude. ¡°All right. Let me catch my breath, and we¡¯ll clear out the rest. All of them. Tell the team we¡¯ll move in an hour.¡±

    Mikko tosses me a sloppy salute and jogs back to where the other three are resting. The team should be ready to go, even if I¡¯m tired, so I¡¯ll be counting on them to carry us through. In the meantime, I sit down, resting my head against a tree trunk, and close my eyes. I¡¯ll need to be at my best for the last four runs.

    After each pull, Mikko hops up to his vantage point in the canopy to check [Guards]. He confirms that they haven¡¯t noticed anything, and at last they swap with the next patrol detail. It¡¯s right on the eight-hour mark, just like Lionel predicted, and it moves the [Guards] to the other side of the gateway.

    The next hour goes by in a blur of sneaking, baiting, and running for my life. My entire body is sore from the way I have to bend down and sneak around in an unnatural position. I¡¯m fatigued from balancing on the narrow knife-edge of fear and heightened senses, but we make it to the end without any serious mental mistakes or incidents.

    The team is waiting for us, gathered nearby with weapons ready just in case things go wrong with the final pull, but they¡¯re not needed. Mikko dispatches the last of the four remaining monsters, and just like that, our way is open.

    ¡°So far, so good. We should be able to get to the wall and climb up pretty quickly. Don¡¯t get complacent, though. Who knows what awaits us inside? The next part is the hardest. Stick together, and good luck.¡±

    Moving with painstaking slowness to ensure that we keep quiet and stay well below the nearest [Guard]¡¯s line of sight, I guide my team back through the labyrinthine twists and turns of the low stone walls around the Old Keep. If I find the person responsible for building this series of dead ends and switchbacks, I¡¯m not responsible for the sudden bout of maniacal stabbiness that may overtake me.

    Sneaking is starting to feel like second nature, so I trust the map in my head and keep us moving at a steady pace. Soon, we emerge from the low outer walls and reach the Old Keep itself. I gesture for everyone to gather around, and nod to Mikko.

    The burly [Blacksmith] hops up to the second-story window, catching the protruding lintel above it and clinging to the side of the tower. He only needs a single tug to dislodge the iron bar from the crumbling stone, and then he¡¯s in, ensuring that the way is clear. Two minutes later, he leans back out the window and beckons us to follow.

    As planned, the others ascend first, while I keep a lookout down below. If anyone has to flee, then it should be me, since I can rely on my map to guide me to safety. I¡¯ll have to trust that the others will hold their own inside the tower.

    They¡¯re in before I get carried away by nerve-wracking thoughts and fears. I take a deep breath, wedge my toe into a crack between two huge stone blocks, and haul myself up to the next row of stones. Climbing the rough stone wall is even easier than I dared to hope, even with my missing hand. It really is like a ladder, and I only need one hand to stabilize while I move my feet up to each new hold. Getting here was harrowing, but actually infiltrating only takes a few short minutes since we bypassed the [Guards] and monsters.

    Before I know it, I¡¯m slithering through the window, and several pairs of hands help me keep my balance when I stumble over a carpet that I didn¡¯t see in the dim interior lighting. I blink several times, adjusting to the darkness, and take in the small stone room. It¡¯s blank and bare, without any obvious threat, but I don¡¯t dare let down my guard. As soon as I slipped inside the Old Keep, I sensed that strange entity¡¯s presence more strongly than ever before.

    ¡°Stay alert,¡± I whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re as hidden as I¡¯d like. If all goes well, we¡¯ll get what we need and leave undetected, but something tells me that it won¡¯t be that easy. There¡¯s an uncomfortable pressure in here, pushing against me at all times. Do you feel it?¡±

    Even as I ask, I have a sneaking suspicion that none of them notice it. They each shake their heads, confirming my hunch. I¡¯m only aware of a competing claim on the space because I now have a Domain¡ªwhatever that is. I¡¯m sure that Casella and Mbukhe will have some intriguing details for me, though. They seem to be hiding a lot of information that I¡¯d like to know more about.

    I put aside the thought, promising myself that I¡¯ll come back to it later and investigate what it means after we survive. Squaring my shoulders, I tiptoe over to the door and push it open a crack. There aren¡¯t any [Guards] in the hallways, so I open the door the rest of the way, ignoring the ominous creaking sounds it makes, and step outside. ¡°Follow me, friends. Let¡¯s find out what exactly [Lord] Dimitri is hiding.¡±

 B4 C25: The Old Keep

    [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    Ghostlike, we drift through the second floor of the castle on silent feet, pausing every several steps to listen for [Guards]. Lionel and Mikko lead the way, one to shield and the other to scout. I have no map of the interior, and I don''t fancy running into enemies without warning. Even without my new [Arcane Domain] Skill running, I''m keenly aware of the Rift core, however. Pulsing with power, it calls me and repels me all at once¡ªI could close my eyes and point to it with unerring accuracy, but part of me wants to run the other direction.

    I stick close to the others, whispering just in case anyone hostile is nearby. I don¡¯t want to be overheard and give away our position. ¡°We¡¯ll eventually need to make our way down into the dungeon and check out the core. Let¡¯s see what we can find up here first. I¡¯ll bet that [Lord] Dimitri is the type to keep his paperwork well hidden and overly secure. Thankfully, I have some experience with forging keys, opening locks, and purloining classified documents.¡±

    No one chuckles, and I realize that I haven''t exactly given them the full rundown on the strange lockpicking and theft I engaged in after the last, explosive showdown between me and Scalpel. They know about my imprisonment, torture, and escape, but not the full extent of my arrangements with the [Inquisitors].

    ¡°Which way do we go next, bro?¡± Mikko asks from just up ahead, his voice so low that I have to strain to hear him. He peers around the corner, ensuring that none of the [Guards] are patrolling. Gleaming white marble, a match for the city hall, lines the hallways, floor, and ceiling.

    ¡°No idea. Go room to room for now. Check for anything useful,¡± I suggest once he gives the signal that we¡¯re in the clear. I move up to join him, standing side by side at the intersection of the hallway we¡¯re in and the main corridor that runs through the center of the massive Old Keep. ¡°Amazing how big this place is. No wonder the quarry in town is stripped bare.¡±

    Melina creeps up beside us, glancing around with keen eyes. She also keeps her voice quiet, thankfully. The team seems to be warming up to stealth missions. ¡°I never would have guessed that the interior is so wildly opulent. The outside is rugged and imposing, but the inside looks like a palace. Why do you think the castle above is worn down and decrepit, but this place looks pristine instead?¡±

    ¡°Misdirection,¡± I answer without hesitation. ¡°The goal is to distract people from what''s really going on. Why investigate a broken down old castle when monsters are roaming about? It¡¯s dangerous. Creepy. Yet I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if his most luxurious rooms are down here, out of sight. He most likely intentionally cultivates the ramshackle appearance above ground. Or wherever our world is in relation to this strange, repurposed Rift.¡±

    Melina frowns. ¡°Plausible. But why?¡±

    I duck my head into the next unlocked room, just past the corner, but a cursory check confirms that there are only a few empty shelves and a messy desk with knick knacks scattered around on top of it. Nothing valuable inside. ¡°You remember when I got in big trouble for not reporting the beast core Tem gave me? I had no idea back then that owning a beast core is tricky. They¡¯re considered restricted items. You have to obtain a special license to harvest and sell them. The one I had was from the greater Rift that we explored together, so I kept the details secret, which got me in hot water with the [Adjutant].¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but this seems like a super elaborate way to hide contraband,¡± Avelina cuts in. ¡°There¡¯s gotta be more to it than that.¡±

    Lionel shrugs one shoulder. ¡°Eh, this is basically a farm. You¡¯re all thinking too much. They can breed monsters, let out a few to keep people cowed, and harvest the cores from the big critters at their own leisure. Sure beats growing corn or raising beef cattle. I¡¯ll bet it''s pretty lucrative.¡±

    ¡°But the reports of monster attacks only go back about a year, by my calculations,¡± Melina says. ¡°Are we absolutely sure they¡¯re intentionally letting out monsters? To me, this looks like a long-term operation that went sideways.¡±

    ¡°Hey, by my calculations, that¡¯s roughly when Nuri singlehandedly unleashed an interdimensional war,¡± Lionel quips, rifling through the shelves in the room I already cleared.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it on purpose,¡± I protest. ¡°And I feel compelled to point out that blowing a giant hole in the Labyrinth was all Tem¡¯s fault.¡±

    Lionel glances at my left arm.

    ¡°Seriously, Lio? This was all for a pun? You make the worst jokes sometimes.¡± I groan. ¡°Now, look lively, lads and lasses. We need to keep a sharp watch out for [Guards]. And don''t forget to look for a money trail or shipping manifests. As far as I can tell, these rooms are just storage for provisions and spare equipment. They do tell a story of a long-standing engagement here, but without documents and dates, we''re going to have a hard time putting together a meaningful case. We need something more incendiary¡ªand I¡¯m not talking about Avelina.¡±

    Melina taps my shoulder to get my attention. ¡°Nuri, do you think any of the [Guards] have detection Skills or can sense interlopers? I know they look lackadaisical, and they probably don''t expect anyone to slip past a perimeter of armored monsters, but we¡¯re putting an awful lot of trust into our ability to sneak. We¡¯re just amateurs at the end of the day.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Mel. I really hate how much sense you''re making right now,¡± I reply after I tamp down my initial burst of panic. ¡°Maybe they already know we''re here. Maybe they''re just letting us walk into a trap. Maybe when we go into the dungeon of the Old Keep to check on the Rift core, the [Guards] will lock us in.¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah, that¡¯s what I would do,¡± Lionel says with a cheeky grin. ¡°No sense in chasing down potentially dangerous intruders when they can just walk right into the prison for you. Ha! Maybe I should have been a guard.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never known anyone who works half as hard as you do at being lazy. You¡¯re a true inspiration to us all, Lio.¡±

    He squints at me. ¡°I don¡¯t know whether to feel flattered or insulted, so I¡¯ll just assume it¡¯s a little bit of both.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re being efficient,¡± Melina says, giving us each a pointed look, as if to tell us off for being too loud. ¡°I¡¯ll bet this entire wing is storage. Unless we find more than spare sets of uniforms and hardtack biscuits, then we can probably eliminate this part of the Old Keep and move more quickly. Nuri? What do you think? It¡¯s your call.¡±

    ¡°Sure. I trust your judgment.¡±

    Mikko grips his hammer. ¡°Sounds good to me. You always were the smart one, Mel. I¡¯ll take the lead just in case, but why don¡¯t you point me in the right direction?¡±

    Melina bites her lower lip while she thinks it over. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s go all the way to the end of the corridor and check the rooms there. If it¡¯s the same kind of stuff, then we¡¯ll go clear to the other side of the keep. If we find any paperwork, though, then show it to me. We¡¯ll need to copy anything incriminating, get out while we can, and review it later with Rakesh.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good,¡± Mikko grunts. He assumes point position, his hammer angled across his chest and held firmly in both hands. If I didn¡¯t know that he¡¯s a [Blacksmith], then I might guess that he¡¯s a [Warhammer Warrior], or some sort of [Hammer Beserker]. With his hulking form, deeply furrowed brow, and brooding eyes, he looks positively terrifying.

    We jog down the corridor, our eyes constantly roving back and forth. I¡¯m turning in each direction as quickly as I can, like my head is mounted on a swivel, but I haven¡¯t seen anything to indicate that we¡¯ve been discovered yet. Let¡¯s hope it stays that way.

    The first room we check on what I¡¯ve dubbed the ¡°North¡± side of the Old Keep is more intriguing than the rows of dusty old boxes in the storage wing. I have no idea if the points of a compass apply down here, or which direction the castle is actually oriented, but sticking to the familiar cardinal directions seems like the simplest way to keep things in order. We entered on the ¡°West¡± side, and now we¡¯re heading to the left, so that makes it North.

    The first wing proved useless. I¡¯m still a bit shocked that none of the rooms are locked, but maybe no one ever infiltrated. Based on how tight security is on the approach, then maybe it¡¯s a safe assumption. They¡¯re confident no one is crazy enough to try to fight their way into a Rift, and they¡¯re probably right. Sneaking into the Old Keep is one of the dumbest things I¡¯ve ever done.

    My friends are insane for following.

    ¡°This is more like it,¡± I whisper, gesturing for the rest of the team to follow me inside the room. Stacks of musty old books with black bindings line a row of heavy oak bookshelves. The shelves dominate the room, and the muted, graying patina on the wooden shelves tells a story of long neglect.

    Melina is immediately drawn to the books, rushing over like a moth to a flame. ¡°Ah! Now we¡¯re getting somewhere! Help me catalog these.¡± The words come out as a command, not a question, and everyone jumps to obey.

    Ha. She¡¯s the real boss.

    ¡°Looks like land deeds,¡± Lionel says after two or three minutes. He looks up from a book he¡¯s thumbing through and yawns. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ve got the details quite right, but it¡¯s boring enough that you might like it. You wanna double-check, Mel?¡±

    ¡°For the record, I resent the implication that I¡¯m boring,¡± Melina says, but she takes the book with an eager glint in her eyes, confirming the contents a little while later. ¡°Yeah, you got it. Well done, Lio. I suppose it¡¯s not much of a surprise, and it¡¯s not proof of any wrongdoing. [Lord] Dimitri owns most of the land surrounding Mahkaiaraon, so this makes sense. Keep looking for anything unusual. Maybe we can track his purchases over time, or see if any unexpected trends emerge. Still, it¡¯s potentially useful. Let¡¯s skim through the rest of the books in here, and then move on to the next room.¡±

    Following Melina¡¯s directions, we methodically make our way through two more rooms, pausing every few minutes to double-check for [Guards]. The books are starting to blur together, and I¡¯ve almost lost interest before we find our first positive lead.

    ¡°Salary statements,¡± Mikko announces.

    ¡°Gimme, gimme!¡± The way Melina¡¯s face shines at the sight of dusty old ledgers makes me chuckle. She races over to Mikko¡¯s side and practically snatches the book out of his hand. Her eyes glimmer, lighting up with mana as she invokes her time-acceleration, and she scans the entire contents of the book more quickly than I can read a single page.

    ¡°This is even better than I expected! I think we found hiring records and a personnel list. Do you know what this means, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± I admit. ¡°We already know that [Lord] Dimitri is using [Guards] to patrol the Old Keep. What information does this give us, other than proof he¡¯s got employees down here? Is there a money trail? I¡¯m not sure we discovered something new.¡±

    ¡°We have a date,¡± Melina says triumphantly, stabbing her finger down against one of the scribbles in the opening pages of the first book. ¡°This has been going on far longer than I feared initially. This far predates the Rifts opening, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Well, I guess that¡¯s not a complete surprise,¡± I say slowly, raking my fingers through my beard while I think. ¡°Tem and his mage-killer crew explored numerous Rifts twenty or thirty years ago. It¡¯s all documented in his biography.¡±

    Melina gives me a wolfish grin, and I know that I¡¯ve missed something crucial. ¡°That¡¯s a good point. But are you actually looking at the date? Or are you just conjecturing without basis in reality again?¡±

    ¡°Ugh. You got me there. Hand that over, will ya?¡± I ask, reaching out for the book she¡¯s waving around in front of my face. She¡¯s got a knack for brandishing the truth like a bludgeon. ¡°It¡¯s hard to read when you¡¯re practically vibrating with excitement over your discovery.¡±

    My eyes take a moment to adjust to the cramped, spidery text that covers every square inch of the page, but once I get the hang of the style, I immediately see what caught Melina¡¯s attention. The first date scrawled at the top of the page is from over a century ago. If she¡¯s right about the ledger, and it¡¯s for [Guards] inside the Rift, then this begins to establish a case for a long-standing coverup. I¡¯ve never heard about a Rift in this region before, and they¡¯re not well known for bountiful natural resources, so the wealth on display around the city is probably due to generations of deception. Maybe this is the money trail I was talking about previously.

    I beam. ¡°Good work, Mel.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I found it,¡± Mikko reminds me, puffing out his chest. ¡°I just didn¡¯t exactly know what to make of it. I should get half credit at the very least, if you think about it.¡±

    ¡°Quarter credit, and that¡¯s generous,¡± I reply, smirking at my brother. ¡°Keep it up. This is a great start, but we need something more definitive. Just because this has been going on for a while doesn¡¯t mean that they¡¯re doing anything illicit. Theoretically the [Lord] could still have a reasonable explanation for his actions, which means that we need to dig deeper.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too nice, Nuri,¡± Melina replies. ¡°I doubt they have any good excuses. But, I do agree that we¡¯re in need of more corroborating evidence. We need to catch sight of the bigger picture. There¡¯s more going on here. We¡¯re so close that I can taste it.¡±

    Melina¡¯s eyes are practically shining at the idea of collecting that evidence. Her love for paperwork is almost as deep and pure as Rakesh¡¯s, which I find crazy. That level of obsession is just unhealthy, as far as I¡¯m concerned. Still, without Melina, we¡¯d take three times as long to sift through the books, and we¡¯d probably bring back the wrong details for Rakesh to review. Melina is as close as it gets to having a [Scholar] around, not that she would ever claim that level of skill or education.

    I bite my tongue and keep the less flattering half of my thoughts to myself. There¡¯s no point in antagonizing my most useful team member right now. And, I have to admit, her childlike enthusiasm for the task is endearing.

    Plus, I don¡¯t wanna do it. Win-win!

    =+=

    Melina takes another hour to pick her way through the remaining books. She doesn¡¯t find what she¡¯s looking for, but she seems to think we¡¯re on the right track with this wing of the Old Keep. We sneak through the rest of the second floor, cataloging our finds and keeping an eye out for [Guards]. They¡¯re suspiciously absent, which is starting to worry me more than I let on, but I keep it to myself. No point in scaring the others without any proof.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s weird we haven¡¯t run into anyone?¡± Lionel asks just then, pitching his voice in a conspiratorial whisper that draws everyone¡¯s attention. Somehow, Lionel manages to sound louder while whispering than the rest of the team does when speaking in normal tones. He¡¯s got a rare talent for awkward explosions of sound.

    Curious how the rest of the team will answer that question, I fall back on an old trick and just offer a shrug. If I keep my mouth shut long enough, then someone will invariably jump in to offer an opinion. It¡¯s a good way to gauge their confidence levels.

    ¡°Nah. The [Guards] in here are just dumb. They¡¯ve gotten fat and lazy,¡± Mikko replies. ¡°I mean, did you see how long we spied on them earlier without detection? None of them were any the wiser.¡±

    ¡°Unless it was an act,¡± Lionel mutters.

    Melina tilts her head to the side and stares at him with an inquisitive expression. She¡¯s oddly bird-like in her mannerisms at times, like a hen bobbing around before pecking at a bug. After a moment, Melina clicks her tongue in disagreement. ¡°Why go through all that trouble to trick us? We¡¯re outnumbered and in enemy territory. Doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not, but do you think our plan makes sense to an outsider?¡± I ask. ¡°I mean, we decided that walking deeper into danger was a good idea! What if we¡¯re making assumptions about their actions that aren¡¯t accurate, because we don¡¯t know what they¡¯re trying to do?¡±

    ¡°Well, huh. When you put it that way, it¡¯s a lot easier to imagine that we¡¯re playing right into their hands,¡± Mikko says. ¡°I liked it better when I thought they were just plain dumb.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s still speculation,¡± Melina says. ¡°So let¡¯s not worry about it yet. We¡¯re done with this floor, though, Nuri. I don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to find anything else here. Onward.¡±

    I glance around the quiet, marbled hallways, and nod. ¡°Think you¡¯re right. We¡¯ve gotten all we can for the moment. Where to next?¡±

    Melina shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s your call.¡±

    ¡°Core¡¯s downstairs,¡± I say slowly.

    ¡°You¡¯re nervous,¡± Mel says.

    I nod. ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s go upstairs.¡±

    ¡°Looks like the staircase is in the corner,¡± Avelina says, pointing down the hallway to a shadowed area. ¡°I can¡¯t sense any warmth that way, so I don¡¯t think there are any [Guards].¡±

    ¡°Perfect. Let¡¯s go,¡± I say.

    ¡°Wait, you can sense people by their body heat?¡± Lionel interects. ¡°Then why have we been sneaking around this entire time instead of letting you do your thing?¡±

    Avelina yawns, then smiles sheepishly. ¡°Because I¡¯m tired, Lio. It¡¯s hard work to push my senses that far. Besides, it¡¯s not foolproof. Better to rely on the entire team keeping watch.¡±

    ¡°Sensible,¡± Melina says,

    ¡°Hey! Don¡¯t sound so shocked.¡±

    Melina gives her twin a wicked grin. ¡°Past behavior predicts future behavior. But I guess you¡¯re aiming to break the mold. Very impressive.¡±

    Avelina just rolls her eyes and doesn¡¯t reply, but I see her hiding a smile as she brushes past her sister and leads the way to the staircase. The rest of us fall in line behind her. We move to the stairs quietly, and I almost tap into my Skills, sorely tempted to extend [Arcane Domain] to the next floor to check for [Guards]. I refrain at that last moment. Something about this place sets my hair on end, like I¡¯m intruding on someone else¡¯s grave.

    Mikko shuffles closer to the steps, but stops when Melina warns him that the entry might be warded. He cranes his neck to look up the dim stairway, squinting up into the gloom. ¡°Think it goes up to the [Lord]¡¯s personal suite? Bet you two platters of fried fish at [Fisherman] Kofi¡¯s fine dining establishment that it does.¡±

    I snort. ¡°I don¡¯t take losing bets.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure the core is downstairs?¡± Melina asks. ¡°You said that there¡¯s a presence that interferes with your Skill. Maybe you¡¯re missing something.¡±

    I shake my head stubbornly. ¡°I¡¯m sure. Absolutely certain, Mel. But even if we need to investigate the dungeon below ground, it¡¯s more likely that the good info will be hidden in [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s own chambers. And if he¡¯s like most of the other aristocrats I¡¯ve had the misfortune of meeting, that means he¡¯s on the top floor. Nothing but the best for him, I¡¯ll wager.¡±

    ¡°Is it safe?¡± Mikko asks. He licks his lips nervously. ¡°Can you check for any runes, Nuri? I don¡¯t wanna trip an alarm or trigger a trap. I know I have [Iron Skin], but that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t get hurt. This place is giving me the creeps.¡±

    ¡°Not seeing anything,¡± I reply as I inspect the threshold, jambs, and lintel. Like the rest of the ostentatious Old Keep, they¡¯re carved from white marble, gleaming even in the soft light of the few lit mana lamps on the second floor. ¡°I¡¯d have to check with more precise mana senses to confirm that nothing¡¯s hidden, but the level of sophistication required to miniaturize the runes would be expensive¡ªeven if the [Lord] looks like he¡¯s making out like a bandit.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Mikko says. He sets foot on the bottom step, freezes for a long count of three, and then lets out a huge exhale. He chuckles nervously. ¡°Whew! Got scared there for a moment. Good thing you were right. All right, let¡¯s go.¡±

    We tiptoe up the stairs, pausing to listen for [Guards] when we reach the top floor. It¡¯s an unnerving feeling, stopping in the half-light and hoping that we¡¯re not missing something. On the plus side, since only every third or fourth mana lamp is illuminated, it¡¯s more likely that the third floor is not currently inhabited. Maybe we¡¯re being too cautious.

    ¡°No body heat nearby,¡± Avelina murmurs. She shifts foot to foot, her wand in hand, and for the first time, I realize that she¡¯s scared, too. ¡°Hey, sis, are you sensing anything?¡±

    ¡°No. We¡¯re clear,¡± Melina says.

    Bolstered by their declarations, Mikko strides forward, up the last few stairs, and enters the third floor at last. His body tenses as he stands in the middle of the open hallway, and I¡¯m fairly sure that he¡¯s priming his Skills in case of a fight, although I don¡¯t sense any mana flowing into them to ignite the spell structure just yet. He quick-steps toward the nearest room, pressing himself into the doorway for extra cover and waits for a ten-count.

    He advances from doorway to doorway, clinging to shadows as he scopes out the floor, and soon he disappears from view around the bend. Come back, ya lunkhead! That¡¯s not part of the plan! I think frantically, but I don¡¯t call him back. I have to trust he knows what he¡¯s doing.

    I hold my breath while Mikko checks for danger, trying to still my beating heart. I grip the edge of my backpack strap to stop my hand from trembling and giving away my anxiety. If we¡¯re found out, what will we do? I¡¯m confident that we have enough power to break free, but what about after the Rift? Will we have to fight our way out of the entire region?

    ¡°Seems clear. Come on up.¡±

    Mikko¡¯s whisper jolts me back to the present. For all my fears, things are going smoothly. I lift up my fist and unfurl my fingers, pointing with an open hand to signal that we should proceed. I don¡¯t trust my voice right now as my concerns continue to multiply. Nuri! Stop acting the fool, I tell myself sternly. I need to get myself under control. My friends are counting on me.

    The strange pressure on my soul continues to build. At first, I thought that the oppressive feeling of controlling, jealous violence would lessen as we climbed away from the core, but the proximity doesn¡¯t seem to matter as much as I hoped. It¡¯s like an itch that never goes away; it may not be the most intense or painful thing I¡¯ve ever felt, but the more I try to ignore the weird sensation, the more persistently it makes my skin crawl.

    ¡°All good?¡± Lionel whispers.

    I flinch at my friend¡¯s sudden nearness and try to fake a smile, but my heart¡¯s not in it. ¡°Yeah, uh. I¡¯m fine. Thinking about the next stage of our plan.¡±

    Lionel screws up his face. ¡°Nuri, you¡¯re the worst liar I¡¯ve ever met. Bah. I was hoping to save my mana in case someone got hurt, but you¡¯re jumping like grease on a griddle, and it¡¯s freaking me out. Here. [Soothing Touch].¡±

    Instant relief floods my mind as Lionel¡¯s healing magic hits me. The ragged, red-eyed strain¡ªthat constant, nagging feeling like I¡¯ve stayed up for two days straight¡ªdrains away, and I can think and breathe more clearly again. I smile more genuinely than I have since we first entered the Rift, making Lionel grin.

    Still, the odd pressure of the Rift¡ªor is this another Domain, laying claim to the same space?¡ªis relentless, hammering me like ocean waves pounding against a sandy beach. I¡¯m not free from the sense of intruding where I don¡¯t belong, but thanks to Lionel¡¯s help, I can at least function normally again for the time being.

    I clear my throat softly, catching everyone¡¯s attention but careful not to make too much noise. ¡°Let¡¯s go room to room again. So far, this floor looks more like living quarters, but it¡¯s always good to verify. Keep on the lookout for boxes, books, documents, and so forth. Show Melina anything interesting. Got it?¡±

    Nods all around. I motion to Mikko to lead the way, and we creep from room to room in search of further evidence of the [Lord]¡¯s activities. We soon fall into a rhythm: Melina checks each of the doors first to ensure there¡¯s no warding, Lionel double-checks that there aren¡¯t any physical traps or alarms, and then we nudge open the door if it¡¯s unlocked. For now, we¡¯re moving past the sealed doors, marking them down in Melina¡¯s notebook for further review.

    I¡¯m feeling more stable, but I still don¡¯t want to chance trying my [Arcane Domain] Skill in the seat of the Rift¡¯s power. The more I turn it over in my mind, though, the more a theory begins to emerge. ¡°Hey, Mel? Have you ever heard of a Domain before?¡±

    ¡°Not that I recall, Nuri,¡± Melina answers, but she¡¯s distracted, shuffling through a stack of papers in one of the rooms we¡¯re investigating.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve been thinking a lot about what the word Domain means. It¡¯s an area or sphere of influence. A place where you and you alone reign. A seat of power. Maybe that''s why I feel so ill here, because I¡¯m a challenger to the throne. I need to either flee or conquer.¡±

    Melina puts the paper down, peering at me more intently. ¡°Intriguing thought. Authority, huh? You very well might be correct.¡± She presses her palms together and taps her fingertips as she thinks it over. ¡°That makes sense. None of us have a Domain, which would explain why our Skills don¡¯t seem to generate the same antagonism that yours do.¡±

    I nod, excitement building as I mull over the potential implications of a Domain. ¡°It¡¯s like the way I first cast [Vitrification] through a dispersed cloud of [Greater Heat Manipulation]. I had to seize control of the mana around us. Once I naturalized the energy, though, I could control anything that happened within it. Hence, a Domain.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean you could take over the Rift itself if you contested its mana?¡± Melina asks, her gaze sharpening. ¡°That could prove extremely useful.¡±

    ¡°Theory¡¯s nice,¡± Mikko interrupts, ¡°but I want to know if you¡¯re all right with me breaking any of the locked doors. Too bad you can¡¯t map them out for us, but I guess it makes sense why you have to be careful of that Skill.¡±

    ¡°Assuming he¡¯s right about the role and function of a Domain,¡± Melina says cooly, always skeptical when people jump to conclusions.

    ¡°Sounds pretty convincing to me,¡± Mikko says, shrugging. ¡°Guess you can debate it with Rakesh when we¡¯re back in town.¡±

    Footsteps echo down the hallway, cutting off Melina¡¯s rejoinder. The entire team freezes, and I exchange a brief, panicked glance with my brother. My alarm is mirrored in his dark eyes. We both seem to realize that we¡¯re out of options.

    ¡°Everyone hide! Inside, quick,¡± I hiss, pointing toward a small closet door across the hall from us. Confusion, fear, and shock wash over the faces of my teammates at the sound of the approaching [Guards], but my words seem to shake them out of their stupor, and they follow me toward the closet.

    I dash over to the door, grab the handle, and tug it open, praying that the hinges won¡¯t squeak. Good fortune is on my side; it¡¯s neither locked nor loud, and I herd the team inside, pushing aside a mop and bucket to make room for everyone. I¡¯m the last one in, and I pull the door shut with seconds to spare before the [Guards] enter the hall behind us.

    Flashbacks of my time breaking out of the Army encampment back in Silaraon spring to mind, but I try to focus on the present. That time worked out. Maybe this will, too.

    And if not, violence.

    The footsteps slow, and eventually stop right outside our cleaning closet. I clench my jaw and pretend that I¡¯m as invisible as a shadow at midnight. What if the [Guards] have detection Skills? What if all our sneaking is useless, because they¡¯ve been tracking us the entire time? We¡¯re stuck in here, trapped in a tiny room. Just rats in a cage.

    ¡°You hear something, Rais?¡±

    I stare into the hall through a tiny crack in the door, willing myself to be as still and silent as possible so that they don¡¯t notice me. My instincts scream at me to run, but I hold my breath and wait, watching them talk.

    ¡°Nah,¡± Rais says. He¡¯s the bigger of the two [Guards], with a generous double-chin and a surprisingly friendly smile.

    ¡°Coulda sworn I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut up, Ajit,¡± Rais says, chuckling. ¡°You¡¯ve been jittery all day. ¡®Oh, no! The wispy little tree sprites are spying on us from the forest!¡¯ I¡¯m tired of your whining, man.¡±

    Ajit scoffs, pulling his cloak tighter around his gaunt frame. His cheeks are shadowed in the dim light of the hallway, but it¡¯s just well lit enough for me to make out a bit of gray stubble covering a jagged, puckered red scar on his chin, looping up his right cheek. ¡°Whatever. Let¡¯s just get the signet ring and go.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he need it for anyway?¡± Rais asks. ¡°Orders are orders, but this ain¡¯t exactly a convenient mission. I was about to turn in for some sleep.¡±

    ¡°Abyss take him,¡± Ajit grumbles. ¡°How should I know? The real question is why he left it down here in the first place. High and mighty [Lord] Dimitri hasn¡¯t been down below in years, not since that big old lizard sliced up his leg. How does he sign things the rest of the time?¡±

    ¡°Huh. That¡¯s a good point.¡±

    ¡°I always have good points.¡±

    Rais laughs good-naturedly. ¡°Sure you do, old man. Sure you do. Hey, you were there the day the [Lord] got hurt, weren''t you?¡±

    Ajit nods curtly. His expression is still sour, but a gleam enters his eyes, as though he¡¯s excited to tell the story. ¡°Yeah. As a fresh recruit, I had the misfortune of being bait for one of the hunts. They hadn¡¯t gotten a core in a while, so the boss was getting antsy.¡±

    Rais snorts. ¡°When ain¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s the truth,¡± Ajit replies, nodding sagely. ¡°That¡¯s just how important folk act. It¡¯s like they¡¯re either making money, or the world¡¯s crashing down. Anyway, the big boss thought the beasties might reveal themselves if a target appeared, and yours truly lost the game of dice to figure out who had to flush ¡®em out.¡±

    ¡°Luck o¡¯ the abyss!¡±

    Ajit chuckles darkly. ¡°Nah. Joke¡¯s on them. That sucker ran me right over like I didn¡¯t exist. Gave me this scar like it was nothin¡¯, but didn¡¯t even have the decency to stop and check on little ole me. Lizard just made a beeline for Lord Dimitri. Cut him up good!¡±

    Rais slaps Ajit on the back. ¡°That¡¯s cuz your ugly old face is too tough to chew. Strange, huh? Who knew that monsters had refined tastes!¡±

    ¡°Ha. Yep, no commoner for him. He needed only the fanciest of flesh. Got a good core out of that one, though. Now let¡¯s grab that ring and stop wasting time,¡± Ajit snaps, dragging the bigger [Guard] along toward the door.

    Their voices fade as they chuckle and keep walking, teasing each other the entire way. It¡¯s so oddly similar to the way we talk with each other that it makes me second-guess fighting. This pair doesn¡¯t exactly scream ¡°criminal masterminds¡± to me. They¡¯re just regular people with a job to do.

    Ajit and Rais move past my narrow view through the slit in the door. Their heavy boots echo as they stomp away from our hiding spot, heading toward the double-doors at the end of the corridor. The tall, carved archways that house the doors are more ornate than the other doorways, which means that their destination is definitely the private chambers of [Lord] Dimitri.

    I strain to listen, trying not to give into the temptation to use my Domain. One of the two fumbles around, cursing softly and rustling his armor; I can¡¯t make out who it is. A moment later, a muted cry of triumph reaches me.

    Curiosity overtakes me. I ease the door open and stick my head out, crouching low to stay out of sightlines if they do happen to look back over their shoulders. The smaller silhouette¡ªAjit, I think¡ªfishes a key out of his pocket, fiddles with the lock, and clicks it open. I watch them slip inside, then report back to the team.

    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± I whisper.

    Melina nods. ¡°They went inside? Must be wards in the doorway. I don¡¯t sense them at all anymore now that they¡¯re behind the door.¡±

    I lick my dry lips. ¡°What do you think they¡¯re after? How much could you hear?¡±

    ¡°Nohing,¡± Mikko grumbles from his spot in the back. ¡°Let me out of this cramped equipment closet.¡±

    ¡°We should run,¡± Melina says.

    I shake my head, although I don¡¯t know if she can see me in the dark closet. ¡°We won¡¯t get an opportunity this good again. They didn¡¯t lock the door behind themselves when they went inside [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s chambers. Besides, I want to know what¡¯s up with fetching his signet ring. New plan. We¡¯re going in there after them.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s wise?¡±

    I let out a slow breath. ¡°No. I intended to take things slowly, checking for danger and avoiding any potential confrontation, but this might be a golden opportunity. Keep close and stay quiet, friends. This is our chance. Let¡¯s find out what he¡¯s hiding in there.¡±

    ¡°Let us out first,¡± Mikko demands, the urgency filtering through even though he keeps his voice low.

    I scramble out of the closet and open the door, waving the team out. They don¡¯t look too happy about my idea as they unfold from the storage closet and emerge into the hallway one by one, stretching out the kinks in their necks and backs.

    Mikko pushes Lionel and Avelina ahead of him, steering them through the door. He gives me an annoyed look. ¡°Next time, let¡¯s stuff Nuri in the back and squish him.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Ko,¡± I say sheepishly.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, I guess. But let¡¯s get out of here before they come back. I¡¯ve had my fill of close calls. You¡¯re courting trouble, bro.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Melina says. ¡°We still need to check on the core, but I think it¡¯s more sensible to get out while we can.¡±

    I fold my arms across my chest. ¡°And if the vines grow across the path again? Do we risk hacking them apart and calling down the wrath of the entire Rift?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just a theory,¡± Avelina says, matching my cross-armed posture. Her eyes glow with barely-restrained fire. ¡°If the vines were as scary as you say, then why didn¡¯t they strangle us while we were resting, or tie us up so that those dogs could catch us? Don¡¯t exaggerate the threat¡ªand don¡¯t sell us short, either.¡±

    I glance around at my friends. They seem determined to leave, and the prudent part of me thinks that it¡¯s the right choice, but it¡¯s hard for me to admit defeat. We¡¯re so close. Turning back now feels depressing.

    ¡°Lio? You wanna chime in?¡±

    ¡°Why me?¡± Lionel sputters. ¡°I¡¯m just standing here, minding my own business. Don¡¯t drag me into your argument, Nuri. If the team votes to go, then just go. But if your gut says to stay, then I guess you gotta do what you think is right.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go in solo?¡± Melina suggests. ¡°Hiding the entire team is hard, but if you sneak, you could slip in after those [Guards] and check out what¡¯s happening. We¡¯ll retreat to the second floor and keep watch.¡±

    ¡°Lionel is our best scout,¡± I reply slowly, but one look at his wide eyes, and I give up on trying to convince him to come with me. ¡°Huh. Fine. Guess this is something that I have to do by myself.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything,¡± Mikko says, and there¡¯s an undercurrent of real anger in his voice that shocks me into listening. ¡°What do you think you¡¯ll accomplish by sneaking in there, bro? It¡¯s asking for trouble. You¡¯re putting yourself in danger, and for what? A few clues? Wake up! This isn¡¯t a game. Let¡¯s just get out of here and check with Rakesh later to see what new law the [Lord] approves with that ring, or however it works.¡±

    I want to argue back, but it¡¯s only because I want to satisfy my curiosity. I know that it¡¯s smarter to withdraw and plan our next steps, but I¡¯m starting to realize that I live for the rush of danger and excitement. My shoulders slump in defeat. ¡°I hear you, Mikko. I do. We¡¯ll go.¡±

    Melina smiles sympathetically. She squeezes my shoulder as she walks by, heading to the stairway. I nod and follow. As much as it irks me to leave the mystery, it¡¯s the right call. We¡¯ll figure it out eventually, but my first duty is to keep my team alive. I can¡¯t do that if I split up and chase down every whim, leaving them on their own.

    Being responsible is hard.

    =+=

    It takes us half an hour to creep our way back through the Old Keep, since we keep stopping to listen and ensure that more [Guards] aren¡¯t around. When Ajit and Rais march down the stairs, we barely have time to duck into a room and hide, but somehow they pass on by without even a hint that they¡¯ve noticed us

    Their inability to track us down is messing with my mind. Either they¡¯re playing a game I don¡¯t understand, or maybe they¡¯re not really [Guards]. Maybe they¡¯re just regular soldiers or hired hands, without any real Skills suited to guarding the castle and finding intruders. The idea is comforting, but I still don¡¯t breathe easily. There¡¯s too much at stake to risk being cavalier.

    Finally, we retrace our steps to the room we entered initially, and I shut the door behind us. It¡¯s not very thick, and someone could probably hear us inside, but it provides the illusion of privacy. Right now, that¡¯s enough to be comforting.

    ¡°Let¡¯s vote. Core, or inn?¡±

    ¡°Inn,¡± Lionel says instantly.

    ¡°Core,¡± Melina says.

    ¡°Great, it¡¯s tied one to one,¡± I say, quirking up my lips into a wry grin. ¡°Mikko, what do you say? How about you, Avelina? You¡¯re strangely quiet for once.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s probably smarter to go back,¡± Avelina says, chewing her lip in thought. Her eyes dart toward the door. ¡°But we¡¯re so close. Nuri, you said this place isn¡¯t like a normal Rift. Shouldn¡¯t you find out why? I vote to stay.¡±

    Mikko scowls. ¡°I¡¯m gonna regret this, but I agree with Ava. The safe bet is to go back to the inn and catch up with Rakesh. We could reprovision and come back with a plan. But when have we ever done the smart thing? Taking crazy chances seems to have worked out fine for Nuri so far.¡±

    I laugh ¡°Thanks. I think.¡±

    Lionel throws up his hands dramatically. ¡°Fine, I¡¯m in. Guess someone has to keep you alive.¡±

    ¡°You love it,¡± I tease.

    ¡°Make my job easy,¡± Lionel begs.

    ¡°You got it. No dying, no bleeding out, no broken bones¡ªthis will be a walk in the park, Lio. Promise.¡±

    Mikko smacks me on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t make promises you can¡¯t keep, bro. Let¡¯s take this seriously.¡±

    I shake out my sore muscles, nod at my brother, and shrug my pack onto my shoulders. ¡°Good advice. Move out, team. We¡¯ve got a dungeon to scour.¡±

    Following the strange pulses of violence, I let my instincts guide me through the snarl of hallways and rooms in the Old Keep. Downward, ever downward, we wind our way through the huge castle. I duck into a narrow servant¡¯s passage, acting on impulse, and lead them through a tight staircase. No mage lamps illuminate our way, but Avelina summons a small flame to act as a torch.

    My friends huddle close by me as we slink down the stairs. A skinny doorway set into the wall without any obvious frame seems to lead to the ground floor, but I move past it, locked onto the sense of wrongness that permeates the air. We¡¯re here to find the core; nothing else matters for now. We can explore another time.

    ¡°How deep do you think these stairs go?¡± Melina asks, her voice strangely harsh in the tight confines of the servant¡¯s stairway. Her words come through muffled, but it¡¯s louder than I expected in the confined space.

    ¡°Seems to reach all the way down. We¡¯re close now, if the pressure is any indication,¡± I reply, gritting my teeth against the constant throb of aggravation emanating from the nearby core. I pause on a landing, holding my head and taking a deep breath as I wait for the latest wave of nausea to pass.

    ¡°You got this, Nuri,¡± Lionel says, reaching past Melina to place his hand on my back. ¡°I got one, maybe two, left in me, so make it count. [Soothing Touch.]¡±

    Relief floods me, although it feels more tenuous than before. Here, in close proximity to the writhing center of the Rift¡¯s power, I¡¯m a sparrow flying into the teeth of a hurricane, a tiny guppy swimming straight into a maelstrom.

    One more turn, and the stairs end in a short flight. A thick, iron-bound door bars our way to the dungeon proper. ¡°We¡¯re here. I can feel it.¡±

    ¡°The door kinda gave it away,¡± Avelina points out in a loud whisper, which prompts a few chuckles. ¡°But I¡¯m glad we¡¯re finally here.¡±

    Unlike the [Lord]¡¯s fancy chambers with a high, arched double doorway, this door is all business. It¡¯s squat and heavy, radiating a palpable sense of danger, and the dark iron bands that reinforce the thick wood are rough-cast and ugly, built for utility, not glamor. It seems like an excessive barrier to keep out servants.

    ¡°Why go through all that work to keep out the servants?¡± Mikko asks, echoing my ideas. He shoulders past me, frowning as he touches the metal. ¡°Rough work, but solid.¡±

    The malevolent power on the other side of the door surges as I draw closer, as though it can sense my opposing energy, and I shudder. I give Mikko a solemn look. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s to keep them from dying. Something has to constrain the mana.¡±

    Lionel squeaks like a cornered mouse. ¡°You think it¡¯s so dangerous that they keep out the average person? And we¡¯re going in there?¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t the rest of you stay out here?¡± I suggest after a moment of deliberation. It¡¯s hard for me to think straight, but I push forward, modifying the plan to suit. ¡°Mikko, break down the door if you have to. I need to see what¡¯s in there.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right by your side, brother,¡± Mikko says, uncharacteristically serious. He sets down his pack, lifts his hammer, and approaches the door resolutely. His jaw tightens, clenching as he prepares himself, and we all step back instinctively.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Lionel calls out just before Mikko swings his huge glass hammer. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that the door is actually locked. There¡¯s no mechanism by the handle. It¡¯s just heavy. I¡¯ll bet it¡¯s there for protection, like Nuri said, but it doesn¡¯t make sense to lock it. Servants probably just bring down food or something, knock, and flee back up the steps.¡±

    ¡°Ahh,¡± I reply, catching on. ¡°Fear is a powerful barrier. They probably hate coming down here. Anyone inside wouldn¡¯t want to bother undoing a bolt or lock. Easier to just shove the big door open once the servants run off.¡±

    Mikko shrugs. ¡°Worth a try.¡±

    When the huge, heavy door creaks open at Mikko¡¯s pull, it¡¯s like releasing a floodgate. The team breaks into soft laughter, letting go of tension that¡¯s been building for hours. The mirth is short-lived, though, as we stare down the yawning darkness on the other side of the door. It¡¯s weirdly thick, as though the shadows themselves have substance, and the heartbeat of malice is so powerful that even the team members without mana senses are blanching and drawing away from the opening.

    ¡°Mikko, with me. The rest of you, retreat to the first landing and try to rest if you can. We need you at full strength on the way back to town.¡±

    ¡°Stay safe,¡± Melina says softly, pulling me into a side hug. She moves on to hug Mikko a moment later, then draws back with a grim, proud smile. ¡°Come back to us, you hear? Heroics are no good if you¡¯re dead.¡±

    I nod, my throat too thick with emotion for me to trust myself to reply. I hold up my fist, signaling the team to move back. I¡¯ve stopped just shy of the threshold to the dungeon, as if my body doesn¡¯t want to obey, but I force myself to keep moving.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so glum,¡± Mikko says. He waves to the team. ¡°Stay back. Keep watch. We¡¯ll be back before you know it.¡±

    I lean on my brother for support for a moment, glad he¡¯s here. Something tells me that I¡¯ll need his strength before the day is out. Then I straighten up, square my shoulders, and tell my rebellious legs to march. I move forward, entering the terrifying maw before I give up. I take the last few steps on my own, crossing the border into the dungeon.

    The thick, cloying darkness swallows me whole. For a split second, I panic, set adrift in a perilous sea, but Mikko¡¯s powerful hand closes over my wrist, drawing me onward, inexorable as he pulls us deeper into the unnatural, hateful gloom.

    ¡°Steady, Nuri,¡± Mikko murmurs.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see what we¡¯re dealing with,¡± I say, fighting to match his courage as I thread mana into a bundle of twigs I wrapped earlier in the day and soaked in lamp oil. The pulse of [Greater Heat Manipulation] instantly sets it on fire, announcing our arrival. I don¡¯t need to veil my mana anymore.

    We¡¯re here, in the seat of the Rift¡¯s power. I¡¯m done with hiding. My fear falls away, burnt off like dross, and the gleaming gold of my courage rises to the fore. In the flickering light of my makeshift torch, I behold the eerie, scintillating brilliance of the core, suspended in space and marked with strange enchantments¡ªa glimmering dodecahedron that¡¯s clearly been tampered with, changed from its original intent, brimming with violence.

    The entire presence of the Rift trembles, withdrawing its diffuse consciousness from its far-flung territory and shrinking down its focus on me alone. The terror intensifies as it gathers in one place, enraged that I¡¯ve dared enter the heart of its Domain, but I refuse to buckle under the increasing pressure.

    I bare my teeth in a defiant snarl. I¡¯m not just here to spy. I¡¯m not content to simply gather information and escape with my life. No, I¡¯m here to win, and it knows it. Mana swirls around me as I call on the remaining power in my glass cores, invoking my [Arcane Domain] at last and clashing with the will of the Rift. It recoils as the battle begins in earnest, but only one thought dominates my mind.

    I¡¯m coming for its throne.

 Writathon Wrap-up

    Hello, all. Look for the second interlude of the story in the next few days. Thanks for your patience as I work on the next main chapter. I''m still recovering from Writathon!

    In the meantime, let''s boost Thistlelight to Rising Stars. It''s only been out for a few days and still has a hair under 100 followers, but it''s brimming with mystery and oozing style. Cool twist on the usual system: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/68208/thistlelight-broken-system-progression-fantasy</a>

    A new set of work responsibilities this month, as well as a schedule switch-up, has me struggling a bit to get my bearings. It''s not bad--just different--but it requires more concentration and time, which leaves me with less energy to write. My mental bank needs a refill, so my pace will slow down again.

    Avoiding burn out is important to me, because I want to see The Glass Mage through to the end. Slow and steady is better than a glorious burst and an indefinite hiatus, so I might need a week or so to get back on track, but rest assured that we''ll keep plugging along. When we conclude this arc, we''ll reach the end of Book Four. That will put us at roughly the halfway mark! I''m extremely excited to move into the middle of the narrative. It''s time for some power ups and tons more creative crafting. The future is looking bright for our very own glass mage. He''s finally starting to come into his own.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Recommendation time. Here''s a list of stories I often read. Some I''ve linked here before, while others are new. Comment on some of your favorites; when I have time, I''ll check them out. :)

    Pay attention to content warnings. I don''t condone everything; read at your own risk. Not all of the stories are like this one, but I''ve enjoyed parts of them for various reasons. Many of them have informed my style. Give them a shot, and tell them I sent you.

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/51803/scionsong

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/56002/counter-a-fighting-game-litrpg-adventure

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/41330/virtuous-sons-a-greco-roman-xianxia

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/42433/peculiar-soul

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/64140/dressed-to-kill-a-seamstress-litrpg

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/58668/advent-of-eternity-a-tactical-litrpg

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/48969/jackal-among-snakes

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/62157/gleam

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/63958/ashborn-primordial

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/39344/immovable-mage

    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/60682/the-chronicle-of-the-wolves

    Many many more on my TBR list, but this is a good start. When I have the time to read the rest, I''m sure I''ll be back with more recommendations. I''ll shout them out in future chapters. Happy reading!

 Interlude Two - Rakesh the [Researcher]

    Rakesh swept his black, scholarly robes away from his body and clasped his hands together behind him, walking with an unhurried air through the broad, meticulously-cobbled streets of Mahkaiaraon. His mind whirled through a multitude of observations and possibilities, noting the equidistant planting of the peach and cherry trees alongside the road, each barricaded within beautiful gilt fences; the lack of a slum district, along with taller than usual apartments to house additional citizens; and, of course, the prevalence of white marble buildings.

    Each detail resounded in his mind, sparking his interest, but he forced himself to appear relaxed and unconcerned. For a relatively inconsequential town, the amount of wealth flowing through the small city was truly staggering. Something was going on beneath the surface, and he intended to find out what.

    Ah, yes. This place holds secrets.

    ¡°Enough of that, now,¡± Rakesh muttered to himself sternly. He shut down the portion of his mind that worried about how his teammates might be faring while they investigated the Old Keep, focusing only on the task at hand. When [Echo of the Songbird] cut out, and they didn¡¯t return the night before, he knew that they were beyond his meager ability to help. Nuri would pull them through. That man had more lives than a cat. In the meantime, Rakesh would have to apply his talents in more scholarly pursuits. Can¡¯t waste my time. Research is on the docket.

    He ambled about, letting his lazy steps guide him wherever his feet pleased to wander. As much as it pained him to indulge in his desultory desires, Rakesh did his best to give off the appearance of aimlessness. He¡¯d spent an hour sightseeing, and he thought he might even look convincing.

    Flanerie, some of the journals called it. Connecting with the inner being and enjoying the subconscious narratives of life as the city spoke to you. A smile tugged at his thin lips. Ezio had other terms for it. Fondly, he recalled his Master¡¯s derision of the article about allowing the city¡¯s architecture and anima to sweep over you as you wandered about, observing modernity. ¡°There is no scholarship here, Rakesh! They¡¯re idling, avoiding honest labor. Oafing about and having the temerity to call it sagacious! Only wastrels piddle and fritter away their lives and expect to be praised for it.¡±

    Before another half hour passed¡ªto the surprise of absolutely no one, he thought with a wry smile¡ªRakesh¡¯s long steps took him to the library.

    Rakesh ascended the wide marble steps three at a time, bounding up with unconcealed energy. He greeted the doorman, paid a small coin to enter since he wasn¡¯t a citizen of the city, and breathed in the heady aroma of musty books and immortal ideas.

    Although they¡¯d only been in town a few days, Rakesh needed no assistance in finding his way to the records department. He navigated the hallways with aplomb, instantly at ease; he may be far from the city of his birth, but he was always at home in the familiar setting of a library. The hallowed halls of learning everywhere differed in details, after all, not substance.

    Soon, he¡¯d compiled a stack of a dozen or more old books, publicly available copies of [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s edicts, and the official bylaws of the city. Rakesh settled into a cozy chair in one of the study rooms, closing the door to shut out the last vestiges of sound from the academics in the main room. He sorted through the records, scanning the pages as quickly as he could while letting his Skills do the heavy lifting. If a common thread existed, he¡¯d feel it like a buzzing in the back of his mind.

    Looking for any information he might be able to find to help the team, Rakesh passed an hour in complete silence. Not once did his Skills alert him to anything useful or overlooked, but he was used to dead ends and long book sessions. He shifted once, stretching out his neck and shoulders to avoid adopting a hunched position, and resumed his study.

    Within another twenty minutes, however, he¡¯d reached the end of the likely leads without anything to show for it. Granted, maybe he¡¯d missed other resources that might contain better information, but the materials he had selected had all resonated with his Skills, which made the lack of progress all the more baffling. Usually, [Epiphany of the Scholar] and [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities] led him unerringly to the right sources.

    Rakesh frowned, squinting at the documents spread out on the desk in front of him, and funneled more mana into the Skills. A strange resistance met his efforts, but he pushed against it mentally, and it soon shattered under his insistence. Immediately, golden script curled around the dates of the public records, and he blinked, staring at them as though scales had fallen from his eyes. Entries were missing, and unless he was more tired than he¡¯d realized, the omission was intentional.

    I won¡¯t get anywhere with the public information. Giddiness and frustration both rose up within him. Rakesh unfolded himself from the chair, pacing across the narrow confines of the study chamber. What he needed was likely sealed away, inaccessible to his snooping unless he disturbed whatever¡ªor whomever¡ªhad erected the mental barrier.

    ¡°Nothing for it,¡± Rakesh said, an irrepressible grin growing. He bounced on the balls of his feet, eager for what came next. Nothing was hidden from him, not if he fell back on his greatest Skill. He¡¯d have to live without it for a month while it slowly recharged, but given that the team planned to travel across wilderness toward the Mender¡¯s city of Gilead after this stop, he likely wouldn¡¯t need it for a while.

    Guilt gnawed at the edges of his mind. He had promised Ezio that he¡¯d only use the Skill in case of emergency. But with his team missing, surely this qualified?

    To safeguard against the strange mental sluggishness and the hidden records, Rakesh would have to gather more information than he was privy to in the Mahkaiaraon library. And that meant invoking his greatest Skill, consequences or not. He rubbed his palms together. Justified. I don¡¯t have a choice!

    In the privacy of the borrowed library study room, surrounded by sound-proofing wards, Rakesh dared to whisper the name of his secret scholar Skill aloud: ¡°[Eidolon Construct: Mind of The Index].¡±

    Power expanded all around him, filling the room like a golden banner unfurled against the pale blue sky. The shining Skill surged to life, accelerating his thought-process like a ship cutting across the seas after its sails caught a gale force wind. Within seconds, he was fully immersed in a mesh of shimmering wirework, surrounded by an ethereal golden machine that tapped into the national Index itself.

    ¡°Your efforts to obfuscate the truth are null and void,¡± Rakesh declared smugly, jutting out his chin at the ceiling. It wasn¡¯t dignified to gloat, and he knew that no one could hear his triumphant proclamation, but he couldn¡¯t help himself. Activating this Skill always left him with a heady rush of excitement. After all, how many people could conjure up an artificial mind, one that bordered on true intelligence, from nothing?

    ¡°Index prompt,¡± Rakesh commanded, guiding the interface of his complex Skill. ¡°You are a [Researcher] tasked with sorting through the Mahkaiaraon records to find all entries pertaining to the [Lord] Dimitri, both public and private. Present any sealed decrees, filings, or statements registered with the Index within the last two years.¡±

    The Skill whirred, glowing so brightly that he wished he could shut his eyes or avert his gaze. But physical actions wouldn¡¯t matter; the blaze of golden glory was visible only in his soul, illuminating secrets and truth, and revealing them to Rakesh through the idealized, artificial mind of the Index.

    Intangible pages scrolled past Rakesh¡¯s vision, displaying the requested information in a dizzying array of information. He staggered, sinking down into the chair before the sheer volume of sealed records gave him a headache. He¡¯d rather not lose his balance and smack his head on the edge of a table.

    Again, he thought sheepishly, recalling the first time he¡¯d activated his Skill. The rush of complicated details had overwhelmed him, and he¡¯d fainted right in front of the [High Dean] of the SCA, earning eight stitches and a permanent wound to his pride.

    His eyes flickered, inspecting the words as he scrutinized the findings for details that he could use to help the team. His eyebrows rose in alarm the more he read. He committed it all to memory, not daring to write it down where someone might find it. The money trail was damning: shady agreements with [Bandits] to harass and otherwise discourage the [Merchant] caravans who had braved the recent uptick in monster activity, a lucrative and constant stream of revenue from non-Guild [Alchemists], and an exclusive arrangement with a local [Healer] to shut down operations and care only for the [Lord] Dimitri.

    ¡°Non-Guild, hm? They¡¯re bound to be less than reputable,¡± Rakesh mused. Yet if these were the depths of the secrets he¡¯d uncovered, he wasn¡¯t sure that he had much of a case. It didn¡¯t paint a flattering picture of Mahkaiaraon¡¯s ruler, but it was far from incendiary. Low level corruption was rampant in most districts. He wasn¡¯t an [Inquisitor], tasked with rooting out the fraud and malfeasance of the nation.

    Then, just as his grand Skill slowed down and the ethereal papers stopped flying by his sight, Rakesh concentrated on the final entry, dated that very morning, while he was strolling through the town trying to look uninteresting and unimportant.

    ¡°A marriage license?¡± Rakesh muttered, furrowing his brow as he stared down at the unexpected document. Pulling up his mental notes, he quickly confirmed that [Lord] Dimitri was in his eighties. While Dimitri was a powerful man by virtue of his position, he had never eclipsed the all-important second Threshold. Without that breakthrough, that meant the local [Lord] was a true octogenarian and not in the prime of his life. The benefits of ranking up included enjoying a double¡ªor even greater¡ªlifespan compared with the average person.

    Marriage at [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s advanced age made precious little sense. Even so, why keep it a secret? And why was [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities] blaring like a siren in the back of his head? All of the information he¡¯d just read was likely connected. Rakesh had to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together.

    He just hoped that he wasn¡¯t too late. There wasn¡¯t much he could do to help his friends, but he¡¯d do his best. They were counting on him.

    =+=

    Rakesh sauntered out of the Mahkaiaraon library with a serene smile plastered on his face, but inwardly he seethed at his slow pace. He had less than half an hour to reach the temple where [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s marriage was scheduled, but if he gave off the impression of hurrying, someone might notice. Ever since Avelina had told the team about the odd spying situation, he¡¯d been on edge, unwilling to risk undue attention.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Relying on his excellent memory to recall the city map he¡¯d memorized before leaving the library, Rakesh reviewed the information he¡¯d gleaned as he walked. Someone had a vested interest in keeping the [Lord]¡¯s activities secret. The potential smuggling and shady operations he could understand. Hiding the marriage? That muddied the waters, reducing his confidence in the conclusion that [Lord] Dimitri stood behind the clandestine operations.

    Despite his foul mood, Rakesh reached his destination before anyone else arrived on the scene. He scoped out the temple on the corner, as well as the surrounding buildings on the corner of the town square. The temple was less ostentatious than expected; far from a towering structure, at first glance the squat, square shape appeared almost ordinary. The only giveaway was the material. Like the other important buildings in Mahkaiaraon, it was composed entirely of white marble and gold filigree.

    He¡¯d expected it to perch on a hilltop, overlooking the city and pronouncing its grandeur. Instead, the temple was plain, other than the white marble walls. No intricate carvings or stained glass, no elaborate paintings depicting scenes from antiquity, no cupola or steeple. Nestled in one of the bustling shopping districts, surrounded by a fragrant garden densely packed with golden flowers and a few plum trees, the word that came to mind was modest. A single walking trail bisected the flowers, and a small clearing made enough space for a stone bench out front, presumably so patrons could sit and meditate in the peaceful environment.

    Street vendors hawked vegetables and fruits at a few stalls scattered nearby. Across the way, an apartment building dominated the street: three stories tall, drab gray stone, and as ugly as any building he¡¯d ever seen. On the corner of the intersection, just opposite from the temple, a colorful bakery caught his eye. After he figured out what was going on, perhaps he¡¯d stop in for a snack. Activating his secret Skill back in the library had worked up a ravenous appetite.

    ¡°Maybe a quick bite right now couldn¡¯t hurt,¡± Rakesh said to himself, as if speaking his thoughts aloud gave him permission to sidetrack from his purpose. He glanced around to see if he could spot a tail following him, but no one seemed to pay him any attention. Perhaps he was bad at espionage. Or perhaps no one cared in the first place¡ªthe more likely conclusion, he admitted to himself with a wry chuckle.

    Unwilling to be caught out in the open, Rakesh darted for the bakery he¡¯d noticed. It was the perfect cover story in case someone was watching; he was hungry for lunch, and he could truthfully say he wanted to try the pastries.

    The quaint, inviting bakery wasn¡¯t a particularly large shop, but he couldn¡¯t help but think that if it were a person, it would be a [Parade Officer] in the Army. It carried itself with a sort of charming splendor that belied its size. Boasting a broad, beautiful window polished clean of fingerprints and set deep into the stone store front, the shop proudly displayed its delicious wares for passersby to tempt them inside. To the right of the wide window¡ªwhich Rakesh was sure would impress even his glass-making friends¡ªan iron-banded wooden door with a secondary curved window inset at the top stood out thanks to its vibrant green paint.

    He pushed open the door without a sound, nodding in approval at the well-oiled hinges, and let his nose lead him into the warm, fragrant interior. Inside, the bakery was bright and inviting. He sighed, savoring the smell of fresh bread baking in the oven. The walls were lined with shelves of baked goods, from simple loaves of braided bread to more elaborate, jam-filled pastries and what looked like almond cakes.

    ¡°What will it be today?¡±

    Rakesh startled, looking up from the tray of pastries he¡¯d been admiring. ¡°Garlic toast if you have any, Ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°I do. A whole loaf, or just a plate to eat in the shop?¡± the matronly [Baker] asked. Her eyes almost disappeared when she smiled at Rakesh.

    ¡°A plate. I¡¯ll eat here. Mind if I sit by the window?¡± Rakesh asked, gesturing to an empty, circular table in the corner. It stood nearly chest-high, and only had room for two people to sit on the pair of high stools flanking it. Perfect for snooping on the temple.

    ¡°Of course! Make yourself comfortable, young man. Old Anne will bring you food on the double. How about a cinnamon twist for dessert?¡± Anne clapped her hands and beamed at him, not waiting for a reply, and scurried back behind the counter to prepare his meal.

    He smiled awkwardly as the [Baker] sent up a cloud of flour, and eased himself up onto the stool, sitting at an angle so that he could keep one eye on the proceedings without giving away that he was spying on the proceedings. [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s entourage. [Guards] didn¡¯t take kindly to interlopers, he¡¯d discovered.

    ¡°There! Eat, lad. You need some meat on them poor bones,¡± Anne declared, setting his plate of garlic toast and cinnamon twists down in the center of the table. She placed a napkin and a set of cutlery next to him, smiled until her cheeks crinkled and covered her eyes again, and bustled away to help another customer.

    Murmuring his thanks in what he hoped was a pleasant manner, Rakesh withdrew his notebook and opened it . He picked up the butter knife Anne had brought him, placed it against the inner lining of the notebook, and sliced along the inside of the narrow book¡¯s spine. The knife proved too dull to cut out the page, but it left a mark, scoring the paper. He tugged gently on the corner of the paper, ripping it along the vulnerable crease he¡¯d created, and soon pulled the sheet free.

    He fiddled with the edges, lining up and folding the paper in a series of quick, practiced twists of his wrists, all the while muttering to himself under his breath. Within a few moments, a slender paper bird emerged, wrought entirely of clever folds. Rakesh turned it in his hands for a quick inspection, nodding to himself in satisfaction. He¡¯d been practicing this technique ever since he¡¯d read about it in one of the journal articles from the Index. Apparently, it was quite the popular display of skill in a country to the far West, whose name he couldn¡¯t recall.

    ¡°Fly for me, little birdie,¡± Rakesh murmured. He held up a hand to Anne, who waved in acknowledgment, and slipped out the door, leaving his notebook on the table next to his food to keep his spot so that no one would take his important vantage point.

    ¡°[Echo of the Songbird],¡± he invoked, whispering into the paper construct as he strode across the street and circled the path around the temple, stopping to bend down every so often to smell the flowers. When he drew near the doorway, he tucked the folded paper bird inside, behind the open door where it should remain out of sight, and finished his circuit of the grounds. He plucked a plum on the way out, glad it was encouraged by the nature-lovers in the temple.

    Reading paid off. He knew more about their customs than most, although he had little real interest in religion. They invited people to wander the gardens and pay homage to growing things. Eating the fruit was encouraged, as long as no one took too many. Sharing the bounty of the earth was vital to their beliefs.

    Thankfully, so are short services.

    Moments after Rakesh regained his seat, four guards with [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s sigil marched down the street toward the temple. The vanguard of a small procession, they cleared the way for an oversized, black-painted carriage that could only house the [Lord] himself.

    According to the map in the library, the temple was tucked away in a quiet corner of Mahkaiaraon, away from watchful eyes. Hardly befitting the [Lord]¡¯s status, unless he¡¯s trying to hide today¡¯s activities.

    A few of the [Guards] bristled when townsfolk drew too close. One glanced his way, and Rakesh sucked in a sudden breath, fighting off a wave of fear. He wasn¡¯t an adventurer like the others in the team. They seemed to thrive on this. They lived for the derring do, but he wasn¡¯t cut out for a life of excitement and danger.

    Then he recalled that he was simply dining in a bakery. He didn¡¯t stand out. He had nothing to fear, as long as he didn¡¯t act suspicious. Sure enough, the [Guard]¡¯s gaze passed over him with barely any hesitation. The heavily-armed man didn¡¯t even seem to acknowledge him, too busy directing traffic to spare another glance at a young man eating garlic bread.

    The procession stopped in front of the temple, and four more [Guards] brought up the rear, taking their positions to keep people away. A servant hopped down from the front seat, trotted to the back of the carriage, and pulled a lever. Twin doors opened as the entire back of the carriage swung open and a ramp descended.

    An old man in a wheeled chair rolled down the ramp, attended by a far younger woman who held onto handles. She braced herself against the weight of the contraption, moving with slow, measured steps as she gently lowered him down to the cobblestones. As soon as the chair reached the ground, she leaned down to kiss the elderly [Lord] of the city on the cheek, and then wheeled him inside the temple. The train of her dress fluttered in the soft breeze.

    Rakesh raised his eyebrows. The woman was older than his teammates, but not as old as Ezio. How had the two of them fallen in love? He pondered the strange situation, chewing on a crusty bit of garlic bread while he waited for the festivities to commence.

    ¡°Welcome to the [Lord] and his soon-to-be Lady on this most auspicious day! Long have we awaited your nuptials,¡± a shrill voice said in his head. He winced. [Echo of the Songbird] was a brilliant spell, but he had to rank up the Skill if he wanted to moderate the volume.

    ¡°Are you mocking my age?¡± [Lord] Dimitri snapped. Then he cackled with laughter. ¡°Oh, relax, Silvetti. Always so serious! Let¡¯s just get on with things. My afternoon nap awaits.¡±

    ¡°Your excellency is the soul of humor, as always.¡±

    Rakesh suppressed a snort. The priest¡ªSilvetti, apparently¡ªspoke in the flattest, most humorless tone he¡¯d ever heard. In fact, the man sounded like he was staring down the maw of a beast. Perhaps he opposed the marriage, despite the [Lord]¡¯s patronage?

    ¡°Don¡¯t fret, love. We¡¯ll be done soon,¡± the unknown woman chimed in. ¡°Right, Silvetti? You only need our signatures, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I will bind your souls together. The signature is a mundane job, fit for the city [Clerk],¡± Silvetti replied more confidently, seeming to find his backbone. ¡°Now, approach, and I will initiate you into the mysteries of blessed union.¡±

    ¡°Exciting,¡± [Lord] Dimitri drawled.

    Rakesh finished his garlic bread, and absently reached for the cinnamon twist. He lifted it to his mouth and bit into it mechanically, sitting up at the rush of flavor. Anne certainly knew what she was doing. A distant part of him felt wrong for violating their privacy, but he wanted to know what was going on. Something didn¡¯t add up.

    Silvetti¡¯s voice droned on for a few short minutes, expounding on both the sweet joy and solemn duty of matrimony, and he soon pronounced the couple bound to one another. Another voice joined him, introducing himself as the aforementioned city [Clerk], and the scratch of pen on paper announced that they¡¯d signed the license.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, right?¡± the woman asked, her tone far sharper than before. ¡°This takes effect immediately?¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course, your excellency,¡± the [Clerk] assured her. ¡°I¡¯ve already filed with the city. [Long-Range Paperwork]. My Threshold Skill! Very handy for late nights when I have to rush to get home for dinner with the missus, but I still have work to do¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± the woman cut him off frostily. ¡°With this ceremony and seal, I am the legal guardian and heir now?¡±

    ¡°You are,¡± the [Clerk] confirmed.

    Rakesh coughed, choking on a bite of cinnamon twist, and he snatched up the glass of water that Anne had brought over while he was distracted. A quick gulp cleared his throat, but not his cynicism. So that was her angle for marrying the old [Lord]. Love had nothing to do with it at all. For some reason, the thought made him angry, even though he didn¡¯t care about Dimitri one whit. It wasn¡¯t right.

    He strode over to the counter and settled up his bill, overflowing with righteous indignation. Something was rotten in Mahkaiaraon, all right. He wondered how many layers deep the deception ran, or if they had time to get to the bottom of it all.

    To answer that question, he would need to get his hands on [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s personal records. Alas, the Index was not omniscient¡ªand his great Skill took weeks to recharge. He would have to find an alternate means to gain access. Maybe Nuri or Lionel will have an idea. They¡¯re clever. And Melina missed her calling as a [Scholar]. She¡¯ll help me analyze the information.

    More composed now, Rakesh straightened his robes, slipped out of the bakery, and headed back to the library. He hoped the rest of the team was faring better than he was, but it didn¡¯t seem terribly likely. Trouble always followed in Nuri¡¯s wake.

 B4 C26: Showdown

    Mana surges as I call upon the raw power contained in my glass cores. Broken laughter burbles up from deep within my chest, and I throw off the shackles of fear that made me sneak around like a rat in the dark. Why didn¡¯t I fight the Rift in the first place? I shake my head, clearing away the cobwebs of pacifism and the fogginess of the last day, and seize hold of the clarity of the path in front of me: violence. A dizzying eruption of raw energy bursts out of me as I slam the power of my new Domain against the modified Rift core.

    ¡°What happened to stealth?¡± Mikko hisses.

    ¡°Die,¡± I snarl at the core, ignoring my brother. Rage sweeps through me like a fight song, building in a crescendo as violence thrums around us in unceasing waves. My will crashes over the cold, alien consciousness of the Rift, contesting its dominion.

    ¡°Are you crazy, Nuri?¡± Mikko cries, pulling me back from the core with his powerful hands. As much as I struggle, he¡¯s inexorable. His eyes grow wide and panicked. ¡°You can¡¯t just challenge a Rift like that. We don¡¯t even know what we¡¯re up against!¡±

    ¡°You want to fight like men, or flee like dogs?¡± I growl at Mikko. The distraction costs me, though, and now I¡¯m losing ground in the contest of wills. My control slips and hot anger burns through me. It''s all his fault; he broke my concentration!

    I shrug off my brother''s hand, twisting away from his restraining grasp as I stalk toward the strange, hijacked Rift core. ¡°I have work to do. Don¡¯t get in my way again.¡±

    ¡°Nuri! What¡¯s wrong? This isn¡¯t like you,¡± Mikko says, his voice low and intense enough to draw my attention back to him. His gaze locks on my face, as though he¡¯s searching for an answer that¡¯s not there.

    I glare back at him. ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong. Now shut up. I need to focus.¡±

    ¡°No. Something is definitely wrong,¡± Mikko insists, shuffling toward me with his hands up and his palms open, like he¡¯s approaching a skittish animal. He peers at me, squinting, concern written on his face. ¡°What¡¯s happening with your eyes? They¡¯re pitch black.¡±

    My hand moves before I realize it, shoving him away from me. A distant part of my mind registers that I¡¯m being unnecessarily cruel, but I¡¯m too caught up in the throes of fighting off the Rift¡¯s Domain and losing to care. ¡°Back off!¡±

    ¡°Let me help you!

    ¡°Help me win or get out,¡± I growl.

    Mikko flinches away, a hurt look flickering across his face. ¡°What¡¯s gotten into you, Nuri? Something is wrong.¡± He snaps his fingers abruptly and straightens up. ¡°The Rift must be influencing your mind. You have to fight it. Don¡¯t succumb!¡±

    I laugh bitterly. ¡°I¡¯m not the one in danger. Aren¡¯t you tired of getting pushed around? It¡¯s time to put an end to things. What¡¯s happening here isn¡¯t right. [Lord] Dimitri thinks he can get away with oppressing this entire region for his own benefit because no one¡¯s willing to stand up to him. No one¡¯s got the backbone to resist or the strength to make it matter. Well guess what? I do.¡±

    Mikko takes a breath, about to argue, but something seems to make him rethink the idea. He shuts his mouth so hard that his teeth click together, but he still looks troubled.

    I gather more mana, straining the limits of what my artificial cores can throughput, tensing for the confrontation that¡¯s about to go down. ¡°Enough. Put that hammer I made you to good use and take care of the incoming guards.¡±

    I turn away from Mikko and move over to the Rift core, ignoring his confused and concerned expression. I have a war to win. The battlefield isn¡¯t the place for sentimentality. Something deep inside my chest purrs in satisfaction at the thought of indulging myself with further violence.

    A few minutes later, the clatter of footsteps and the clank of armor announce the approach of the guards I sensed earlier through my expanding [Arcane Domain]. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Mikko charging forward like a huge bull on a rampage, roaring as he engages with the first unlucky defender of the Old Keep.

    I clench my jaw, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of my head that begs me to intervene on my brother''s behalf. Instead, I give in fully to the overpowering urge to do battle with the alien will animating the Rift. Mikko will be fine. He¡¯s strong, and even better, he has my hammer. Igniting a significant portion of the mana that I spent all day meticulously regenerating, I pour everything I have into my newest Skill.

    The breath rips out of my lungs. My eyes are burning as I marshal the full might of [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil]. The world splits asunder. My next actions map themselves out in front of me, crystalizing into clarity as if I can catch the slightest glimpse of the future. No longer content to waste my time, I reach out my hand like a claw, cutting at the thick, turbulent stream of raw energy flowing into the Rift core.

    Gnashing my teeth in rage, I strike again, resonating with the violence churning in the air. The good people of Mahkaiaraon have suffered long enough. The little local [Lord] and his forebears have done as they pleased for far too long. I¡¯m not about to let that happen anymore, not if I can help it.

    Ignoring the escalating waves of pain, I push forward until I am close enough to touch the core and strike at it directly. For a brief second, my resolve wavers as I remember what happened the last time I contested the power of a Rift. Then I sneer. This is different. Last time, I was desperate and alone, other than Smoke, who was a stranger to me. This time, my friends are counting on me to come through. Besides, I¡¯m no longer the weakling I once was.

    I¡¯m a king in search of a kingdom.

    With another snarl of rage, I bring the full weight of my nascent [Arcane Domain] against the Rift¡¯s, challenging its right to rule. I¡¯m not stupid enough to actually place my hand on the core and channel its power through my frail body of flesh, but I¡¯m close enough to affect it directly with my mana. Already, I¡¯ve staunched the thick flow of power into the core, and now it resembles a gentle creek instead of a river swollen with spring rains, but it¡¯s not enough. I can do more. I have to do better.

    I stretch my mental powers to the utmost, igniting individual runes within me instead of relying on the entire structure of my new Skill. Borrowing from my [Greater Heat Manipulation], I reinforce the way my [Arcane Domain] allows my mana to billow out and fill the surrounding space. All the while, I draw on the lessons I¡¯ve learned from the reverberating echo of authority inherent to [Vitrification]¡ªforcing the world to bend to my will is neither easy nor cheap, but I¡¯m topped off and ready for war.

    This close, with the preternatural vision granted by my [Arcane Domain] Skill, I¡¯m able to make out thousands of minute etchings on the sides of the massive glowing sphere of the Rift core. This crystalline core is several times larger than the one in the Lesser Rift where I lost my hand. Yet far from daunted by the prospect, it brings a feral grin to my lips. It¡¯s time to test myself and prove just how far I¡¯ve come.

    Like a luminescent pearl, or the moon lassoed out of the sky and brought down to earth, the Rift core pulses with brilliant teal and bright tangerine power. I¡¯ve never seen markings like this in a real Rift; they look vaguely like runes, but less primal and more embellished.

    Distinctly man made.

    Like a thunderbolt from blue skies, the truth hits me out of nowhere. Someone must have enchanted this Rift core in a way that I¡¯ve never encountered¡ªin a way that I never even considered possible. Somehow, in a disconcerting denial of everything I thought I knew about the strengths and weaknesses of enchanting and imbuing, the enchantment on the Rift core in front of me embodies a concept, a true higher order ideal rather than an imprinted spell form.

    ¡°Impossible,¡± I mutter stupidly.

    Yet it thrums with violence.

    Clearly, it can¡¯t be impossible since it¡¯s staring me in the face, but it contradicts every theory I¡¯ve formed around changing the nature of something¡ªthat is, imbuing to become more than what it seems¡ªversus enchanting it, which should simply overlay a function or enhance its properties rather than reshape its identity.

    My breath quickens in excitement. Right before me is incontrovertible proof that magic is vast and majestic, far grander than I ever dreamed. Everyone loves to constrain and confine, to compartmentalize and categorize.

    My crash of willpower fades into the background for a heartbeat. As much as I respect Rakesh and Ezio, something about their approach to magic has never quite sat right with me. It¡¯s too limiting. This is liberating, a refreshing contrast to my incomplete understanding. Magic is more than runes and Skills, more than concepts and neat, packaged ideas. It¡¯s inscrutable and wild, throwing off the weak fetters of our mortal knowledge. The world opens before me with unbounded horizons¡ªand I shiver, find it exhilarating and terrifying all at once. It beckons me with whispered promises.

    I shuffle a step closer to the enchanted core, entranced by the wild beauty of the Rift and its odd, impossible contradictions. Images and vistas of possibility flash through my mind.

    Hooked thorns among pastel flowers.

    A warship adrift on stormy seas.

    Twisted tree limbs in ancient forests.

    Blood in the water.

    ¡°Snap out of it, Nuri!¡±

    I blink away what feels like tears, confused and staring at my brother. Horror is written all over his face. I lift a hand to my cheek, wiping away the thick liquid. I tilt my chin, staring at the stain of blood on my fingers.

    All around me lie the unconscious bodies of the guards. Mikko made short work of them, as I knew he would, knocking them out with his hammer. But before I can congratulate him on his hard won victory, he shoves me to the side, away from the Rift core, and I stumble, leaning against a nearby wall for balance.

    Mikko springs forward with a wordless war cry, his massive imbued glass warhammer in his grasp. The burly [Blacksmith] slams the head of the weapon down on the core. Unbreakable meets invincible, and neither yields. The Rift core shivers under the impact, but stands strong, utterly resistant while it channels the mana of an entire pocket dimension. He snarls, resets his hands, and strikes again, this time angling his blow so that his wrath is unleashed against the bloody, jagged enchantments etched around the circumference of the modified core.

    Wreathed in green black flames, the enchantment flashes with power, defending itself from Mikko¡¯s ferocious assault. The blow shunts aside, but my brother is undaunted. He whirls with the force of the redirection, spinning and throwing his full weight into the next hit. His body glows in my sight, overflowing with more mana than I¡¯ve ever seen him bring to bear. Likely half of his pool of mana floods into his Skill at once.

    The overwhelming force of the hammer blow, empowered by the overcharged channel of [Strength of the Forge Gods], crashes against the etching. It fights back, instantly draining the enchantment on the core of its power. The resulting shockwave lifts Mikko and I off our feet and flings us against the far wall, smashing us into the foundations of the Old Keep and cracking the thick blocks of stone.

    My head rings like a struck bell.

    Vaporous mana vents into the air, thick enough that I can see it with the naked eye even as I drop [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil]. I shudder at the sudden loss of vision and power, fighting to get my bearings after the shockwave rocked me. My Domain fades away from me like a fire snuffed out, leaving me shivering and empty. I sniff, fighting back a surge of strange sorrow, but the sudden hollowness leaves me distraught.

    In the next second, I scramble away from the potentially corrosive energy released by the core defending itself. It feels wrong, rotten and twisted. Who knows what kind of effect such an unnatural enchantment might have?

    Mikko tosses me over his shoulders and runs. A distant part of me screams that it¡¯s not fair, that I need to go back and fight, that violence demands it, but I¡¯m too disoriented to give voice to my thoughts right now. As we run deeper into the dungeon below the Old Keep, away from the Rift core, the urge fades and the pressure in my head lessens.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Go right,¡± I croak out, catching a sense of the energy flows I noticed earlier. There¡¯s an unknown factor that¡¯s powering the enchantments hijacking the core. As much as I want to pit myself against the Rift¡¯s Domain, the fight got knocked out of me, and I¡¯m willing to regroup and lick my wounds before I face down such a powerful enemy again.

    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± Mikko asks, his voice terse. It occurs to me in a flash of shame that he doesn¡¯t trust me anymore. He hesitates for a moment, but he veers to the right and takes a side passage, heading in the direction that I indicated.

    ¡°Something foul,¡± I mutter. ¡°That enchantment has no right being so strong. It¡¯s not new, but it hasn¡¯t degraded like I¡¯d expect. Something¡¯s keeping it fresh.¡±

    ¡°Should I be worried?¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± I admit, but my mind is moving too slowly for me to turn the problem over and look at it from all angles. I feel like I¡¯m trying to run through knee-deep mud, or swim upstream against a swift current.

    Mikko stutter-steps and comes to a halt in the dim, narrow stone passage. He sets me down in front of a sturdy wooden door with iron bands. ¡°Through here, I presume? I can break it if you need the door open.¡±

    I lean on my brother for support, my body weak and my thoughts all jumbled up from the impact of my head on the wall, and take a moment to collect my thoughts. I nod, which sets my head spinning again. ¡°Do it.¡±

    He smashes the glass hammer against the lock, smashing it with a single blow. He rears back and swings again, caving in the heavy door like tissue paper, and shoulders his way into the room beyond, with me on his heels.

    It¡¯s too dark to see anything, so I pool enough mana in my hand to emit a faint glow. It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s just enough to illuminate the grisly scene in front of us. Mikko screams, and I jerk back in horror, almost tripping over the threshold of the doorway in my haste to get out of the unexpected tomb.

    A desiccated corpse is staked to the floor, flayed open and veins reaching up from it like the roots of a tree. They feed into a bundle of tubes that leads into the wall¡ªthe trunk of this odd, metaphorical tree¡ªand power pulses through them like the beat of a heart.

    ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s running the Rift?¡±

    Mikko¡¯s voice comes out timid and halting, squeaking like a mouse. I¡¯ve never heard him sound so shaken. He goes ashen, looking like he¡¯s ready to vomit.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I whisper.

    He gulps. ¡°What should I do?¡±

    ¡°Destroy the connection.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you burn it, Nuri?¡± Mikko asks, his tone pleading. He doesn¡¯t seem to want to get anywhere near the half-butchered carcass, and I don¡¯t blame him.

    ¡°Need it. Evidence,¡± I finally croak out, unable to drag my gaze away from the terrifying, profane source of energy. ¡°If I use [Greater Heat Manipulation], then there won¡¯t be anything left to analyze later. Smash the tubes. Hurry! We¡¯ve got company incoming.¡±

    Mikko grips his glass hammer, seeming to take courage from the weapon in his hand. He steps forward, swinging the hammer at the tubes where they insert into the wall.

    A blurred mana shield manifests, blocking the blow. He staggers back.

    Grunting in annoyance, Mikko calls on [Strength of the Forge Gods] to empower his attack. This time, the hammer slam prevails, and the tubes crack. With a sharp tinkling sound like the shattering of glass, the power source of the enchantment breaks, twisting under the violent attack.

    Groaning like the overburdened girders of an old, rusted iron bridge collapsing under its own weight, the entire Domain buckles and shifts around me. The core is still intact, and I don¡¯t think Mikko broke the enchantment, just its source, so I¡¯m not worried about losing stability in the Rift yet. Even so, it¡¯s an ominous sign.

    Lucidity trickles back to my mind as the disturbing, warping effect of violence dissipates. I take in a deep, cleansing breath. Whatever twisted my mind seems to be related to the strange enchantment, but it¡¯s dying now that we¡¯ve cut it off at the roots.

    I blink owlishly, staring at my brother with a sense of deep shame as the memories of my actions sweep back over me. I¡¯ve been treating my brother like rubbish. I hang my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what came over me. Sorry probably isn''t good enough.¡± I swallow hard. ¡°But I am sorry for dragging you into this all the same, Mikko.¡±

    His eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. ¡°You worry too much, brother. We''re both alive, and you seem to be in your right mind again. Now, let¡¯s get out of this creepy room and shut this Rift down so we can get out of here.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Not sure that¡¯s a good idea right now. I agree we need to get out, but I¡¯m not going to trap all these guards inside while it collapses.¡±

    He shrugs his huge shoulders. ¡°They would have happily killed us. I¡¯m not too torn up about it, to be honest.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should be,¡± I reply.

    Mikko slumps in relief. He nods at me, seeming to approve of my answer, and I realize again how oddly I was behaving. Maybe that was just a test to see if I was thinking clearly again. I turn, frowning in the direction of the Rift core. ¡°This place isn¡¯t as dangerous as most Rifts. If those townspeople [Lord] Dimitri hired as guards could be convinced to keep monsters in instead of allowing them to harass passing [Merchants], then maybe this place could be a good training ground.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re as crazy as that [Spear Commander].¡±

    I snort out a laugh. ¡°Not far off. I¡¯ll bet that Nicanor would be interested in adding a stable Rift like this to the rotation.¡±

    ¡°You think that''s why he sent us here?¡±

    I think it over for a few moments before I shrug helplessly. ¡°Hard to say for sure, but it makes sense. It was pretty suspicious that he and my [Inquisitor] friends were all on the same page. I¡¯m starting to think they knew what was going on down here, but couldn¡¯t spare the manpower with the war going on. So they sent us to investigate.¡±

    ¡°Or maybe it was a test,¡± Mikko says. He frowns. ¡°You¡¯re not still thinking of taking over the Rift yourself, are you? That was just the influence of the weird enchantment at work?¡±

    I chuckle weakly. ¡°Probably? I won¡¯t try now, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about. My head hurts.¡±

    Mikko shuffles farther away from the room with the corpse. He keeps glancing back at it as though scared that it will rise up from the dead and chase us through the dungeon. ¡°Do you think your new Domain really gives you that kind of power? That¡¯s not normal for someone in the First Threshold, Nuri. You¡¯re terrifying!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s probably beyond me still,¡± I say, although part of me wants to try. I¡¯ll bet I can do it, if I¡¯m willing to pay the cost. ¡°But once it ranks up, there¡¯s a good chance that I¡¯ll be able to contest control of Rifts like this. Maybe even a Greater Rift, once I¡¯m in the Second Threshold.¡±

    Mikko gestures back toward the way we came. ¡°Think that the guards will be all right? I¡¯m worried about running into more enemies, but I¡¯d rather not murder my way through them. I¡¯m not a killer, Nuri. I¡¯ll fight for what¡¯s right, but it still makes me sick to my stomach.¡±

    I extend my senses, checking for more enemies. Nothing. ¡°We have a brief lull, but I¡¯m not sure if I should risk the potential backlash if I fail to take over the Rift.¡±

    ¡°Nuri! I thought we already agreed no risking contesting it with your Domain right now,¡± Mikko chides. He scowls at me, but I know his anger is only because he loves me.

    I smirk at my brother. ¡°Besides, I''m worried that would tie me down to this spot. We still need to get to Gilead and find a proper teacher for Lionel. I¡¯ve got too much adventuring to do to settle down just now.¡±

    He glares at me again. ¡°You know the [Inquisitors] probably have a job for you there. too. I don¡¯t trust them.¡±

    ¡°Me neither,¡± I say, although I want to say that we can trust Casella and Mbukhe. They¡¯re good men, but they aren¡¯t always free to act on their own. And their boss freaks me out. If he¡¯s behind things, I¡¯m out of my depth. ¡°For now, we need all the allies we can get. Once we¡¯re strong enough, then we can do things on our own terms.¡±

    Mikko nods. He shifts his hammer from one shoulder to another. ¡°Can we get moving? It feels strange to suddenly have a breather after all that fighting and sneaking. Standing around makes me nervous.¡±

    ¡°Plus that corpse is creepy.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± he agrees, shivering.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± I promise, although I have no way of guaranteeing that. ¡°We should go back to the Rift core, even if I¡¯m not pushing back with my [Arcane Domain]. I need time here to review the core.¡±

    ¡°My body doesn''t want to seem to calm down,¡± Mikko says, his shoulders hunched as we walk back toward the room with the core. He¡¯s normally so sure of himself that it hurts me to see him like this. ¡°How do you handle it, Nuri? You and the [Inquisitors] seem to take it all in stride.¡±

    ¡°Some days are better than others,¡± I say, my voice coming out in a dry whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t have any secret strategy for you. No amazing suggestions. You just do your best. It¡¯s all anyone can really do.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t get easier with practice?¡±

    ¡°I guess, but the practice isn¡¯t exactly fun. Better never to have to practice dealing with this stuff at all. I wish I hadn¡¯t dragged you into all of this.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s thoroughly depressing.¡±

    I clap him on the back. ¡°Look, the best I can tell you is to just put it aside for now. Seize hold of moments when you can catch your breath and relax. Deal with it all later, after we get out. Remember, self-pity is the luxury of survivors.¡±

    Mikko nods, although I can tell he''s still chewing over my words. ¡°So what now? Do we head back to the inn? Push further into the Old Keep? What are we doing next?¡±

    ¡°I need to study these enchantments if I can. Something extremely strange is happening here. Keep guards and monsters off my back, will ya? I don¡¯t think that we should seek out the boss fight, and I¡¯d rather not have to take out any more guards.¡±

    ¡°Avoiding detection is probably a fool¡¯s errand after we broke that¡ªwhatever the abyss that was back there. It¡¯s going to set off alarms.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re probably right,¡± I allow. ¡°Still, I¡¯m tired of letting other people decide when and who we fight. Let¡¯s take time to study and figure out what¡¯s going on.¡±

    Mikko rubs his jaw. ¡°Since when do you know anything about enchantments? Thought it was a totally different skill set compared to imbuing.¡±

    ¡°It is. Well, usually,¡± I say, amending my initial statement. ¡°Somehow, this enchantment captured a concept. I didn¡¯t know that was possible apart from imbuing, but I can¡¯t argue with fact. I just can¡¯t figure out how that corpse kept it powered up so long, unless it¡¯s drawing from the Rift¡¯s own mana to maintain itself. Regardless, that doesn''t explain how someone merged imbuing and enchantment so successfully.¡±

    Mikko shrugs, but he seems happy to have a new topic to discuss while we put some distance between us and the corpse room. ¡°Imbuing usually involves fundamentally changing something''s nature, doesn¡¯t it? But an enchantment is just an imprint of a Skill. I don''t see why you can¡¯t do both at the same time.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a matter of invitation versus control,¡± I explain, drawing on everything I¡¯ve learned from Ezio and Melidandri. ¡°Mana is formless on its own, but it will resonate with a concept if you offer it meaning. An enchantment can be more complex, but it brute forces the issue. Look lively¡ªlizards are incoming from our right.¡±

    He snaps to attention, his hammer held high.

    I nod at the empty tunnel. ¡°Take care of them? I need to get back to the core and sketch out what¡¯s left of the enchantments before all their energy fades.¡±

    ¡°You got it, Nuri. I know my job.¡±

    I grin at my brother, happy to have him by my side, and jog back to the core room. I start the laborious process of copying whatever I¡¯m able to decipher, glad that the enchantment is now inert. Even so, I let out an aggravated sigh. I¡¯ve got a lot of work to do.

    I manage to copy a single line of the strange, flowing script before my concentration is shattered by pounding footsteps. Mikko bursts into the room, panting heavily. Blood is spattered across his face, although it¡¯s the wrong color to be his. I hope.

    I quirk an eyebrow. ¡°Need a hand?¡±

    ¡°There are more than I thought,¡± Mikko gasps out in between great gulps of air. ¡°And these ones are more aggressive. Is it possible that whatever we broke was controlling them?¡±

    ¡°Shatter it all,¡± I growl, tucking away my notebook and bounding to my feet. ¡°Let¡¯s put an end to this threat. Together. Then it¡¯s high time we bring in the rest of the team and figure out a plan. Something rotten is going on.¡±

    The hissing cries of the Rift monsters interrupts me. I break off from making plans and cast out my senses. With an aggravated sigh, I slip my notebook back into my pocket and rise to meet the challenge.

    The first armored lizard barrels into the room and finds its end at Mikko¡¯s hammer swing. More follow, and my brother is hard-pressed to keep them at bay.

    My [Arcane Domain] spreads out through the room like pollen floating on a lazy spring breeze. The power of the new Skill calls to me, begging to be used¡ªbegging to contest the Rift itself. Patience is a virtue, Nuri, I remind myself sternly, waiting until the entire rapacious pack is pressing in close. Mikko¡¯s furious swings barely hold them back, but it¡¯s just enough to buy me time to deploy the rest of the remaining mana in my cores.

    Breathe. Steady, Nuri. Sensing my chance, I seize hold of the turbulent mana in the air and make it irrevocably, irresistibly mine to command. I can¡¯t draw it into my cores, but I can use it directly to do my bidding. Sharpness lashes out, sparing only Mikko. The rest of the room is instantly carved apart, sliced open by the fury of a concept made manifest. As one, all of the heavily-armored lizards collapse, cut into pieces.

    Mikko stares at me, open-mouthed. His jaw works, and he sputters, speechless for a long moment before finding his voice. ¡°You¡¯re an absolute monster, Nuri. I mean that in the best way possible.¡±

    I grin. ¡°Guess my new [Arcane Domain] gives me way more control than before. I didn¡¯t think I would kill them all. Sorry I didn¡¯t leave any for you.¡±

    ¡°Not complaining. I¡¯m tired of fighting,¡± Mikko says, holstering his glass hammer in a sling on his back. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get the others. This place is creeping me out, and there¡¯s safety in numbers.¡±

    I nod wearily, feeling wrung out after my display of power. Wielding a Domain may be powerful, but it¡¯s incredibly draining. My bones ache, and not just from slamming into the wall when the shockwave hit us. My [Arcane Domain] is too strong for my current advancement. ¡°Good idea. Melina will do a better job copying all the enchantments, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Ha. Glad to see you¡¯re feeling better, Nuri. I was worried about you for a while,¡± Mikko says wryly.

    I cross my arms. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    He laughs. ¡°You and Lionel are cut from the same cloth, is all I¡¯m saying. You both love making someone else do all your work for you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. You got me there.¡±

    He scoffs. ¡°I always do, brother.¡±

    ¡°Classic delusion, Mikko. Dream on!¡±

    Our good-natured banter improves our spirits as we trudge back up the stairs to retrieve the rest of our team. No matter what gruesome discoveries await us, or how many enemies we¡¯ll have to fight to get out of this abyss-cursed place, one thing is for sure: everything in life is better with friends.

 B4 C27: No Show

    ¡°Time to leave?¡± Lionel asks when we rejoin the team, all but begging to get out of the Rift. Of all of us, I think he¡¯s the least interested in the new surroundings, even if he¡¯s the best at scouting and infiltrating.

    I shake my head. ¡°Not yet. We found something you need to see, back in the core room.¡±

    Lionel¡¯s face falls. ¡°Down there? Again?¡±

    ¡°Someone enchanted the core to function differently from other Rifts. Somehow, it¡¯s got a concept, like it¡¯s been imbued. I didn¡¯t even know enchantments could tap into those properties. This could be ground-breaking!¡±

    As I expected, the scholar in Melina rises to the fore when she hears about the strange effects of the enchantment. Far from put off by the grotesque nature of our find, she leads the charge back to the core room, alight with hunger for hidden knowledge. I find myself trotting to keep up, amused by her predictable response.

    ¡°Conceptual enchantments, a secret yours for the taking,¡± I declare grandly, gesturing at the core when we once more reach the room. ¡°No need to worry about going stark raving mad with violent rage like I almost did earlier. The enchantments are inert now.¡±

    ¡°We think,¡± Mikko murmurs.

    ¡°Look at me. I¡¯m fine. Totally fine! You will be, too,¡± I insist. I turn to Mikko. ¡°You worry too much, brother. I wouldn¡¯t have gathered the team if I didn¡¯t think we were safe. The violence in the air is dissipating. From what I can sense, the Rift monsters scattered after we broke that bloody ritual powering the enchantment. We won¡¯t have any company for a while. Mel, do your thing.¡±

    ¡°Wait, go back to the part where Nuri went mad with rage,¡± Avelina says, sidling up to the conversation with a huge grin on her face. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I missed all the fun.¡±

    ¡°Minor side effects. No fun was missed,¡± I say, waving my hand at her to shoo her away from the core before she gets any ideas.

    ¡°And the guards bound and gagged in the corner? They look like your handiwork,¡± Avelina says.

    ¡°Well. Yes. Ignore them.¡±

    Avelina gives me a flat look. ¡°Minor, huh?¡±

    ¡°Your scale is different, Nuri. Minor for you is probably terrifying for anyone else,¡± Lionel points out helpfully. He and Avelina exchange mischievous looks, which sets me at ease, oddly enough.

    It¡¯s a much-needed taste of normalcy.

    ¡°He almost took over the Rift and claimed the Keep for himself,¡± Mikko supplies. ¡°I had to physically fight him off from wrestling with the core.¡±

    ¡°Good job, Mikko,¡± Melina says, not looking up from where she¡¯s rapidly sketching down the green-black script of the enchantments. How she focuses on her task so effectively, yet still seems to split her mind and listen in to the conversation, I¡¯ll never understand.

    I cough. ¡°Fine. It was . . . scary.¡±

    ¡°I knew it!¡± Avelina laments. She punches a fist into the opposite palm. ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you we¡¯d miss all the fun, Lio? I can¡¯t believe you argued against checking out all the crazy pulses of mana and sounds of fighting.¡±

    Lionel snorts. ¡°You know it¡¯s bad when I¡¯m the voice of reason. Honestly, I just didn¡¯t feel like patching you up if you got yourself hurt.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have to get close to burn things!¡± Avelina protests. ¡°It¡¯s just more fun that way.¡±

    I step in between her and the Rift core, cutting off her line of sight in case she tries to burn anything. ¡°Don¡¯t get any ideas. That will be a very different kind of fun.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid, Nuri. I¡¯ll save my firepower for the right targets. I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t want to shut this place down, though.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m tempted,¡± I admit. ¡°But there¡¯s too much going on that we don¡¯t understand about all of this. Besides, I¡¯m not in a rush to lose another hand.¡±

    ¡°Good thinking. Who knows what chain-reactions we¡¯ll set off? Nothing about this place is normal,¡± Avelina says, turning slowly to take in the strange fortifications built up in the Rift¡¯s core room.

    She has a point. Unlike most Rifts, the thick walls and sturdy, foreboding barricades aren¡¯t designed to keep people out; these seem intentionally placed to contain something. Or perhaps someone, given the nascent intelligence in the Rift¡¯s Domain.

    ¡°Plus, we never fought the boss.¡±

    Avelina crosses her arms. Sparks pop behind her eyes. ¡°You mean you invited Mel to sit here scribbling without a care in the world while there¡¯s a major threat floating around? That¡¯s not very smart. You need to do better, Nuri. We¡¯re counting on you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not here anymore. They probably already killed it¡ªor replaced it when they built up the Old Keep and subverted the core, is my bet,¡± I say. ¡°Nothing in range of my Domain. We¡¯re as safe here as we¡¯ll ever be inside a Rift.¡±

    ¡°Swear it¡¯s safe?¡±

    The intensity in Avelina¡¯s voice makes me smile. Despite their squabbling, she¡¯s fiercely protective of her twin. ¡°Yes. My judgment hasn¡¯t been the best lately, but I¡¯m confident that we¡¯ve earned a breather.¡±

    ¡°Right. Good. That¡¯s good,¡± Avelina says, sinking down to the floor next to her sister. She leans back against the wall and closes her eyes. ¡°Then I¡¯m gonna sleep. Wake me up when it¡¯s time to burn things again.¡±

    She sleeps peacefully for two hours. Thankfully, none of the heavily-armored lizards or ghostly hounds bother us, and Melina finishes copying the enchantments while the rest of us try to recover our mana and soothe our frayed nerves. All too soon, we¡¯re awake and in formation. We agree to return to the surface and review our findings with Rakesh. We need to regroup and come up with a plan.

    I square my shoulders and march up the stairs, leading the way. Doubts assail me, and there¡¯s still a faint, intermittent whisper in the back of my mind urging me to throw myself against the power of the Rift and prove my mastery, but I shove it all away. My team needs me to lead, so I need to become a leader. Decision-making is a heavier weight than I want, but the mantle of responsibility settles over my shoulders, anyway. No turning back now.

    ¡°When we¡¯re back topside, I¡¯ll report in to the [Inquisitors]. Then we need to have a talk with the local rulers. Something¡¯s rotten here, and I think they know far more than they¡¯ve let on. Let¡¯s hope Rakesh has information for us.¡±

    ¡°What if it gets ugly?¡± Melina asks.

    ¡°Survive,¡± I reply instantly. ¡°This is big, but your lives are more important to me than the secrets of an old man. Fight if we can, flee if we must. I¡¯ll do my best to get you out.¡±

    She nods in response, seemingly satisfied, but I can¡¯t shake my feeling of unease. It¡¯s clear that [Lord] Dimitri is hiding something big. We¡¯re putting together the pieces of the puzzle, but some of them don¡¯t seem to fit. Time for some answers.

    I refuse to allow the prospect of confronting [Lord] Dimitri daunt me. I¡¯ve faced down far worse monsters all alone, and prevailed. And this time, I¡¯m bringing friends.

    =+=

    After a harrowing half hour of sneaking through the Old Keep, we slip past the guards¡ªwarned well in advance of their presence thanks to my new [Arcane Domain]¡ªand dash to the relative safety of the tree line. To my surprise, the creeping vines no longer bar our path. Perhaps they were controlled by the co-opted Rift core? Its presence has been suspiciously silent since we broke the conduits of power leading from the mummified corpse to the Rift Core.

    Still, none of us let down our guard on the return trip to the portal back to town. A roving lizard crosses the trail, but we dispatch it before it can raise the alarm. No other monsters bother us, and we don¡¯t encounter any guards, either.

    Our only real delay is stopping to pick a cluster of bright purple berries, which shine in my mana senses. The local birds are eating them without trouble, so I summon up the courage to taste them. Lionel can help me if I get poisoned, after all. They¡¯re sweet and refreshing, with incredibly sticky juice that gets all over my hand. They remind me strongly of mulberries, but with restorative properties that leave me feeling refreshed.

    The team stuffs as many of them as they can into their mouths, eager to fill up on food that isn¡¯t hard tack and dried meat. Field rations aren¡¯t exactly tasty.

    Soon after our unexpected snack, we finish retracing our steps. It hardly seems possible that it¡¯s only been a few days since we entered; it feels more like months, to be honest. For our first real solo mission, it¡¯s gone well. I¡¯m struck by how much we¡¯ve improved in this short time, from my new Skill to everyone else embracing their team roles.

    We¡¯re not out of the fire yet, I remind myself sternly, turning my attention toward the way out. We¡¯re standing on the crest of a grassy knoll, overlooking the entrance clearing and scoping out the soap-bubble surface of the portal. I don¡¯t see any danger, but I don¡¯t want to risk that I¡¯ve missed something.

    ¡°Stay sharp,¡± I whisper to the others, wary even though I still don¡¯t pick up anything in my Domain. ¡°Things are going a little too well, if you get my drift. Who knows what alarms we¡¯ve set off? I doubt we can kill the energy flow to the weird enchantment controlling the Rift core without alerting someone that there¡¯s a problem.¡±

    Fire crackles along Avelina¡¯s knuckles. She lifts her fist, and her hair twists back from her face as the heat warps the air. ¡°I¡¯m ready!¡±

    ¡°Wait for my mark,¡± I caution.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Don¡¯t like going in blind,¡± Mikko grumbles. ¡°Maybe Lionel should scout ahead and report back. He¡¯s pretty nimble, and who knows if there are ways to fool your Domain. It¡¯s still too new for us to rely on it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . sensible,¡± I say, swallowing a retort and changing my mind mid-sentence. His advice is good. Why are my hackles rising at the suggestion?

    ¡°Everything all right?¡± Melina asks.

    I nod mechanically, but I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m telling them the truth. Perhaps the influence of violence is more pervasive than I originally realized, even after cutting the power to the strange enchantment. Or, perhaps my newfound imperious attitude is an unfortunate byproduct of using my Domain so frequently. Something tells me it was made for a ruler, not an artisan.

    ¡°Lio, go on through. If there¡¯s danger, hightail it out of there right away. Don¡¯t get cocky, you got it? If you''re not back in five minutes, we''re coming after you.¡±

    He nods. ¡°Clear as glass, boss.¡±

    ¡°And don¡¯t get caught,¡± Avelina adds crossly.

    ¡°Aw, I never knew you cared,¡± Lionel says, blowing a kiss. He snickers at Avelina¡¯s eye roll and speeds down the slope, flitting from tree to tree for cover.

    I frown, watching him with only my physical eyes. When we get back, I¡¯ll have to ask Rakesh if he¡¯s ever heard of anything like my new Skill. He¡¯s likely to know what a Domain is, or at least he¡¯ll suggest a line of research that will lead us to the truth. Until then, I resolve to avoid invoking [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil] if at all possible. The sheer scope and heft of the Skill in my soul space leads me to believe that it¡¯s really for someone in the Second Threshold, and I¡¯m worried about the downsides of overreliance on its power.

    Lionel saunters across the grass toward the portal, outwardly appearing nonchalant. He looks halfway convincing, but there¡¯s a tension to his movements that betrays his true feelings. I only pick up on it thanks to years of troublemaking and minor mischief with Lionel. He¡¯s nervous as a mother hen, and guilt floods me at the thought of sending him out there by himself.

    He¡¯s a target. Alone. Vulnerable.

    Nothing happens to him. Several tense moments later, he reaches the portal, glances around, and shrugs. He turns and calls softly toward our hiding spot. ¡°Pretty sure it¡¯s safe.¡±

    ¡°Way to give us away,¡± Mikko mutters.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Let¡¯s join him, Melina says.

    ¡°Check the other side,¡± I suggest.

    Lionel tosses me a sloppy salute. His hand rests on the hilt of his glass sword, though, giving the lie to his confidence. He turns, steps through the portal, and disappears.

    We wait the promised five minutes in absolute silence. The entire time, I¡¯m staring at the portal as though by sheer dint of stubbornness, I can force it to tell me what happened to my friend. He doesn¡¯t show up, however, and when I gingerly extend my Domain, I can¡¯t sense a single thing from the other side. Not a ripple of energy gets through; we¡¯re stuck in different dimensions, and my Skill lacks the refinement to punch through.

    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± Melina says, breaking the silence and giving voice to what we¡¯re all thinking. She paces back and forth, twisting a bracelet around her wrist with her other hand. Her lips twitch silently, as though she is debating with herself internally. ¡°Let¡¯s go before the trail gets cold. Nuri, can you track him?¡±

    I grind my teeth together, paralyzed by indecision. ¡°Wait another five minutes. Maybe he found something interesting, and he wants to be thorough before he reports back.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d be a first,¡± Mikko says.

    I sigh. ¡°Fine, another two minutes.¡±

    Barely another full minute passes before Avelina huffs. She springs to her feet, shrugs on her pack, and wreathes her hands in fire. With a grim set to her jaw, she stalks toward the portal. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Someone took Lio. And I¡¯m gonna get him back, even if I have to burn down the entire abyssal town on the way.¡±

    ¡°Mikko, you¡¯re in front,¡± I say, joining the twins before they run off by themselves. ¡°If it comes to a fight, let him get hit first. He can take it. If we have to retaliate, burn ¡®em all.¡±

    ¡°With pleasure,¡± Avelina purrs.

    =+=

    The cold, slick-as-oil passage between the planes of existence is just as unpleasant as ever. As soon as we¡¯re through, I shudder like a dog shaking water everywhere, spitting to get the foul taste out of my mouth. The others are similarly disoriented, but I¡¯m proud to see that doesn¡¯t stop Mikko from shielding us with his body, ready to protect the team if needed.

    My new Domain billows out, expanding in a furious sphere despite my resolution to trim back my use of the [Arcane Domain]. Anger ignites in my chest when I realize I can¡¯t sense my friend anywhere. He¡¯s been missing for less than seven minutes, yet he¡¯s completely vanished from my senses.

    ¡°Not here. Let¡¯s move!¡± I growl.

    As one, we run back toward town, following the trail we hacked through the vines and underbrush obscuring the ruins. Our speed now is multiple times faster than our slow crawl on the way in a few days earlier. At least up here, out of the Rift, there are no strange shenanigans. No vines regrow to cover our tracks; no dense, thorny bushes reclaim the land, preventing our passage.

    ¡°Anything, Nuri?¡± Melina asks.

    I shake my head. ¡°It¡¯s like he disappeared. I can¡¯t push my Domain as far as I could in the Rift, but he¡¯s not within three hundred paces.¡±

    ¡°I wonder why you¡¯re restricted out here,¡± Melina says, her brow furrowed as she follows the thought. ¡°I¡¯d have expected the opposite, since you had to contest the Rift¡¯s presence while we were inside.¡±

    ¡°Later! We¡¯ll ask Rakesh.¡±

    Melina nods, and I can almost see her cutting off the line of reasoning and returning her focus to the task at hand. ¡°We have to hurry. Get closer. I¡¯ll boost us, but I can¡¯t reach very far.¡±

    Her magic stretches out, encapsulating the three of us as we draw together so that we¡¯re all practically touching. Instantly, our pace seems to accelerate. The trees blur by, even though I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m moving any faster. I¡¯m running at my usual speed, but we¡¯re caught in a small time warp compared to the surrounding area. Disorienting, but effective.

    Sweat glistens on Melina¡¯s forehead, and several minutes later, she¡¯s forced to drop the Skill. She¡¯s fighting hard to keep composed, but I can tell it took a lot out of her. Unfortunately, her time Skill is meant to be localized, designed for crafting small items in a stationary frame of reference, not for boosting an entire team of people on the move like that. I¡¯m impressed she could withstand the strain for as long as she did.

    Melina lurches, but Mikko loops his arm around her and keeps her upright. He shortens his long strides, matching her pace, and pats her shoulder in appreciation.

    ¡°Thanks, Mel,¡± I say in between breaths. ¡°You bought us a lot of time. Unless they have movement Skills, we¡¯ve probably made up the five minutes we waited around. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t go through sooner.¡±

    ¡°Save your strength for the fight,¡± Avelina snarls. The air around her ignites with her fury, and I instinctively protect the other two with a bubble of cool air thanks to my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. They don¡¯t have the inherent resistance that Avelina has developed through years of fire magic, and I¡¯m not about to let her melt the skin off their bones just because she¡¯s angry.

    I¡¯m about to answer her when something pings in my [Arcane Domain]. I grab onto their robes and skid to a halt. ¡°Incoming, two people on our right!¡± I call out in warning, dragging the team to a defensive position behind a fallen tree.

    Mikko readies his hammer, Avelina unslings her crystalline wand, and I check on my glass cores to see how much mana I have left at my disposal. I¡¯m running fairly low, which makes me growl in frustration. I grip a small knife. I¡¯ll have to do this the old-fashioned way, and try to harvest enough mana for our inevitable showdown with [Lord] Dimitri.

    Melina curls up in a ball, moaning and clutching her head. She overdrew heavily to move us along so quickly, but now she¡¯s taken herself out of the fight. Ember would have her hide for that if we were back home.

    I swallow hard. I¡¯ll just have to do my best to ensure that she survives long enough for me to critique her energy use. Step one: handle the incoming enemies. Step two: recover our friend Lionel. Step three: a reckoning with [Lord] Dimitri.

    Footsteps crash through the underbrush a little ways off. Avelina feeds mana into her wand, powering up the weapon until it¡¯s glowing and uncomfortably hot. She braces her back against a nearby stump, taking aim at the trail ahead of us.

    ¡°Stop!¡± I scream, grabbing her arm just before she unleashes the deadly attack. ¡°It¡¯s our friends, Nala and Uchenna. They¡¯re alone, and I don¡¯t think they¡¯re hostile.¡±

    Avelina swears, pivoting away at the last second. She wrenches her arm and sends the bolt of compressed fire into a boulder a few dozen paces off to our side. I thought she¡¯d cancel the attack, but it¡¯s too far gone, and she has to vent it before loses control of the weapon entirely and takes us all out in a blaze of glory.

    The whump of the huge explosion sends a wave of pain through my ribs, which are still tender from slamming into the stone walls in the Old Keep. Splinters of rock shred the trees and vines nearby, and the blast knocks us all over.

    Even Mikko groans and staggers back, landing on one knee, which makes me feel better about myself as I stagger to my feet and hold out my hand, hoping I appear non-threatening. ¡°Sorry, sorry! We thought you were someone else.¡±

    Nala¡¯s face is ashen and pinched, as though she¡¯s staring down her own death. Her big partner, Uchenna, doesn¡¯t seem much better off. He sinks to the ground, letting his shield clatter uselessly to the side, and lets out a shaky breath.

    ¡°What happened out here?¡± Nala demands. She eyes Avelina like the [Flameworker] is an avatar of death, and keeps her baton out as she advances warily. She doesn¡¯t seem like she wants to fight us, but something has her on edge¡ªand I suspect it¡¯s not just the overwhelming display of firepower that Avelina put on.

    ¡°Our friend¡¯s gone. Know anything about it?¡± I ask, caught between begging for help and accusing her of being in on it. I¡¯d like to think the pair of [Guards] are on the level, especially since they seem to work for the [Magistrate] directly instead of the [Lord], but verifying is safer. After everything we¡¯ve seen in the Rift, I¡¯m not taking any more chances.

    Uchenna recovers his shield and heaves himself to his feet. ¡°Huh. Is that why a bunch of Dimitri¡¯s flunkies marched out this way a few hours back? Their [Guard Captain] looked like he¡¯d stuck his head in a hornet¡¯s nest. How¡¯d you rile ¡®em up so bad?¡±

    ¡°Afraid we can¡¯t answer that yet,¡± I say as calmly as I can. I smile, but the spell structure for my [Greater Heat Manipulation] is flickering into place, ready to burn the two where they stand if they show any signs of aggression. ¡°If they apprehended Lionel, where are they most likely to imprison him? Take us to our friend, and we¡¯ll talk.¡±

    ¡°Glad for it, anyway. About time someone stood up to him,¡± Uchenna says, taking the lead in our discussion. Nala may be his supervisor, but she¡¯s still trembling, staring at the wand at Avelina¡¯s side. I don¡¯t blame her; if I had been even a heartbeat slower, there wouldn¡¯t be enough left of Nala for her family to bury her.

    ¡°Start talking,¡± I demand.

    Uchenna slings the shield over his back, approaching us with open hands. His rock-solid conviction that we¡¯re not going to attack reassures me, but it¡¯s his words that truly convince me that we¡¯re on the same side.

    ¡°Nala and I work for the [Magistrate] directly, along with a few dozen other [Guards] in our district. Some of the chiefs have been putting together a case against [Lord] Dimitri for years. We had to move slowly, keep things quiet, you know? Eventually we sent out a call for help, but I didn¡¯t know you were part of the solution. That¡¯s why we were so surprised when you had that Writ. Anyway, Dimitri just found out that the [Magistrate] summoned you not to escort caravans or hunt down a few stray monsters, but to clear out the Old Keep.

    ¡°He¡¯s gotta be keeping something big hidden there, because we¡¯ve always been strictly warned to stay off his lands. Word in the Guardhouse is that he¡¯s on the warpath. That¡¯s why we rushed out here to try to warn you, but it seems like we¡¯re too late.¡±

    Avelina shrugs. ¡°Guess that just moves up our timeline. Nuri, permission to burn [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s estates to the ground?¡±

    ¡°After we rescue Lionel,¡± I say, knowing Avelina sometimes gets antsy. I nod at Uchenna, deciding to trust him. ¡°Where are they most likely to take Lionel? We need to get him out before things fall apart.¡±

    ¡°No way your friend is destined for the town prison. I¡¯m almost certain that he¡¯s headed to [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s own dungeon. We should hurry. [Lord] Dimitri was never known for his mercy, and he¡¯s only gotten meaner in his old age.¡±

    ¡°Lead on,¡± I demand.

    Uchenna lopes back the way he came, and we follow as fast as we can. Mikko hoists up Melina over his shoulders, letting her recover while the rest of us run. My mind is whirling with possibilities, running through scenarios to confront [Lord] Dimitri.

    With all that we¡¯ve discovered in the Rift, our case is solid. If I can call in our [Inquisitor] friends, then I¡¯m confident that we can save the town. I only hope we¡¯re not too late to save Lionel, too. Without our friend, it¡¯s a hollow victory.

 B4 C28: A City Besieged

    Uchenna paints a grim picture for us as we run. ¡°Dimitiri¡¯s forces mobilized several hours ago. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. Alarm bells clanging all through town, citizens ordered into an enforced lockdown¡ªand then [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s son staked his claim as the new ruler.¡±

    ¡°New ruler?¡± I ask, panting from the strain of keeping up with the big man¡¯s long stride. I scowl in confusion. ¡°What happened to [Lord] Dimitri? Didn¡¯t he order the lockdown?¡±

    ¡°Dunno. Looks like a takeover.¡±

    I chew on that thought for a moment. ¡°I didn¡¯t know his son was around. We were never briefed on that before our mission.¡±

    Uchenna grunts noncommittally. ¡°That¡¯s something I¡¯d like to hear more about later. You seem awfully competent for crafters. What in the abyss was that fireball earlier? Your friend just about tore a hole right through Nala. She¡¯s tough as nails, but that was something else.¡±

    When I don¡¯t answer, he falls silent. We hasten toward town, focusing on running down the forest path without tripping over the gnarled roots and uneven stones. Every footfall rattles my head like a drum, beating out a rhythm that condemns me with the same accusations, over and over again: This is all your fault. Following fast on its heels is the next question: Who put you in charge? You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing!

    I shove the guilt aside and keep moving. I¡¯ll deal with the recriminating thoughts later, once I¡¯ve found Lionel and made sure he¡¯s safe. And then, violence.

    ¡°Plan?¡± Melina asks, her voice slurring.

    She¡¯s still groggy from overdrawing so hard to try to let us catch up with Lionel, which means she won¡¯t be much help once we arrive at [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s compound. She still has mana, thanks to the necklace of small glass pseudo cores I made for her, but she¡¯s mentally out of the fight. Pushing her Skill like that is dangerous, as my cracked channels and broken core can attest, though I¡¯m hardly one to chide her.

    ¡°Need to catch my breath,¡± I reply, panting from the long run. My ragged, uneven gasps prompt Uchenna and Mikko to slow down. The two of them could run forever, it seems, but I¡¯m not as physically fit. Something else to work on going forward.

    I bend over, my hand on my knees, and brace myself in position while I wait for the world to stop spinning around me. ¡°Not sure what to do. We don¡¯t know what we¡¯re up against. If we can scope things out first, then we¡¯ll have a better chance of coming up with a workable plan.¡±

    Nala nervously slides into the discussion.¡°Bad idea to go straight to the compound. We should go to the Guard house first, then take an entire squad over to the [Lord]¡¯s palace. Who knows what we¡¯ll find there? You need reinforcements,¡±

    As much as it galls me to take more time, I force myself not to think of it as a waste. Part of me rejects the idea of allowing potential traitors into our midst, but I nod anyway. We have to trust someone. For now. When I¡¯m strong enough, I can act unilaterally.

    I¡¯d love to get my bearings, nap for an hour, and formulate a better response before we keep moving, but after only two minutes of steady tactical breathing, I force myself upright and we continue on our way. Every second we delay could mean more pain and suffering for Lionel.

    Unless he¡¯s already dead.

    Morbid thoughts aside, I fall into step beside Mikko, following Uchenna and Nala back to town. I have no idea how long it takes until the city walls come into view, too wrapped up in the effort required to push forward despite the constant barrage of pain and my traitorous mind.

    Mahkaiaraon rises up before, all gleaming white marble. The gaudy opulence seems out of place nestled between two green, curving hills and surrounded by a flourishing forest, but it¡¯s a relief to see civilization again. Tolling bells still echo across the valley in a stern pattern¡ªthat must be the alarm Uchenna mentioned.

    A pair of armored men hail us as we draw near to the gates, which sit at the top of a long switchback ramp. The sturdy stones and aggressive angle of the approach speak of a functional fortress, forcing potential enemies to fight uphill. While not as big or as impressive as the massive gilt river gates of Grand Ile, they¡¯re certainly strong and easy to defend. An opposing army couldn¡¯t bring their full numbers to bear, reduced to struggling through choke points and dealing with the zigzagging path and steep slope.

    Above us, the guard on the left holds his helmet in the crook of his hands, showing off a young but craggy face. His blond locks drift in the breeze, stained dark crimson. There¡¯s blood on his visor, and it looks recent enough that it hasn¡¯t yet faded to a dull brown, although his armor is unscratched and he looks too bored to have sustained serious injury.

    Beside him, only coming up to his shoulders, is an older man with dusky skin and heavy plate armor. He may be a touch below average height, but his frame is packed dense with muscle to the point he rivals Mikko in bulk. He stares us down with his piercing gaze. His straight back, neat uniform, and close-cropped white hair tell of a former [Soldier].

    Uchenna lifts his hand in greeting. He hurries us up the winding ramp and leads the group over to the taller man, concern etched on his face. ¡°Cai! What¡¯s going on? You look like you¡¯ve seen fighting.¡±

    Cai nods, self-consciously rubbing at the splotch of still-drying blood splattered on his helmet. ¡°Ambush. Dimitri¡¯s son made his move at last. Devrim pulled me out before they could finish things.¡±

    Uchenna winces. ¡°Anything left of them?¡±

    ¡°Burial is for good men,¡± Devrim growls. A dark nimbus of destruction swells behind him, and in that instant he transforms from a grandfatherly figure to a predator on the prowl. ¡°Scum like Nikolai¡¯s ilk deserve to be devoured.¡±

    Something about the way he emphasizes devoured makes me shiver. I peer at Devrim more intently, briefly tapping into [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], and confirm my suspicion. He has an unknown set of runes braided together, twisted into a ferocious shape with elements of fire, as well as dark, warped runes I don¡¯t understand¡ªthey share similarities with a few spatial runes I¡¯ve seen, but I can¡¯t place them. I file that structure away for future review; I¡¯ll bet there¡¯s a qualitative boost to braiding.

    The Skill itself is menacing, radiating danger, and I¡¯m almost certain that it¡¯s the source of the dark nimbus I¡¯ve seen around Ember and a select few other [Soldiers]. He¡¯s a former elite, I¡¯m certain of it. [Devour] must be the name of the ability. I shudder, queasy just looking at the strange structure. I¡¯ll bet it burns and consumes until there¡¯s nothing left of its victims.

    ¡°Where can we help, sir?¡± Nala asks, saluting and then returning to attention. She¡¯s still acting subdued from her brush with death, but no longer shrinking in fear.

    Devrim spits to the side. ¡°The [Magistrate] barricaded himself in the town hall. Nikolai¡¯s men have him hemmed in. I told the guards to come up with a battle plan. Now that you¡¯re back, we¡¯ll gather together anyone loyal to Mahkaiaraon. With an entire squad, we ought to be able to break through the blockade of Dimitri¡¯s men laying siege to the town hall.¡±

    I bristle. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this. Who knows what¡¯s happening to Lionel right now. I can¡¯t help with a blockade while my friend¡¯s in danger.¡±

    ¡°No one asked you,¡± Devrim rasps.

    Mikko places a strong hand on my shoulder and gives me a warning look. He clears his throat. ¡°Could you still take us to the manor house, Nala? Uchenna? We need a guide, if you¡¯re still up for it.¡±

    Devrim scoffs, continuing his trend of acting like the ugly end of an ill-begotten donkey, as Ember once put it¡ªthough her words were far less delicate than mine. Their commander gets in Mikko¡¯s face. ¡°Not a chance. We need them. Go play hero on your own time.¡±

    I turn toward Devrim, matching his icy glare, and lift my chin. ¡°Fine. Point us toward Dimitri, and we¡¯ll be on our way.¡±

    He grunts. ¡°Nah. Don¡¯t like you.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Nuri. We can find our own way,¡± Avelina says, striding toward the gate with a toss of her braids.

    As we move to follow her, Cai and Devrim close ranks. The older, stouter man slams his fists together, and with an oppressive swirl of mana, the heavy doors behind him smack shut in mimicry of his hand movements. It¡¯s a powerful, abrupt Skill that reminds me we¡¯re facing an actual [Guard], not simply a hired hand playing at patrol.

    ¡°Gate¡¯s locked. Find a different way in. Or don¡¯t. But get out of our way,¡± Devrim says, his tone promising violence if we argue.

    ¡°They promised,¡± I reply, working hard to keep my voice calm and friendly as I gesture toward the two guards beside me. ¡°We need them to help us find our friend who was taken. Two people aren¡¯t going to make a difference in your mission.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re my guards, not your personal guides,¡± Devrim spits out. ¡°Battle¡¯s coming. Your friend can wait¡ªthis can¡¯t.¡±

    Sparks hiss and snarl around Avelina¡¯s head as her anger rises and her control over her magic slips. ¡°You don¡¯t know that. They might be torturing him right now. If your little war games were so important, why were you standing around with your hands in your pockets waiting for us to show up?¡±

    Devrim crosses his arms and doesn¡¯t reply for a long moment, staring down Avelina. For once, she backs off, clearly unnerved by what she sees in his gaze. At last he grunts. ¡°We didn¡¯t wanna leave Nala and Uchenna out. They¡¯ve earned their place. My mistake; I won¡¯t waste any more time.¡±

    ¡°With respect, Devrim, we promised to escort Nuri and his team to [Lord]¡¯s Dimitri¡¯s new compound. His friend was taken there,¡± Nala says, saluting again for good measure.

    ¡°Not a chance,¡± Devrim breaks in, his tone thick with derision. ¡°They¡¯re strangers. Don¡¯t trust ¡®em. Better to lock the lot of them up at the guard house and then join us. We need you.¡±

    ¡°I trust them,¡± Nala says, standing her ground despite Devrim¡¯s glower. She doesn¡¯t shift an inch, and I¡¯m glad to see her finding her backbone again. ¡°We gave our word that we¡¯d help. Don¡¯t plan to go back on it now. As you said, we¡¯re wasting time.¡±

    ¡°Peh. Fine. Then bring them with us, and let¡¯s make this quick. They best prove their worth, although I¡¯m not expecting much from a bunch of kids,¡± Devrim says, looking us over with a dismissive sniff. ¡°They look too green to be helpful. Can¡¯t believe the [Magistrate] hired them.¡±

    I shove past Nala, grinding my teeth at the blatant disrespect after we risked our lives to end the threat of the little local tyrant. ¡°You look like you served a while back. Know [General] Tychicus? How about his [Spear Commander], Nicanor? They gave us this mission. Or how about Casella and his scouting partner, Mbukhe, from the Army¡¯s Inquisitor branch?¡±

    Devrim¡¯s eyes grow even colder. He looks me over again, his gaze lingering on my missing hand. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about making claims you can¡¯t back up, kid. Got too much respect for the old guard to let that go.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re my mentors, and they commissioned me for this job,¡± I say, stretching the truth a bit. ¡°So if those names mean anything to you, then you¡¯ll let us inside. Avelina can break a blockade with a single spell. Then, you can repay the debt and help us afterward.¡±

    Melina shimmies down from Mikko¡¯s shoulder, sliding off and stumbling on the ground before she regains her balance. She rubs her forehead with her fingertips, grimacing. ¡°Don¡¯t forget about Rakesh. He¡¯s a target, too.¡±

    ¡°Fear not,¡± Devrim says, holding up a callused, sinewy hand, although a vein on his forehead is throbbing now. ¡°We sent a pair of [Guards] to your inn to retrieve your friend.¡±

    I frown. ¡°Thought you didn¡¯t trust us.¡±

    He smirks back at me. ¡°I don¡¯t. Still, it¡¯s best to keep people close. If you¡¯re on our side, then we did our duty. If you¡¯re with the enemy, well, then we¡¯ve got a hostage.¡±

    My breath trembles. Blood pounds in my temples. Fires of vengeance erupt in my heart, blazing like a volcano. ¡°If you touch him, then I¡¯ll tear out your¡ª¡±

    Mikko places a restraining hand on my shoulder again, interrupting my snarls. ¡°Nuri. We¡¯re all on edge. Don¡¯t make things worse. We can work with them and prove our intentions. Better that Rakesh is accounted for than abducted like Lionel.¡±

    My brother¡¯s words get through, and I step back, resisting the urge to claim the nearby mana with my [Arcane Domain] and unleash a storm of sharpness on Devrim. My thoughts slowly clear as I clench and unclench my fist, breathing through my nose in a steady rhythm until I get my bearings again. Devrim is only being prudent. Did the enchantment on the Rift core really warp my perspective so hard?

    ¡°Is he safe from the fighting?¡± I finally ask in more moderate tones, my mind reeling as I try to process everything. The details are fuzzy, but I know something¡¯s not right with me. ¡°He¡¯s not a combatant.¡±

    Cai exchanges glances with Devrim. The tall guard looks back at me and grimaces. ¡°No idea. We left right after the ambush to wait here for Uchenna and Nala. Figured they¡¯d need a friendly face when they got back from looking for you.¡±

    ¡°You mean, you wanted to reinforce them in case you deemed us a threat,¡± I snap back, not in the mood to dance around the issue anymore, even though I¡¯m trying to play nice.

    Well, nicer.

    ¡°What would you do if we swapped places? Allow your friends to be outnumbered? Or, would you watch over them?¡± Devrim asks, his voice deceptively mild. From the way his mana is swirling, I can tell that the calm is a thin fa?ade. He¡¯s just as ready for a fight as I am, maybe more, and that means I need to get hold of myself before things escalate.

    ¡°I¡¯d probably do the same thing,¡± I admit at length, shifting uncomfortably. We don¡¯t have any more time to squander on posturing. ¡°Fair enough. We¡¯ll put this behind us and get to work. We¡¯re just breaking the barricade at the city hall, right? Nothing more dangerous?¡±

    Cai unlocks the gates¡ªphysically, I notice, which makes me think Devrim¡¯s Skill isn¡¯t a standard issue¡ªand beckons us into the city. He sets off at a brisk jog, and we follow him toward the city hall. I notice that he isn¡¯t answering my question, so I repeat myself to Devrim, hoping for a straight answer.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°If that excuse for rotting fish guts called in favors, then he¡¯ll have a [Battle Mage] on his side,¡± Devrim answers, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. ¡°Could be difficult. I¡¯ve not tested my mettle in far too long.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . not encouraging,¡± Mikko says, his low voice rumbling and drawing everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°We are not equipped for a war.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not, but I am,¡± Avelina says, sounding oddly serious. She twirls her glass wand in her hands. ¡°I¡¯ll bet I can break apart a barrier from a full [Battle Mage] with an empowered shot, just like Nuri said.¡±

    Devrim turns to look her over, a frown on his face, but Nala lifts a hand and shakes her head. The grizzled old [Guard] raises his eyebrows, seeming to reconsider Avelina. When he speaks, his tone is solemn. ¡°If you can really do it, then aim to kill. Hear me? If you don¡¯t end the [Mage] with your opening strike, then run as fast as you can. You won¡¯t get another shot.¡±

    ¡°I thought you wanted to test your mettle?¡± I say, looking at him askance. We¡¯re drawing nearer to the central district , and I want to know what we¡¯re up against ahead of time. ¡°Now you want us to do your dirty work for you? Was this your plan all along? Act antagonistic and refuse to help us until we did something for you?¡±

    ¡°Subtly ain¡¯t my style,¡± Devrim growls.

    ¡°Seem to take to it naturally,¡± I reply. ¡°What gives? Why the change of mind? Didn¡¯t take you for a coward.¡±

    Devrim¡¯s face twists in distaste. ¡°That was the ambition of youth speaking. I regretted my words as soon as I made my boast. I¡¯m old and more fragile than I used to be. Better to remove a threat ahead of time than take a chance on a fight that could go sour.¡±

    ¡°I hope I¡¯m as fragile as you are when I¡¯m old,¡± I say as a peace offering, giving our reluctant ally a strained smile. I nod down, toward my missing hand. ¡°But I seem to be off to a poor start.¡±

    ¡°Nuri. Now¡¯s not the time,¡± Melina says, still leaning on Mikko¡¯s arm for support. ¡°Avelina might have to kill someone, and you¡¯re treating this like a big joke.¡±

    ¡°We made our decision when we saw what Dimitri was doing in that Rift. Don¡¯t bring up ethics. This is no different from putting down a dangerous monster,¡± I reply, more harshly than I intend.

    Devrim¡¯s gaze locks onto me. He whistles between his front teeth. ¡°Rumors were true? Huh. The broken down Old Keep was hiding a Rift after all. By the abyss! Should have checked that one myself.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll get a full report once Casella and Mbukhe arrive. Rakesh has the communication construct right now. We¡¯ll definitely bring them out for analysis.¡±

    ¡°Better not be lying about knowing Casella. That old codger doesn¡¯t put up with fools. I should know,¡± Devrim says, the last bit added as a quiet afterthought.

    I nod slowly, no longer bothered by the skepticism. Then I take a risk and murmur, ¡°The sun rises in darkness.¡±

    Devrim startles as though stung by a bee, but soon masters his shock. His demeanor shifts subtly toward approval. ¡°Nuri, is it? We¡¯ll talk after. Let¡¯s break this barricade for now.¡±

    =+=

    ¡°There, in the corner by the empty vendor stalls. Leave it to a [Mage] to hide like a beaten dog while the others do the dirty work.¡± Nala¡¯s cousin, Benaiah the [Hawkeye Scout], works as a spotter and freelance investigator for the city guards, and he shares her blunt mannerisms.

    Benaiah leans over and spits off the side of the roof. ¡°Glad they showed their true colors. No guilt taking ¡®em out.¡±

    Instead of cutting across the city square to challenge Nikolai and his troops, we met up with a squad of guards under Devrim¡¯s command and looped around to the other side of the city. Now, we¡¯re up on the rooftop of a set of tenements. They stand at a right angle to the city hall and block the sightlines, ensuring that we won¡¯t give away our approach. We find ourselves back in a familiar position, scoping out a potential fight through a hand-held looking glass.

    Thankfully, most of the citizens complied with the announcements and hid away due to the alarm bells, so we were able to proceed to our location unimpeded. We won¡¯t have much to worry about in regard to collateral damage, which is the only reason Avelina seems comfortable unleashing so much violence in a populated area.

    ¡°Pretty far, Ava. Good for that shot?¡± I ask, leaving her with an out in case she¡¯s not sure it¡¯s a good idea. It¡¯s nearly a hundred paces to our target, and the ramshackle stalls from street vendors are stacked up into a makeshift barrier, preventing us from getting a clear view of our target.

    She shrugs, though lying prone on a rooftop shortens the movement into a little wiggle of her shoulders. ¡°The closer I am, the less chance the [Mage] has to react, but I don¡¯t think the fire bolt will lose coherence at this distance. Should still be strong enough¡ªbut don¡¯t forget that I¡¯m completely out of shots after that. Already used the wand earlier, like an idiot. Shoulda saved it for an actual fight.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m more concerned about reprisal in case we fail,¡± Melina interjects. She¡¯s still holding her head, and I doubt she¡¯s going to cast any more magic today after overdrawing so viciously earlier, but her eyes look sharp and clear again.

    ¡°Leave that to us,¡± Devrim says. ¡°We¡¯ll get you out of the way, and we have enchanted shields in case of injury. Besides, the vanguard will take the brunt of the fighting.¡±

    I breathe a sigh of relief now that Melina is contributing to plans again. I may be the leader, but that doesn¡¯t mean I know everything. We could use her counsel, and if she¡¯s feeling up to speaking her mind, then she must be recovering.

    ¡°Not worried about Mikko,¡± Melina says, smiling weakly. ¡°He can handle the worst of it far better than we can.¡±

    ¡°Your sister will be fine,¡± I say, patting Melina on her shoulder. ¡°We have to get in position and be ready to support the assault teams. You should sit this one out.¡±

    Melina purses her lips, but doesn¡¯t argue. She looks too exhausted for that. Then a thin, fragile smile spreads across her face. ¡°I¡¯m worried about Ava. You¡¯re asking her to kill someone, Nuri. But I think I have a plan to help.¡±

    ¡°Heard that!¡± Avelina says, despite Melina lowering her voice. ¡°You know I can think for myself, right? I¡¯m with Nuri. These guards and [Mages] might not know exactly what¡¯s going on in that Rift, but they can use their own two eyes to see what¡¯s happening here in Mahkaiaraon. If they don¡¯t have a problem with ambushing their own guards in the streets, then I don¡¯t see why it¡¯s on me to mourn when I blast ¡®em.¡±

    Melina sighs. ¡°I¡¯ll mourn on your behalf, sister. Just listen to me, will you?¡± She presses on, leaving us no time to object. ¡°Why don¡¯t we send Nuri to talk with them first? If any of their contracted [Soldiers] have a conscience, perhaps they¡¯ll listen to reason.¡±

    I raise my eyebrows. ¡°You want me to walk out there, completely exposed, and hope they don¡¯t blast me as soon as I show up? Sounds unrealistic.¡±

    ¡°A single person approaching the barrier shouldn¡¯t set them on edge. Just go talk with them. If they react violently, we¡¯ll go back to Ava¡¯s fire bolt. But, Nuri, we have to at least try to do it this way. We¡¯re not killers.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to get burned!¡± I splutter. ¡°What in the abyss would make me want to walk right out in the open? Do I look like a platter of raw meat? Hey, don¡¯t answer that, Mikko.¡±

    ¡°Never crossed my mind.¡±

    I try to glare, but my brother¡¯s serene tone makes me laugh despite myself. ¡°I¡¯ll let it go this time, but I still hate the plan.¡±

    ¡°Take my glass cores, Nuri. You must be just about out by now.¡± Melina sets down her glass cores just far enough away that it doesn¡¯t cause any resonance troubles¡ªI¡¯d rather not explode, thank you very much¡ªand shimmies back from the edge of the roof. ¡°You won¡¯t burn if you shield yourself with your [Greater Heat Manipulation], but they won¡¯t expect us to attack if you¡¯re standing right there.¡±

    ¡°Ooh! Devious,¡± Avelina says, rubbing her palms together. ¡°I¡¯m in. Do it, Nuri. Do it!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it,¡± Melina says softly. She slides down a ladder canted up against the stucco side of the building, disappearing from view.

    I hand my depleted glass pseudo cores to Avelina for safekeeping and crawl over to the glass cores that contain more mana. Melina hasn¡¯t naturalized the mana within them yet, so the energy contained inside is available for me to use. If I had a more convenient way of carrying extra cores, maybe I could double or triple my mana ¡°pool¡± available for use. I file that away as an intriguing idea for later.

    Devrim coughs lightly to break me out of my thoughts. He points toward the cluster of [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s guards once he¡¯s sure he has my attention. ¡°Can¡¯t quite tell how many are under the aegis of the [Battle Mage]. Fighting will get hot when we break through.¡±

    My fingers tighten around the glass beads I imbued for Melina, drawing energy from the pseudo cores. My [Arcane Domain] unfurls, but I hold back from simply sweeping it across their position in case their [Mage] can sense my presence. Instead, I probe gently around the edges of the formation, taking extra care to view the area obscured from Benaiah¡¯s vision.

    While my Domain doesn¡¯t provide me with textures, colors, scents, or auditory feedback, it¡¯s sensitive enough to map out the people besieging the city hall. They¡¯re covering the exits, as far as I can tell, spread out into three distinct groups: a small group on the side door, a slightly larger group by the rear of the imposing building, and our target¡ªthe largest cluster of people, all arrayed by the front entrance.

    ¡°I sense eighteen out front,¡± I report after a moment. ¡°More around the back and sides, but they likely won¡¯t leave their posts for fear that the [Magistrate] will escape. You confident that you have enough firepower to overcome those odds?¡±

    ¡°Impressive,¡± Devrim grunts. He eyes me again with a more assessing gaze. Maybe he¡¯s finally willing to believe me about my contacts within the [Inquisitors]. ¡°Ready when you are. We have enough people in place if you do your part.¡±

    I nod. ¡°On it. Either they¡¯ll capitulate, or Ava will put on a firework show like you¡¯ve never seen before.¡±

    ¡°Looking forward to it,¡± Devrim answers. There¡¯s something vicious and sharp-edged about his smile that makes me squirm, but I¡¯m committed now. No going back.

    =+=

    My stomach twists into a knot as I approach Nikolai¡¯s band of [Mercenaries]. The plan seemed so solid when Melina first mentioned it, but now I can¡¯t help but think about all the terrible ways they could kill me. Unless they use a fireball, or some other heat-adjacent attack, then I have no way to defend myself.

    My rebellious feet threaten to turn around, but my mind is made up. My path is set. I will not waver. Halfway across the road, their sentries catch sight of me and yell for me to stop. Everything in me screams to listen to them, but I hold up my hand and smile as I keep moving. If I stop walking, then I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t find the courage to start up again.

    ¡°Halt!¡± a voice roars.

    ¡°I¡¯ve come to parlay!¡± I shout.

    Through the arcane eye of my Domain, I sense frantic, agitated wisps of mana flit back and forth between the [Mercenaries]. Some sort of communication Skill? I guess. Beyond them, a surge of mana lights up in my senses¡ªa bonfire compared with the flickering candles of the others. It¡¯s enough to warp my vision, forcing me to cut my Skill. That must be the [Battle Mage].

    ¡°What am I doing?¡± I murmur under my breath. This is a military zone. I¡¯m up against a foe too powerful for me. If they don¡¯t want to talk, then I¡¯m a dead man walking. Too late now. I¡¯m in it to the end.

    Four men dart out from behind the wall they¡¯ve erected, moving in twin pairs to flank me. They advance with leveled spears, and I keep as relaxed and non-aggressive as possible, not wanting to give them an excuse to skewer me.

    Rough hands grip my biceps, hauling me off my feet. Their faces are set like flint. They don¡¯t care about treating me gently, and I¡¯m already sure our diplomacy has failed. They dash back to their hiding spot with me, dragging me over the edge of the barricade.

    My right thigh twists beneath me and scrapes across the jumble of broken wooden stalls that are propped up to provide them cover. I hiss, clamping my mouth shut so I don¡¯t cry out. My knee bangs against a pillar, and this time I let out a cry of pain.

    The hooded [Battle Mage] points to a stool, and they throw me down hard enough that my teeth rattle against each other when I hit the seat.

    The ominous spellcaster looms over me, face hidden behind a veil. When the [Battle Mage] speaks, the voice is distorted, giving away no clues. ¡°Don¡¯t take kindly to spies. You picked the wrong group to try to infiltrate.¡±

    Light ¡®em up, Ava! I urge her silently. These aren¡¯t misguided guards or browbeaten servants; these are hardened killers, through and through.

    ¡°Not a spy,¡± I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the fear writhing in my gut. ¡°I¡¯m here with an offer of protection if you surrender.¡±

    Harsh laughter greets my proclamation. ¡°Surrender? You¡¯re in no position to bargain.¡±

    I stare up at the dark void where the [Mage]¡¯s face should be, refusing to allow myself to appear daunted. I speak louder, projecting more confidence than I feel. ¡°Lay down your arms, and we¡¯ll let you live.¡±

    ¡°Mercy is for the weak,¡± the [Battle Mage] spits. A murky, pulsating sphere gathers above the mage¡¯s head. My entire body revolts at the thought of letting the rancid power touch me.

    My [Arcane Domain] spools out, seeking my team on the rooftops. I can¡¯t send them any words or impressions through the Skill yet, but I crash against Avelina¡¯s core with my Domain, hoping that the discomfort is enough to signal her to attack.

    As I hoped, mana blazes within her, pumping from her core, through her channels, and into the glass wand. Even at this distance, I can¡¯t miss the blooming flower of intense energy, far greater than Avelina should be able to produce with a crafting class; no wonder she¡¯s drained after one or two uses.

    It¡¯s too potent to go unnoticed, and the [Battle Mage] whirls around, pinpointing Avelina¡¯s position. The dark sphere condenses, and a spike of fear shoots through me as the [Battle Mage] switches targets.

    I draw deeply on the borrowed glass cores, pouring mana into my [Arcane Domain], and shove against the [Battle Mage], trying to disrupt the casting through brute force. There¡¯s no art or nuance to my attempt, no real understanding of what I¡¯m doing, but it¡¯s enough to destabilize the attack for a moment.

    From across the city square, Avelina¡¯s energy floods into the glass wand in a torrent like a raging river. The massive flow funnels down into a highly compressed beam when it hits the mana circuitry. Reflexively, I squint against the blaze, even though it does nothing to dim my spiritual sight. The surge of power is amplified even further by the crystal we fastened to the end of the wand, spiking the temperature on the rooftop to dangerous degrees, according to my [Greater Heat Manipulation].

    When Avelina used the glass wand earlier, I was still too nervous about over-reliance on my Domain to watch. This is the first time I¡¯ve really observed the entire process unfold via the eerie sight provided by my [Arcane Domain]. She channels her two strongest fire-related Skills, [Command: Cinder and Spark], and [Adjuration of the Phoenix], using up the last of her mana to overcharge the wand.

    My skin is prickling due to the furious crackling of energy all around me¡ªfrom the [Battle Mage], from Avelina, from the glass cores as I push them to their capacity. It¡¯s hard to breathe. I shield myself, preemptively drawing heat from the air around me, though I have only a second or two by the time Avelina unleashes the full force of her firepower. The fiery missile hurtles across the city square, far faster than her previous iterations, and I let out a gasp at the intensity of the flames.

    Before I can blink, the attack hits.

    The thrum of the explosion makes my ears pop. My vision flashes white as I go flying off the stool and crash into a board, cracking it in half. I squeeze my eyes shut, grab hold of the edge of the torn-apart wooden wall, and pray that the world will stop spinning soon. By degrees, my sight and hearing return, although I can¡¯t shake the ringing in my ears. Despite flaring my [Greater Heat Manipulation] as strongly as I ever have, my skin feels blistered, like I¡¯ve been cooked alive, stinging and itching all at once.

    Devastation meets my sight as I sit up and survey the carnage. Of the eighteen original [Mercenaries] I counted, only three have survived the impact. I doubt they¡¯re long for this world. The creepy [Battle Mage] doesn¡¯t appear to be among the living, based on the weak, fluctuating mana signatures of the survivors. A smoking crater is all that¡¯s left of the hastily-erected barrier of torn-down food stalls, and already Devrim¡¯s men are closing the gap, charging in with weapons drawn. The battle¡¯s begun in earnest. No turning back now.

    The buzzing in my ears won¡¯t stop. I squeeze my eyes shut and slump over, huddling up on the ground while I wait for my team to come rescue me. Although I can barely see or hear, I track them through my [Arcane Domain], and I sit up a few minutes later as they approach.

    ¡°Thanks for saving me,¡± I croak out. My throat is parched and swollen all at once, and I gesture toward the canteen at Avelina¡¯s side. She hands it over, and I drink it down greedily to soothe my aches. The more I pull the heat away from me, the less my body hurts.

    A strangely hollow grin twists Avelina¡¯s features. ¡°Fire is always a pleasure, Nuri. ¡®Sides, I couldn¡¯t let them hurt our leader.¡±

    I let out a long, slow breath. ¡°Good shot, Ava. Rest up with your sister; we¡¯ll finish the job and go get Lionel.¡±

    Her smile crumbles. She nods numbly, her face ashen under her usual glow of vitality. Guilt gnaws at me as she retreats, scurrying away from the fighting, but we¡¯ll have to deal with that later, assuming we survive the coming showdown with Dimitri.

    Devrim inclines his head in respect. To his credit, he waited patiently until I spoke with Avelina before insisting that we need to return to the task at hand. Coordinating with Devrim, who has an intriguing [Officer] Skill that allows him to guide his troops from afar, I scan the battlefield with my [Arcane Domain], alerting him to threats and directing the guards against the few [Mercenaries] still fighting. We don¡¯t meet much resistance, not after their [Battle Mage] died to our alpha strike, and soon Nikolai¡¯s men have surrendered.

    I flop back against the remains of the shattered wooden barrier, releasing my hold on my Domain Skill. A pounding headache hits me, threatening to incapacitate me for the rest of the day, but I clench my jaw and force myself to focus on what comes next.

    Our checklist is on track. We¡¯ve rescued the [Magistrate] from Nikolai, who¡¯s nowhere to be found. Now, it¡¯s time to head back to the guard house to meet up with Rakesh and report on what we found in the Rift. I¡¯m counting on him to help us call in the news to the [Inquisitors], try to re-establish a link to Lionel with his [Echo of the Songbird] communication Skill, and come up with a plan with Melina. Then we need to confront [Lord] Dimitri, settle the disputes, and restore relative peace and safety back to the region.

    As important as all of that is, however, it pales compared with the next entry on the to-do list: Above everything else, what truly matters is that we rescue Lionel.

 B4 C29: Evil Seed

    By the time we reach the guard house to begin planning the next stage of operations¡ªsuch as figuring out how Dimitri¡¯s son, Nikolai, factors into everything¡ªDevrim¡¯s strike team is firmly on our side. Between Avelina¡¯s impressive pyroclastic attack, Mikko¡¯s display of brawn knocking heads when Nikolai¡¯s [Mercenaries] first fought back, and Uchenna and Nala¡¯s stories of how we cleared the Old Keep, we¡¯ve earned their respect. The guards no longer look at us with either open hostility or poorly-veiled skepticism.

    Still, ¡°grudging respect¡± and ¡°enthusiastic support¡± are a long ways apart. We still need to convince them to help us with rescuing Lionel first, instead of focusing on [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s upstart son. From their perspective, I get it: their city comes first. Their rationale makes sense, but it doesn¡¯t make me any happier about the situation. They want to link up with the guards loyal to the [Magistrate] and comb through the city, ensuring that they¡¯ve rooted out the remaining mercs and secured the districts.

    Rakesh is waiting for us in the front room of the guard house. He¡¯s fidgeting in his seat, writing frantic notes, his eyes wide with fright. When we file in, our favorite [Researcher] lurches up from his seat, knocking over the flimsy wooden stool on which he was seated, and rushes over with a loud groan of relief. A rapid-fire string of words pour out of him.

    ¡°You¡¯re alive! When you didn¡¯t come back that first day, and I read more about what was facing Mahkaiaraon, not to mention some of the investigative work I did on my own¡ªyou¡¯ll all be rather surprised and impressed when you hear that daring tale, if I do say so myself¡ªthe more I feared that you¡¯d met an untimely end. This sort of life is not for the faint of heart. If I could travel back in time, I¡¯d give my younger self a stern lecture about the stupidity of putting myself in such grave danger. What¡¯s wrong with the tranquil drudgery and sedate dignity of a [Researcher] at the academy, anyway? Life on the road is most certainly not all it¡¯s cracked up to be!¡±

    ¡°Whoa, slow down, boss!¡± I tease, holding up a hand and giving Rakesh a lopsided grin. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve been busy. You and Mel have a lot of catching up to do.¡±

    His head bobs up and down like a chicken. Then he freezes, and his eyes flit across the group again. ¡°Where¡¯s Lionel? Something¡¯s happened, hasn¡¯t it? Please tell me it¡¯s not as bad as I suspect.¡±

    ¡°Worse,¡± Avelina says cheerfully.

    I frown. She¡¯s smiling at Rakesh and pulling him into a hug, but it feels false and forced. She still looks like she¡¯s a half step from throwing up, and I don¡¯t blame her, despite my show of bravado earlier. Taking out a high-ranking enemy [Battle Mage] in a preemptive strike is one thing, but sending another fourteen [Mercenaries] to an early grave is quite another.

    It was her choice in the end, I remind myself, although the lump in my throat doesn¡¯t go away. I keep telling myself that I don¡¯t need to carry her guilt for her, but it¡¯s not working; I¡¯m the one who put us in this spot, and I¡¯m the one who should bear the burden of responsibility. Still, at least we didn¡¯t kill Dimitri¡¯s guards; they may be misguided, but if they¡¯re anything like the duo I eavesdropped on in the Rift, then they might not have deserved such a fiery fate.

    ¡°Let¡¯s eat,¡± Devrim suggests, catching my eye and giving me a meaningful stare. He¡¯s probably used to this type of inner conflict. My struggle hasn¡¯t gone unnoticed. ¡°No one¡¯s had a lick of food since breakfast, and it¡¯s well past midday. Need to keep up your strength if you want to help your friend. We¡¯ll strategize after.¡±

    No one protests, so we soon find ourselves around a table, tearing into slightly-stale bread, meager fish filets, and limp, overcooked steamed vegetables. It¡¯s not the most appetizing food I¡¯ve ever had, but after a hard day of fighting, it¡¯s perfect. Once I¡¯ve finished stuffing my face, I get down to business.

    ¡°All right, I¡¯ll talk while you eat,¡± I say, wiping off my face with a napkin. ¡°Team meeting. I¡¯ll keep this short, since we still need to go break Lionel out of prison.¡±

    ¡°He actually got arrested?¡± Rakesh yelps.

    I nod in confirmation at our [Researcher], who seems to be processing the news better than I anticipated, at least after his initial shock. He seems more resilient than I remember him, which makes me wonder what he¡¯s been up to while we were fighting for our lives in the Rift. I quirk a half-hearted smile. ¡°Unfortunately, he did get arrested, but it wasn¡¯t his fault.¡±

    ¡°For once,¡± Mikko snickers.

    I glare at my brother and make a subtle chopping motion with my hand, signaling him to cut it out. It¡¯s not the time for jokes right now. While everyone else finishes their meals, I launch into a recap of our strange encounters in the forest, our suspicions about the portal, the monster fights in the Rift, our infiltration into the Old Keep, the disturbing information about the [Lord]¡¯s illicit activities, and our discoveries about the enchantment that borrowed principles of imbuing.

    The rest of the team ignores the story, eating in silence, but Rakesh gets up and paces around the mess hall. He¡¯s gesturing and muttering to himself all the while, writing notes and shaking his head at all the revelations. He¡¯s going to have a field day discussing it with Melina and deciphering the enchantments. I hope his research paper wins a prize some day.

    More fired up than I¡¯ve ever seen him before, Rakesh has his own story to tell. His tale of spying on [Lord] Dimitri and digging up his past captivates the team, and I¡¯m impressed by his quick thinking and bravery at the bakery. Maybe I¡¯ve misjudged his backbone. I keep thinking of him as a delicate scholar, but he insisted on joining us on this expedition, and it looks like he¡¯s determined to pull his own weight.

    ¡°I wonder how Dimitri¡¯s son fits into all of this,¡± I ask, drumming my fingertips on the table as I turn over the puzzle in my mind.

    ¡°Ah, he¡¯s the only heir¡ªor, he was, until the surreptitious wedding I uncovered,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°Now he¡¯s been pushed out. That¡¯s why I think he finally made his move. No one wants to lose such an illustrious inheritance uncontested.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you know about his son?¡± Melina asks, frowning. ¡°We only just found out about his odd attempt at a takeover today.¡±

    Rakesh coughs politely into his fist. ¡°Er, well, it¡¯s recent knowledge on my part, as well. I went back to the library after my fateful bakery expedition . As you can imagine, I was rather on edge. Nonetheless, I surreptitiously looked into [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s family hierarchy to see if I could sort out what was happening. Inheritance is always a tricky subject when there are multiple claims in play, but in this case it¡¯s somewhat straightforward: Only a single living son; Dimitri¡¯s second child died in a border skirmish thirty years ago.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s see . . . ¡° he pauses, tapping his notebook and squinting. He mutters to himself in a quiet voice as he looks for his spot. ¡°Diversions in the syntax confirmed. Historical dynamic desynchronized from observable behavior. . . . Plausible hypothesis?¡±

    It sounds less like a coherent report, and more like he simply scribbled down his ideas when they came to him, even if it meant stopping mid-word as an entirely new set of possibilities occurred to him. With a thoughtful hum, he trails off and writes down a new sentence, spinning his gold-and-black pen in his hand. It¡¯s embossed with the city emblem, and looks new. I wonder idly where he got it from.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back! Let me get my papers. I don¡¯t speak well extemporaneously,¡± Rakesh says in a rush. He strides out of the mess hall, hiking up his scholarly robes so that he can jog faster. At that moment, he looks so much like Ezio that I can¡¯t help but chuckle fondly. They¡¯re an odd pair, but I owe them more than I¡¯ll ever be able to repay.

    Moments later, he¡¯s back, arranging the fruit of his labors on the cleared-off dinner table. Six sheaves of crisp, white papers sit in stacks in front of him, neatly aligned to the geometry of the room. Each one represents a different theory, he says, although he may have to revise his categorization to account for our new information.

    ¡°I sorted through the salient records in the library the first day you left, then hit the streets to do some investigative work, as I intimated earlier.¡± Rakesh rolls his shoulders back and straightens his robes, looking pleased with himself. ¡°I had to rely on my instincts as much as my Skills. Trying to make sense of the monster attacks, the schism between the [Magistrate] and the local [Lord], the rushed and hidden marriage ceremony, and the unusual details surrounding Mahkaiaraon¡¯s rise to prominence left me with a powerful need for the truth.¡±

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got,¡± I say, rolling my wrist to hurry him along. ¡°We still need to get Lionel.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Right.¡± Rakesh clears his throat. ¡°Well, as our dear friend Ezio often says: ¡®Leave no stone unturned; you never know under which rock the nugget of truth hides.¡¯ My mentor¡¯s words proved to come in handy, since I¡¯ve been working with incomplete information. If I¡¯d accepted an inaccurate theory, that would only set us down the wrong path. That serves no one.¡±

    Rakesh licks his right thumb, lifts the edge of the top paper on the first pile, and flips the sheet over so we can see it. He rereads his current notes. ¡°I¡¯m not sure whether the information I¡¯ve collated will hold up to the rigorous standards of a Silaraon City Academy trained [Scholar], but it¡¯s a start. Shall we?¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Melina says.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Somehow, she manages to sound simultaneously more urgent and more polite than I do, which seems to get the point across to Rakesh. He hurriedly spins around the documents and reads off his summary statements.

    ¡°First theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are at odds. After the fight today, I think we can say with relative confidence that this guess is correct.¡±

    ¡°Only relative?¡± Avelina asks.

    ¡°Well, consider the next theory,¡± Rakesh hedges, nodding at the paper he¡¯s prepared. ¡°It is always a possibility that it¡¯s a ruse. So, my second theory is that: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are working together, but failed to communicate adequately.¡±

    ¡°That makes no sense,¡± Avelina states flatly. ¡°Let¡¯s just go with theory one.¡±

    Rakesh pulls out his chair and sits down. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and locks eyes with Avelina. ¡°Third theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are allied, but Nikolai opposes his father.¡±

    ¡°Oh, good grief!¡± Avelina groans.

    ¡°Shut it, Ava,¡± I warn.

    ¡°Please hurry,¡± Melina says sweetly.

    Rakesh rolls up his sleeves, unperturbed by Avelina¡¯s doubt. If anything, he seems to relish the chance to tell us all what he¡¯s learned. Despite the urgency of our situation, he¡¯s not going to allow us to bully him into rushing.

    ¡°Fourth theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are allied, but the son opposes the [Magistrate]. Fifth theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are opposed, while Nikolai only supports the [Magistrate].¡±

    He stands back up and starts to pace, but a stern look from Melina makes him rethink the idea. He slides back into his seat and pats his hand on top of the final stack of papers on the dinner table, then coughs. ¡°Based on the siege at the city hall, we can discard this idea. Sixth theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s relationship is entirely incidental; Nikolai has been lying in wait in the wings, lurking for an opportunity to take over.¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Mikko asks once Rakesh is finished. My brother¡¯s face is a mask of confusion, and his eyes are glazing over. ¡°I mean, either way, we gotta get Lionel. Who cares what the politics look like?¡±

    ¡°Of course it matters if we want to approach a potential ally to discuss leverage,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°Do you plan to break him out like a lone hero? Ha! That only works in fairy tales¡ªoh, wait.¡± His smile falters. ¡°I should have known. You do plan on breaking him out by yourselves.¡±

    Mikko scratches the back of his head, looking abashed. ¡°Well, yeah. And the longer we sit around here talking about theoretical alliances, the worse off he might be. What if they¡¯re torturing him right now?¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Rakesh says quietly. He straightens his papers. ¡°I hadn¡¯t decided which option was most likely yet, since I¡¯m keenly aware of my biases at play. Preconceptions can ruin even the best of minds, if indulged. Still, there has to be something we can do.¡±

    A thought occurs to me, and I drum my fingers on the table in excitement. ¡°Can you reach out to him with [Echo of the Songbird]? Melina lost the connection with you when we entered the Rift, but maybe you can reestablish the link with Lionel.¡±

    Rakesh shakes his head. ¡°Wherever he is, it¡¯s too far away for my Skill. We need to be in person first. I wish I could contact him, but if what you¡¯re saying is true, then we can bypass any errors by simply taking action.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Devrim growls, announcing his presence. He chuckles when Rakesh spins around with a yelp. ¡°Impressive sleuthing, but we¡¯ve got work to do. The [Magistrate] sent word that the situation is in hand. I talked with the guards, and they agreed that we can spare a strike team. You¡¯ve put us ahead of schedule, so we¡¯ll help.¡±

    Cheers meet Devrim¡¯s announcement. He holds up his hands and raises his eyebrows. ¡°Don¡¯t get too carried away. It¡¯s only a handful of [Guards] to help you storm a fortress. Take an old man¡¯s advice: stop talking and get moving. Hit them as fast and hard as you can. No sense bringing in any unknown parties. Overcomplicating things is a good way for plans to fall apart.¡±

    ¡°We still need to figure out what to do,¡± Rakesh protests. ¡°There¡¯s a difference between overreliance on a plan, and not planning at all.¡±

    ¡°True. Plans tend to go awry at first contact,¡± Devrim says. He grins wolfishly. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m coming with you.¡±

    =+=

    The streets are still empty when we leave the guard house. The stillness is eerie after the frantic fight at the city hall, but it¡¯s nice to catch a breather. Some part of me had expected people to ignore the warning bells and to get on with their daily lives, but apparently they took the warning far more seriously than I did.

    Without any traffic to fight against, we make good time, keeping up a steady pace that¡¯s just shy of a jog. Not for the first time, I curse my lack of endurance¡ªbut in the end, I guess that I¡¯m some sort of hybrid [Mage] in training, not a [Warrior] or [Runner].

    Something foul tickles my nose. I gag, recoiling from the scent, and glance at the others in surprise when they don¡¯t react. The details click into place: this is the same warped sense of wrongness that I smelled earlier. My team simply lacks sensitivity to runic and imbued effects. In this situation, I envy them for their ignorance. The stench grates across my soul as much as my nose, for lack of a better term.

    The closer we got to [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s palatial stronghold, the more I sense the twisted effects of enchantments in the Rift. Even though the strange, flayed-open corpse powering the enchantments is gone, there¡¯s still an acrid aftertaste of wrongness that grows stronger in the vicinity of the [Lord]¡¯s Castle. After breaking the ethereal channels carrying the power to the enchantment, I haven''t noticed the warping effects of the concept of violence on the world as heavily, although I¡¯m still struggling with not letting it affect my mind.

    Here, however, it¡¯s all pervasive. Pungent and cloying like old rum, or fruit left out in the sun until it starts to rot, the sensation sets my teeth on edge. I swallow hard and force down the urge to vomit. It¡¯s not as strong as it was previously, but this issue definitely originated from Dimitri¡¯''s throne.

    Rakesh is still back at the guard house, where I hope they''ll remain safe from the showdown that¡¯s coming. I tap into his communication Skill, [Echo of the Songbird], and ask him to look into things further, describing the strange sensation and my growing certainty that it¡¯s all connected to Dimitri¡¯s illicit activities. I¡¯m burning with curiosity to find out what my friend Rakesh will discover about the corpse in the basement of the old keep.

    I can¡¯t help but think that they''re related. I''m sure that uncovering the mystery of the enchantments is sure to lead us back to Dimitri, or perhaps his ancestors. The corpse seemed ancient, likely predating the corrupt ruler of Mahkaiaraon.

    ¡°Rakesh? If the way is clear to the library, could you check the records for when [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s family first took over the city? Let me know if there¡¯s anything strange surrounding their rise to power.¡±

    ¡°On it, Nuri,¡± Rakesh assures me.

    I sink back into my thoughts, scowling at the temptation to seize hold of every last wisp of mana in the air around me and fling it at [Lord] Dimitri. I¡¯ll show him what it means to target my friends. I¡¯ll tear down his little domain around his head, brick by brick, and burn it all¡ª

    ¡°Steady, Nuri,¡± Avelina says, pulling flames away from the group. ¡°You¡¯re leaking heat worse than an old furnace that''s cracked down the middle and needs replacing.¡±

    Her words shocked me back to reality. Blushing, I put a tight rein on my mana and stop venting anger in the form of my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. I roll my shoulders and crack a slight, pinched smile. ¡°You saying that you¡¯re trying to replace me?¡±

    ¡°Just reminding you to be careful.¡±

    I take a long, slow breath and shake out the rest of my tense muscles. ¡°Thanks. I know we¡¯re all dealing with a lot of stress, so I don''t have an excuse for losing control.¡±

    Avelina shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go get our friend,¡± Mikko rumbles. He¡¯s swinging his glass hammer around in slow circles, limbering up for yet another fight, and gestures with the oversized hammer head toward our destination.

    [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s family manor is more properly a palace. The gleaming white marble walls are ringed about by a tall, dark outer wall. Crenellations of iron and granite forming an imposing defensive position. The soaring spires and minarets lend it a fanciful look, but the still-growing sense of wrongness ruins the illusion.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do the talking,¡± Devrim growls.

    ¡°We¡¯re at your command,¡± I reply, more for my team¡¯s benefit than for his. Devrim¡¯s grim voice brooks no room for argument, and for once I¡¯m happy to pass the burden of leadership to someone else. We don¡¯t truly know what we¡¯re doing, preparing to break into a stronghold. I¡¯ve only ever broken out of prisons before, not into one, I think wryly.

    We draw up to an abrupt halt outside of the gates to the castle. Instead of a bristling squad of heavily-armed [Soldiers], a single woman stands before us, her face obscured by a lacy black veil. She clasps her hands together in front of her and inclines her head.

    ¡°If you¡¯ve come seeking my husband, then I must regretfully inform you that you¡¯re too late.¡±

    Devrim spits to the side. ¡°Who¡¯re you? Go tell [Lord] Dimitri that his reckoning has come. He can come out to us¡ªor we can break in your gates and drag him out.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s no longer possible. Today is a dark day for our city. When my husband heard the shocking news that his beloved Nikolai attempted a coup, his heart failed him. After a long and illustrious reign, he has finally succumbed to the ravages of time.¡±

    Right on cue, the tolling of bells starts up once more, this time from the manor behind her. They¡¯re playing in a new pattern, taking on a mournful tone: no longer are they sounding an alarm, but instead they¡¯re ringing in lament.

    ¡°[Lord] Dimitri died?¡± I repeat stupidly.

    ¡°Indeed. You may make your entreaty to me, [Lady] Saphora, instead. As his wife and heir, I am now the rightful ruler of Mahkaiaraon.¡±

    Right. This [Lady] Saphora must be the infamous wife Rakesh told us about. Guess she¡¯s not on Nikolai¡¯s side.

    Suddenly, the players have changed. There are still three factions, but we know next to nothing about this mysterious [Lady]. The change catches me off guard. I came here formulating a speech for [Lord] Dimitri, and just like that, he¡¯s gone. Far from simplifying things, his sudden death only muddies the waters. His wife, [Lady] Saphora, seems utterly unconcerned despite the difference in numbers and weaponry between us, which makes me wonder if she has a trick up her sleeve. And I still see no sign of Lionel, which sets off further alarms in my mind.

    We glance at each other in suspicion. Dimitri may have been old, but the [Lord] was reportedly full of vim and vigor¡ªthe very picture of good health. It¡¯s possible he may have been brought low by natural causes, but after hearing Rakesh¡¯s story about the secretive wedding, foul play seems far more likely.

    I grit my teeth. It seems petty to be annoyed at the inconvenience caused by death, but [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s passing makes me angry. Now I¡¯ll never get the answers I seek.

 B4 C30: Wicked Harvest

    Devrim snorts in laughter. ¡°Ha! Problem solved. The [Magistrate] is safe, that hagfish Dimitri is dead, and we have this place surrounded. Easy.¡±

    ¡°Not likely,¡± Avelina says from her place in the center of our formation. She¡¯s surrounded herself with guards, just in case Dimitri¡¯s forces attack us, since she doesn¡¯t have as many defensive capabilities as the rest of us. I suppose I should call them Saphora¡¯s forces, now. ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure that this is over.¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Devrim replies, shrugging. He approaches [Lady] Saphora, power snapping and hissing around him as the dark, terrifying nimbus of his [Devour] Skill begins to activate. ¡°The [Magistrate] will cow Nikolai into submission. That boy has always been spineless. All that¡¯s left is the paperwork, the way I see it. Your scholarly friend should be happy.¡±

    ¡°He does enjoy paperwork,¡± I reply dryly, ¡°but I wasn¡¯t referring to Nikolai. Let¡¯s talk this out before we resort to violence.¡± Even saying the word violence sends a thrum through my inner space, as though a parasitic presence in my soul is eager to lash out and fight. But Devrim listens, retreating and letting his Skill wink out.

    [Lady] Saphora inclines her head again. She¡¯s not nodding or bowing, but still indicating approval. ¡°Sensible. I assume you¡¯re here for your young friend? I¡¯m sure we can work out an equitable arrangement before he¡¯s too far gone.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t fall for it,¡± Devrim hisses.

    His words startle me. Fall for what? One glimpse of his frown, however, and I know he¡¯s onto something. Saphora is trying to goad me into a reaction, although I¡¯m not sure I know why. I¡¯m still missing too much information. Trying to think feels like wading through a thick fog. All I know for sure is the anger burning in my chest at her threat.

    ¡°What do you hope to gain by holding him any longer?¡± I ask, forcing myself to moderate my voice. ¡°You have what you want. Your rival¡¯s bid for power failed¡ªunless you were allied with Nikolai. You¡¯re in sole charge of the city. What more do you need?¡±

    ¡°Strange, the way I hear it, the barking lapdog you brought with you is intent on installing the [Magistrate] in my rightful place. We¡¯ll hand over the boy, as long as your forces stand down. You have until the end of the day for the [Magistrate] to evacuate town, along with his guards, and I¡¯ll personally deliver your friend alive.¡±

    The threat that Lionel won¡¯t survive if we don¡¯t comply hangs in the air. Beside me, Mikko growls aggressively. He spins his glass hammer, staring down [Lady] Saphora. This time it¡¯s my turn to pull him back from the edge; it¡¯s not a good sign if our positions have flipped. We need to figure out what¡¯s going on before we launch into a fight we might not win. Who knows what kind of magic the [Lady] wields. As the new ruler of Mahkaiaraon and owner of the palace, she might have defensive measures within her domain that will invalidate our attacks.

    ¡°Buy time,¡± Devrim says softly, barely breathing out the words as he rubs his brow with his hand, covering up his face for a brief moment. ¡°I¡¯m sending Benaiah around back to find a way inside. Let¡¯s solve this riddle.¡±

    I swallow down the lump in my throat and take four slow steps forward, separating from my group but projecting a non-threatening demeanor by holding up an empty hand. ¡°Let¡¯s talk, [Lady] Saphora. Why drive a wedge any further between the guards working to keep this city safe? It seems like making peace is in your best interest.¡±

    Saphora lifts her veil, revealing a woman who looks younger than Ember, but at least a decade older than I am. A look of distaste flickers across her features, and she holds up a hand to stop my advance. ¡°Agreed. Peace is preferable, particularly while our city mourns the passing of my wonderful husband. He did more for Mahkaiaraon than you could ever know. He loved this city to the core of his being. That¡¯s why I¡¯m offering you a path forward that¡¯s best for all of us, and allows you to live, out of respect for his memory. I will not be so patient forever.¡±

    Huh. She sounds like she actually cared for [Lord] Dimitri. Rakesh thought it was all an act, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s correct. Guess it doesn¡¯t matter now.

    ¡°Understand that I do not speak for the [Magistrate]. We¡¯ll have to convince him that this is the best course of action,¡± I reply, frowning. I let all my frustration and worry show on my face, as though I¡¯ve subconsciously already accepted her offer, and I¡¯m just trying to convince myself that there¡¯s a way to salvage the situation.

    ¡°I suggest you hurry,¡± [Lady] Saphora says, matching my frown. ¡°If you don¡¯t have any bargaining power, then your friend is no longer useful to me.¡±

    ¡°[Lady] Saphora,¡± I say stiffly, ¡°please reconsider your plan. You appear well informed about the affairs of your town, but it seems that you¡¯re gravely mistaken as pertains to my team. I am here as a representative for the Inquisitors. They¡¯ve tasked me with putting an end to the monster attacks in town, and have authorized me to take any action necessary to ensure the safety and well-being of the citizens of Densmore.¡±

    If my declaration fazes her, then she doesn¡¯t let on in the least. I let out a heavy sigh, as though I¡¯m struggling to make a hard decision. Truthfully, it¡¯s not hard at all; I¡¯ll never abandon my friend. ¡°Please don¡¯t try to make me choose between saving one subordinate and putting an end to the illegal and dangerous practices of your late husband. It won¡¯t change anything in the long run, other than make an enemy of me as I carry out my duty.¡±

    Saphora shrugs expressively. ¡°We¡¯re already enemies. I don¡¯t expect us to become allies anytime soon. We might be able to work together out of convenience, but it¡¯s transactional. You are mistaken on point, however. If you insist on rejecting my offer, then it certainly does change something: your friend will likely not survive the night. Either way, I run this town now. We¡¯re not bartering. Right now, I¡¯m simply showing mercy.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°No, you wouldn¡¯t be here in person if you just wanted concessions in exchange for a prisoner. You¡¯re playing another game.¡±

    [Lady] Saphora arches a slender, meticulously-shaped eyebrow. ¡°Are you willing to bet your friend¡¯s life on that hypothesis? Sign a magically-enforced contract, get the [Magistrate] to do the same, and we¡¯ll put all of this behind us.¡±

    ¡°Give me some assurances,¡± I demand.

    ¡°Of what? My sincerity? You wound me!¡± [Lady] Saphora says. She lets out a theatrical sigh. ¡°I had such high hopes for you, too. The Inquisitors must be getting desperate.¡±

    I shake my head, my natural stubbornness rising to the surface and helping my charade along. ¡°Show us proof that Lionel is well. You want me to take drastic steps on your behalf, yet expect me to simply accept in good faith that my subordinate is unharmed.¡±

    ¡°Unharmed?¡± Saphora taps her forefinger to her chin. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that, precisely. The longer you dither and delay, the worse off he gets. Don¡¯t worry, though. The little [Healer] will be fine, as long as you come through with your side of the arrangement. His magic is pathetically weak, but sufficient to keep himself alive. The clock is ticking, however. I await your reply¡ªbut know that my patience only extends so far.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare touch him,¡± Avelina says, her voice trembling with fury and fear in equal measure. It¡¯s impossible to miss the way her hands shake, and I can practically feel the waves of fear radiating off her.

    I shouldn¡¯t have pushed her to fight before. This is my fault. I need to make it up to her.

    I almost attack right then, for Ava¡¯s sake, but something about Saphora makes me wary of making a mistake. She¡¯s got to have a trick up her sleeve to parade herself around so openly. There¡¯s no way she¡¯d risk it otherwise.

    [Lady] Saphora smiles demurely. ¡°A little late for that, fire-touched mage. Oh, yes, I¡¯ve heard all about you. Even so, he shouldn¡¯t die. Even with his feeble starting Skills, he can mend himself if required.¡± All at once, another detail seems to click into place, and my perspective shifts. Something about Saphora¡¯s bearing seems too relaxed to be real, as though she¡¯s playacting instead of actually feeling in control. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I marshall the might of my [Arcane Domain] to pierce beyond the veil and peer into her core space, just like I did against Devrim earlier in the day.

    If I¡¯m wrong about her, then pushing my most demanding Skill this hard is a massive waste of mana. A moment later, I smile grimly as I peer into her inner space. It doesn¡¯t take long to find the confirmation I seek, and I let the costly Skill drop. I¡¯d rather not use it again today if I can help it; I feel wrung out and frayed, like my body can¡¯t handle the flood of power.

    I can¡¯t read the exact names of each of Saphora¡¯s elaborate Skill structures, like Scalpel could when she delved into people¡¯s inner worlds, but one thing is clear: the runic characteristics they share in common remind me strongly of Lionel¡¯s Skills. No wonder she¡¯s confident about his exact healing capabilities. She was tending to [Lord] Dimitri while he was convalescing, after all. They¡¯re not so different; she¡¯s simply further along the [Healer]¡¯s path than he is.

    My smile turns sharp-edged. ¡°How long can you keep up this farce, I wonder?¡±

    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±

    I ignore her icy tone. My certainty grows as I scan her again, confirming the purpose of further runes that I vaguely recognize from my time with my tormenter and reluctant teacher.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± I declare imperiously, raising my voice so that her henchmen on the walls can clearly hear my allegations. ¡°Do Dimitri¡¯s remaining guards know that you¡¯re only pretending to be a [Lady]?¡±

    ¡°You have until nightfall,¡± Lady Saphora replies after a pause so brief that I almost fear I¡¯ve imagined it. A small door set within the gates opens, and she turns and glides back inside her fortress. The heavy, iron-banded door clangs shut behind her with finality.

    If my words struck home, then she¡¯s doing an admirable job of hiding it. I don¡¯t think my sight is wrong, though. I know what I uncovered. The only real question is whether or not her deception will matter to the guards.

    A dark chuckle from Devrim pulls me back out of my thoughts. He claps a hand on my shoulder and pulls me away from the gates, gesturing for the rest of the guards to follow. ¡°I said to buy time, not to make things personal. Right now you''re just opponents of circumstance; keep up the act, and you''re likely to earn a mortal enemy.¡±

    I open my mouth to protest, but he smirks and cuts me off. ¡°All good. The show was well worth the trouble. Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d throw her off her game so handily. Gives us time to regroup while Benaiah scouts out a place to infiltrate without a direct confrontation.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not above confrontation,¡± I fume as I walk away from the gates with bitterness. I¡¯m not sure taking our time is the right play, although I believe Saphora was telling the truth that we have until nightfall. I hope Lionel forgives me for not breaking down the gates and charging into the breach.

    ¡°Me neither, but better if we have a solid plan.¡± Devrim marches us a few hundred paces back, directing us to a small copse of trees where we can hide from view while we discuss the offer. We sit on a fallen log to confer, while the rest of the guards form up a defensive perimeter around us in case of a sneak attack.

    Devrim pulls a length of jerked meat from his pack and tears it in half. He chews on one piece, handing me the other. ¡°How¡¯d you guess she¡¯s not a real [Lady], anyway? Seems like you hit a nerve.¡±

    I squint at him, crossing my arms to convey my displeasure, then finally relent and take the offered snack. ¡°Told you. Casella taught me Viewing. That should tell you something about my standing. After everything you¡¯ve seen from my team, you still doubt my story?¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± Devrim says. He scratches the back of his head. His eyes narrow, as though he¡¯s working through the implications of my claim. ¡°So, what is she?¡±

    ¡°A [Healer],¡± I say defiantly, chewing on the tough strip of meat. Devrim doesn¡¯t react, so I shrug and admit the full truth. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know for sure. Can¡¯t see Classes yet. I need more practice. I¡¯m just going off the runes I recognized in her Skills.¡±

    That earns me raised eyebrows. He whistles. ¡°You¡¯re sure? Never heard of that kind of runic analysis before. Odd ability for a [Glassworker].¡±

    I crack a smile. ¡°I¡¯ve taken a meandering route. Picked up a few things here and there.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t say,¡± Devrim deadpans.

    ¡°Now, what¡¯s our plan? Has Benaiah reported back yet?¡± I ask.

    ¡°You called?¡±

    I flinch, dropping the hunk of jerked meat on the log, and barely manage to keep my seat as Benaiah speaks into my ear. ¡°How¡¯d you do that? I didn¡¯t even sense you at all. My passive mana sense should have noticed once you were within a few steps.¡±

    The [Hawkeye Scout] smirks in response. ¡°You¡¯re not the only one with secrets. [Scout]¡¯s a sneaky class, haven¡¯t ya heard?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s have a rematch when I¡¯m not so drained,¡± I reply quietly, thinking of how I might be able to hone my [Arcane Domain] with Benaiah¡¯s help. Rattled, I pick up the piece of jerky and wolf it down, chewing while I regain my composure.

    ¡°Sure, we can play hide and seek,¡± Benaiah says, a mischievous spark in his eyes that makes me think he¡¯s even harder to find than I suspected. ¡°But let¡¯s stay on track. There¡¯s a [Servant]¡¯s entrance halfway down the hill. Almost missed it at first, but I found recent mana tracks. Looks like a [Porter] used the tunnel to deliver goods a few days ago.¡±

    Benaiah can see the trails people leave, and figure out who they were and what they were doing based on the leftover mana? Intriguing! Now that¡¯s a Skill I¡¯d love to get enchanted onto a handheld device. Maybe a compass? We could use that for the future.

    ¡°Guarded?¡± Devrim interrupts.

    Benaiah spits to the side. ¡°Nah. They¡¯re sloppy. Didn¡¯t see anyone on the walls, either. Everyone¡¯s putting on a show of strength over here for your benefit, but I¡¯ll bet they have fewer fighters than you do. Well, good luck!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not coming with us?¡± I ask when the [Hawkeye Scout] stands up, stretches, and strides off toward the city walls.

    ¡°Nah. Ain¡¯t looking to get turned into a pincushion! I did extra scouting for free. You¡¯re welcome. All on you, now.¡±

    As I watch Benaiah retreat into the woods and disappear from my senses, slipping into stealth, I can¡¯t help but think that he¡¯s the only sensible one among us. I hope we aren¡¯t making a terrible mistake infiltrating the fortress.

    =+=

    For the first hundred paces, the service tunnel doesn¡¯t seem too bad. No soldiers, no fighting, no creeping spiders. Devrim broke down the door with a single snap-kick, reminding me just how strong [Soldiers] can become. His powerful kick splintered the wood and disintegrated the lock, but one of the [Guards] muffled the sound with a Skill designed to allow the town guards to sneak up on criminals.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    We left the majority of the [Guards] by the gates, where they entrenched themselves into defensive positions, and ordered them to send a few runners back and forth to the guard house, just to keep up appearances. If our luck holds, then Saphora¡¯s forces will keep watch on them, waiting for me to return with a message from the [Magistrate].

    And if our luck turns . . .

    I don¡¯t finish the thought, forcing myself instead to turn my attention to the fortress ahead of us. I don¡¯t want to rely on my [Arcane Domain] for reconnaissance if at all possible. Just the thought of channeling that much raw power sets my teeth on edge. Still, we need an accurate assessment of what we¡¯re walking into; the last thing we want is to emerge into a trap and end up imprisoned right alongside Lionel.

    The long tunnel surprises me with how much headroom I have. I suppose that¡¯s to allow room for delivery carts and large objects, but I¡¯m glad for the regular mana lamps and relatively clean floors and walls. It¡¯s not as cave-like as I feared.

    ¡°Sensing movement ahead,¡± Nala whispers. She¡¯s been tense ever since her cousin left us to our fate, which makes me appreciate her commitment to help us all the more. ¡°Uchenna, take point. Shield up.¡±

    ¡°On it. Stay behind me.¡±

    We form up behind Uchenna, with Devrim second in line, and pick up the pace. At first, that seems illogical to me, but our sounds are still muffled. Perhaps the element of surprise will work to our advantage, allowing us to get the drop on our enemies.

    A heavy grate at the end of the tunnel bars the way into the fortress basement proper, but Uchenna doesn¡¯t slow down. Instead, he accelerates, with Devrim¡¯s hand on his back as they charge together.

    Uchenna¡¯s shield glows brightly in my mana senses, gaining weight and definition that catch me off guard. I didn¡¯t see any enchantments on it before, other than a one-time boost to the protective shielding that Devrim mentioned. That means it¡¯s a Skill at work right now, and not Uchenna¡¯s based on the sheer intensity and scope of the magic. The fulminating power makes me suspect Devrim at work. Sure enough, the shield takes on [Devour]¡¯s characteristic dark fire, wreathed in so much of the magic that its edges are warping under the force of the power.

    The impact blasts the metal grate apart, flinging shards of dark, heavy iron into the wall opposite from the service tunnel. My teeth rattle from the force of the collision, but I don¡¯t dare slow down and trip up the people behind me.

    Up ahead, a cry of alarm echoes through the tunnels. A pair of guards rouse themselves from a game of chance, sending cards scattering everywhere. One dashes toward a set of stairs and scurries away, while the second guard grabs his axe and hurls it toward us.

    The hastily-thrown weapon thunks into Uchenna¡¯s shield harmlessly, and Nala darts out from behind her partner, her baton whirling in her hand. She smashes it against the guard¡¯s bare head with a meaty thump. Without the protection of a helmet, he drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

    ¡°After the other guard!¡± Devrim roars. ¡°If he calls in reinforcements, this fight gets twice as hard. With me. Charge!¡±

    A bloody aura washes over us as he activates another Skill¡ªthis one likely related to his command over the battlefield. Reinvigorated, we dash up the stairs behind the grizzled veteran, abandoning stealth for haste.

    Three flights of stairs go by in a flash, and then we¡¯re spilling out into the open hallways of the castle, in hot pursuit of the fleeing guard. I crash through a small wooden table, toppling over a decorative vase, and almost lose my balance. I draw on my borrowed glass mana cores to pull all the heat from the floor ahead of the guard, flash-freezing the flagstones as all of the residual, airborne moisture transforms into ice.

    The guard hits the slick layer of ice and slips sideways. His arms windmill wildly, but his feet find no purchase to right himself. He slams into the stone wall of the corridor, rebounding and tumbling across the floor in a heap.

    Once more, Nala blurs into action, bursting forward a half dozen steps without slipping on the ice, and clocks the man with her baton. Now that I¡¯ve witnessed her rapid pursuit a second time, I¡¯m fairly confident it¡¯s a Skill for apprehending suspects. I¡¯m always amazed at how varied Skills are, enabling every Class-wielder to more efficiently carry out duties.

    I melt the ice, restoring the equilibrium of temperature in the corridor. The rest of the guards run after Nala, who slips back behind Uchenna¡¯s protective shield. Working with a well polished team is eye-opening; my friends are talented, but there are advantages to simple yet strong abilities chained together in synergistic ways.

    ¡°Incoming!¡± Nala calls out, alerting us to more guards up ahead. She seems to have the most sensitive Skills aside from mine¡ªand I¡¯m not dipping back into [Arcane Domain] today, not if I can help it.

    Pounding boots reach my ears. The rattle of sabers and spears announces the arrival of the bulk of the castle¡¯s fighting force. They appear in the archway ahead of us, running shoulder to shoulder with shields up and at the ready. The force of their condensed mana hits me like a runaway cart, even without my [Arcane Domain] running. These are [Soldiers], or perhaps hired [Mercenaries]. They¡¯re certainly not raw recruits like the other guards. This is a serious threat.

    I stride forward, readying a blast of super-heated energy to cook them in their armor like crabs boiling in their shells. My mana sings within the glass cores, eager to flood my Skills and explode into a symphony of violence. Energy swirling around my fingertips, I step past Uchenna and take up a fighting stance.

    ¡°[Artillery Mage]!¡± Devrim bellows.

    I falter. I don¡¯t want to cancel my attack, not while I have the initiative, but I¡¯m all alone in the middle of the hallway, exposed to a counter-attack. Caught in indecision, I¡¯m stuck out in the open as an absolutely massive surge of mana builds up ahead of me.

    Devrim tackles me before I can move, wrenching my body sideways and slamming me down to the floor. A split second later, a spell screams through the air where I just stood. I don¡¯t need my mana senses running to see it; even with my face pressed into the floor, its coruscation is blinding. The after-image of the beam of pure, unbridled power is as thick as a tree trunk.

    The vicious, churning mana empowering the attack froths and rages like a sea beset by a storm, even in the aftermath of the destructive bolt¡¯s passage. The crackling energy makes the fine hairs on my neck stand on end, and my body begins to tremble when I realize I almost died.

    ¡°Shield¡¯s out!¡± Uchenna screams. ¡°Take out that [Artillery Mage], now, or we¡¯re all dead!¡±

    All around us, the guards scatter, relying on erratic movement to keep them safe rather than trying to shield the incoming bombardment. Uchenna doesn¡¯t have the Skills necessary to block that caliber of magic now that the enchantment is broken. I¡¯m honestly amazed that they even lived through the first salvo.

    Devrim throws me to the side, discarding me like old tissue paper, and he sprints straight toward the danger. [Devour] blossoms over his head, opening like the sharp, obsidian petals of a deadly flower. The swirl of power is less voluminous than the [Artillery Mage]¡¯s, which seems as vast as the ocean itself, but more concentrated.

    For a brief moment, he disappears from view. The elite [Soldier] winks back into reality right in the middle of the enemy. Overwhelming pressure emanates out in a wave from him. For a long, frantic breath, my heart stops, unable to beat in the face of such power.

    Devrim becomes fire.

    Devrim becomes the blade.

    Devrim . . . [Devours].

    =+=

    I¡¯ve got to stop getting caught in the crossfire of apex-level attacks, I groan to myself. For the second time, my ears are ringing and my vision is doubled¡ªtripled¡ªmore overlays than I can count. White-hot pain burns in my side, stabbing me with each breath. I¡¯m fairly certain I broke something when [Devour] detonated, flinging me against the wall.

    By the time I can see and move again, the enemy soldiers and [Mage] are all dead. Up ahead, a blackened hole has replaced the archway, letting in the sunlight from outside. Just how powerful is that ability to break a full-fledged [Artillery Mage]¡¯s shield and destroy half the castle wall? The stones are at least two feet thick!

    Behind me, the guards are huddled up behind Uchenna, with Avelina and Mikko in the center of their formation. They don¡¯t appear wounded, but everyone¡¯s slow to get up. Uchenna¡¯s huge, expensive shield is slagged, torn into ribbons and pitted from the impact. The defensive enchantments they were so proud of are nowhere to be seen, burnt to a crisp by the monstrous attack that he blocked.

    Avelina is clinging to Mikko¡¯s neck. Her face is buried in his chest, and her entire body is shuddering, wracked with loud sobs. She doesn¡¯t appear injured, at least not physically, which makes me feel worse. Trauma can leave deeper wounds than spells or swords.

    This is my fault.

    I turn back around, clenching my fist until my arm shakes with the tension of tightening my muscles so hard. I should never have pushed her to kill that [Battle Mage]. Melina tried to warn me, but I was too stubborn to listen. There was another way. There¡¯s always another way to solve things.

    Devrim limps out of the archway, breaking me out of my spiral. Leaning against the wall for support, he half-hops as he drags a bloody stump where his left foot used to be. He collapses in front of me, each breath a rattling, rasping thing, like his lungs are about to expire any second. His hands are shaking, and his fingers are curled up and skeletal, but he tugs at the neck of his tunic. On his third, pitiful try, he succeeds in pulling off the tattered remains of his tunic, and binds it around the wound.

    I glance down, expecting spurts of blood from the severed artery. I¡¯m frantically readying my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to cauterize his calf before he bleeds out, but the flesh already appears like it¡¯s been scabbed over for weeks. It oozes a little, turning my stomach even further, and I blink and shuffle a step back before I lose my lunch.

    Looking more dead than alive, the [Soldier] hangs his head, slumping against the wall near me. His muscles are shriveled, eaten away by the force of his vengeance. His skin hangs loose, wrinkled and strangely gray, as though it¡¯s been burnt.

    Like ash.

    ¡°Drank too deep this time.¡± He laughs hoarsely, and his head lolls to the side. His eyes are still blinking, though. He seems too tough to die on the spot. ¡°[Sergeant] always warned us better to threaten with [Devour]. ¡®Don¡¯t actually use it unless it¡¯s an abyssal emergency. Death ain¡¯t much of a solution.¡¯ That¡¯s what he said,¡± Devrim wheezes. Phlegm dribbles from his lips.

    ¡°You old fool,¡± Nala says softly, shuffling up beside us. She¡¯s cradling her left shoulder in her other hand. Her eyes glisten with tears. She juts out her chin toward Devrim¡¯s broken body. ¡°This wasn¡¯t worth it. Coulda figured something out.¡±

    Devrim whips his head around, fixing Nala with a glare. He bares his teeth in a ferocious, blood-stained smile. ¡°You¡¯re all alive. Regret nothing. [Sergeant] was an idiot.¡±

    Nala rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. She sniffs, then nods at Devrim. ¡°Right. I¡¯ll round up the troops. Let¡¯s get moving, everyone! Uchenna, you take the squad and deal with that snake Saphora. Watch yourselves, ya hear? She¡¯s probably got artifacts. Nobles always spend a premium on protection. Nothing¡¯s too expensive if it saves their skin. Cai, take Devrim back to the guard house. I¡¯ll go with Nuri and find his friend.¡±

    ¡°Leave me be,¡± Devrim mumbles.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get you sorted,¡± Cai says, hoisting up Devrim¡¯s body with shocking ease. The old [Soldier]¡¯s formidable bulk is gone, as though he fueled the devastating Skill with his own flesh and blood.

    I shiver. Maybe he did.

    ¡°Put . . . down. Order,¡± he gurgles.

    ¡°You hear something?¡± Cai asks, twisting his pinkie in his ear. ¡°Think something¡¯s messin with my hearing. Guess I¡¯ll head back to the guard house to get it checked out. Good luck, Nala. You too, Nuri.¡±

    Cai salutes and marches resolutely back toward the stairs leading down to the service tunnel. Based on the expression on his face, he¡¯s taking things personally.

    Immediately, I remember that they were standing watch together when we returned from the Rift. Devrim saved Cai during the ambush. A surge of emotion wells up within me. This is his chance to pay back the favor. I hope I can do the same for Lionel.

    =+=

    Five minutes of searching later, we locate the cell blocks. The dungeon is down on the lower floor, but on the opposite side of the service tunnel where we entered. The guards have fled, or perhaps Devrim killed them all if they were with the group that he [Devoured]. I shudder, hoping I never see that attack again.

    Only one cell is occupied. The door is padlocked, but no one¡¯s blocking our path. Nala hits the lock with her baton, and a burst of mana signals that she¡¯s used a Skill to unlock the rudimentary lock. She heaves the door open, beckoning me to enter.

    ¡°Lionel!¡± I cry out, rushing over to fling my arms around my friend, who¡¯s chained to the wall and hunched over. I reach him only a split second before Mikko and Avelina follow suit. We embrace him, not letting him go.

    ¡°Hey, boss. Long five minutes.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Lio,¡± I whisper, wiping my tears on his cloak. ¡°We should have stuck together.¡±

    ¡°It was my fault. I insisted that you scout ahead,¡± Mikko says, his voice thick with guilt and relief. ¡°Never letting you out of my sight again. We¡¯re a team. We¡¯re sticking together from now on.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll allow it,¡± Lionel croaks, his voice gruff. He coughs. ¡°Ow! Stop squeezing so tight, you big dummy.¡±

    Mikko steps back, releasing Lionel from the rib-crushing dogpile. ¡°Forgive me?¡±

    ¡°Depends. Got any water?¡±

    Mikko blinks, poleaxed by the response, and then bursts out laughing. ¡°Haven¡¯t broken your spirit, huh?¡±

    ¡°Lack of water might do the trick,¡± Lionel says, chuckling weakly. ¡°Hey, how about these chains? Can¡¯t you use some awesome [Blacksmith] Skill to get rid of ¡®em?¡±

    ¡°Nala, can you find a key for the manacles?¡± I call. ¡°Lionel¡¯s still chained to the wall.¡±

    ¡°Lio¡¯s right. [Strength of the Forged Gods] is faster,¡± Mikko says. He grasps the chains in his big hands, channeling mana into his Skill and tugging on the links. They pull apart like paper garlands, freeing our friend.

    ¡°Nuri? I think you¡¯ll want to hear this.¡± Rakesh¡¯s voice drifts into my mind, thanks to [Echo of the Songbird], making me jump. ¡°Melina found a lead.¡±

    ¡°Perfect time. We found him!¡± I shout in excitement. ¡°Lionel¡¯s all right! Mikko just tore off Lionel¡¯s chains with his bare hands, and it was awesome!¡±

    ¡°What a relief! I¡¯ll let Melina know. She¡¯s chewed her fingernails to nubs worrying about all of you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. We¡¯ll head back with Lionel, but the guards are still working to take Saphora into custody. She¡¯s the one who married Dimitri. We¡¯ve gotta get out of here before we¡¯re caught in the crossfire¡ªsounds loud upstairs.¡±

    ¡°Is everyone all right?¡± Rakesh asks. He¡¯s breathing rapidly, and I¡¯m concerned he¡¯ll fall into a panic if I tell him that Lionel¡¯s bruised and beaten, and Avelina is still shaking so hard that Mikko has to hold her up to keep her from collapsing. Her eyes are glassy, staring off into the distance.

    ¡°Sure. Sure,¡± I lie, biting my cheek and hoping Rakesh won¡¯t pick up on the odd hitch in my voice. I leave Lionel to Nala, Avelina, and Mikko, backing out of the cell and finding a quiet spot to continue talking. ¡°But it¡¯s not a bad idea to have a [Healer] on standby to help when we get back, y¡¯know? Hey, we¡¯ll talk later. Tell me what you¡¯ve got,¡± I reply tersely, my hand pressed against my bruised rib. Breathing and speaking are far from comfortable right now, but I grit my teeth and push through the pain.

    ¡°Turns out when you plant corrupt seeds, you gain a rotten harvest,¡± Rakesh says. He sighs dramatically, as though he can¡¯t believe the horrific story he¡¯s about to tell me.

    I allow myself a slight smile.

    ¡°One hundred seventeen years ago, a different family ruled this region. An offshoot of a Ducal family that had fallen on hard times, they were influential enough to rule, but no longer well-connected enough to keep the region prosperous. The heir disappeared one day, and after a year of infighting, a new power claimed Mahkaiaraon. And listen to this! The new ruler of the city, [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s ancestor, was an [Enchanter] by trade.¡±

    ¡°The enchanted corpse we found was the rightful heir?¡± I guess, my mind racing ahead. ¡°They murdered him and hid him in a Rift. Clever¡ªand disturbing. That raises more questions than it answers.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already called the Inquisitors. They¡¯re coming with Ezio to take a deeper look at the Rift and investigate the region. We won¡¯t have to figure this out on our own.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Rakesh,¡± I say softly. ¡°This will definitely shake things up. Now it¡¯s come full circle. Neither Nikolai or Saphora will win the crown. I doubt we¡¯ll find any long-lost relatives of the original rulers, but it seems like the [Magistrate] has things well in hand. He¡¯s got the guards on his side, so let¡¯s hope that will be enough backing.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Rakesh says, but he doesn¡¯t sound convinced. He clears his throat. ¡°Hurry back. Melina looks worried. And I can¡¯t maintain the connection much longer, not at this great of a distance. It¡¯s burning through my mana reserves like a graduate student through ale.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± I say. My mind is still reeling from processing all the strange revelations. But sorting through the mess in Mahkaiaraon can wait. Other people will rebuild this city and restore it to its former glory¡ªthrough legitimate means, this time. I wish them well. For now, I¡¯m just happy to have my friend back.

    We¡¯re a team, through thick and thin. Nothing can keep us apart. I¡¯m sure that will never change. I just hope I haven¡¯t caused any irreparable harm by my reckless decision-making. I¡¯ve always been impulsive, and I¡¯ve often paid for my mistakes, but it¡¯s different when it¡¯s my friends who foot the bill.

    I shake off the uncomfortable thoughts and duck back into the cramped cell.¡°All right, friends. That was Rakesh. He¡¯ll arrange for a [Healer] to take care of us when we get back. Let¡¯s head to the guard house. I¡¯ve had enough of this place. Nala, you can join the fight upstairs if you want. Thanks again for your help.¡±

    She shakes her head stubbornly. ¡°I said I¡¯d come with you. I¡¯m seeing things through. I¡¯ll get you back to headquarters. You can count on me. Come on, let¡¯s get moving.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I whisper, grateful that someone else is taking the lead. My bones feel like lead, my ribs are on fire, and my head is pounding. Adventure is a lot less glamorous than it¡¯s cracked up to be.

    ¡°Wow, she¡¯s a better boss than you are. Finally, someone brings me water!¡± Lionel pipes up when Nala hands over her canteen. He takes a series of short, cautious sips, sighs, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

    ¡°Love you too, Lio,¡± I mutter.

    Mikko snorts out a laugh. ¡°I missed your cheeky humor, buddy. Glad you¡¯re back.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± I say, managing a crooked, half-hearted smile. ¡°Let¡¯s meet back up with Rakesh and Mel. The team feels incomplete when we¡¯re apart.¡±

    ¡°Got that right,¡± Lionel says. ¡°I¡¯m happy you found me. Thanks for coming to get me. I never doubted you. Did you know that? I¡¯m just teasing about the water, Nuri. You¡¯re still my best friend, and my favorite boss.¡±

    I smile, and this time it''s for real.

 Book Four Epilogue

    Nearly a week later, our call for official help receives an answer. My two [Inquisitor] friends arrive in town along with a surprise guest: Nicanor. The [Spear Commander] seems strangely pleased to see our unlikely group of specialists again.

    ¡°Handled your first real mission admirably,¡± Nicanor says during our debrief, without any trace of his former sneering. He nods at me. ¡°We¡¯ll watch your career with great interest.¡±

    I can¡¯t help but shiver at his phrase. There¡¯s something vaguely sinister about the words that I can¡¯t quite explain, as though I¡¯ve heard them before in a different setting. I have no recollection of the event.

    Over the next few days, we continue to recover and train, preparing for our original goal: traveling to Gilead to meet with the Menders. Our detour took far longer than I anticipated, but it occurs to me that I¡¯m probably right on schedule as far as Nicanor is concerned. Even so, I¡¯m eager to get moving again. Traveling around and selling our glass wares sounds like a rather pleasant change of pace after the horrors in the Rift.

    The chaos of Mahkaiaraon has settled down now that Saphora is safely in custody and Nikolai is on the run. She burned through several costly artifacts defending herself from the guards. Once she realized how outnumbered she was, she surrendered to Uchenna, who¡¯s in line for a promotion¡ªand a new shield, of course.

    Questions of rightful rulership still remain, though the [Magistrate] will likely come out on top since Nikolai is at large. I hope he doesn¡¯t turn up later and cause trouble. Regardless, we¡¯ll leave the cleanup and facts to the Inquisitors and Nicanor. They promise that they¡¯ll work with Ezio to research the enchantments in the Rift and the history of the city.

    Mbukhe in particular is pleased with my new Skill, and promises that he will teach me more about a Domain when my core and channels are in better shape. According to him, it¡¯s not simply a matter of mana use, but of cohesiveness of intent and will, which reminds me strongly of imbuing. He agrees, and tells me in no uncertain terms that if I hadn¡¯t worked so hard on my crafting, then I¡¯d have torn myself apart using an [Arcane Domain] before the second Threshold.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Casella only grimaces a little when I ask whether or not he can help me analyze and steal Benaiah¡¯s stealth Skills to enchant onto gear for Lionel. When I plead with my Inquisitor mentor and promise that I¡¯m only taking inspiration, not misusing Viewing, he relents and helps me map out the runes. Finding a master [Enchanter] is on me, but I¡¯ve got some leads.

    True to his word, the [Hawkeye Scout] helps me develop my mana senses¡ªfor a price, of course. Our games of hide and seek sprawl across half the city, often taking hours. I can¡¯t use my Domain for very long before the strain of it overwhelms me, but I¡¯m getting faster and more accurate at finding people within it and observing the flows of energy around me. With time and practice, it will become my strongest Skill.

    We¡¯re more or less patched up now. Physically, at least. By the time we made it back to the guard house, a local [Healer] that Devrim trusted was on hand to stabilize the old [Soldier]. Devrim is still in agony. He may not live more than another year or two after burning away his vitality to supersaturate [Devour] with additional power.

    The peaceful smile on Devrim¡¯s drained, wrinkled-up face when he talks about living long enough to see Mahkaiaraon delivered from fear and oppression inspires me. I too want to live free of regrets. In a moment of sentimentality, I write a letter to my parents. Nicanor promises to send it through the Army post, and I think I believe him.

    Lionel and I fare much better with our healing than Devrim did. Thankfully, our cuts and bruises were far less heinous. Our master of fire is a different story, though. Avelina barely talks. She¡¯s been withdrawn and angry ever since the slaughter she witnessed at the fortress, and I realize it¡¯s because it¡¯s the first time she¡¯s seen the carnage fire can cause when it¡¯s turned against other humans.

    She didn¡¯t survey the wreckage in the town square after she launched her attack. Even though she knew that she¡¯d killed a bunch of bad people, it was all theoretical. Seeing Devrim in action, up close and personal¡ªthat shook her. She talks tough, but she¡¯s a gentle soul.

    I still don¡¯t know what to do to make amends. I don¡¯t know if I can. That won¡¯t stop me from trying, though. I love my friends. If I can¡¯t make their lives better through all my efforts, then the pursuit of power is worthless. We¡¯re all in this together, for better or worse, until the very end. That¡¯s a promise.

 Book Five Chapter One: Azariah

    Book Five

    I stand on the last grassy hill on the outskirts of Mahkaiaraon, a frown etched on my face. Below me, windswept plains stretch on as far as the eye can see. Barren and gray, the dusty flatlands seem to mock me. Scorching, arid, utterly inimical to life.

    The way forward.

    Melina catches my eye. ¡°Everyone''s hungry, Nuri. How about we head back to the inn to get lunch?¡±

    ¡°Yeah! I¡¯m famished,¡± Lionel says.

    My crew clusters around me, their shoulders slumped. I take stock of their long-suffering expressions, recall my vow to be a better leader, and nod. ¡°You want me to call off the search for a [Guide]?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. But if the last four meetings are any indication, we¡¯re not likely to find anyone soon. Food might help restore morale,¡± Melina replies smoothly.

    ¡°All right,¡± I agree, my voice halting. ¡°But if we haven¡¯t hired a guide by the weekend, then we¡¯re moving out anyway. On our own. We can¡¯t delay forever.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only been three days since caravans were cleared to return to the region,¡± Rakesh points out. ¡°Arbitrary deadlines won¡¯t suddenly convince a reluctant guide to give us passage to the Menders. Let¡¯s not be hasty.¡±

    I tug at my beard, still staring out at the blighted flats below, and finally shake my head. ¡°We''re on a tight schedule. You know that. Ordinarily, I¡¯d agree with you, but I don¡¯t think we can afford to twiddle our thumbs.¡±

    Lionel clears his throat. ¡°Food first. After my stomach stops gurgling, let¡¯s ask our new friends to put out the word that we''re recruiting a [Guide].¡±

    ¡°Good idea,¡± I say, making sure I¡¯m mixing in praise for each time I shut down anyone. ¡°We¡¯ve bled for them. Least they can do is help us get out of here. Hey, maybe we can skip the caravan and travel faster in a smaller group if the [Magistrate] pays for us.¡±

    Mikko crosses his muscular arms. ¡°Maybe, though spending is tight with the rebuilding, from what I hear. Think he''ll keep his job? Whole lotta eyes on this city now.¡±

    ¡°Likely, since he¡¯s the one who hired us to clear out the Old Keep. That¡¯ll go a long way with Chief Xharrote. That guy is the most pragmatic person you¡¯ll ever meet.¡± I snort at my memories of the strange head of the [Inquisitors].

    ¡°C¡¯mon. Last one back to the inn pays for lunch!¡± Lionel calls, running back down the hill. He follows the winding path that leads back toward town, heading toward the thick cluster of trees. It¡¯s remarkable how verdant the forest is, and how lifeless the flats are on the other side of the hill.

    Must be a town-wide Skill in effect, I muse, although I¡¯m not sure who¡¯s powering it now that the [Lord] of the region is dead.

    The team dashes after Lionel, not daring to let him out of our sight. We¡¯re not going to lose him again, even if it means racing halfway across town. It¡¯s a breakneck pace, dodging roots and upturned stones on the old path, and it reminds me of our desperate run just a few short weeks ago when Lionel was abducted by [Lord] Dimitri¡¯s guards.

    This time, I hold up a little better, thanks to constant running and training with Nala and Uchenna. Along with Cai, they¡¯ve taken up the mantle of leadership from Devrim, who¡¯s still teetering on the edge of death. Somehow, they¡¯ve decided that improving our fitness is the most practical way that they can repay us. As I run beneath the leafy boughs and thick shade of tall trees, admiring the dappled sunlight falling across the forest floor, I¡¯m glad for their continued insistence on physical training.

    By the time our group returns, panting and slick with sweat from our run, the [Innkeeper] is rushing around in the kitchen, preparing a lunch of jerked chicken. The air is fragrant with the scent of the meal, laden with seasoning I don¡¯t recognize. Even from the main room, a dozen paces from the kitchens, the smoke is making my eyes water. By the time the spicy dish arrives, drenched in creamy looking sauce, my mouth is watering, too.

    ¡°Lionel¡¯s timing is impeccable as always,¡± Mikko says, laughing as he spins around a chair and plops himself down at the table.

    Melina pats him on the shoulder and slides into a seat next to him, leaning over her plate to inhale deeply and smile. ¡°More reliable than a clock, as long as there¡¯s food involved.¡±

    ¡°Food, or trouble,¡± I tease.

    ¡°Hey! Learned from the best,¡± Lionel shoots back, gesturing with his chin in my direction. ¡°Let the record show that I¡¯ve only been captured when going along with your crazy schemes.¡±

    ¡°Ha. You¡¯ve always had crazy schemes. You just didn¡¯t get caught before,¡± Avelina says, a rare smile playing on her lips.

    It¡¯s surprising to hear her after a week of not interacting much, so I smile back and hope she¡¯s encouraged to keep talking. Seeing her like this is disconcerting.

    The brief glint of her former liveliness in her eyes dies out as abruptly as it appeared. She pulls her bowl of rice and chicken closer, hunching her shoulders as she eats in silence.

    An air of awkwardness hangs over the table. Nothing has been quite the same with our group since we helped liberate the city. While my favorite pair of [Inquisitors] and the terrifying [Spear Commander] Nicanor have taken over rebuilding and restoring faith in the governance, my team is treated like visiting dignitaries. And no one has received more enthusiastic praise than Avelina. She¡¯s earned a nickname from the townsfolk that she absolutely despises: the Fire-Kissed Savior of Mahkaiaraon. She can hardly go anywhere outside the inn without kids cheering her on, or eligible young bachelors making eyes at her.

    A month ago, Avelina would have lifted her arms and danced with sparks flying around her, urging on her admirers. Now, they¡¯re just one more reminder of the massive devastation she wrought¡ªand the lives she reaped with her eye-catching inferno.

    It¡¯s hard to believe that my goofy childhood friends have grown up to fight alongside freedom fighters, clear a lesser Rift twisted by foul enchantments, and solve a mystery over a century old. All on our first foray as adventurers, too. If the last few months is any indication, then we have an incredibly exciting future in front of us.

    I swallow the lump in my throat as I observe Avelina. I only hope that the cost isn¡¯t higher than we¡¯re willing to pay.

    Best not to dwell on it.

    After Melina coughs and gives us all a pointed glare, the rest of us dig in. Soon, we put the uncomfortable silence behind us, shoveling the sauteed vegetables, steaming rice, and savory jerked chicken into our mouths as quickly as we can.

    ¡°Rakesh, can I ask you a finance question?¡± I say when I finish chewing. ¡°I know you¡¯ve calculated our budget for the trip. Let¡¯s say we use the money the [Magistrate] is offering us for our involvement in the fighting. If we use it to hire a caravan, then how likely are we to be able to coast on the remainder when we arrive in Gilead?¡±

    The [Secretarial Researcher] frowns. He makes a show of tapping his chin with a long finger while pondering the request. Rakesh has become increasingly theatrical since his brief undercover stint spying on the late [Lord] Dimitri and his missing wife, which amuses me to no end. He clears his throat and stands, clasping his hands behind his back.

    ¡°Our funds will likely run dry within two to three weeks. Real estate near the Menders is exorbitant, due to the high demand for their services. Recommendation: defray our expenses by seeking gainful employment with all haste.¡±

    ¡°Glassmaking on the road seems wise,¡± Melina says. ¡°The income isn¡¯t steady, but it will help if we build a foundation prior to Gilead. We don¡¯t know what kind of conditions we¡¯ll find. It¡¯s a bigger city than any of us have ever been to¡ªexcept for Nuri¡ªand we might discover that our Skills aren¡¯t up to local standards.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t exactly sight-seeing in the Capital,¡± I reply, chuckling darkly at my harrowing time with Scalpel. Vitrifying her from the inside out was the most satisfying thing I¡¯ve ever done, but I wasn¡¯t about to risk getting in trouble for it. I didn¡¯t stick around long. ¡°You make good sense, though, Mel. We¡¯ll be itinerant tinkers!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t sell us short,¡± Lionel says, leaning back from the table and burping in satisfaction. He pats his belly, staring at the empty platter of food with longing. ¡°Even in a major metropolis like Gilead, imbuing isn¡¯t likely common. Nuri¡¯s crafting prowess took a big jump forward thanks to the other Mel.¡±

    ¡°Melidandri,¡± Melina supplies, a flicker of annoyance passing across her otherwise calm features. ¡°You know his name, Lionel. You just like to vex me.¡±

    Lionel cups his hand around his ear, as though straining to hear Melina. ¡°What¡¯s that? Is that jealousy I hear? Guess I better start calling him the better Mel.¡±

    ¡°Shut it, Lio,¡± I command, although it takes all my willpower not to snicker. It¡¯s unusual to see Melina so competitive, especially since she¡¯s never met Master Melidandri, but I¡¯m glad that something inspires her to push on toward greatness.

    ¡°Aw, just having fun, Nuri.¡±

    I resist the urge to roll my eyes. That¡¯s hardly fitting for a leader. ¡°Yeah. Can it, anyway. We¡¯re all in this together, but upgrading your [Healer] Skills is a big part of why we agreed to this job in the first place. The least you can do is show some gratitude.¡±

    Lionel takes a slow breath. He puffs out his cheeks and holds it for a few seconds before finally blowing the air back out. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll behave. But seriously, you know where my loyalties are. You¡¯re family. Not even the promise of learning imbuing will make me like him better than my dear old friend.¡±

    I snort. ¡°I can teach imbuing.¡±

    ¡°Is that a promise?¡± Lionel asks.

    Before I lose my cool and throw my spoon at my irascible best friend, the inn¡¯s front door slams open. Nala bursts inside, nimbly twirling around a young couple, and bounds over to our table with a huge grin. Her cheeks are glowing with excitement¡ªor perhaps from the exertion of sprinting all the way over from the guard house¡ªas she takes the last empty seat next to her favorite member of the team, Lionel.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Nala waves. ¡°Hope I¡¯m not interrupting lunch! Ah, who am I kidding? I love interrupting lunch. Got any extra for a hungry gal?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all out,¡± Mikko rumbles apologetically, holding up his empty trencher.

    ¡°Then where¡¯d the sweet rolls come from?¡± Nala asks, her nose wrinkled up in confusion as she waves her hand toward Lionel¡¯s plate, which magically features dessert that none of the rest of us saw on the menu.

    Cawing triumphantly, Nala snatches a roll from underneath Lionel¡¯s nose. He lifts his hands up and stares, open-mouthed and outraged.

    ¡°I will overlook that since I¡¯m so magnanimous,¡± Lionel finally says, desperately trying to hold on to the tattered shreds of his dignity.

    ¡°What¡¯s the word?¡± I ask, tensing up as I consider all the possibilities for her sudden visit and heightened excitement. What does the [Magistrate] need us to do this time?

    ¡°Heard you¡¯re looking for a [Guide] to Gilead,¡± Nala says around a mouthful of sweet roll. ¡°How¡¯s that going?¡±

    I nod. ¡°Pretty terrible.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a long way away.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but that¡¯s not the problem,¡± I say, pushing away my empty plate. ¡°Not a single caravan will take us directly to Gilead. Most of the captains are regional traders. I get it. They don¡¯t wanna travel across the entire country. That¡¯s not profitable. But all of the [Caravaners] and [Merchants] we¡¯ve asked cite the difficulty, not the distance. The longer they give us the runaround, the more I¡¯m running out of patience.¡±

    Of all the obstacles I envisioned between my team and the Menders, simply finding passage across an inhospitable wilderness never occurred to me. I figured we¡¯d simply join a wagon train and ride the entire way, or find a barge. If only Captain Ash traded in this area. Then we could ride the river with him.

    Nala swipes Lionel¡¯s tea and washes down her sweet roll, winking at him and making him blush. ¡°Well, you¡¯re in luck. Trade caravans are cautious by nature, but they¡¯re not the best for long trips. After five years of exile, [Pathfinder] Azariah is back in town!¡±

    ¡°Ooh, a [Pathfinder] sounds awesome,¡± Lionel says. ¡°Thanks for the tip, Nala.¡±

    I¡¯m about to agree when her words sink in. ¡°Wait. Did you say exile?¡±

    =+=

    The next morning, just after breakfast, we head to the stockyards. According to Nala, this is the best place to catch Azariah; apparently, he likes to scope out the best cows to get a headstart on smoking meat for his journey. I still can¡¯t get a straight answer out of the [Guard] about why Azariah was exiled, but we¡¯ll have to take Nala¡¯s word that he¡¯s worth the trouble.

    I hope she¡¯s right.

    We smell the place long before we see it. The sickly sweet, overripe manure makes me gag. I quickly wrap a scented cloth around my mouth and nose to block out the scent. Past the last barn, row upon row of wooden pens connected by corridors of fencing seem to stretch on without end. The dust the animals kick up into the air threatens to choke me, but a pulse of my [Arcane Domain] flattens the particulates in the air, forcing them to the ground and clearing a path for us. Surrounded by the lowing of cattle and the stench of their excrement, even through the cloth, I¡¯m suddenly glad that I don¡¯t have more acute senses.

    Despite the assault on our nostrils, the bustle of activity in the stockyards is invigorating. Not a single person stands still; the entire place fairly vibrates with excitement and energy as [Herders] bring in fresh droves, and [Auctioneers] profit off them as quickly as they¡¯re sold and registered with the yards. It¡¯s not the strangest place I¡¯ve ever ended up, but it¡¯s certainly a memorable location.

    ¡°Keep an eye out for a blue banner with an ox skull and horns emblazoned in white,¡± I remind the team. ¡°We should find Azariah bartering for meat there.¡±

    ¡°Already scouted it out,¡± Rakesh replies smugly, tapping on a map of the yards. I don¡¯t even remember when he managed to procure a copy, but it¡¯s great to see him taking initiative. ¡°Ahead to the left, on the other side of the auction platform.¡±

    We trot after Rakesh, following the path on the map he traces with his finger, and soon reach our destination. Based on what Nala told us at lunch yesterday, Azariah is the best guide west of Modilaraon, a hunter of no small renown, who¡¯s led expeditions and always brought his patrons through to the other side. She warned us thrice that his services don¡¯t come cheaply, and that he¡¯s about as personable as razor blades, but that we won¡¯t find a better option. He sounds perfect to me. How bad can his attitude actually be?

    As we approach the trading desk, a scuffle breaks out ahead of us. A bulky man with a blood-stained apron shoves an even thicker man who¡¯s only two-thirds his height. Yet, despite his arms straining with muscle, he doesn¡¯t budge the shorter man at all. ¡°Gold or get out, you halfbreed scum! No credit.¡±

    ¡°Not till you give me the promised ribeye!¡± the barrel-chested fellow growls in a low, lilting voice. ¡°I¡¯ve bought from Abel¡¯s Meats for decades before you were even a twinkle in yer pa¡¯s eye, ya little pipsqueak. My word¡¯s better than bullion.¡±

    ¡°Not since you skipped¡ª¡±

    The short, stocky man blurs into motion, launching off the ground and headbutting the [Butcher] right under the chin with the gleaming crown of his bald head. The taller man stumbles back and drops to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust with a dull thud. His apron flutters up from the sudden movement, draping over half his face.

    My Domain tells me that he¡¯s still breathing, but he looks like he¡¯s out cold. I glance back at the attacker, notice the smoking pipe in his mouth, the bald head, and the thick tangle of his nearly waist-length beard, and groan as I realize this is our target.

    ¡°I still expect those ribeye, ya hear?¡± Azariah shouts at no one in particular. ¡°Make sure I get what¡¯s mine, Abel, or I¡¯ll burn down yer entire storehouse.¡± With a final disdainful glower, he spits to the side and stalks off, shouldering grown men out of his way like a surly old bull knocking aside newborn calves.

    I step into his path, ignoring the death glare on his face, and clear my throat. ¡°You must be Azariah. Take us to Gilead, and I¡¯ll buy the ribeye for you in addition to the fee for our passage.¡±

    Azariah¡¯s face wrinkles up as he surveys the team. ¡°Nah. You¡¯re the sorriest lot I¡¯ve ever seen. Go waste someone else¡¯s time.¡±

    I cross my arms, glaring back at the thick-set man in front of me, and refuse to get out of his way when he steps straight toward me. He comes up to my chest, but he¡¯s wider than Mikko, and he scowls worse than Ember, but I¡¯m done with playing around. I pull out the trick I played earlier with the dust and flare my [Arcane Domain], grounding myself just in time to prevent him from bowling me over.

    A wicked grin splits my face. I fall back on the grueling Domain training Mbukhe has put me through the last few weeks, and stand my ground. My mana drops precipitously, but Azariah stops dead in his tracks.

    His eyes narrow, but he grunts, steps back, and drags on his pipe. ¡°All right. Ya got a spine. I¡¯ll give ya that. You¡¯re still wasting my time.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I am. You see, I¡¯m talking to you precisely because I¡¯m tired of wasting time. That¡¯s why we¡¯re going to work together. Heard you¡¯re the best.¡±

    The sheer arrogance of Azariah¡¯s sneer takes me aback. ¡°I am the best. Doesn¡¯t mean you can sweet talk me into a fool¡¯s errand. No chance I¡¯ll take ya on for less than two hundred gold. Each. You¡¯re liable to die halfway there¡ªthat¡¯s bad business! And Azariah doesn¡¯t do bad business, catch my drift?¡±

    I make a show of frowning at Azariah¡¯s insult, although I school my face so I don¡¯t laugh at the over the top bluster from the squat smokestack in front of me. Negotiations require that I keep up appearances, after all. It¡¯s hard to take him seriously as he puffs furiously on his pipe, but if Nala and Devrim agree that Azariah is the best once we get past his crusty demeanor, then I¡¯m determined to stay the course.

    ¡°We can handle ourselves. Fifty gold, since you won¡¯t have to hire guards for the trip,¡± I counter, just to see how much steam will vent from his ears at the lowball offer.

    ¡°Theft! Robbery! Larceny!¡± Azariah howls. He pulls his pipe out of his mouth and glances around wildly. ¡°Where¡¯s the city watch when you actually want ¡®em? Peh! Trying to rob me blind. Can¡¯t do it for less than one-fifty¡ªassuming you¡¯re good for guard duty. I¡¯ll need references. Good people, ya hear? Not that paper crap you¡¯re waving around.¡±

    I match his condescending sneer from a moment earlier. ¡°A writ from the Royal Army isn¡¯t worth your time? Huh. I¡¯ll make sure to tell ¡®em.¡±

    ¡°Forgery, I¡¯ll bet,¡± Azariah scoffs.

    ¡°Devrim will vouch for us,¡± I say, crossing my arms. I smirk at the glimmer of shock on Azariah¡¯s face at hearing the veteran [Soldier]¡¯s name. ¡°Good enough for you?¡±

    ¡°Wipe that smarmy grin off yer face. Ain¡¯t a stroll in the park, even if that old codger went soft in his dotage. Thinks ya might scrape by, does he? Peh! Half the folk who set out for remote parts don¡¯t make it,¡± Azariah bellows, popping his pipe back into place.

    He draws in another long breath from his pipe, filling his cheeks with smoke. Puff! Up it goes in a lazy cloud of glittering gray. Pipe smoke swirls around his head. He winks at me, and the smoke twitches, taking on the form of a caravan traversing a mountain pass to illustrate his point. An avalanche soon crashes over the hazy forms of wagons and mules, washing away every hint of its passage in a grim reminder of the danger.

    ¡°So, can you do it or not?¡± I demand, unfazed by the intricate illusion magic. ¡°Hearing a lot of big talk. Bit light on details, unfortunately.¡±

    ¡°Aye. I can take you to Gilead.¡±

    I stare down at the guide, drawing on the oppressive presence of my [Arcane Domain] to loom over him more than just physically, and go for a big bluff. ¡°Been there before? How do we know you can deliver on your claims? Other [Caravaners] are asking forty apiece. And we get to ride instead of hiking. Starting to think we can get a better deal elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°Pfft. That¡¯s for passage to Lutengo¡¯s Peak. Roundabout, stupid path. Takes twice the time. You¡¯ll still have to walk the last two hundred seventy miles on foot! Sides, I¡¯ll get you there alive. That¡¯s why you¡¯re talkin to me, not them.¡± Azariah pauses to spit to the side. ¡°Bunch of smooth-hands. Ne¡¯er did an honest day¡¯s work in their lives.¡±

    ¡°Guaranteed safe passage, no detours, no other clients or side trips?¡± I ask, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Yep. Gonna cost ya, though.¡±

    I run my fingers through my beard. ¡°No discount for the infamous mercenaries who cleared out Mahkaiaraon? We¡¯re not your average travelers. Eighty gold, including breakfast and dinner, since we¡¯re buying your steaks.¡±

    Azariah smacks his gut. ¡°Lookin to get fat like me?¡± He lets out a hearty laugh. ¡°Food¡¯s the least of yer worries on the trek to Gilead. Hmm. You look mighty young. Sure you got that much gold?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re good for it. Lead on,¡± Mikko says, offering a toothy smile as he stalks forward to loom over Azariah. His big shoulders are all drawn up, and his jaw is clenched, which I know from long experience is a dead giveaway that my brother¡¯s angry at our prospective guide¡¯s dismissive treatment.

    ¡°Welp. Gold is gold. Let me reintroduce myself. Azariah. [Smokeborn Pathfinder]. One hundred a head. That¡¯s the lowest I¡¯ll go. Mighty fine deal. Let¡¯s hope you live to regret it!¡±

    ¡°Wait, don¡¯t you mean you hope that we don¡¯t regret our choice?¡± Melina interjects, her unnaturally pale forehead furrowing as she regards the stump-like [Pathfinder] in front of her.

    Azariah snorts through his nose, blasting away the dancing smoke in long, twin trails. ¡°Don¡¯t care how ya feel.¡± He taps his temple and winks. ¡°But regret requires bein¡¯ alive. Get it?¡±

    Avelina snaps, summoning blue-white sparks and burning away the thick smoke before it reaches her face. ¡°Keep that smoke to yourself. Mikko already smells like a forge. Don¡¯t need two of you stinking things up.¡±

    ¡°What bee crawled up your¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± I interrupt sternly.

    Azariah glares at Avelina, but thankfully he seems to catch the seriousness in my tone, and he backs off, settling for a dirty look and incomprehensible oaths under his breath.

    ¡°Well? Do we have a deal?¡±

    ¡°Aye, hundred apiece. Final offer.¡±

    I grin, sticking out my right hand. ¡°Pleasure doing business with you, Azariah. I can¡¯t wait for a month on the road together.¡±

    ¡°Hmph. You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m down on my luck,¡± Azariah mutters. ¡°All right, I¡¯ll send you a list of supplies. Get packin! We leave at nightfall.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean dawn?¡± Melina asks.

    ¡°What, and bake in the hot sun? Abyss take me! I¡¯ve signed up for a suicide march. Yer skin will be the first to burst into flames. Ya look like a bucket of milk in human form. Nah, we¡¯re keeping to a night march until we reach the inland sea. Peh. Bunch of daft youngins. Don¡¯t even know when to leave town!¡±

    Azariah throws his hands up and stomps away, parting the crowd around him with sheer force of will it seems. He¡¯s mumbling to himself viciously. While I can barely make out the words, a few comments about my grandmother¡¯s impure bloodlines reach my ears, carried by tendrils of smoke that don¡¯t dissipate in the wind.

    I can¡¯t help but grin at his impudence. Something tells me that this adventure will be our best yet.

 B5 C2: The Barrens

    Navigating by the sea of stars above us is surreal. The blurring of dark sky and shapeless land is at once eerie and beautiful. The ground melts away in the deep gloom, shadowed and shifting beneath our feet. We watch our steps by the faint illumination of the waning crescent moon. As rare as clouds are, the light mostly proves enough to see our way. On the occasion when they drift across the face of the silvery light above us, then we slow down and place a hand on the person in front of us. In this manner, we shuffle forward, like a human caravan pulled by the ornery pack animal himself: Azariah.

    Traveling like this is nerve-wracking for the first couple days, but Nala didn¡¯t oversell Azariah¡¯s services. Despite his sharp tongue, he takes his job seriously. Ghost-like, he drifts between us throughout the nightly walks, showing up at just the right time to buoy up flagging spirits or to lend a supporting shoulder when someone trips. He cares about our survival, even if he¡¯s not much of a people person. A true professional.

    Every so often, he brings us to a full stop so that he can consult the strange, oversized bronze pocket watch he carries. He mutters to himself, squints up at the stars, fiddles with the dials, and corrects our course. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek more closely with the aid of my Domain, although it only reveals mana and shapes. I can¡¯t visually inspect something if I don¡¯t have sightlines, as much as I wish I had unfettered visibility anywhere within the range of my [Arcane Domain].

    As far as I can tell in the dim light of the stars and moon, there¡¯s not a clock face on his device. A profusion of gears that I don¡¯t quite understand seem to interact in complex ways I¡¯ve never seen. Since he keeps looking up, I assume he¡¯s charting his way forward by the stars, like in the adventure books I used to read, but I¡¯m unfamiliar with how the actual process works.

    After our third all-night march, we finally halt for food earlier in the morning than usual. I had no spare time previously, but now we¡¯ve got a sense of how to do things Azariah¡¯s way, and he¡¯s rewarding us with an early rest period. A few long hours past sunrise finds us approaching a pair of long, low, roughly rectangular boulders tilted against each other at an angle. The rocks create a small cave just large enough for the team to squeeze in together. I have no idea how Azariah found the odd rock formation in the monochromatic Barrens. I couldn¡¯t even see the difference in the lay of the land until we were three or four strides away from the small shelter, but he guided us here with unerring confidence.

    [Pathfinder] Skills at work. Neat.

    ¡°We¡¯ll camp out here and rest during the heat of mid-day,¡± Azariah announces. ¡°Secure the perimeter. I¡¯ll get advance warning if something dangerous wanders too close, but it¡¯s never a waste to have extra eyes when you¡¯re in the Barrens.¡±

    I nod, resolved to follow our guide¡¯s recommendations to the letter. He¡¯s always taken the night watch solo, so this is our chance to prove our worth. ¡°Rakesh? Send out a few paper birds. One in each cardinal direction, maybe. Listen for anything unusual. I¡¯ll keep an eye out, too, with my¡ªuh, well, I¡¯ll watch. But, as Azariah says, redundancy is smart.¡±

    The [Smokeborn Pathfinder] raises an eyebrow when I trip over my words in my effort to change tack at the last moment and not reveal my Domain, but he doesn¡¯t pry. He¡¯s got secrets he¡¯s hiding as well, I¡¯ll wager. Better if we all keep our own counsel.

    Once we¡¯re situated, I get the team working on our mobile hot shop again. We¡¯ve gone far too long without practicing, and I¡¯m feeling the itch to create things again. As intoxicating as it¡¯s been exploring the new power of my Domain, I miss working with glass. I¡¯m walking the path of the [Mage] lately, but I¡¯ve always been a craftsman at heart.

    There¡¯s something therapeutic about dragging the fingers of my right hand through the dry ground beneath our feet, sifting out bits of dirt and tiny rocks to collect only what I want. The Barrens are technically a desert, but they¡¯re not the shimmering sands and endless dunes of my imagination. The landscape we¡¯ve traversed is flat, aside from an occasional low rise or gentle slope, and considerably more diverse in its ground make-up than beach-like sand. The biggest surprise so far is that we¡¯ve passed three tiny springs, one per day, though I have no idea how they¡¯re filled since Azariah confirmed that it barely ever rains.

    His smug look when I ask about water makes me think it¡¯s yet another of his [Pathfinder] Skills at work. If so, then it¡¯s an obtuse one, and perhaps runs passively. I don¡¯t see any mana activate around him. Disconcertingly, he noticed my Viewing on the second day, and now he¡¯s shielding himself from any further prying. How he learned to do that intrigues me even further.

    I set aside that mystery for now, concentrating on the dirt again. I strain out the pebbles and bits of detritus that will pollute my batch. Once I have a pile of relatively pure sand, I prevail upon Avelina to summon her flames. According to Azariah, there¡¯s not enough vegetation in the Barrens to make a campfire each night. Lacking firewood isn¡¯t a problem with all of Avelina¡¯s fire-related Skills, thankfully. She¡¯ll simply have to trade mana for flames to sustain the fire once it¡¯s ablaze. I imagine we¡¯ll have to conserve our non-magical fuel as long as possible, and burn it during the chillier days we¡¯re sure to face when we draw closer to the colder climes around Loch LaMara, the fabled inland sea.

    ¡°A little more heat, Ava,¡± I instruct my [Flameworker]. I stoop down to squint at the mass of sand she¡¯s melting with her orange-white fire. Bits of silica glint merrily in the morning light. ¡°How¡¯s the comp looking, Mel? Ready for me to hit it with [Vitrification]?¡±

    Lionel hunkers down on the other side of the small campfire, his nose wrinkled up as he surveys the work. ¡°What¡¯s the point of testing the composition if you¡¯re just going to glass it with magic, boss? Not like we have the proper flux out here. No plants to burn, either, for a quick n dirty method of making soda ash.¡±

    ¡°Right. That¡¯s why I¡¯m cheating.¡±

    Lionel sinks down on his haunches and kicks his feet out in front of him. ¡°Yep. I get that. But why bother? Why not go straight from mana to glass, like your old Skill used to work? That way, you don¡¯t have to worry about whether or not you¡¯ve got the right mix. Mel won¡¯t always be there to help.¡±

    ¡°I need practice, too,¡± Melina says. ¡°It¡¯s been weeks since I¡¯ve made anything. I need to keep my Skills sharp. Seems smarter to work as a team while we¡¯re traveling together.¡±

    Azariah tosses a bundle of foldable shovels down to the ground next to me. ¡°Rivetin discussion, but time¡¯s a-wastin. Gotta bunker down and dig into the sands so we¡¯re not baked alive while we sleep.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep us cool,¡± I reply absently, still considering Melina¡¯s point about practicing our Skills even if it¡¯s suboptimal. That¡¯s unlike her. Usually, she¡¯d push me to advance on my own, and I¡¯ve never lacked confidence that she¡¯ll do the same. Then it hits me like a bolt from a blue sky: Melina is doing whatever it takes to include Avelina in the process. If her sister¡¯s engaged with the team, then she¡¯s less likely to sink back into her funk.

    ¡°You got a survival Skill?¡± Azariah asks, leaning forward. His shrewd eyes study me, as though to pick apart my secrets, but it doesn¡¯t faze me. Scalpel was far worse.

    I ignore him. ¡°Perfect, Ava. I think we¡¯re about ready to move on to the next phase. It¡¯s a lot easier to do this without burning mana for my [Greater Heat Manipulation],¡± I say, offering an encouraging smile to the silent twin.

    Our surly [Pathfinder] pokes me with a stubby finger when I don¡¯t reply right away. ¡°Gone deaf, kid? Start coolin us down, if yer [Heat Manipulation] ain¡¯t an empty boast!¡±

    ¡°[Greater Heat Manipulation],¡± I correct him, proud of the work I¡¯ve done to earn the rare, upgraded variant of the otherwise common Skill. ¡°I¡¯m busy. Bother someone else.¡±

    Azariah scoffs. He stomps over to a corner and begins digging a shallow bed for himself. For a brief moment, I feel glorious about standing up for myself. Then I sigh and reach out with my [Arcane Domain], seeking the heat energy around our guide, and apply my [Greater Heat Manipulation] only to his body.

    ¡°You¡®re welcome!¡± I call out.

    The [Smokeborn Pathfinder] chuckles ominously. ¡°Not bad. But let¡¯s see how long it lasts before you start crowin in triumph.¡±

    I turn to face him, crossing my arms, and make a show of looking Azariah over. ¡°Heh, no problem. You¡¯re so short, I barely need any effort to run it all day. Heat rises, after all.¡±

    He snorts out a stream of pipesmoke, a hint of a smirk on his face. ¡°Could be better. Talk to me when your Skills last a month, passively, and can keep an entire group alive.¡±

    I turn back to my Avelina and roll my eyes at Azariah¡¯s dismissive behavior, earning an all too rare giggle. It doesn¡¯t last long, but it¡¯s something. I nod at the pile of sand. ¡°Let¡¯s start it melting, and then I¡¯ll cast [Vitrification] on it to finish the job.¡±

    Avelina turns up the intensity of her flames, and soon the sand slags and melts, though the slurry of dirt and silica hardly resembles a viable batch of glass. She stares down at it, open skepticism on her face. ¡°Don¡¯t think that¡¯s good enough.¡±

    I glance at Melina. ¡°Is it?¡±

    Our youthful [Gaffer] grimaces at me and shakes her head. She clearly shares her twin¡¯s opinion. ¡°It¡¯s not even close to pure. No one likes working with garbage, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine. We¡¯ll turn it into a set of cutlery and crockery for our affable trail guide. Fitting gift, no?¡± I ask Avelina, lowering my voice into a conspiratorial stage whisper. This time, she¡¯s not amused, and doesn¡¯t laugh at my attempt at humor, even though I thought it was funny.

    Ah well. Can¡¯t pressure her.

    ¡°All right, let¡¯s get our combined Skills going,¡± I say, raising my voice so that Azariah can hear me for sure. ¡°We¡¯re going to make a matching set of plates, bowls, and cups, as well as a spoon and fork mashed together. We¡¯ll replace the ugly, dull, heavy set of metal implements that Azariah¡¯s lugging around.¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t ugly. Or heavy,¡± the [Pathfinder] grumbles, but he still seems intrigued, watching us from his now-snug hollow in the dirt. Between the shade of the rocky overhang and the soothing application of my [Greater Heat Manipulation], he looks downright comfortable.

    Drawing on my glass cores, I hold my hand out toward the mixture of half-melted sand in front of me. Delicately wrapping a double-layer of thermal energy around my hand, I touch the edge of the sand without burning myself, and invoke my Skill. ¡°[Vitrification].¡±

    Power flows out of me. The ungainly mixture transmutes into surprisingly pure glass, and between Avelina¡¯s flames and my thermal treatment, it¡¯s soon malleable and ready to be worked by my team. I wink at Azariah, who seems impressed despite himself, and turn back to Lionel. ¡°All right, Lio. You¡¯re up. [Perfect Prototype], then work with Mel. Let¡¯s bang this out before we cut into crankypant¡¯s beauty sleep.¡±

    Lionel unwraps several layers of thick tan sailcloth from around a blowpipe, which he¡¯s been using as a walking stick to keep his balance during our nightly trek, and sticks the end into the batch of molten glass. He deftly collects a gather and sets the metal pipe spinning to prevent the glass from dripping uselessly into the ground. A few steady breaths later, the ball inflates to the desired size, and he begins shaping it in earnest.

    We¡¯ve brought jacks and a pair of paddles, and Mikko is kind enough to loan us his anvil to use as a makeshift marver. It¡¯s a rudimentary setup, but Lionel is good at what he does, and he soon flattens the spinning glass into a platter. Mana swirls around him as he applies his Skills to ensure a perfect outcome, and when he¡¯s finished, he and Melina copy the prototype.

    Soon, they¡¯ve created a full set of plates, and they repeat the process to make glasses for drinking. It¡¯s such a familiar process that they don¡¯t even bother to wait for Lionel¡¯s Skill to recharge, relying on old fashioned skill to shape the cups.

    After each batch, Avelina uses her [Strong as Stone] to ensure that the new dinnerware won¡¯t crack or shatter in Azariah¡¯s pack. Melina takes over, using her annealing Skills in place of a mobile kiln. She earns another raised eyebrow from our guide when she shows off a little by levitating the plates and cups in place with [Lesser Object Manipulation] while they anneal.

    I switch places with our [Flameworker] when it¡¯s time to move on to the cutlery, using my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to maintain the working elasticity of the glass while she works. Her lampworking is by far the best of our crew, so we let her do all the fiddly work of shaping the combination spoons and forks.

    It¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve worked together like this, but our time off hasn¡¯t been spent lazing around. We¡¯ve each made major strides in our mana control and general understanding of our Skills. If anything, we work faster and more confidently than before. By the time we turn in for the day¡¯s rest, each face is flushed with pride at our craftsmanship, which warms my heart.

    =+=

    [Pathfinder] is a more versatile Class than I initially realized, combining elements of [Wayfinder], [Survivalist], and [Scout]. As crusty as our guide may be, he¡¯s skilled at what he does. In the week and a half since we¡¯ve left Mahkaiaraon, he¡¯s proven his value a dozen times over. We¡¯ve hid from great monsters too strong to fight, followed him along an obscure shortcut in a broken maze of an incomprehensible canyon system, and uncovered an old well of water buried under nearly ten feet of debris.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Once Azariah realized that I can keep the heat at bay, his disposition shifted from hostile to calculatingly neutral. On the one hand, that makes our interactions more pleasant, but on the other, it means that I¡¯ve been reduced to a human ice machine and furnace. During the day, I¡¯m tasked with cooling the group and chilling our water when we stop at midday and burrow into the hot sands. And, at night, when the temperature drops steeply, my [Greater Heat Manipulation] is working overtime to keep everyone relatively warm and cozy on our marches.

    I suppose the fine mana control of staving off the stifling heat of the Barrens for just the people around me, and not in a big sphere, is good efficiency practice. Every day, I¡¯m squeezing a few more minutes out of my glass pseudo cores¡ªalthough using them around our new guide makes me nervous. I don¡¯t know how he figured out what they are, but he¡¯s been side-eyeing them like a dragon scoping out a new treasure to add to his ever-growing hoard. I only hope he doesn¡¯t resort to thievery.

    Wish I knew why he was exiled.

    I glance upward to see the sun¡¯s position over the crest of the horizon. A few hours past dawn, looks like. We¡¯ll walk another hour before we break for the day¡¯s rest. I ponder the last several days, trying to glean clues about our guide, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. He¡¯s not a people-person, but he¡¯s profoundly proud of his professionalism. I don¡¯t think we have anything to fear from him directly. I hope.

    My idle speculation flees in an instant when a high pitched screech breaks the monotony of our march. A pack of snarling creatures surge out from a slight hollow in the ground where they¡¯ve been hiding. Roughly the size of wolves, but with massive heads that seem too big for their long, lithe bodies, the predators are black-furred with a band of snowy white wrapping across their upper chests.

    They dart toward us, their huge mouths gaping open unnaturally wide. The sight of their long teeth sends a bolt of fear through me; if they get past Mikko, then the rest of us are in bad shape.

    Azariah is already charging ahead, taking the vanguard position at the front of the group. Smoke from his pipe billows out behind him. With a flourish of his wrists, he gathers the smoke into two gray battle axes that consolidate in his hands. The wicked, curved-moon smoke blades glimmer with red-gold embers, as though they¡¯re still smoldering.

    ¡°White-Banded Stoats! They¡¯re nasty, feral beasts. Don¡¯t let em swarm ya and you¡¯ll be right. They go down easy,¡± Azariah roars. ¡°Now¡¯s the time to prove yer mettle, youngins.¡±

    Mikko springs into action, hefting his glass hammer and thundering after the [Pathfinder] to take up a defensive position. ¡°Mel, slow em down for me!¡±

    ¡°On it!¡± Melina shouts.

    Since Azariah reacted first, he¡¯s a few paces ahead of our burly [Blacksmith]. He swings his axes at the first White-Banded Stoat, intercepting a leap from the leader of their pack, and the condensed smoke sizzles and burns on contact with the monster.

    The axe cleaves into the side of the beast¡¯s big head with a meaty thunk. The monster¡¯s droning howl cuts off, but the blade sticks in the hard bone of the skull. Azariah lets go, not even trying to pull it free, and the weapon disappears, fading back into smoke. A new weapon flows into reality¡ªa flanged mace this time¡ªas his pipe smoke solidifies in Azariah¡¯s grasp.

    ¡°They¡¯re flanking you!¡± I yell to Azariah as I run toward the fight. He heeds my warning, shifting to face the next incoming White-Banded Stoat, but Melina¡¯s temporal field pops into existence just in time to slow their movements. Their entire momentum freezes, caught up in the pull of her magic, and Azariah runs past them in search of the rest of the hunting pack.

    Mikko rushes toward the pair of beasts with his glass hammer upraised. As he swings, Melina reverses the sway of her magic, speeding up both man and monster. Mikko¡¯s massive hammer pulps them in a spray of gore, and I wince at the brutality of the kills.

    The last two White-Banded Stoats spring at Azariah a heartbeat apart, one high and the second trailing low, nipping at his hamstrings. The [Smokeborn Pathfinder]¡¯s mace caves in the ribcage of the first monster, but he¡¯s a split-second too slow to fend off its packmate. Razor teeth slice through his armored leggings like it¡¯s wet paper, biting deep and drawing blood.

    I¡¯m there a moment later, driving my fist into the furry chest of the White-Banded Stoat and unleashing a vicious surge of [Vitrification]. At the same time, I shove outward with a pulse of my [Arcane Domain]. Trading nearly half of my mana in one go, I leverage the weight of my Domain against the monster, augmenting my punch and sending it flying almost a dozen feet.

    Heart and brain half turned to glass, the vital organs shatter on landing. I confirm through the feedback of my Domain that the mana is gone from its body, fading away with death, and let go of the weighty Skill to sink down next to Azariah, who¡¯s holding his mangled leg and gritting his teeth in pain.

    Hesitating for a moment at the sight of all the blood, I still manage to smile and put up a pleasant front. ¡°How bad is it? Can you walk?¡±

    Azariah leans over to the side and spits. He shrugs a big shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll get to Gilead. Never fear. Now shut yet trap and get the med kit from my bag.¡±

    ¡°Lionel? Help him out,¡± I say.

    ¡°Pull up the pant leg, or I¡¯ll have to cut it away to get at the wound,¡± Lionel commands as he steers me out of the way. He crouches down next to our guide, all traces of his goofy nature gone in an instant. ¡°Hold still. I¡¯ll patch you up once we see how bad it is. I¡¯m detecting toxins, though. Let¡¯s start with this. [Lesser Neutralizing Touch].¡±

    The Skill glows in my Domain¡¯s passive vision, applying mana to Azariah and drawing out some odd, foul-looking miasma that dissipates into the ether. Like many of Lionel¡¯s Skills, it¡¯s leaking a ton of excess mana, and I can¡¯t help but wonder how we can make it more efficient.

    ¡°Thought you were a [Glassmaker],¡± Azariah grunts. His eyes narrow in suspicion, but he tugs up his pants over his knee to allow access to the cut across the back of his lower thigh.

    ¡°I am. I¡¯m also our team¡¯s [Healer]. Now, let¡¯s see what we¡¯re dealing with. Hmm, looks deep,¡± Lionel says with a frown, probing the puncture wounds with his finger, despite the sharp hiss of pain from Azariah. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can to stop the bleeding now that we¡¯ve cleared out any toxins, but you¡¯ll likely need stitches so you can heal up properly. We¡¯ll probably still need that med kit.¡±

    Azariah groans. ¡°Get on with it, lad.¡±

    ¡°Right. [Healing Touch],¡± Lionel invokes.

    This time, the Skill activation is cleaner and more tightly controlled in my sight, likely more efficient due to more practice. The mana flow is complex, almost hurting my head to stare at as it spirals into place in the wounds, suturing them up with the invisible energy of the world.

    Sweat breaks out on Lionel¡¯s forehead, even though I¡¯m keeping everyone cool through my Skill, and I lean forward in interest. What¡¯s taking him so long? I watch more closely as our [Healer] continues to push mana into the wounds. He hasn¡¯t broken contact with Azariah, even when Mikko returns from retrieving the med kit, and the strain shows on his face as the color slowly drains from his ruddy cheeks.

    Five minutes pass before Lionel lets go with a gasp, letting his hand fall to his side. His posture slumps, but he grins weakly. ¡°Best I can do. Might¡¯ve fully regrown the damaged muscle and vascular pathways if I had more mana.¡±

    Azariah flexes his leg, a look of wonder on his face. ¡°No wonder you¡¯re headin to Gilead. Plan to join the Menders? Got real talent.¡±

    ¡°Something like,¡± Lionel replies evasively, his gaze flitting in my direction as if to ask for permission to speak further.

    ¡°Yep, we¡¯ll be visiting the Menders,¡± I answer, keeping things vague. ¡°Got business of my own with them.¡±

    ¡°Hah. Lookin for a new hand? Good luck,¡± Azariah says, rolling his eyes. ¡°Ya don¡¯t have near enough gold for that. Expensive schmucks.¡±

    I smile thinly. ¡°We¡¯ll see. That¡¯s for us to worry about. Gotta get there first. Those Stoats we just killed¡ªare we likely to run into more of them? I¡¯ve never seen anything quite like them outside a Rift. Savage little monsters.¡±

    ¡°You call that thing little?¡± Azariah wheezes in outrage. ¡°Near tore off my leg!¡±

    I nod. ¡°Seen bigger in Rifts. White-Banded Stoats, huh? They look like gigantic weasels, but they fight with swarm tactics like a bunch of rabid dogs. I could see them being tough if they ran around in any real numbers.¡±

    ¡°What kind of crafters are ya, anyway? Never seen a glassmaker who casually mentions Rifts. Even I don¡¯t hazard enterin Rifts, and I¡¯m an explorer born!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re talented, like you said,¡± I reply, grinning mischievously at our grumpy guide.

    =+=

    Proving our mettle in a fight, plus healing Azariah¡¯s wounds, leads to our cranky guide treating us more equitably. He¡¯s still not what I¡¯d consider friendly, but our current dynamic is a big step up. We¡¯ve passed an unspoken test and shown our reliability as part of his team. Now, as a reward, Azariah begins to teach us how to chart our course by the stars.

    I discover that the so-called pocket watch he¡¯s been carrying is actually an astrolabe. It¡¯s a complicated bit of gears and dials that somehow correspond to angles and locations and the position of the stars. My head¡¯s spinning as I try to follow his complicated, rapid-fire instructions, but I take solace in the fact that Rakesh is right beside me, furiously writing down notes.

    Hlatky. Vivek. The Sparrow. The names of stars and constellations are useless to me, but our [Researcher] seems to know what they mean. That¡¯s good enough for me.

    Azariah is able to pick out subtle landmarks that are completely invisible to my team and keep us moving in an optimal path, but we still need the alignment of constellations to ensure we¡¯re still heading in the right direction. It¡¯s the difference between micro and macro navigation, as the smug [Pathfinder] is more than willing to explain. Happy isn¡¯t a word in his vocabulary, unless he gets the chance to show off his superiority, but I¡¯m glad he enjoys boasting.

    The deeper into the Barrens we travel, the more and more grateful I am that I didn¡¯t brush off Rakesh¡¯s sound advice and set out without guidance. My recklessness would have gotten us lost for days, at best. Most likely, we¡¯d have ended up dead as we succumbed to the unforgiving environment and ran out of water.

    By the end of the second week of astrolabe and star-tracking training, Azariah turns over the navigation to Melina and Rakesh. To the surprise of absolutely no one, the scholarly duo picked up the knack of how to navigate by the stars the quickest. The astrolabe still baffles me, but they caught on so quickly it seems to unnerve Azariah.

    Freed from ¡°herding duty,¡± as he calls pointing us in the way to go, Azariah¡¯s taken to disappearing for hours on end, coming back with news of the Barrens and warnings if we¡¯re drifting too close to another pack of monsters like the White-Banded Stoats.

    Today, just before our mid-morning sleep, he returns with a tawny monster with long horns slung over his shoulder, and an uncharacteristic grin on his stony face. ¡°Finally found me a Barrens Oryx. We¡¯ll feast on mana-infused meat today¡ªand I can save the good ribeyes for meself!¡±

    I can¡¯t help but snicker now that we know the reason for his rare good mood. He treats the ribeye like they¡¯re the last bites of some heavenly delicacy cast down to the earth. I like the steak, but not with the nearly reverential fervor Azariah displays.

    ¡°What¡¯s mana-infused meat?¡± Melina asks.

    ¡°Secret to why I¡¯m strong,¡± Azariah says. ¡°Expensive stuff outside the Barrens. Not many monsters around who build up the body, other than Rift creatures.¡± He shoots me another one of his searching looks, but I just grin in response and keep quiet. He snorts. ¡°No use sellin it at the tradin stations. I¡¯d rather eat it and keep the benefits.¡±

    ¡°Oh! It¡¯s like how Mikko built up his body by holding so much mana in his muscles,¡± I say, excitement sparking in me at the thought of a new way to soak my body in mana. ¡°But I¡¯ll bet it¡¯s faster, and available to people who don¡¯t have strength-related Skills like my brother.¡±

    ¡°Got it in one,¡± Azariah confirms.

    ¡°Ava, mind helping with the fire? I could light it, but I¡¯m hoping to let my cores recharge before we sleep,¡± I lie. All I want to do is include her, particularly if she gets a chance to use her fire magic in a non-destructive way. I hope it helps her cope.

    She nods and jogs over, using her [Flametouch] to ignite the few scraps of dry branches that Azariah found on his hunt. ¡°Won¡¯t last long enough to cook. I don¡¯t mind tending the flames. [Command: Cinder and Spark] should do it.¡± She studies the fire for a long moment, not meeting my eyes. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet. ¡°And if not, well, it¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve drawn on [Adjuration of the Phoenix]. Might be nice to stretch myself again.¡±

    ¡°I saw a phoenix once,¡± Azariah says. His voice is uncharacteristically solemn. ¡°Feathers like fire, gold and ruby-red. I was down south, mebbe three, four hundred leagues from here. On a job that went sideways. Got sold out by a fellow guide¡ªstill dunno why to this day.¡±

    Azariah snorts out pipe smoke, and the gray streams take on the form of a caravan, just like when he¡¯d woven his cautionary illusions for us back in town. Mountainous crags ring about the murky, indistinct shapes of the travelers. This time, instead of a landslide wiping away the caravan, a tenebrous twist to the smoke overwhelms the crew. They¡¯re swallowed up in an inky cloud that abruptly vanishes, revealing a swarm of creatures that mob them.

    ¡°Anyhow, I¡¯d taken on a contract to get a team of [Zoologists] to a volcano to study some sort of monster. Don¡¯t know, don¡¯t care. Brought along hired help, hunters to keep lesser critters at bay. They waited until we were on the slope of the volcano, then set off a smoke bomb filled with strange herbs¡ªright smack dab in the middle of camp. The blood scent attracted monsters instead of repellin em. Most of the team died within the first hours.¡±

    He pauses, grimacing, and spits to the side. ¡°They were the lucky ones.¡±

    ¡°Watched a lot of good people get ripped apart around me. The ones who lived through it got eaten alive, bits at a time, over the next two days.¡± Azariah trails off, letting the smoke drift away. His face grows dark with anger.

    ¡°How¡¯d you survive?¡± Melina asks quietly, managing to sound both intrigued by his story and deeply sympathetic to his suffering. How she builds rapport with people so easily, I¡¯ll never quite understand.

    For the first time since his story started, Azariah cracks a smile. ¡°Hah! Hid in the latrine pit, covered in muck and filth. Not even monsters could stand that abyssal smell.¡±

    Avelina clenches her fist beside me. ¡°Smart. You gotta do whatever it takes. Even if you hate it afterward.¡±

    ¡°True enough,¡± Azariah says, nodding at her. He seems to have recognized that Avelina is struggling with her own trauma, and I appreciate that he treats her more kindly than he does the rest of us.

    Lionel raises his hand, like he¡¯s still in school, which earns him a snort of derision. He scratches his nose, not even remotely embarrassed by Azariah¡¯s response. ¡°So, how¡¯d you get away?¡±

    Azariah chews on his pipe stem for a while before he dives back into his story. His eyes grow distant, as though he¡¯s reliving the memory. In a soft, almost devout-sounding tone, he says, ¡°Phoenix showed up. Swept in with fire in its wake and lit up the entire camp, fightin tooth and claw with the monsters. Burned em all. Fire consumed monsters, bodies, supplies¡ªeverything. Thought the fire¡¯d take me, too.

    ¡°Instead, the bird flew in front of my half-dead little body, covered me with its wings, and let the fire destroy it. All to keep me safe. Me! When I woke, the phoenix¡¯s corpse turned to ash and smoke, all swirlin about. The smoke collapsed into itself, turned into the most beautiful egg I¡¯ve ever seen. Swore in that moment that smoke was the element for me. Dragged myself out of the hills and back to town, reported the other guides, and evolved my Class to [Smokeborn Pathfinder] outta respect for that gorgeous creature. Decent trade.¡±

    Azariah lifts up his pipe like he¡¯s toasting us with a mug of beer instead. ¡°Peh, listen to me ramble. Best get some sleep. Got a long trek ahead of us before we reach the tradin post tomorrow. Yer glass¡¯ll be in high demand, if ya have the energy to make any trinkets aforehand. Welp. Catch ya tonight.¡±

    Without any further ceremony, Azariah wraps himself in a blanket, lays his head down on his travel pack, and commences snoring.

    We soon follow his lead, although I have a hard time sleeping. Buzzing incessantly in the back of my mind, like a swarm of annoying midges too tiny to swat, is the excitement of visiting a small sliver of civilization after our weeks in no man¡¯s land. I wonder if we¡¯ll be able to sell our glass at good prices. Maybe I¡¯ll even offer a few imbued items, although I don¡¯t want to flood the market. Either way, it will be a nice change of pace from the tedium of trudging along in the dark, keeping a tense watch out for something that might kill us at any moment. Safety sounds nice.

 B5 C3: Halmuth

    Azariah wakes us up earlier than usual that evening, well before sunset. It¡¯s still hot enough outside that I flare my [Greater Heat Manipulation] and cover the team with a bubble of cool air. Venting the thermal energy back into the surroundings doesn¡¯t do much to change the Barrens, since heating up the entire atmosphere is a few Thresholds of power beyond anything I¡¯ll ever achieve. That¡¯s the realm of myth and legends.

    Thanks to Lionel¡¯s ministrations after the fight with the White-Banded Stoats, our guide is able to set a demanding pace. Still, he grimaces and rubs some sort of paste onto the back of his thigh. I wonder if it¡¯s an analgesic, since the deep puncture wounds looked painful even with Lionel¡¯s healing to staunch the bleeding. Once Azariah applied the medicinal goop, he moves at a steady clip all throughout the golden hours before twilight, pushing our team to reach the town more quickly.

    ¡°Hey! Rush too much and all my exemplary work goes down the drain,¡± Lionel grumbles. ¡°What''s the big hurry anyway?¡±

    Azariah coughs, clearing his throat and glancing back with a look that¡¯s on the verge of annoyance. I get the sense that he¡¯s still not used to teaching his clients. ¡°I wanna shop the night market. If we drag our heels, then we¡¯ll have to stay in town until two more days go by. They take off every other night. Don¡¯t feel like wastin that much travel time.¡±

    For the next few hours, we keep our own counsel. In the thick and sullen silence, it doesn¡¯t go unnoticed that Azariah does all the navigation. Rakesh casts a few wistful glances at our guide, but the [Researcher] has the good sense not to speak up. Nonetheless, he looks forlorn without anything to do; the long, physical trek is hardly the best match for his scholarly talents.

    A bright smudge on the otherwise dark line of the horizon is the first indication that we¡¯re drawing near to our destination. With a low chuckle of glee, Azariah breaks into a jog. ¡°Feast yer eyes on Halmuth. Finally, a chance at a decent bath to get rid of all this blasted sand!¡±

    Lit by rows of glowing crystals twice as tall as a man, which appear to be powered by the biggest raw mana stones I¡¯ve seen, the town of Halmuth shines in the darkness. Everything is dun-colored, from the five-storey buildings to the tall walls that slope up and away from the town like a cresting wave frozen in time. I squint, looking just a bit closer with the help of my Domain, and confirm my suspicion. The walls are totally smooth at their rounded top.

    Azariah points toward the wall with his stubby hand and grunts in appreciation. ¡°Smart folk built this place. See those curved walls? That¡¯s to prevent the bigger, aggressive monsters of the Barrens from climbing into town¡ªthat, or enemies with a grappling hook.¡±

    ¡°Uh, [Smokeborn Pathfinder] Azariah? Sir? Uh, how large are these beasts, precisely?¡± Rakesh asks. His voice cracks as he hurries up to the front of the line to talk with our guide. He glances around the windswept wastelands, cinches his pack straps tighter, and gulps.

    ¡°Bigger than ya wanna know, lad,¡± Azariah answers with surprising cheerfulness, a huge grin splitting his bearded face. He leers at the scholar, his eyes growing wide and crazed. ¡°Best keep a sharp lookout if you wander around without me to warn ya off. Some of em can swallow up your entire team in a single gulp.¡±

    ¡°Careful you don¡¯t mislead our dear [Researcher], Azariah,¡± Melina says, her voice caught between amusement and annoyance. ¡°He treasures every word you say like it¡¯s pure gold. Don¡¯t squander his trust.¡±

    ¡°Peh! A little foolin never hurt nobody. He¡¯s a smart man. He¡¯ll get it sorted. Now step lively, and let me do the talkin when the [Hunters] stop us at the gates.¡±

    ¡°Not [Guards]?¡± I ask, moving closer.

    ¡°Too fancy for these parts. [Guards] for civilization,¡± Azariah explains, seeming pleased to have a captive audience. ¡°Nah. Out here, need more damage. Law-abidin ain¡¯t a problem, let me tell ya. Ya get one warnin here. Then¡ª¡±

    Azariah stops in his tracks abruptly, drawing his hand across his throat with a grim look on his face. ¡°Lemme repeat that. Do not push yer luck. Be smart, keep yer head down, and let me hook ya up with a license to sell yer glass. If you¡¯re caught sellin goods without a license it ain¡¯t pretty. So don¡¯t. Hear me?¡±

    Fervent nods meet Azariah¡¯s grim pronouncement. He softens slightly, baring his teeth in a squared-off grin. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s do this.¡±

    When we approach within a few hundred feet, a great pressure buzzes against my soul, like the unsettling gaze of a hidden predator. Panic courses through me. Memories of the Rift and my time at Scalpel¡¯s come roaring back, and I scream in anger.

    Instinct guides me. I shove back against the pressure with my [Arcane Domain], seeking to wound whatever¡¯s attacking me. An instant later, I drop the Skill in pain as something sizzles and burns against my soul.

    I grit my teeth, barely suppressing a scream at the shock, and sway on my feet, dizzy and light-headed. Thrusting my bare hands into the furnace without [Greater Heat Manipulation] running is more bearable than whatever just happened. The sheer intensity leaves me shaken.

    ¡°Nuri!¡± Lionel cries, dashing over to me. His mana spins up smoothly, empowering his second set of Skills, and he places a hand on me in preparation to heal me. His brow creases in puzzlement as he realizes I¡¯m not hurt, however.

    ¡°What was that? You all right?¡±

    The agony fades as soon as I release my Domain. I let out a long, shuddering breath to clear my nerves, and nod at my friend. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Lio. Thanks.¡±

    Just then, I sense a flurry of activity up ahead. ¡°Incoming!¡± I warn Azariah, keeping my voice low. ¡°Intense mana signatures. Someone is not happy.¡±

    ¡°What didja do?¡± our guide snarls. ¡°You riled up the [Hunters] good, ya fool! Drop yer weapons. Now, ya imbeciles.¡± Leading the way by example, Azariah¡¯s smoke swirls back into his pipe and goes inert. He kneels down, hands on his head, and looks at the ground like it¡¯s the most interesting thing in the world.

    I sigh, kneeling down in the sandy dirt and gesturing for everyone to follow my lead. With a few shrugs they copy me, placing their weapons on the ground like Azariah insisted. Mikko shoots a smug look my way, and I faintly hear him whispering to Melina that she owes him since I got into trouble before we even got into town.

    A pair of spear-wielding [Hunters] race out from the gates in a blur, each astride a heavy lizard larger than a draft horse. The creatures run with an odd gait, but they¡¯re incredibly quick; within a few seconds, they¡¯re circling us, pointing their weapons at our team.

    The shorter of the two [Hunters] hangs in the back, assessing us while her partner rides up ahead. Her dark hair is pulled up into a bun, and she carries a round shield in addition to a spear. She takes the lead in the conversation, however. ¡°Name and business!¡±

    ¡°[Smokeborn Pathfinder] Azariah! I¡¯m registered in Halmuth,¡± our guide bellows. ¡°Leadin a group of Mages, crafters, and a [Healer] to Gilead. There¡¯s no need to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Silence,¡± the hunter closest to me growls, his words grating out like the tortured screech of a heavy bar of iron dragging across stone, and Azariah instantly obeys.

    His colleague lowers her long, leaf-bladed spear, which sparks with mana in my sight¡ªa clear sign of enchantments¡ªand slides her fearsome lizard mount forward until the sharp point kisses Azariah¡¯s neck. Her voice is ice, all-too-composed, but her breath is rapid, which tells me that she¡¯s holding back raw fury. ¡°Who tore a hole in our mana barrier? Speak now, or die.¡±

    I speak up quickly, not wanting to let things escalate. ¡°Apologies. It was reflexive when I felt the barrier. I¡¯ll keep it under control. May I show you the Royal Army writ I have in my pack?¡±

    The [Hunter]¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Move slowly, [Mage]. Any actions construed as threatening toward Halmuth will result in death.¡±

    I force myself to breathe as normally as possible. With exaggerated slowness, I dig into an inner pocket of my pack with my right hand, extracting the writ I received from Nicanor, which also bears Casella¡¯s name and rank. I lean forward and place it on the sand, then shuffle back on my knees and place my right palm and left wrist on my head to show that I¡¯m not preparing to attack them.

    The first [Hunter] nudges his mount with knees and clicks his tongue in a peculiar rhythm that sounds like a dream beat. The lizard¡¯s long, purplish tongue darts out from its scaly jaws, sticking to the writ and dragging it back into its maw, where it¡¯s held delicately between ridges of teeth. Another click, and the lizard turns its head completely upside down, never once taking its bulging eyes off me, and offers the folded paper to the [Hunter].

    ¡°Good girl,¡± he murmurs. He pats the lizard¡¯s frilled neck before taking the writ, a ghost of a smile on his stern face at our gasps of surprise when the lizard twists its head around again, as though it can dislocate its joints. He withdraws a bronze set of intricately-etched goggles from his back, places them on his head, and flicks a switch. A glimmer of mana covers the device as he scans the paper, presumably to check its authenticity.

    ¡°Well? Legit?¡± his partner demands.

    He nods toward her. ¡°Seems like they¡¯re on official business. Best to let them through if they can behave. Don¡¯t like it, though. A stunt like that at the wrong time could be catastrophic.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°Sorry about the slip up. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±

    ¡°See that it doesn¡¯t,¡± he hisses. Then he frowns, peering closer at the enchanted paper I got from the Royal Army. ¡°Says here that you¡¯re a [Glassworker]? How in the abyss?¡±

    ¡°Long story,¡± I reply, chuckling. I mean for it to sound friendly, but it comes out strained. I sound suspicious to my own ears. ¡°Look, I mean to sell items at the night market. That gonna be a problem?¡±

    ¡°Not as long as you get the right credentials,¡± the [Hunter] replies, frowning at my team. The tightness around his eyes betrays his barely-restrained anger, but the writ seems to have him rattled. He glances at his colleague, who shrugs. ¡°You have wares with you? Don¡¯t see a sled or wagon.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll take commissions. Tends to attract more customers when they see us shaping the glass live without a forge,¡± I explain.

    ¡°I got an understandin with Totten,¡± Azariah says, interrupting. ¡°Let¡¯s put this behind us and get movin, yeah?¡±

    The [Hunter] in charge huffs. ¡°Better not be lying. We¡¯ll have to clear this with Totten, but you haven¡¯t won yourself friends.¡±

    ¡°Understood!¡± I say.

    After a moment of hesitation, the [Hunter] in command nods. She waves off her partner, who snorts and rides back toward town. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s go talk to the boss. Totten¡¯ll sort you out. We¡¯re bringing you inside, for good or ill. Consider yourself under arrest until we say otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Not again,¡± Rakesh moans, but thankfully it¡¯s so soft that I don¡¯t think the [Hunters] hear him as we make our way to the walls.

    Only a few stragglers wait outside the gates to get into Halmuth. They all make a point of looking away as our group travels by. Guilt by association is pretty dangerous in places like this, I muse. It doesn¡¯t matter if they know us or not; out here, justice seems aggressive, prejudiced, and without remorse.

    The [Hunters] don¡¯t even have to speak. As we draw near the gates, the other travelers scuttle away. No one wants to be anywhere near a potential arrest, which clears the way for our passage through the single-file entrance created by a series of angled barricades. Four more [Hunters] line the barricade, armed to the teeth as they guard the way into Halmuth.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Banter and trade chatter reaches my ear as we enter the gates, but the detail that truly catches my attention is the massive dent in the towering iron gates. The subdued feedback from the metal, like a low hum in my Domain, means it¡¯s mana-reinforced, which makes me wonder what kind of horrifying monster could have caused the damage.

    ¡°No metal workers in Halmuth?¡± Mikko asks, drifting out of line for a moment to touch the gate with a hand. His forehead furrows in concentration. ¡°This is recent. Needs to be fixed while the metal still remembers what it¡¯s supposed to be.¡±

    ¡°Thought you were glass-makers?¡± the more talkative of the [Hunters] says, glaring at my brother. ¡°You trying to pull a fast one?¡±

    ¡°They play with glass. I¡¯m a respectable [Blacksmith],¡± Mikko declares, a haughty tone to his voice as he pokes fun at our long-standing crafting sibling rivalry. ¡°I can prove it, if that¡¯s the problem. Look, I¡¯ll fix your gates for free if it makes up for the trouble with the mana barrier. Only fair, since my little brother¡¯s to blame. Again.¡±

    ¡°Big brother,¡± I correct him.

    ¡°Totten will decide. Now shut it and move,¡± the [Hunter] in command barks, her hand on her spear and a surge of mana circulating through her channels.

    ¡°Listen to her and stand down,¡± I command. ¡°We¡¯re looking to make friends, not start any wars or make trouble. Well, any more trouble than I¡¯ve caused.¡±

    To my surprise, it¡¯s Avelina who steps up and pats me on the back. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Nuri. We know you can¡¯t help yourself. Never shoulda taken Mikko¡¯s bet. You¡¯re fate-touched.¡±

    Chuckling quietly at Avelina¡¯s teasing, we follow our guides through the sprawling night market. A riot of colorful streamers with icons of different wares¡ªtents, bows, and other survival gear¡ªtransforms the dull, moonlit outpost into an extravaganza of trade. All around us, vendors are haggling and making merry as people beg and borrow, barter and buy.

    Interspersed throughout the twisting warrens of lean-tos and pop-up stalls are purveyors of spiced wine, each of which Azariah patronizes. After the fourth one, I give him a strange look, but he scowls back at me and wags his finger.

    ¡°Gotta test em all. Understand? Before we leave, I aim to stock up on the best wine. And only the best!¡±

    Lionel cheers at that pronouncement, but the [Hunters] shoot him a death glare. With a gulp, he falls silent. Before he can speak up again and irritate them, we arrive at a blocky stone building that¡¯s tall enough to survey the entire town.

    It¡¯s ringed about with windows, like the panopticons I¡¯ve read about in the capital prisons, affording the [Hunters] an unobstructed view of Halmuth. One of the wide glass window panes looks to be cracked and spiderwebbing, which ought to work in our favor. If we can repair the gates and the headquarters of the [Hunters], we might win back some good will.

    Or at least avoid execution.

    Forcing away the morose thought, I trudge inside and up the stairs to the main office of the man in charge. Overweight and dressed in dingy, stained-covered dark overalls, he doesn¡¯t look much like a [Mayor] or [Lord], but the [Hunters] escorting us seem to respect him based on the way they two salute and greet him warmly.

    I do a double-take when I finally see the face of the commander of the trading post, and I turn back to look at the [Smokeborn Pathfinder] in disbelief. I must be seeing double.

    Totten¡¯s almost as short and fat as Azariah. Aside from having hair, where our guide is completely bald, he looks like a long-lost cousin. They¡¯re eerily similar, right down to the surly, suspicious gleam in their eyes and the perpetual grimace on each face.

    ¡°Well, look what the cat dragged in,¡± Totten drawls. He hooks his thumbs through the straps of his overalls.

    Azariah inclines his head. ¡°Totty.¡±

    Totten¡¯s entire face twists into a scowl, like he bit into something sour. He stretches out the straps on his overalls, releasing them with a snap. ¡°Aw, c¡¯mon! How many times I gotta tell you to stop calling me that? We aren¡¯t kids digging in the dirt anymore.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re cousins!¡± I burst out in excitement, unable to keep from guessing. ¡°Or, at least, you grew up together?¡± They frown at me in unison, but neither denies the allegation, so I push onward. ¡°No wonder Azariah has a deal with you. Unlike most people, I love nepotism.¡±

    A spear flashes in front of my face. ¡°Who in the abyss do you think you are? Show some respect to the¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Totten says, cutting off the [Hunter] before she can reprimand me further. ¡°He¡¯s got the shape of things, even if it¡¯s not the full truth. Little Azzy and I go way back.¡±

    Next to me, Lionel and Avelina snicker at the nickname, which earns them a tight-lipped stare from Azariah. Something tells me that he¡¯s never going to live this one down.

    Totten takes a writing slate from an assistant, scanning it silently. When he finishes, he grunts and sets it facedown on his desk. ¡°Now, then, let¡¯s get this mess sorted. Camryn, report. And put away that spear. Azariah¡¯s clients are guests of Halmuth, not prey.¡±

    ¡°Guests don¡¯t punch a hole in the mana barrier,¡± Camryn snaps. She clicks her tongue and withdraws the spear from my throat. ¡°Apprehended this group for causing a disturbance and posing a threat to the town. Anyone capable of ¡®accidentally¡¯ disabling our defenses shouldn¡¯t be welcome in Halmuth. Sir.¡±

    The antagonism in Camryn¡¯s statement rankles me. Now that I no longer have a spear threatening to slit my throat, I push past Azariah to stand in front of Totten. ¡°So why¡¯d you let us in if I¡¯m such a threat? Convenient to leave out the rest of the story.¡±

    Camryn bristles. ¡°He also claims to have a writ from the Royal Army.¡±

    ¡°Gimme,¡± Totten demands, thrusting out a surprisingly large and rough hand, given his short stature. His amused expression is completely gone, replaced by a grim wariness. He looks me over again, this time like a [Rancher] preparing to hunt down a beast threatening his cattle, and snatches up the writ.

    ¡°Taj verified this?¡± Totten demands.

    ¡°Yes, but it could be forged.¡±

    Totten scoffs. ¡°That¡¯s the entire point of verification, Camryn. It¡¯s real. Which means we gotta stand down.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s absurd! He¡¯s just a kid. You¡¯re just gonna let him off easy because of a piece of paper and your old buddy showing up?¡±

    ¡°Never said anything about letting them off easy. They¡¯ll pay, never fear. But no sense in killing them, not if the Royal Army is involved. Now, let¡¯s get some introductions from the lot of you. Who are you, and what are you doing in my city?¡±

    We go around the circle and offer our names and occupations. The fact that we¡¯re all a bunch of crafters, dragging a frazzled scholar around on adventures, has Totten chortling and making fun of Camryn and Taj for their jumpiness.

    When we get to my turn, and I introduce myself as Nuri, a [Glassworker] from Silaraon, Totten¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Wait, aren¡¯t you that big shot [Mage] from Mahkaiaraon?¡±

    I rake my fingers through my hair and look around vacantly, playing dumb. ¡°Who? You must have me confused with someone else.¡±

    Totten nods his head enthusiastically, setting his jowly cheeks wobbling. ¡°Can¡¯t believe it took me so long to notice You¡¯re disguised as a glassmaker and you only got one hand. I know it¡¯s you. Don¡¯t be shy, now. Got it on good authority that your team cleared out the old ruins last month and sacked the old city [Lord]. Whole network¡¯s buzzing ¡®bout it!¡±

    ¡°Care to buy some glassware?¡± I say, hoping to distract Totten from this new line of discussion. People act all funny when they think they¡¯ve got you all figured out.

    He scratches his chin. ¡°Yeah, sure. Got any cups? My kids keep breaking ours. Need a set. Maybe half a dozen?¡±

    ¡°Done. Lionel? That¡¯s all you.¡±

    ¡°You got it, boss. I¡¯ll use [A Perfect Prototype]. Best glasses from here to the inland sea, guaranteed.¡± He laughs sheepishly. ¡°Er, maybe. I don¡¯t think we give refunds.¡±

    ¡°Ya do for Totten,¡± Azariah interjects. ¡°Make the sly devil anything he asks for. Beg for forgiveness while you¡¯re at it. Hear?¡±

    Rakesh steps forward, holding up a hand. ¡°Wait, how did you hear about Mahkaiaraon? That¡¯s weeks away, and no caravans have traveled this direction ahead of us. We should know; we¡¯ve been trying to hire them.¡±

    Totten sniffs, rubs his nose with the back of his hand, and snickers. ¡°Aha. Always the scholar. Interested in digging through my secrets, huh? Might give you an exclusive look at the Barrens¡¯ comm network, as long as you can trade something valuable in exchange.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll fix your front gate,¡± Mikko offers, winking at Rakesh. ¡°That enough to earn him a look at whatever artifact you¡¯ve got stashed away?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good start,¡± Totten replies evenly, ¡°but it ain¡¯t worth much considering that I already got a report from the [Hunters] at the gate that you offered previously to do it for free. No double dipping! What else you got?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll replace your broken window,¡± I say.

    ¡°Bah, not enough glass around. No shop, either. Last [Glasser] retired and moved out to Loch LaMara a few years back. Stinkin inconvenient, if you ask me.¡±

    ¡°No problem. Give us access to the room for a few minutes, and we¡¯ll take care of it,¡± I declare confidently.

    His bushy eyebrows climb up his forehead like twin caterpillars. ¡°A few minutes? That¡¯s a big claim.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°It¡¯s just glass.¡±

    Totten claps his meaty hands together and lets out a deep, belly-shaking laugh. ¡°Hear that, Taj? ¡®It¡¯s just glass¡¯ he says, like it¡¯s the easiest thing in the world to wave his hand and fix it. That¡¯s the kind of drive that gets a glassmaker recognized by the Royal Army. Take notes!¡±

    ¡°We free to go?¡± Azariah asks.

    ¡°Not yet,¡± Totten says, his eyes narrowing as he regards Azariah shrewdly. ¡°Services are not yet rendered. You¡¯ll have to stay here with me until the window and gate are fixed. You¡¯ll be collateral for your crew.¡±

    ¡°Got work to do,¡± Azariah grumbles.

    ¡°Then tell them to fix them fast!

    ¡°Ya always did drive a hard bargain, Totty. Well, get going!¡± Azariah bellows.

    A stream of smoke curls up from his pipe, forming into two large hands that shove us toward the door. I¡¯m caught off guard by how solid the gray smoke feels for the few seconds it pushes us. Yet when I run my hand through it, the smoke fades, evaporating away like it was never there. Neat Skill. Need to take a closer look sometime.

    As we leave, I glance back over my shoulder to see him helping Totten pull a huge keg out from under the overseer¡¯s desk. Greedy anticipation shines on each of their faces as they grin at the cask and high-five each other. Looks like they¡¯ll have more fun tonight than we do.

    Taj escorts us to the room with the broken window, and I frown at the huge crack in the glass. It¡¯s tricky business fixing glass that¡¯s already compromised. Patching it doesn¡¯t look right, and simply using [Vitrification] on the whole thing might not leave it transparent enough.

    ¡°Think we need to melt the entire thing down and start afresh,¡± I say after a moment of thought. My announcement meets with grudging nods from the rest of the team. We all know that it¡¯s the only permanent fix, even though it will take longer this way. Thankfully, our practice pays off. Avelina and I work together to heat up the glass evenly with our respective flames and heat, and soon it melts into a golden orb, held suspended in space by Melina¡¯s Skill.

    All of her hard work with [Lesser Object Manipulation] earned her a rank up during our trip through the Barrens, so she¡¯s able to hold the molten glass in place and guide the flowing glass into the frame while Lionel uses [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness] to create a perfectly-smooth pane. It¡¯s hardly an orthodox method, but that¡¯s the marvel of a team working in conjunction. Our combination Skills are more powerful than even a senior [Glass Smith]¡¯s solo Skills, by my estimation.

    I wish Master Melidandri and Lady Evershed could see me now, I think fondly. Ember is already familiar with the way the four of us free-form glass without hot shop tools, but I¡¯ve never seen or heard of any other team doing what we do. It¡¯s exciting to think we¡¯re on the forefront of our craft, and I wish I could share with the mentors who got me this far.

    Once the glass is firmly wedged into the pre-existing frame¡ªwhich I keep from bursting into flames with a thin layer of thermal management via [Greater Heat Manipulation]¡ªI turn the show over to Avelina. She uses [Strong as Stone] to ensure that the pane won¡¯t break again if it¡¯s hit. Finally, Melina leans on her annealing Skill to hasten the process of bringing the glass back down to temperature without it cracking from the stress.

    I back up and stroke my chin, examining it critically with my Domain to confirm that it¡¯s all in place. ¡°That was a bit delicate during the recreation phase, but we made it through. Nice job, everyone. I think we¡¯re good here.¡±

    ¡°Just what kind of glass-makers are you?¡± Camryn asks us, her voice hitching a little at the end. Her hostility is forgotten for a moment as she stares at the pristine glass pane. ¡°That was incredible.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like nothing I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Taj says. He frowns at us. ¡°Are you really crafters? Or are you [Mages] in disguise? I have a hard time believing that the Royal Army would care about glass.¡±

    ¡°Shows why you¡¯re stuck here in the nether regions of the world, while we¡¯re on our way to fame and fortune,¡± Lionel says, snickering.

    The confrontational joking seems to return Camryn to her senses. She glares at us, and her hand strays to her spear again. ¡°No trouble. Got it?¡±

    ¡°Ignore him,¡± I cut in, elbowing my friend out of the way. ¡°But would we tell you if we were trying to hide our identities? Or would we so freely display what we can do?¡±

    I roll my eyes at the two [Hunters] as they struggle with the logic behind my words. They seem loyal, but I expected them to be more cunning. They¡¯re nothing but glorified watch dogs, from what I can tell.

    I clear my throat pointedly. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve sorted the window, could we please get the gate taken care of next? We¡¯ve got glassware to sell, and the night¡¯s passing us by.¡±

    ¡°I want to know how it happened,¡± Melina says. ¡°The mana barrier should keep out most monsters. What charges through a barrier with enough force to damage reinforced gates?¡±

    The [Hunters] share a look. Camryn¡¯s eyes go dark and stony. ¡°Some questions are better left unanswered. Just pray you never run into that thing if you wanna live.¡±

    There must be something wrong with me, because instead of fear, all I can conjure up is anticipation. I¡¯ve got a few new tricks I¡¯ve been meaning to try out in a fight if we find that thing. But first, Mikko has work to do. It¡¯s time to fix Halmuth¡¯s front gates.

 B5 C4: Itinerant Tinkers

    Halmuth is more of a trading post than an established city, but it¡¯s still nearly as large as my hometown of Silaraon. For some reason, that detail catches me off guard and takes me out of my usual element as we survey the town from Totten¡¯s tower. Initially, we want to explore the night market while Mikko works on the gates, but the [Hunters] stop us until Mikko¡¯s able to prove his competency. They take Totten¡¯s words quite literally, apparently; there¡¯s a reason he¡¯s the boss in Halmuth. Now that I see the full scope of the trading town, I¡¯m starting to think that he¡¯s more influential than I realized.

    After the four of us from the Silaraon Glass Works backed up our boast and remade the broken window, Totten seems to expect a similar miracle at the gates. Unfortunately, Mikko can¡¯t melt down the entire thing and rebuild it in one go. Blacksmithing is a more physical, hands-on affair than our brand of magical glassworking, and even with his incredible strength, pounding that mana-infused metal back into place will be a tough slog.

    I offer to go with my brother and let the rest of the team rest. They split off downstairs, heading to an inn Totten recommended. I¡¯d prefer to join them to rest up after our night¡¯s frantic march and impromptu crafting session, but my brother comes first. Always will.

    Escorted by the stony-faced [Hunter], Camryn, Mikko and I retrace our steps to the front gate. We make good time through the maze of vendors, since the crowd parts in front of the [Hunter] to allow us to pass on official business.

    ¡°The sooner you finish the work, the sooner you¡¯ll be able to meet back up with your team. They¡¯re in the residential district,¡± Camryn tells us stiffly.

    ¡°Where are we now?¡± I ask.

    Camryn huffs. ¡°What am I, your tour guide?¡± After a strained sigh, she tells us anyway. ¡°Halmuth is divided into a few main areas: the market district, which you passed through on the way in, the residential district¡ªwhere your friends are waiting for you¡ªand my favorite of the three, which is where we are now: the martial district.¡±

    Knowledge is a strange gift. A lens through which to see the world. Now that I know the name of the oddly-titled martial district, where Totten¡¯s administration building is located, I take a more discriminating look at the offices, and its purpose immediately becomes obvious to me now that I know what to look for.

    Office is the wrong word. The tower is fortress-like in appearance: the black stone walls end in harsh crenelations, from which shine the ghostly flare of mana lanterns, while the rest of the town is orange and dun earthen walls with bright blue, terracotta-tiled roofs. Towering nearly ninety feet higher than the three or four stories of the surrounding homes and structures, Totten¡¯s [Hunter]¡¯s administration building dominates the Halmuth¡¯s skyline. The tower looks like a hulking beast surveying its demesne.

    After weeks of clear night skies in the wilderness, it¡¯s disorienting to no longer see stars when I look up. The glare of city lights obscures the constellations, leaving me feeling adrift. How will we know where we¡¯re going next without the stars to guide us? I turn the thought over in my mind while we walk, eventually settling for a helpless shrug. As much as it galls me to admit an area of incompetence, I have to be honest with myself: I wouldn¡¯t know the difference, anyway. Getting our bearings is Azariah¡¯s problem, not mine.

    Regardless of the district, there¡¯s an astonishing amount of foot traffic considering our remote locale. No one ever told me there were this many travelers and [Traders] out here in the Barrens, although I suppose it makes sense given the exotic mana beasts. Likely, there are also pockets of rich natural resources hidden deep under the salt and sand. Halmuth must be at the confluence of several trade routes across the country, which allows it to flourish despite the bleak surroundings.

    From what Camryn says, the martial district cuts straight through the center of Halmuth, and the height of the building allows them to spy¡ªer, keep watch¡ªon the traders and citizens. As if to underscore the unique configuration of the town, we pass by an obstacle course on my right. The course is made of oddly slanted metal bars, swinging chains, and tall pillars too far apart for me to jump between.

    We¡¯re halfway past the course when a chorus of applause and whoops breaks through the susurrus of trade. A pair of [Hunters] sprint from one end to the other, each stride covering the length of two wagons end-to-end¡ªempowered by body-enhancing Skills, no doubt. [Hunter] is a fascinating Class, but they pass by too quickly for me to practice my Viewing. The racing duo is well matched. They¡¯re light on their feet, their steps never faltering as they soar above our heads, weaving between the weighted chains and obstacles. I can barely tell who crosses the finish line first.

    Ragged cheers interspersed with furious booing burst out from the group that kicked off the clapping. I turn toward Camryn. ¡°Bets on the winner, huh?¡±

    She nods brusquely in confirmation. Although she still doesn¡¯t seem to like me much, her obvious pride in Halmuth¡¯s [Hunter] brigade shines through. ¡°Always. We take training extremely seriously. Someone¡¯s got to keep the ¡®vanners safe.¡±

    ¡°Caravans often see trouble?¡± Mikko asks.

    He earns a perfunctory smile¡ªit¡¯s a polished, professional response, not to be mistaken for anything approaching friendliness. It¡¯s still a step up from Camryn¡¯s frosty responses toward me. She seems to hate me for accidentally causing a fluctuation with the mana barrier.

    ¡°Monsters do not rest. Why should we?¡± Camryn replies gravely. Then her composure cracks for a brief moment, and her lips twitch into a wry smile. ¡°Besides, as often as not, it¡¯s the [Traders] causing problems, like that troublesome little [Mage] with you. Someone has to keep them in line.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Nuri¡¯s a real handful,¡± Mikko says agreeably. ¡°Making him behave is a full time job.¡±

    ¡°Traitor!¡± I accuse, laughing.

    ¡°Flux-brained brother,¡± he says affably.

    Camyrn doesn¡¯t seem amused, and we soon drop the affectionate banter and pay more attention to our surroundings. We pass the edge of the martial district, which ends abruptly in a spiked wall with signs warning off wanderers, and re-enter the engrossing night market. Located in the largest of the three districts, the market seems self explanatory at first. Less obvious than the multitude of stalls and colorful blankets spread out across the ground are the warehouses and caravan rentals. In addition to the trading stations, the market district is a full service, one shop stop for the [Caravan Leaders] and [Traders].

    Nearest to Halmuth¡¯s main gates, the market makes up a tangled maze that requires a native-born citizen to navigate, Camyrn explains. Travelers regularly hire guides when they hit the trading post; the cost is fairly insignificant compared with the lost profits of getting lost and wandering about for hours without selling anything.

    The last and smallest area of Halmuth is the residential district. Aside from the handful of inns for stays during the day, it¡¯s also where most of the housing is located for the trading town¡¯s small permanent population. Most travelers elect to move on during non-market nights, but over the years, a few people have stayed and put down roots in Halmuth¡ªand it¡¯s always worked out to their benefit. A note of defensiveness creeps into Camryn¡¯s voice when she tells us that part. It¡¯s almost endearing how much she loves her hometown.

    Walking through the city to the inn, I¡¯m struck by how clean everything looks¡ªno peeling paint, no crumbling bricks, no raw sewage in the gutters, no tenacious weeds pushing through the cracks, no beggars on the street corners. A small and remote town, Halmuth is nonetheless brimming with civic pride. The entire trading post is well maintained, and although people are boisterous, they aren¡¯t disorderly.

    When we reach the gates, Mikko reaches up and touches the metal again, eyes closed as he senses its composition. With a grunt, Mikko breaks off the connection, shaking his big, shaggy head. He lays out his tools one by one, withdrawing them from the oversized pack he always carries on his back. Lastly, he sets up his anvil off to the side, so it won¡¯t impede traffic, and he strips off his outer robes, swapping them with his thick leather apron.

    ¡°This is worse than anticipated,¡± Mikko murmurs. He¡¯s already forgotten that I came with him, it seems, lost in his own world of metal. He twirls a ball-peen hammer in his fingers as he walks the length of the gate, still muttering to himself. Occasionally, he stops to tap the hammer on the gate, listening to the sound it makes, a magnificent frown on his face.

    ¡°Need a hand?¡± I call.

    ¡°Nah, you don¡¯t have an extra to spare,¡± Mikko replies without missing a beat. Maybe he¡¯s not as lost as I thought. He flashes a bright smile in my direction. ¡°Besides, I need fire, not your fake heat. Leave this job to the real professional, little bro. Might be a few days.¡±

    ¡°Fine. I¡¯m gonna go get some sleep. I¡¯ll see about food delivery while you work. Might as well drop by to keep you company now and again. You¡¯re a lost puppy when you get in a mood like this. Can¡¯t have you waste away to nothing on the job. Mama would never forgive me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re actually brothers? Your poor mother,¡± Camryn interrupts, a look of disbelief on her face. Then she snaps back into her aloof [Hunter] persona, with her leaf-bladed spear at the ready, and turns her gaze toward the darkness of the wilds. The Barrens are a dangerous place, and doubly so at night; even our interruption doesn¡¯t pull her away from her duties for long.

    I pry directions to the inn from Camryn, wave goodbye to my brother, and set out for the residential district to catch up on rest. Time to let the team know we¡¯re turning this stopover into an unexpected extended stay.

    Absent the usual guidance of my Domain¡¯s mapping feature, I¡¯m forced to hire a guide after taking a few wrong turns. I¡¯m still terrified of breaking Halmuth¡¯s mana barrier¡ªor worse, accidentally contesting it and losing in the battle of wills. Who knows what dire ramifications that might have for my already-damaged channels and core?

    So. No Domain.

    I shudder, put aside the terrifying possibilities, and follow the cheerful, surprisingly chatty young guide I hired through the twisted warrens. True to his word, he leads me at last to the rather unimaginatively-named [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge, where I¡¯m reunited with the rest of my team.

    In my absence, they¡¯ve taken initiative and rented four rooms in the inn. It¡¯s not a large lodge, so four rooms turns out to be an entire wing on the second floor. Azariah gets his own room, but the rest of us are forced to share accommodations. The Linas are boarding together in the second room and have already retired to sleep for the day. Lionel and Rakesh are sharing the third room, and have likewise turned in to catch up on sleep. That leaves the last room at the end of the hall for me. And Mikko, if my brother ever shows up; more likely, he¡¯ll work night and day to finish the gates, abusing his [Greater Endurance] to forego sleep.

    I wince at that. He¡¯ll pay for it later, this constant overreliance on his Skill. He gets results like this, though. I can¡¯t exactly blame him. Besides, I¡¯ve made the same choice in his situation. We¡¯re each driven to excel in our own way. Now that I think about it, I¡¯ve also paid far higher costs, if I¡¯m honest. Consequences haven¡¯t stopped me yet, although I¡¯m trying to become more circumspect now that I¡¯m responsible for an entire team.

    I knock on the first door in our wing of the inn. No response. I knock again, louder and insistently, and Azariah lets me inside with a scowl. The room is sparsely appointed, but clean. Nothing looks broken or out of place. It¡¯s not exactly a posh hotel, but it¡¯s surprisingly cozy. I see why Totten sent us here with a good recommendation.

    Azariah takes one look at my face and swears under his breath, his ever-present scowl deepening further. ¡°Bad news, huh? Well. Lay it on me, kid.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Not really, unless you hate staying in one place for longer than a couple days. Mikko says the gate repair is more complicated than he thought, but he¡¯s not going back on his word. Guess we¡¯ll get a chance to see the local sights.¡±

    ¡°Stuck for three days in Totten¡¯s little playground? Rubbish!¡± Azariah flings his pipe at me in disgust just to drive home his displeasure.

    My laughter comes out sounding more like an amused yelp as I dodge the half-hearted attack, stepping to the side and allowing the pipe to pass by me harmlessly. With a twist of his fingers, his preternaturally dexterous smoke delivers it back into his hands.

    I¡¯m as eager to get back on the road as anyone, but I didn¡¯t expect our guide to react so violently to the news that repairs are more complicated than Mikko anticipated. I cross my arms and stare down the [Pathfinder]. ¡°Look on the bright side. We¡¯re here for another night market cycle. More chances for us to sell glass¡ªand for you to buy wine.¡±

    Azariah scowls. ¡°Already got what I need.¡±

    ¡°Drunk that fast, huh?¡± I deadpan.

    His grimace grows deeper. ¡°Hardly. My Class is all about two things, and survivin is right up there. Second on the list, in fact. Alcohol¡¯s about the pleasant burn and relaxation. I can¡¯t get incapacitated anymore. Resistances are too high."

    ¡°Sounds boring. My condolences.¡±

    Azariah shifts in his seat, lounging back and resting his boots on the cheaply laminated, artificially-constructed end table¡ªreal wood is too rare to import to the Barrens for furniture in a joint like this. He sniffs. ¡°No regrets. Keeps me alive. But ain¡¯t ya gonna ask?¡±

    I scratch my jaw, idly wondering if I can find a [Barber] in Halmuth. My beard is getting too unruly for life on the road. ¡°Ask what? I haven¡¯t heard anything interesting yet.¡±

    ¡°Peh! You¡¯re a real pest, ain¡¯t ya? Fine, I¡¯ll spell it out so yer puny mind can understand me. The first thing that [Pathfinder] is good at it is findin a way forward. I¡¯ll give ya a pass, on account of yer feeble wits, for assumin that it only works for physical pathways. See, I ain¡¯t limited to wayfindin through the wilderness. I always find the best way to navigate a situation. Tonight, while you lot played patty cakes with Totten¡¯s window, I got the real work done. That¡¯s right. I put my Skills to good use on yer behalf. You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, I¡¯ve seen how impressively you navigate social situations,¡± I reply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I¡¯m more intrigued by his potential discovery than I let on, but there¡¯s no sense stoking Azariah¡¯s already-enormous ego. I figure I¡¯ll get further if I force him to defend himself, anyway, so I throw out a wild boast.

    I quirk an eyebrow, leaning forward to loom over Azariah. ¡°Y¡¯know, I¡¯m starting to think we can get by just fine without you. We¡¯re capable fighters, as you saw with the White-Banded Stoats, and Rakesh is a genius at learning new things. He can navigate for us.¡±

    ¡°As long as ya pay what ya promised, be my guest. You¡¯re welcome to get yourselves killed in the Barrens,¡± Azariah says happily.

    ¡°We¡¯re pretty tough,¡± I start to say.

    ¡°Could be rid of ya at last,¡± Azariah interrupts. He leers at me with an expression that¡¯s all teeth and no smile. ¡°Most annoyin clients I ever took on.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like your vaunted ¡®way forward¡¯ Skill deceived you when it came time to accept our request for a guide,¡± I needle. He doesn¡¯t reply, staring back at me stony faced. Too tired to deal with his games, I decide that I¡¯m too impatient to pry the information out of him the hard way. Trying and failing to put a smile in my voice, I give him the satisfaction of begging for the information. ¡°Fine, fine. I¡¯m listening. What did you find that¡¯s so fascinating?¡±

    ¡°Peh. We¡¯re here at the right time. For all my complainin, we needed to wait an extra day, anyway. Big-time [Merchant] is coming through tomorrow, during an off day for the night market¡ªdon¡¯t even think about makin a dumb joke about having an ¡®off day¡¯ when the market¡¯s nocturnal¡ªand Totten invited us to a private meetin. So, once again: you¡¯re welcome.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . kind of you,¡± I admit, strangely touched. Then my suspicious nature kicks in; after Scalpel, I¡¯m no longer as trusting as I used to be. ¡°What do you get out of it?¡±

    ¡°Dunno yet.¡±

    My eyebrows creep up my forehead. ¡°So you¡¯re just hoping it works out? What kind of pathfinding is that?¡±

    ¡°The kind that¡¯s kept me alive for decades before you were even born,¡± Azariah snaps. ¡°This is good for me, even if I hate the delay of stickin around with that daft old coot, Totten.¡±

    ¡°Prove it.¡±

    Azariah shrugs. ¡°My Skill hasn¡¯t led me wrong yet. Just get your glass going. Sell cheap wares in town if you want, but keep your best stuff for the [Merchant].¡±

    ¡°Like what? What do you think he wants?¡±

    ¡°She. And I¡¯ve got no clue, other than a vague impression you¡¯ve been holdin out on me. What¡¯s that around yer neck, anyway?¡±

    I clutch my glass pseudo cores, taking a step back and readying my mana to unleash a blistering wave with [Greater Heat Manipulation] in case I need to fight him off. If it comes down to him or me, I¡¯ll use my [Arcane Domain], too, no longer caring about what happens with the mana barrier.

    When Azariah simply leans back in the seat winks at me, I realize he¡¯s led me around by the nose. His face is calm, not twisted into an antagonistic grimace. He¡¯s sitting there watching me like I¡¯m an interesting specimen, and I fell right into his trap.

    With a jolt, it occurs to me that his gruff ways are an act as much as the truth of his nature. His bluster put me off my game, and just like that, he¡¯s fooled me into revealing how valuable the cores are to me.

    I swallow. ¡°Not for sale.¡±

    He snorts. ¡°Everything is, for a price.¡±

    I slip out of the room without a reply, shutting the door behind me. I sag against a wall in the hallway, mulling over everything he¡¯s told me. Thanks to Mikko¡¯s offer to repair the gates, we¡¯ll be stuck in town until the metal¡¯s true again. What if I didn¡¯t push back on the mana barrier with my Domain, though, and hadn¡¯t forced us into owing a debt? We would have left Halmuth as soon as we finished with the night market and never needed to smooth things over with Totten. Did Azariah¡¯s Skills account for that?

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    No use digging into the hidden realms of fate, I tell myself as I find my room and fumble with the keys to unlock the door. Just deal with what¡¯s right in front of you.

    I set an alarm using the water clock near the bed so I won¡¯t oversleep, close my eyes for a brief nap, and run through our glass inventory in my mind. I hadn¡¯t planned to offer too many imbued items, for fear of crashing a delicate market, but if Azariah¡¯s right, then I might as well get to work. But first, time to sleep.

    =+=

    No one is happy with the two-day delay before we¡¯ll be able to sell at the night market. We¡¯re all experienced workers, however, so put our unexpected free time to good use. Without the proper ingredients, I spend a few hours using [Vitrification] to prepare glass batches for shaping after my all-too-brief nap. The [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge agrees to comp one of our rooms in exchange for an order for plates and cups for their common room, and we score a few preliminary orders from the other guests, but it¡¯s less than I hoped.

    The rest of the day flies by in a blur. When I¡¯m bored of creating more glass batches, and I realize how hungry I¡¯ve gotten, I gather up dinner¡ªor is it breakfast, I ask myself?¡ªflag down a passing street kid for hire, and head off to see Mikko as promised. My guides leads me out of the residential district, down a narrow bypass underneath the martial district, and weaves right through the market district to the front gates. I bring Mikko food and a canteen of water, since I know he hasn¡¯t fed himself all day.

    He gives me a guilty look, confirmation that he hasn¡¯t been taking care of himself, and I force him to take a quick break from repairing the gates. The generous platter of food vanishes in a few bites, devoured so fast that I wonder if my brother can even taste the savory flavor of the spicy lamb wrapped in flatbread and drenched in yogurt.

    ¡°Better?¡± I ask, teasing.

    ¡°Learned how to focus from you.¡±

    I grin. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes.¡±

    There¡¯s not much else I can do to help Mikko directly. I lack the strength and Skills to bend the metal, so I take my leave, promising to return later with twice as much food next time.

    Mikko doesn¡¯t seem to hear me. He¡¯s already banging away on the gates again, pouring mana into his strength-enhancing Skill with every bone-rattling blow. It¡¯s still barely enough to budge the twisted metal back into place, which has me uneasy. Just how powerful is that stray beast? I¡¯m not sure I want to find out.

    Back at the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge just before twilight, which is the start of the workday to most in the Barrens, I catch up with Azariah. He¡¯s stamping about outside the inn, puffing away on his pipe, wreathed in smoke. Dressed in his usual boots and leathers, the [Pathfinder] looks out of place even in the meager civilization of Halmuth. He¡¯s suited for the wilderness, not a center of trade and commerce. When he sees me, his forehead furrows into grooves so deep that I almost toss out a wisecrack about planting seeds in the dirt that¡¯s accumulated there. Something about his demeanor warns me off.

    ¡°Late. Crap first impression.¡±

    Without any further comments, he spits to the side and stomps off toward Totten¡¯s tower, not waiting to see if I¡¯m coming along. I yell for him to wait for me to run upstairs and collect the glass I created earlier, but he doesn¡¯t slow down. Indecision only wastes time; I can¡¯t very well sell glass items if I don¡¯t have a batch to work from, so I don¡¯t have much of a choice, not matter how annoyed I am by the turn of events.

    I dash inside the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge to grab the two remaining balls of glass I transmuted earlier in the day, rattled by the lack of time. I thought we were meeting with the [Merchant] during the night, but apparently she doesn¡¯t keep to the usual traveling hours of the Barrens like everyone else. Just my luck!

    By the time I fumble with the key to my room to unlock the door, barge inside in a panic, stuff the glass and a blowpipe into my travel pack, and run back outside, Azariah has already disappeared into the maze of street corners and shops. I grind my teeth at his impatience, but there¡¯s no sense haranguing him since he¡¯s not here. I take off after him, using the tower as a guide post. I don¡¯t have time to look for an available guide for hire, and as long as I keep the tower in my sightlines, I should be able to find my way.

    Three dead ends and a few hopped fences later, I¡¯m cursing the lack of street planning in Halmuth, but I¡¯m where I need to be. I jog up to the tower at last, annoyed at my impatience. If I hadn¡¯t been so stubborn, and just searched for a moment, I probably could have found one of the many guides.

    Done is done, Nuri. Focus.

    No sign of Azariah, but that¡¯s to be expected by now. He¡¯s as difficult to pin down as the smoke he always wields. I¡¯m starting to suspect he enjoys watching the chaos he creates.

    Taj is outside the tower, keeping watch with his spear. Against all odds, somehow the big [Hunter] manages to look menacing even while slouching against the cold black stone of the tower¡¯s rugged exterior. He waves me over. ¡°The boss says you¡¯re supposed to follow me. Try to keep up; they¡¯re not happy about the delay.¡±

    ¡°No one told me when we¡¯re meeting,¡± I protest, but without much heat. The [Hunter] has no share of the blame, so it would be rude to take out my frustration on him. Still, I feel the need to defend my character. ¡°I don¡¯t blow off responsibilities or stand up my clients. Make sure Totten knows that.¡±

    ¡°Not your messenger boys,¡± Taj replies. A huge grin splits his burnished bronze face. ¡°He gets funny when he¡¯s mad, though. Looking forward to the show since it¡¯s not my fault this time.¡±

    Over the next few minutes, while we travel to the meeting location, I rack my brain for a suitable apology for our host. An unassuming warehouse is our rather unexpected destination, and we¡¯re ushered inside a few minutes later. Despite all the build-up, Totten barely spares me a word when I arrive at the expansive storage area where he¡¯s set up a cobbled-together auction.

    I¡¯m not sure whether to be relieved or insulted that he¡¯s got more things on his agenda than berating me for my tardiness. He¡¯s shaking hands and offering slight bows to a variety of bejeweled buyers and sellers. Yellow vests and off-white robes seem to predominate, although I¡¯m hopelessly out of date on fashion and have no idea from where the style originates. Most of the people wear a broad-brimmed hat to keep off the sun.

    The [Merchant] Azariah mentioned to me immediately stands out, looking ravishing in her deep purple dress with silver trim. A thick, pale band set with mother-of-pearl inlay glitters around her neck, and a lacy veil halfway obscures her face. If she is as rich as I suspect, then the necklace is made of platinum, not silver.

    I stifle a low whistle at that realization. Her jewelry alone is probably worth more than I¡¯ve made in my entire life.

    Next to the cluster of sellers and buyers, built up along the back middle of the room, a pair of wide tables rest on a stack of empty packing crates. Instead of a stage, it looks like the [Auctioneer] will use the makeshift raised platform as the stage for the festivities. Which aren¡¯t yet underway, I notice with a rush of irritation.

    From across the room, Azariah catches my eye and frowns, his lips pressed together in disapproval. I¡¯m not even late, but I suppose he wouldn¡¯t be himself if he didn¡¯t perpetually walk around with a scowl on his face. I wave at him and give him my most brilliant smile, which only makes him scowl more, and saunter toward him.

    A server intercepts me along the way, offering a platter of finger foods and spiced wine, so I settle for stuffing my face while smirking at my dour guide. In between bites, he slips away, hidden by a passing gaggle of traders.

    ¡°Ah, just the man I¡¯m looking for.¡±

    I turn to my right at the sudden voice. A tall man, as thin as drawn cane glass, extends his hand for a shake. I awkwardly balance my tiny plate of pastries on my left forearm so that I can return his greeting. ¡°You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You seem to know me, but I¡¯ve not been introduced.¡±

    The master of ceremonies¡ªI assume¡ªis dressed in a formal black suit with a cut so sharp that I suspect it would impress even the [Viceroy]. His smile is severe, but not nasty; he¡¯s simply dignified, or at least attempting to project the air of dignity. ¡°Allow me to introduce myself. I¡¯m Rigney, the [Chief Broker] in charge of Totten¡¯s affairs, and your host for today¡¯s auction and fundraiser. And you are the young [Glassworker] who¡¯s caused such a stir. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±

    ¡°Likewise,¡± I reply without conviction.

    His officious smile grows brittle. ¡°Nuri, you¡¯re fifth on the list. Please provide your items to our [Assessor] ahead of time for proper inspection and evaluation. He will set the price floor for the opening bid, although naturally we hope there¡¯s no ceiling to the bidding.¡±

    ¡°Naturally. Look, Rigney, I¡¯m flattered to be here, but I prefer to make my items to order,¡± I reply slowly, unsure of what I¡¯ve gotten myself into exactly.

    ¡°Highly unusual,¡± Rigney murmurs.

    I take my time to savor a pastry, fortifying myself for the bartering to come. ¡°I imagine it¡¯s good enough to announce that a master [Glassworker] will create an imbued item live for the crowd¡¯s viewing pleasure. Most Masters enforce strict vows of silence and refuse to let anyone observe the process. Trade secrets, and all that.¡±

    Avarice glints in Rigney¡¯s eyes, but like a true professional, he smothers his greed as soon as it appears. ¡°Only a single item, master Nuri? I was promised three.¡±

    I chew on my final pastry, making it last an obnoxiously long time, and let out a regretful sigh. ¡°Alas, anyone who said three is sadly misinformed. Out here, I only have enough glass for two pieces. At best. I can¡¯t exactly place a rush order with a glass supplier in the middle of the Barrens, so I¡¯ve had to create the batches from scratch.¡±

    ¡°Two it is,¡± Rigney replies in a tone that brooks no argument. ¡°What are the effects, if I may ask? At least provide that much information. Else we may not be able to proceed; vague promises are tenuous bets.¡±

    I¡¯ve dealt with far more convincing negotiators. Compared with Xharrote, chief of all the [Inquisitor], or even that little brat of an [Adjutant] who wasted so much of my time, Rigney is a two-bit counterfeit. Still, I manage to bite my tongue before I let loose a scathing insult. ¡°I¡¯ll offer two options: sharpness or unbreakable imbued into an item. They will not be very large, due to insufficient quantity of glass, unless someone wants to purchase both orders and combine the material. Note that I cannot layer the effect, however. It¡¯s still just one or the other.¡±

    Rigney¡¯s eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of higher-order concepts. Hearing a Master can latch onto something profound and use it to fuel the craft is one thing, but seeing it in person is quite another. Not many have a chance to touch upon the ideals that underpin the universe. Even watching the crafting process without any knowledge of glass-making may be enough to push one of his Skills up a rank, assuming there¡¯s any affinity or similarity between the concepts and his particular path.

    It¡¯s extremely rare, but not impossible. Certainly never worked for me, I complain, and I had the pleasure of observing a true Master of glass in Melidandri¡¯s studio in the capital. Still, he exudes barely-restrained hope. [Broker] may be a lucrative Class, but Halmuth is hardly a seat of power. He¡¯s probably been capped out for a while.

    I resist the urge to cheerfully inform him that he¡¯s never going to make a breakthrough to the Second Threshold. A quick Viewing confirms my suspicion: he¡¯s stagnant, content to rest on his mediocre foundations. There¡¯s no true fire in his soul, only the small, lukewarm embers of petty ambitions. No wonder he aggravates me.

    ¡°Well. That will do nicely,¡± Rigney lies, but he manages to sound amiable. He gestures toward the main support post in the center of the warehouse. ¡°In case you¡¯d like to bid yourself, please note that you can find a list of the wares the other sellers will present posted on that pillar. I bid you farewell. Good luck, Master Nuri.¡±

    ¡°You too,¡± I reply lamely, not knowing how to comport myself around his faux-politeness. I don¡¯t feel too bad about it, though, since he departs without so much as a bow or smile.

    I wander over to the list after a detour to snag another one of the delicious pastries. I¡¯m not so gauche as to rush over and gawk at all the goodies for sale. All right, I totally am, I admit to myself with a laugh. I¡¯m practically dying of curiosity to see what my competition is selling, but I don¡¯t want to come off like I¡¯m out of place here.

    Most of the guests are already seated, so I don¡¯t have to jostle for position to read the list. Everything is high-end from what I can tell: rare spices sourced from the far, far south that provide a boost to the vitality of food; soft leather boots lined with the fur of a snow lynx, heavily enchanted with extra grip so the wearer can run across ice without slipping; a satchel filled with glowing sapphire vials containing an elixir that restores mana at ten times the usual harvesting rate¡ªor so they claim; and, of course, a box of spiced wines that Azariah will likely buy.

    ¡°Aged in the Grotto of the [Guardians] itself!¡± the flyer proclaims. I try to hold back a snort at the ridiculous declaration, but I can¡¯t help myself. It¡¯s patently absurd that anyone other than the [Royal Vintner] himself could gain access to the sacred grotto.

    Totten heaves himself up on stage and claps twice, instantly killing the low drone of half a dozen separate discussions. The clap is so loud and concussive that I¡¯m certain he¡¯s using a Skill, and I find myself staring in rapt anticipation. ¡°Welcome to the third-annual Halmuth gala. Got some beauts for you fine folks today. Let the wine flow free¡ªand the money even freer!¡±

    A smattering of courteous laughter greets his announcement. He winks at me, then hops off the table with far more spryness than I¡¯d credited him. Rigney, his [Chief Broker], climbs onto the stage considerably more stiffly. He probably thinks he¡¯s being dignified, moving so slowly.

    ¡°As usual, the [Purveyor]-in-chief himself, Totten, has something special planned for you. After the usual fine assortment of artifacts and curios, you¡¯re in for an exquisite treat!¡± Rigney pauses dramatically to allow suspense to build as the audience buzzes with excitement.

    ¡°No doubt you¡¯ve heard the rumors by now. Well, rest assured, they are true: you¡¯ll get a rare chance to bid for an imbued masterwork. Never one to disappoint, Totten has procured the exclusive services of a young Master [Glassworker], who will provide a live demonstration of his crafting process once the winners are determined. That¡¯s right! Two winning bids, two imbued items. The enhancements are sharpness or unbreakable. Custom orders welcome, within the limits of the available material.¡±

    The auction begins shortly thereafter, but barely pay the proceedings any mind. Two or three times, I place a safe, early bid, certain I¡¯ll be outdone by an impatient or drunk patron, just so that I look engaged in the auction. Mentally, however, I¡¯m far away from the bidding wars. I¡¯m going over the best options in my mind, hoping I have enough glass to deliver. Maybe I should have put more limitations on what I¡¯m selling.

    All too soon, my turn is up. I dip my head in acknowledgement when I¡¯m invited onto the stage, and vault up to stand between Rigney and the [Auctioneer].

    I make a show of withdrawing the first of the glass globes from my travel pack. Holding it up so that it glints in the light of the mana lamps, I smile and incline my head, then tuck it away with a flourish. Polite applause greets my theatrics.

    Rigney reminds the crowd of the terms, then turns things over to the [Auctioneer]. I settle back, ready for a long and boring bidding war, but the [Merchant] makes things interesting. She raises her paddle and whispers something to an [Attendant], who announces the bid. She jumps in with an offer three times higher than the starting bid. No one seems willing to go against her, so just like that, I owe the first item.

    It seems like a foregone formality. Based on what Azariah told me, I expected a private sale, anyway, so I¡¯m happy to be done with the song and dance. It¡¯s time to make glass.

    Communicating her requests solely through the [Attendants], the [Merchant] submits an order for a shield with unbreakable imbued. As promised, I begin work immediately, drawing on my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to melt the glass. Once it¡¯s malleable enough, I affix the globe of glowing glass to the end of my blowpipe. I flip the pipe, blow to expand the globe, and begin the slow, familiar spin to keep the glass centered. I can¡¯t let it fall off the side of the metal blowpipe during a demonstration. I¡¯d die from embarrassment.

    I¡¯m glad I topped off my glass cores after using [Vitrification] so often earlier, since I have no furnace or glory hole to reheat the glass. Working without jacks or a paddle, not to mention no marver to assist with shaping, I rely on tucking the blowpipe under my arm to hold it in place. Using only my hand, I gently flatten the end of the balloon-like ball so that the glass looks more like a half dome now, with the curved end still attached to the blowpipe. Without the protection of a high-end Skill like [Greater Heat Manipulation], I¡¯d have burned myself a thousand times over.

    Alternating between shaping, spinning, and blowing calls to mind a juggler at work. If I still had my second hand¡ªI cut off that thought, forcing myself to focus on what is, rather than what I want to be. Thankfully, I can work more quickly than if I had to take breaks to heat the glass back up with a furnace, so it balances out the loss. Before long, I brace the pipe to hold the expanded glass ball in place, close my hand and bring my straightened fingers together to make a point, and plunge my fist into the flat end of the glass half dome.

    I expand my fingers until I¡¯ve opened my hand wide, which hollows out the shape of the glass, and go back to spinning. I hold the pipe at different angles to allow the glass to spread in an even shape. The longer I spin, the flatter the glass becomes. No longer a dome, the glass is now closer to the shape of a saucer, or perhaps an extremely shallow bowl.

    I chose to use a rondell technique to spin the glass, since it seems like the easiest way to ensure a flat shape. Now that it¡¯s a wide, round plate big enough to cover my torso, I take a deep breath and move on to the part of the demonstration that will prove me a Master in truth.

    Drawing on my small assortment of successful past imbuings, I channel unbreakable into the glass shield. The mana in the air shivers, and gasps rise from the crowd, but soon the energy of the world swirls around me, drawn to the strength of my conviction, and it surges into the shield, transforming its nature into something utterly new.

    ¡°Behold! A shield even the [Heroes] of Densmore would be proud of!¡± I boast, lifting the finished work high above my head while the crowd roars in approval.

    Truthfully, I¡¯m laying on the hyperbole a bit too thick. It¡¯s a crude thing, in the end, lacking even a handhold or handle, but no one can deny what they saw and felt; the mana responded to my urgings.

    I explain that it¡¯s up to the buyer to mount a grip on the shield, which I advise they hire an [Armorer] to accomplish. Everyone wants a demonstration. Usually, hitting even tempered glass is a bad idea before annealing¡ªwhich I advise is necessary before the bearer handles the shield, assuming the [Merchant]¡¯s bodyguard wants to avoid burns¡ªbut magic changes things. The glass is imbued with an ideal, changed on a fundamental level.

    The [Merchant]¡¯s guards hit the shield as hard as they can, attacking three times each with their wicked half-moon poleaxes. Their attacks don¡¯t even leave a scratch, proving my work is highly effective, if lacking elegance. The buyers burst into furious applause at the evidence, although it irks me that they need verification. I have to admit, though, that it¡¯s nice when they give me a standing ovation.

    I could get used to this.

    After making arrangements to deliver the shield, I take suck in air, trying to recover my equilibrium before making the second item. The pressure of performing combined with the mana drain is making me feel light-headed.

    My glass pseudo cores are only about forty percent full after the imubing, based on my rough estimation. I hide my consternation, but I know that I¡¯ll have to manage my Skills far more efficiently for the second go around. I¡¯ve been feeling the limitation of my glass cores lately; they put a hard limit on my capacity that¡¯s holding me back.

    All too soon, the bidding resumes. I barely pay it any mind, focusing on harvesting mana and feeding it into the pseudo cores. I barely make any progress in the ten minutes it takes for a winner to emerge, but my mind feels clearer. C¡¯mon, Nuri. You¡¯ve got this, man, I tell myself, more determined than ever to turn hope into reality.

    The second winner is a fierce-eyed [Caravanner] with a craggy face that looks like old, weathered leather darkened by decades of oiling. He¡¯s unbent by the ravages of time, despite a wild shock of pure-white hair. He gives no name, just like the [Merchant], but merely stalks up to the stage and throws down his money bag. In exchange, he demands a curved talwar imbued with sharpness.

    A fight nearly breaks out when I explain that I don¡¯t have enough glass left to make the full sized weapon. I ready my Domain as he screams at me, calling me a thief and charlatan. I demand fealty from the mana in the air around the [Caravanner]. If he moves against me, I have no qualms about turning him into mincemeat with a violent application of sharpness. Thankfully, his grand-nephew, a [Trader] in his own right, talks him down, and the [Caravanner] changes his order to a dozen arrowheads.

    The thought of providing such a bloodthirsty man with an entire quiver full of unstoppable arrows, easily capable of piercing through a sturdy suit of plate mail armor, or anything short of stone wall, really, gives me pause. Death unseen, delivered from afar, all at the whim of an unhinged old man. All the same, a bid is a bid. Gold is gold. I won¡¯t go back on my word, and I don¡¯t have time to thoroughly vet my customers, so I shrug and get to work.

    By the time I¡¯m done with the order, most of the crowd has left. Shaping the first three or four arrowheads may have been fascinating, and I¡¯ve proven that I¡¯m a Master, but apparently the novelty wears off quickly. Or maybe they don¡¯t like the [Caravanner]. I don¡¯t really care, as long as I¡¯m getting paid.

    In the end, neither product is quite a masterwork¡ªI didn¡¯t have enough time to decorate the shield boss, or shape the glass more elegantly¡ªbut they¡¯ll do the job. The demonstration of the shield surviving mighty blows, or the arrows cutting through a stone, convinces the audience members that my status is well earned. After today, my reputation will spread. That bodes well for sales. What I made and sold this evening is more than functional, and the two imbued items easily bring in as much as I spent for my personal passage with Azariah.

    So why can¡¯t I shake the niggling feeling that I got the short end of the bargain?

 B5 C5: Itéˆ¥æªš Not Personal

    After the windfall of selling two imbued glass implements of war, peddling a few odd household goods for low profit feels pointless. Nonetheless, we¡¯ve already promised to set up shop. So, three days after we arrive in Halmuth, we find ourselves at the edge of town, near the formerly damaged main gate. No longer bent and twisted, the metal gleams in the light of the massive mana lamps that push back the darkness of the night. At first, we wanted to rush out and snag a more central spot in the marketplace, but Azariah convinced us that our unique glassware will earn us more upscale clientele. According to our guide, they¡¯ll come to us once they get a taste of quality.

    I¡¯m more amenable to his suggestions now since he got us into the exclusive [Merchant] meeting. Maybe he really can find the best ways forward. If a high-level [Pathfinder] can divine more than physical paths, then he¡¯s a far more important ally than I previously reckoned.

    And potentially far more dangerous.

    I can¡¯t shake the unease I feel when he looks at my glass cores. He keeps frowning and muttering to himself whenever he examines them. Something has caught his eye, even if he¡¯s not sure what they are or what they do yet. If he ever finds out, will he honor his contract, or try to take them?

    That reminds me. I need to get Rakesh to look into Azariah¡¯s past activities. Why did he get exiled? Is he a threat? Speaking of Rakesh, I¡¯ll have to put him in charge of negotiations from now on. I¡¯m certain I didn¡¯t get as much of a cut as a regular auction-house would pay.

    My mind¡¯s racing while we hawk our wares. We keep up a brisk trade for about an hour, selling plates and cups, alongside a variety of vases, but after a while, the uniqueness of our offering no longer pulls in new customers. At the very least, I¡¯m happy to work with glass again. I¡¯m glad the demonstration in the warehouse was a success, but I can¡¯t shake a realization I¡¯ve had: my heart¡¯s simply not in selling domestic, humdrum pieces.

    Glass isn¡¯t exactly an essential item in the Barrens. Most people don¡¯t use windows; they shutter up their homes so that the dust can¡¯t get inside. The real buyers are the upper crust of Halmuth, the ones rich enough to enjoy the creature comforts of home life, and it occurs to me that those luxury buyers already voted with their gold by attending the auction. My hope is that the buyers who were outbid will come find me, but it hasn¡¯t materialized so far.

    Once word gets out that the [Blacksmith] who fixed the gates is taking on commissions, however, the requests start rolling in for repairs. Mikko slept away nearly an entire day after he finished restoring the town gates to their original condition, but he¡¯s awake and ready to work, if looking a bit subdued.

    Seems like nearly half the town has something that needs fixing: a set of busted hinges, cracks in an old sled runner, or a dulled and chipped knife with flecks that look suspiciously like dried blood. The [Hunters] are particularly excited for Mikko¡¯s presence, since they¡¯ve watched his Skills in action for the last couple of days. They¡¯re clustered around our makeshift studio and shop, asking Mikko to craft or replace spear blades, arrowheads, and gauntlets. Their armor is heavily dented, and their blades are almost universally bent or broken. A few questions later, we discover that¡¯s from facing down the same monster that muscled through the repulsion of the mana barrier and attacked the gates.

    That gets me thinking. Shouldn¡¯t the [Hunters] be able to channel their Skills into their weapons more effectively? With their Class-given damage enhancement, they should be able to do piercing damage that bypasses the monster¡¯s thick scales and armor. If Nicanor were here, no doubt he could use one of their basic spears just as well as the fancy enchanted spear that he stole from me.

    Maybe the difference between the First and Second Threshold is greater than I realize. If that¡¯s true, then perhaps I need to think outside the box. Back in the Old Keep, we stumbled on an enchantment that worked on principles of imbuing. Why can¡¯t I invert the process, and use my imbuing to mimic enchantments? I don¡¯t know how to do it yet, however, so I¡¯ll have to talk it over with Melina and Rakesh later. For now, I¡¯ve got something more straightforward I can offer.

    I nudge Mikko. ¡°Hey, I know you¡¯re not an [Enchanter], but I can imbue sharpness into glass blades. Why don¡¯t you make metal bindings to hold the glass to the shafts, and I¡¯ll make the spearheads themselves? We can get Ava to cast [Strong as Stone] on them for durability.¡±

    Mikko bangs his hammer on the side of his anvil to draw everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Anyone want a glass blade imbued by my brother?¡±

    A tall [Hunter] with a pelt wrapped around his shoulders pushes himself upright from the wall he¡¯s been lounging on nearby. A bitter, short laugh rips out of him. ¡°Trying to get us killed? Glass is delicate. I¡¯ll take good, strong steel any day.¡±

    Several of the [Hunters] loitering around, waiting for repairs, nod in agreement. One of them slaps the tall man on the shoulder. ¡°Ha! You tell em, Irving!¡±

    ¡°You sure? Nuri is young, but he¡¯s a Master craftsman,¡± Mikko reminds the surrounding [Hunters]. ¡°Further along in his crafting career than I am, as much as it pains to admit.¡±

    ¡°Then what¡¯s he doing in Halmuth?¡± someone yells, setting off a round of laughter.

    The passerby who shouted out fades back into the crowd before I can get a good look, but something about his mana signatures is familiar. Was he at Totten¡¯s auction?

    ¡°Probably cut his hand off in a broken glass accident,¡± Irving sneers. ¡°Now he¡¯s wanderin round the Barrens, looking for suckers he can scam. Anyone actually buy this whole ¡®master of glass at twenty-one¡¯ schtick, even though he¡¯s missing a hand and selling cups for coppers?¡±

    ¡°Shut it,¡± Camryn growls at her colleagues as she stalks up. To my surprise, they listen, moving aside; she shoves past anyone too slow to scurry out of the way. I wonder if she¡¯s a big shot among their group. Maybe I underestimated her importance in Halmuth.

    She holds my gaze for a moment, and there¡¯s a measured quality to her look that wasn¡¯t there before. ¡°Heard from Totten that you can back up your claim of mastery.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Sold two imbued works at Totten¡¯s auction the other day. Want me to show you sharpness in action? Or you can ask Taj how it went. He saw what my arrows did to the rock he set up for target practice.¡±

    ¡°No need. Totten¡¯s word is good in these parts. If he vouches for you, then I¡¯m willing to give it a try.¡±

    ¡°Appreciate it!¡± I say, surprised at how grateful I am for her show of confidence, despite her frosty demeanor toward me. It¡¯s about time something goes my way.

    Camryn nods sharply, as though complimenting me makes her uncomfortable. I get the sense that she still doesn¡¯t like me much. ¡°I don¡¯t blame the other [Hunters] for being skeptical. Glass isn¡¯t exactly a path to power, unless you¡¯re a Master. I¡¯ve never seen anything like what you did with that window, though. This might be our best chance to take down the abyssal beast that bent the gates. Go on, then, [Mage], make me a new spear blade.¡±

    She takes a ready stance in front of me, as though she¡¯ll skewer me if I don¡¯t begin work right away. I nod and motion for Lionel to bring over a gather of prepared glass. ¡°Promise I¡¯m not a [Mage],¡± I insist, but she gives me a withering look that says she¡¯s not a fool, so I let it slide.

    Instead, I spin up my [Greater Heat Manipulation], bringing the glass up to working temperature while shielding my hand and clothing from the intense heat. I decide that I¡¯ll go with a folded blade design rather than knapping the glass, in fond memory of my first attempt at an imbued knife back when I was living on the road.

    Twenty folds later, I shape the spear tip into an elongated diamond that should puncture armor. It¡¯s not well-suited for slicing, though it will outperform mundane steel thanks to imbuing. An all purpose weapon isn¡¯t my goal, anyway; I¡¯m making a weapon to punch through monster scales. I fall back on familiar patterns of imbuing, creating a more efficient lattice-work frame to hold my mana than I used to be able to make. Simultaneously, I meditate on all of the secrets of sharpness I¡¯ve uncovered during my travels over the last year: incisive action and cutting loose regrets.

    With a rush of mana, I flatten and fold the glass blade a final time. The imbued concept takes to the vessel I¡¯ve created with great enthusiasm, cutting through the air around me and leaving faint, pale tears in space that make the crowd gasp in shock. Most of them have never seen anything like it.

    I gotta admit, I can¡¯t resist showing off.

    I let out a whoop of excitement. It¡¯s one of the finest-quality imbuings I¡¯ve produced yet, thanks to the high compatibility between the blade and the ideal. Once again, the shape is fairly plain, but I have a feeling the [Hunter] won¡¯t mind.

    Avelina puts down the glass sculpture she was working on and casts [Strong as Stone] right at the end of my working, just to ensure that the spear won¡¯t shatter after one use. It¡¯s more than an instrument to hunt monsters, after all¡ªit¡¯s a symbol that the [Hunters] of Halmuth can take the fight to the monsters in their own territory instead of hiding behind their walls in fear. They¡¯re [Hunters], after all, not [Defenders].

    ¡°Come back later, when it¡¯s finished annealing,¡± I instruct Camryn. ¡°Then we¡¯ll test it on anything you want. I¡¯ll wager this can pierce through a stone wall without any trouble.¡±

    Camryn loosens the ties on her money pouch. She steps up and plunks two gold bars onto the top of the anvil, each equivalent to a score of coins. ¡°Is this enough?¡±

    ¡°As my first customer, I¡¯ll give you a discount,¡± I announce in a conspiratorial whisper that¡¯s plenty loud enough for the other [Hunters] to hear. ¡°Future spears will be twice as much for the base model, and three times as much if we use [Strong as Stone] again during forging.¡±

    ¡°Three times that for a glass spear?¡± Irving shouts, practically sputtering in his outrage. ¡°Absurd! That¡¯s half a year¡¯s salary for a good job. But I guess you gotta try some way to earn back whatever it cost you to pay off ole Totten.¡±

    ¡°Watch it, Irving,¡± Camryn barks.

    ¡°Oh, shove off, bootlicker,¡± Irving replies. He pulls his pelt closer around his lean body to ward off the chill of night, shifting the coat to reveal the polished bone hilt of a long knife at his hip. His arrogant posturing leaves no question he¡¯s itching to use the knife. Violence seems to come easy to men like him.

    Something inside me snaps.

    ¡°Hey! No fighting near hot glass unless you wanna get burned,¡± I yell, briefly releasing my grip on [Greater Heat Manipulation] and allowing the heat to swell in his direction. The raw thermal energy billows out toward Irving and makes him stumble back, covering his face as his skin blisters red.

    Irving¡¯s knife materializes in his hand. He warps forward, standing in front of me before I can blink. His tone is low and menacing. ¡°Attack me again and I¡¯ll gut you, ya little piece of¡ª¡±

    Camryn raps Irving across the left shoulder with the butt of her spear, staggering him to the side. ¡°Threatening civilians is against the rules. You know that.¡±

    ¡°He attacked me!¡± Irving snarls.

    ¡°No, I warned you,¡± I correct him.

    ¡°Assaulting a [Hunter] is¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut it,¡± Camryn says, her voice like steel. ¡°He didn¡¯t assault you, and you¡¯re making an unnecessary scene. You know Totten hates that.¡±

    ¡°Pfft! You¡¯ve always been in his pocket.¡±

    Camryn and Irving glare at each other for a moment, and the crowd grows quiet. Mana swirls between them in a menacing pattern, visible to my sight through my Domain¡¯s vision. I¡¯m worried that if I don¡¯t intervene then they¡¯re going to come to blows.

    ¡°Irving, was it? Trust me, if I can knock a hole in Halmuth¡¯s mana barrier with nothing more than a thought, then I can disintegrate you where you stand,¡± I say, smiling as pleasantly as I can. ¡°Now stop bothering my customer.¡±

    That gets his attention. He may not respect my glass-making ability, but word¡¯s gotten around that I almost knocked out Halmuth¡¯s defenses. It doesn¡¯t exactly take a genius to run the damage calculations: If I apply that kind of force to a human, rather than a municipal-grade mana barrier, he¡¯ll turn to paste. Or, so I want Irving to believe. I can¡¯t actually leverage my Domain like that.

    Not yet.

    ¡°My colleague will anneal the spear. You can pick it up later,¡± I tell Camryn, intentionally turning my back on Irving. I watch him through my mana senses, ready to retaliate if he so much as twitches a muscle, but he stands down after my warning.

    ¡°That was an impressive display,¡± Camryn admits. She stands at attention, still with one eye on Irving, as though she¡¯s just waiting for the opportunity to skewer him. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a weapon so sharp it can cut reality itself.¡±

    I chuckle at the over the top description. ¡°Don¡¯t get too excited. The tiny spatial tears are far from strong enough to harm reality. Think of it like quickly moving your hand in a river and displacing water. The water flows back into place a split second later. No actual damage.¡±

    ¡°Not a lot of water in the Barrens,¡± Camryn replies, a hint of wry amusement in her tone.

    ¡°Er, think of it like clapping. Air is forced out, exceeding the sound barrier, but it does no actual damage to the atmosphere around you.¡±

    ¡°I get your meaning,¡± Camryn says, her eyes glazing over. ¡°Look, if you¡¯re as good as I think you are, then I¡¯ll cherish this weapon.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Good hunting, Camryn.¡±

    She offers a tight-lipped approximation of a smile, ghosting away into the crowd. I know it¡¯s a Skill at work, but it¡¯s still mesmerizing how she disappears into the darkness. It reminds me of my old friend Mbuhke. My eyes slide to the side, as though watching her is physically difficult. No wonder [Hunters] are effective if they can hide from prey.

    I take my time collecting the bars of gold and delivering it to Rakesh for safe keeping. He is the team¡¯s treasurer. I need to remember to entrust finances to him and stop micromanaging every aspect of our little team.

    Now that I¡¯ve finished making the spearhead, it¡¯s time for act two. I wave the onlookers closer. Time to pull out the shock and awe tactics. Let¡¯s see if anyone bites.

    Hopping up on top of Mikko¡¯s anvil, I wave my hand above my head to draw the attention of the [Traders] still lingering near our studio. ¡°Ho, fellow travelers of the Barrens! How many of you wish that you could march under the scorching sun with impunity, or perhaps carry with you the warmth of home and hearth to ward off the icy grip of Barren nights?¡±

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    A few stragglers glance over, but after the dust-up with the [Hunters], no one seems all that willing to move closer. Unexpectedly, it¡¯s Avelina who fixes the problem. She hops up next to me, unleashes a flurry of sparks that dance and twirl in the darkened sky, and smiles prettily at the crowd. The eye-catching display seems to tip the scales in our favor, and just like that, we have an audience.

    I gesture toward Melina with an exaggerated flourish. ¡°Mel, levitate over a big handful of molten glass. Make sure it¡¯s hot enough to melt right through my skin and bones! Let¡¯s show these discerning buyers how to make glass sing.¡±

    She gives me a questioning look, as if to warn me not to cause more problems, but she complies anyway. The glass hovers in the air, moving in eerie silence as it floats toward me, and I smile at her gratefully. I¡¯ve always liked that about Melina. She might judge me in her mind, but she¡¯ll give me space to chase my dreams.

    Enough space to prove her judgment right. She always gives me just enough rope to hang myself, I think with a rueful shake of my head. I should listen to her wise counsel. More often than not, she¡¯s been right.

    I¡¯ve been mulling over the strange, disturbing enchantments in the Rift we cleared in the Old Keep. If enchanting can mimic principles of imbuing, then why not vice versa? I¡¯m tired of cups and plates and bowls. They earn even less than the pittance I got from my share in the auction house¡ªand, worse, they¡¯re boring. An inexcusable deficiency, as far as I¡¯m concerned.

    Plucking the ball of glass from the air as though picking a fruit, I wink at the crowd. I toss the glowing globe of glass up and down a few times, unaffected by the high temperature thanks to my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. No one seems to react; handling hot glass is nothing more than the equivalent of a cheap parlor trick.

    I stretch the glass, manipulating it with my bare fingers as I work with an invisible glove of thermal resistance wrapped around my hand. How I ever looked down on any form of [Heat Manipulation] is beyond me; it¡¯s clearly the best Skill ever.

    I need to capitalize on the multitude of watchers before they lose interest. To my great satisfaction, the glass seems to flow on its own, perfectly following my whims. Maybe someday I can earn [Glass Manipulation] to go along with [Heat Manipulation]. I¡¯d like that.

    Drawing deeply on my mana, I seek out the relaxed-yet-focused flow state that I always associate with my best imbuing. In my mind¡¯s eye, I hold the image of resting by a great stone hearth on a bitter winter evening. The pleasant heat of the crackling fire and the warm mug of mulled cider bring bone-deep contentment.

    Flaring my mana, I press onward, imagining staying cool and unaffected by the blistering blaze of the glory hole in the glass hot shop. A cool drink in the scorching heat of summer. The cool shade under All the while, I focus on the specific shape of the fractal runes in my [Greater Heat Manipulation] that control temperature. They blend together to form the framework of what I¡¯m trying to accomplish. With a pulse of willpower, I implore the wild torrent of mana I¡¯m feeding into the working to accept the dual natures I¡¯m inviting it to embody.

    My available mana drains at a frantic rate, but I sense the imbuing taking shape. Slower than I¡¯d like, the concepts grind into place like gears frozen by rust. A knot of tension grows in the center of my forehead, just between my eyes, as I attempt to force more mana to¡ª

    Buzzing. Claws on a board of chalk. Curdled, milky light inexplicably coating the world in madness. Itching behind my teeth.

    Pain hits me like a sledgehammer to the face. I shout, releasing the imagined world I¡¯ve constructed, and the world slowly swims back into focus. No longer blinding now that I back off from the attempt to imbue the glass with two diametrically opposed concepts, the off-white light emissions of the mana feedback fades away.

    With a crack!

    the glass

    shatters

    And I am set adrift . . .

    I lurch back from the dangerous explosion, turning my head to the side. A shard slices a thin line of searing pain under my right eye, and I hiss in annoyance. Thankfully, no one¡¯s hurt. My pride stings worse than my cheek. Instead of a triumphant moment, I¡¯ve undone my own credibility. Jeers from the crowd mixes in with harsh, mocking laughter from the [Hunters].

    Irving struts forward. ¡°Guess I wasn¡¯t wrong about how he lost his hand!¡± Snickers and taunts from the crowd seem to embolden him. He preens in a circle, lifting his hands and urging them on. ¡°You¡¯re really gonna fall for this fraud? Some ¡®Master¡¯ he is. Peh! He probably faked the items he sold and arranged it with Totten to keep us all on our toes.¡±

    I keep my smile steady and calm, despite my pounding heart, and ignore the [Hunter]¡¯s yapping. Backlash can be devastating, depending on the imbuing. I could have died if I hadn¡¯t released it in time. But I¡¯m not about to give Irving the satisfaction of seeing me cower.

    Running through a quick checklist before I start the imbuing project fresh leads me to an unfortunate realization: the inefficiency of my failed imbuing drained the rest of my mana. Just to be sure, I double-check my glass pseudo cores. Yep. I¡¯m as dry as a skull left out in the Barrens for a week.

    Shatter it, I¡¯m not going out like this!

    ¡°I¡¯m out, Mel! Can we swap?¡±

    Melina tilts her head at me, an odd expression on her face. Her eyes widen momentarily, but she brings over her necklace of glass beads to my side of our mobile studio and sets them down. I wait until she¡¯s retreated a few paces, and toss her my spent cores. She catches them with a deft application of [Object Manipulation], not even touching them as she backs up, and allows me to pick up her cores without interference.

    I¡¯ve been borrowing them a lot lately, which adds another line to my to-do list. I ought to create a backup pair of glass cores, maybe two, and find a stable way to store and carry them that won¡¯t cause any resonance dangers.

    Topped off with mana again, I keep working on my next imbued item. I push down a rush of frustration. It¡¯s all right to fail; I didn¡¯t hurt myself or anyone else with backlash. I¡¯m still young. It¡¯s not unusual that I can¡¯t combine both heating and cooling into a single glass artifact.

    Not yet.

    Just like my dreams of using my Domain, I tell myself that pushing forward my imbuing mastery is only a matter of time. If Melidandri says it¡¯s possible to hold opposing ideals, then I¡¯ll keep on pushing forward, seeking to improve my craft as well as my understanding of the world. I¡¯m not a [Mage], not truly, but the allure of magic has grown stronger lately. The possibility of earning a future Class upgrade is so tantalizing that I can taste it like nectar on my tongue.

    ¡°Blisters and broken glass,¡± I curse softly at the loss of the piece. I¡¯m more embarrassed than truly hurt. Ironically, my failure only attracts a larger crowd, but they seem skeptical after I shattered the last piece. Tough to impress them after failing so spectacularly.

    None of that. Focus, I remind myself sternly. With so many people watching, I need to work swiftly to win back their trust. They¡¯ll rally to my side if they see me overcoming a bad break. Everyone loves cheering for people who get back up after a fall.

    I call for another batch of glass and start shaping a helm again. This time, I let go of grand ideas, setting aside the first image I created. I can¡¯t hold competing concepts like Melidandri demonstrated to me all those months ago. For all the strides I¡¯ve made with imbuing, I still have to stick to only one thing at a time.

    Fighting off the mounting headache¡ªcrafting two imbued pieces is exhausting¡ªI mold the glass to my will. It¡¯s a simple shape, and this time my mental image of a cool breeze and flavored shavings of ice on a hot summer¡¯s day is more readily accepted by the mana. Twenty minutes later, I present a circlet, more tiara than helmet, which should keep the bearer cool.

    Forcing myself to swagger a little bit, I hold up the annealing crown while Melina goes to work with her combined Skills. ¡°Who wants to test the Helm of Frost? Should be ready within the hour. First come, first serve!¡±

    Clamors and claims from the crowd make me grin. Everyone wants to see if I can back up my bragging. Good thing I¡¯m telling the truth¡ªout here, I¡¯d worry about a lynch mob if I tried to pull a fast one and sell fake imbued items.

    I direct any potential buyers toward Rakesh, who¡¯s working as our sales representative, handling transactions and counting out change. In the meantime, I collect another mango-sized ball of glass. I should probably wait until I¡¯ve recovered to make the next piece, but I¡¯m on a roll and I want to capitalize on my momentum.

    Even so, as I get to work, I take things slowly, more cautiously. I focus only on a sense of hearth and home as I go, recalling to mind the flood of emotions when I returned to Silaraon after my trying time on the road. All the while, I mold the last piece of glass into a tiny figurine of a man as tall as my hand. It reminds me a little of the elegant fairy I made for Iriye, back in the city of Barundu.

    Oddly, I feel no pressure to perform anymore. I won¡¯t get another chance until I have time and mana to use [Vitrification] again, but having my back up against the wall is old news by now. More importantly, the concepts of returning home, of finding my true belonging in the world after the volatility of fleeing¡ªthese emotions and ideas are potent and intimately familiar to me. Inwardly, there¡¯s complete unity of purpose. I know this will work. Conviction runs deep.

    I beckon over Avelina to help with the lampwork, since she¡¯s more skilled at sculpture than I am. A little face soon takes shape, and then a small man emerges. I offer up my mana and intent to guide the imbued concept of comfort into the totem, and this time, the working is a complete success.

    ¡°This is a companion item to the Helm of Frost,¡± I declare in my best auctioneer voice as I try not to let them see me shaking with the effort of creating a third imbued item in a row. My vision wavers, but I force a cheerful smile for the sake of potential buyers. ¡°They work best as a set, although I¡¯m willing to sell them off individually¡ªfor a markup, of course!¡±

    For once, Irving has nothing to say. He stares at me as though reconsidering his earlier estimation of, but it¡¯s cold calculation I see in his gaze, not thoughtfulness.

    ¡°Young man! A word?¡±

    I hop down from where I¡¯ve been working and greet the middle-age man striding my way. His face is dark and weather-worn, lined with years of living in the Barrens, but there¡¯s a spring in his step and his eyes are bright and lively.

    ¡°You¡¯re a Master of the glass-craft? I¡¯m Yuvaan, [Caravan Leader] and longtime veteran of the Barrens. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, Master [Glassworker],¡± I reply with a slight bow. ¡°Are you interested in the set? I¡¯m happy to demonstrate their efficiency before you buy.¡±

    ¡°Potentially. What kind of range might they possess? My crew won¡¯t be happy if I walk in luxury while they sweat and freeze by turns.¡± Yuvaan¡¯s impassive expression is unchanging as he speaks, but I sense a strange hitch in his mana flow when he glances at the circlet of glass. He¡¯s far more excited than he lets on.

    Another [Trader] edges closer, peeking over his shoulder. Instinctively, I rely on Viewing while the [Trader] scans the glass circlet, although I¡¯m careful to only activate the portion of my [Arcane Domain] related to seeing things more clearly. I don¡¯t want to collide against the mana barrier with my Domain again. While I can¡¯t truly decipher the Skill the [Trader] fires off, I catch a glimpse of a Rune related to assessment. Aha. Probably a valuation Skill.

    ¡°Who wants to buy a lumpy glass doll?¡± one of the [Hunters] calls out, raising her shrill voice so that she¡¯s heard above the crowd. ¡°You¡¯re falling for a swindler! A thief!¡±

    ¡°That scrawny, one-handed kid? Looks more like a [Beggar] than a thief,¡± another of the [Hunter] posse says, rolling his eyes at me. He pulls out a copper coin and tosses it over my way. ¡°There! My alms for the year.¡±

    ¡°Still overpaid,¡± Irving quips. He spits at my feet. ¡°Go run your scam somewhere else. If you¡¯re really a Master, why¡¯d you bother bartering for your stay at the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge by selling them a few glass cups? I got a cousin who works there. She said you were practically in tears at earning a few day¡¯s stay.¡±

    I scoff, shocked at the blatant lie.

    A stout older [Hunter] with a scar bisecting his lips pushes his way forward. He frowns at me, transforming his face into a truly horrifying scowl. He lifts his voice so that everyone around can clearly hear him. ¡°Forget all that. This man got arrested for violence against Halmuth. Why are we letting a criminal sell anything?¡±

    Yuvaan startles. ¡°Beg pardon?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Irving cuts in. ¡°Punched a hole in the mana barrier. He¡¯s working off his crimes. Totten¡¯s gone soft; shoulda had him executed. Still might, if I get my way.¡±

    Yuvaan exchanges glances with the [Trader]. They both go ashen and turn away. The [Trader] shuffles back, then ducks his head and tugs down his cowl as though to cover up his features. He jogs into the press of people and disappears into the night.

    Only Yuvaan remains, and not for long. He meets my gaze, smiling at me apologetically. ¡°Sorry, young Master Nuri. Not looking for trouble with the [Hunters]. Totten runs a tight town.¡± With a curt bow toward the grizzled [Hunter], Yuvaan edges away without an offer to purchase anything at all.

    Before I can muster up a coherent response, Irving scoffs loudly and stalks away from our mobile studio. His movement is magnetic, dragging the rest of the [Hunters] away like iron shavings after a lodestone. Irving¡¯s words and actions are like the breaking of a dam; when he leaves, so do the rest of the people, streaming away like a flood.

    I frown, watching our dwindling chances at further sales disappear. The private sale to the traveling [Merchant] a few days prior dulls the sting, but I was still counting on pulling in far more money during our stay here. Halmuth is our best shot at building up our reserves before we reach Gilead.

    According to Azariah, we¡¯re heading to Loch LaMara next. The port on the inland sea isn¡¯t as trade-oriented as Halmuth is from what I hear. I always thought that ports were the best places for buying and selling, but Loch LaMara is a shipping hub, not a trade center.

    Our earnings won¡¯t go very far in an expensive big city, not if Lionel is applying to study and I¡¯m busy with investigations. That leaves Melina, Avelina, Rakesh, and Mikko to support six of us, which doesn¡¯t seem like a good ratio. I don¡¯t want to have to start over from scratch when we reach Gilead and work with the Menders.

    After the [Hunters] depart, not many people stick around. No one wants to wait an hour for the helm and totem to anneal, not after Irving¡¯s harsh words. For a while, the discussion flies fast and furious, as people argue over the worth and legitimacy of my imbued glass pieces. Yet, strangely, not a single bid follows in the wake of even the most effusive praise. The assembled crowd disperses without buying anything more than a few basic items, with more than a few fearful glances sent toward Totten¡¯s tower.

    Who is Irving, and what was he doing here? Must have a scary reputation, I muse as I watch my efforts fall apart. More important than who he is the question that won¡¯t stop ringing in my mind: who sent him?

    =+=

    Azariah is waiting for me in the general room at the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge when I return. He peers at me, shaking his head, and gestures for me to join him at the bar. He slides a mug of his spiced wine my way, and we sit in silence until we drink up.

    He leans back with a sigh when he finishes his mug. ¡°Y¡¯know, when you put down that glass necklace, my main survival Skill said ya were dead.¡±

    I quirk an eyebrow. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you were watching. Since you told me that you always trust your Skills, when¡¯s my funeral?¡±

    ¡°Har har. Listen. You¡¯re hidin something,¡± Azariah says, jabbing his finger at me. ¡°I got a right to know if you¡¯re gonna travel with me.¡±

    ¡°Maybe your Skill¡¯s defective.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought too,¡± Azariah says. He slips a flask out from his vest pocket and pours himself a new mug. ¡°Funny thing, but whenever you claim you¡¯ve run dry, outta mana, it¡¯s been tellin me that you shouldn¡¯t be alive, much less castin grand magic. Never figured out the connection before I watched ya craftin earlier, but I think I got it. You ain¡¯t got any internal mana, do ya? That¡¯s peculiar.¡±

    ¡°I need external mana. So what?¡±

    He leans closer, genuine curiosity etched on his face. ¡°Unusual for anyone to survive in that state. Never seen it before. What happened?¡±

    ¡°Core¡¯s cracked,¡± I confirm quietly, since he¡¯s clearly far more perceptive and personally invested than his gruff and standoffish personality lets on.

    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s why you¡¯re headin to the Menders. Not about yer missing hand at all,¡± Azariah says in between puffs on his pipe, nodding to himself. He squints at me and sends a thin tendril of flexible gray smoke to tap on my necklace of glass beads. ¡°Bet they got better capacity than mana crystals. Rechargeable, too? I¡¯d like to meet yer supplier.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re mine,¡± I reply testily.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t gonna take em off ya, kid. But I know people who¡¯ll pay in platinum for an artifact like that. Give me a hint and I¡¯ll cut you in on the profits.¡±

    ¡°I already have a contract for an exclusive distributor,¡± I say, shrugging as though it¡¯s out of my hand.

    ¡°Distributor, not supplier?¡± Azariah observes, sitting up straight and looking at me more sharply. ¡°You claimin you made that yourself?¡±

    Shatter it all. He¡¯s found me out. I smile weakly, falling back on old tricks and deflection. ¡°You¡¯re entirely too perceptive, Azariah. Guess you finally figured out that I¡¯m a [Glassworker].¡±

    His eyes narrow, but he doesn¡¯t push the issue. Still, I can¡¯t help but notice that he looks at my glass cores with intense satisfaction, as though he¡¯s finally solved a complex puzzle that¡¯s been eluding him. I hope that doesn¡¯t cause me trouble down the road.

    A plan starts to form in my mind. Despite my frustration at the poor sales, I¡¯m not giving up yet. Since Azariah likes to poke his nose into things, maybe I can use that to my advantage.

    ¡°Hey, Azariah?¡±

    ¡°Changed your mind already, boy?¡±

    I shrug, then hold out my mug for him to top me off with more of his wine. The spice is surprisingly savory and sweet, cut through perfectly with the subtle burn of the alcohol. ¡°Could you get word to Totten that I¡¯ve got an offer he¡¯ll appreciate? I¡¯ve got supplies for his [Hunters] that could really change the game.¡±

    ¡°Those trinkets really work?¡±

    ¡°Without a doubt,¡± I say, affronted.

    ¡°Keep hearin you¡¯re a Master, but it doesn¡¯t make sense. Too young. Can¡¯t make heads or tails of you,¡± Azariah mutters. He takes his pipe out of his mouth, spinning it in his hands, and slowly nods. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. Give me a bit of time to talk to ole Totty, but I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    I salute him with the mug. ¡°Thanks, Azariah. I had my doubts about this partnership at first, but you¡¯ve been a good guide.¡±

    His grin grows wider than I¡¯ve ever seen before. ¡°Yep. Pleasure doin business with ya, Nuri. I got a feelin this is gonna work out real nice. Real nice indeed.¡±

 B5 C6: A Costly Commodity

    The next morning, which I hope is our last before we¡¯re scheduled to leave town, Camyrn shows up at the inn. She knocks on my doorway just as I¡¯m preparing for the day¡¯s sleep. When I crack open the door, she tells me to come with her. I dress quickly, tug on an overcoat, and stuff my feet into my boots. After a moment¡¯s thought, I tuck my last glass globe into my pack, just in case they want a demonstration of how I imbue.

    ¡°Ready. Where to?¡±

    ¡°Totten¡¯s office again. Before you ask¡ªno, I don¡¯t know why. You¡¯re entirely too popular for a criminal,¡± Camryn grumbles, although for once I catch a hint of amusement in her tone. The imbued glass spearhead she carries, affixed to the flexible metal shaft Mikko made for her, might have something to do with that.

    ¡°I know why. Trying to sell to your boss,¡± I reply confidently. ¡°My only question was where we might end up. Must not have been any empty warehouse available this time.¡±

    I refrain from needling her further as she leads me to the [Hunter]¡¯s tower. I assume that we¡¯re all looking forward to sleeping through the day, so I anticipate a fairly short meeting with Totten to discuss potential sales of my newly-crafted helm and totem sets. I¡¯ve made three sets so far, but if they need more, then I could push myself and borrow Melina¡¯s glass cores again. Of course, that¡¯s contingent on the team agreeing with delaying our departure one more day. I don¡¯t love the idea, but it might pay off in the long run.

    By the time I drag myself up the stairs to the main office, fending off a yawn, Totten and Azariah are already there. The two short, surly cousins¡ªor near enough to real cousins; it¡¯s a distinction without a difference, Azariah assures me¡ªare seated around Totten¡¯s desk, sharing spiced wine with a grim-looking man I¡¯ve never met before.

    ¡°Nuri! Thanks for joining us,¡± Totten says, gesturing toward an empty chair nearby. ¡°It¡¯s my honor to introduce you to Javier, the [Principal Hunter] of Halmuth.¡±

    I nod in greeting and slip into my seat. I didn¡¯t expect a third player at the table, but if I need to convince Javier in order to seal the deal, then this speeds up the process.

    Javier¡¯s coal-black eyes seem to burn as he examines me. His stare is unapologetic and direct. He slowly scans me, mana empowering his gaze, although there¡¯s no internal intrusion in the manner [Inquisitors] perform. I don¡¯t need to rely on my inconsistent Viewing to know that he¡¯s sizing me up the same way that he would a monster in the Barrens, examining my weak points and evaluating my threat level.

    To a [Hunter], everything looks like prey.

    ¡°This is the young glass Master?¡± Javier asks, not turning to Totten when he speaks. His voice is honey and wine, unexpectedly smooth and rich. It¡¯s at odds with my mental image of a savage warrior who looks like he spends weeks in the wastelands alone, tracking down beasts and slaughtering them with extreme prejudice.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t he a marvel?¡± Azariah drawls. ¡°You shoulda seen his live glass demonstration. Had the [Traders] in a tizzy buyin his imbued work. Oh, and his crew dismantled some White-Banded Stouts on the way in. They fight like furies for crafters.¡±

    Javier lifts one eyebrow, but doesn¡¯t say anything for a long moment. ¡°More fighters are always welcome, though we¡¯d have to more properly test their mettle.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t sign up to fight,¡± I say, feeling lost. ¡°I¡¯ve got imbued items that will keep [Hunters] safe on patrol. Heat and cold on demand. I understand we¡¯ve got a tentative deal?¡±

    ¡°[Hunters] are hardy folk,¡± Javier says dismissively. ¡°They¡¯ll survive the harsh elements. What we truly need is more firepower to hunt that abyssal beast. Can you help?¡±

    ¡°You want more spears,¡± I say flatly. The pieces are starting to come together. Comfort is not high on their priority list. Of course not; they¡¯re doughty survivalists. My glass set is nothing but a handful of trinkets to them. No, what they want is for me to outfit an army.

    Javier nods sharply. ¡°Naturally. I won¡¯t commit a single [Hunter] to Totten¡¯s crazy scheme unless I have assurances that glass is sufficient, but something has to be done.¡±

    ¡°My imbued work is more than sufficient,¡± I reply with some heat. I¡¯m struggling to keep down a rising sense of irritation. I don¡¯t need flattery, but I won¡¯t suffer insults, either. I¡¯m here to strike a quick deal and get out of this place. All I¡¯ve found in this miserable trading post so far is heckling and pettiness. Maybe selling in Halmuth was a mistake, I think while grinding my teeth. I could have met up with caravanners on the road and bargained for better prices.

    Javier holds up a hand as though to placate me. ¡°I¡¯m not demeaning your work, Master Nuri. But there¡¯s a big difference between a White-Banded Stout and an Olethros. I¡¯m sure your weapons are excellent. Know this, however: we face a city-killer, not a regular creature. Trust me when I say that you¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±

    I laugh. I can¡¯t help myself.

    ¡°You think this is a joke?¡± Javier asks. Stoniness dominates his expression and voice. ¡°I buried good men with my own hands after our last fight with that abyssal monster. Don¡¯t spit on their memory.¡±

    ¡°I mean no disrespect to your lost [Hunters]. But monsters are nothing new. I¡¯ve fought in Rifts before,¡± I say, meeting his gaze.

    ¡°It¡¯s not the same,¡± Javier declares, gathering his dignity about him like a tattered cloak. ¡°The Olethros is not like a monster of myth. You¡¯ve seen our lizard mounts, yes?¡±

    When I nod in confirmation, he continues. ¡°It¡¯s like their great-grandfather, except it¡¯s the size of a warehouse. Powerful. Terrifying. Nastier than you can imagine. You seem like you¡¯ve led an interesting life, Master Nuri. But don¡¯t think that because you managed to survive a lesser Rift, you know monsters.¡±

    I refuse to back down, but I force myself to speak mildly and not further provoke him. I¡¯ve felt the raw wound of grief before; it¡¯s probably his pain speaking, not a disagreeable disposition. I might as well be polite, since it¡¯s not his fault that he¡¯s ignorant of who I am and what I¡¯ve done. ¡°I¡¯ve delved in lesser and greater Rifts¡ªboth wild and architected varieties, if you¡¯re familiar with those designations. I¡¯ve killed Rift bosses and escaped a behemoth. I know how unimaginably powerful monsters are.¡±

    ¡°A behemoth! That¡¯s your claim? Really?¡± Javier asks. He pushes back from the table, crosses his arms, and snorts. ¡°Why are we dealing with this scammer? Totten, I¡¯ve put up with your wild schemes for years, but this is a step too far. Kick him out of town, and I¡¯ll overlook the offense. I¡¯ve got real work to do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve closed a lesser Rift with my bare hands. I paid the price in bone and blood,¡± I growl, holding up the remainder of my left arm. The skin is unnaturally smooth where the power of creation itself disintegrated my hand and a portion of my wrist. ¡°Disbelieve me if you want, but I have a verified Writ of recommendation from the Royal Army. I¡¯m here to negotiate with Totten, not you. I¡¯m tired of this posturing.¡±

    Totten chuckles. He slides a mug of spiced wine toward his [Principal Hunter]. ¡°Javier, please, calm yourself. Let¡¯s start over.¡±

    ¡°He has a Writ?¡± Javier demands. His formerly-pleasant voice grates like twisted metal. ¡°Could have led with that, Totten.¡±

    ¡°I told you that this meeting was worth your time,¡± Totten snaps. His gaze grows sharp as he glares up at Javier. ¡°Next time, just trust me.¡±

    Javier scoffs. ¡°Blind obedience?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Totten replies wryly. ¡°That¡¯s typically how a chain of command works. Now, let¡¯s all set aside the bickering and see what young Master Nuri can do for us.¡±

    Javier¡¯s lips thin, but he doesn¡¯t argue.

    I clear my throat and give them my sales pitch. ¡°I¡¯ve come here in good faith to sell my imbued thermal sets. I would have sold them to Yuvaan, a [Caravan Leader]. Irving, one of your [Hunters], chased him off. After that, no one stayed around to buy. The way I see it, I¡¯ve been overly patient and flexible from the moment I set foot in your city, and I¡¯ve received little to show for my trouble. I need to make some money, and you apparently need weapons. So. Let¡¯s get this done.¡±

    Javier taps his fingers on the desk. ¡°Fine. But you better not be lying about the quality. I¡¯m not interested in weapons that break every time we drop them.¡±

    Totten clicks his tongue. ¡°That¡¯s a reasonable question. Before we put in an order for the glass blades, Javier will need to review their efficacy. Can¡¯t budge on that. Weapons like this are too important not to test.¡±

    Camryn steps forward from where she¡¯s taken her post in the corner by the door. She offers her spear to Javier, who takes it while she talks. ¡°I commissioned this spear from Master Nuri during the last night market. I¡¯ve tested the blade against stone and iron, and nothing can stop it from cutting. Never seen a weapon like it. I¡¯m certain it will pierce the Olethros¡¯s scales if I can get close enough. Not a chip or crack after heavy training.¡±

    Javier holds the spear gently, cradling it like he¡¯s holding a newborn. With a faint grimace on his worn face, he flips his grip, holding the spear point-down in his right hand. His breathing slows. He holds his left hand out, palm up, and touches the spear to his skin.

    ¡°Stop!¡± I scream. I leap across the table, reaching out to grab the spear before he cuts his fingers off. My heartbeat thuds in my temples as I lurch forward, seeming to drown out all other sound with a drumbeat of terror. The entire world seems to slow down; the only movement is the blade.

    The spearpoint descends.

    My hand stretches out.

    I¡¯m too late.

    A mana barrier shimmers across Javier¡¯s hand, blinding in my Domain senses. I shudder but can¡¯t look away. The barrier stops the tip of the blade with a faint chime, fuzzing in my vision as concepts collide. An enchanted shield? Hope flares in my heart. He¡¯ll be all right. He won¡¯t lose the hand and become maimed for life, like me.

    Sharpness prevails. The shield breaks into pieces like shattered glass. Blood wells up in his palm.

    Javier doesn¡¯t even flinch. He withdraws the blade, methodically wipes the blood off with the edge of his cloak, and flexes his hand. Miraculously, the cut isn¡¯t as deep as I feared. A soft pulse of Javier¡¯s mana staunches the bleeding a moment later.

    He stares at me while he unclasps a brass bracelet around his wrist and sets it down on the table. A hairline crack runs through the center of the bangle. Otherwise, it looks fine¡ªthat means it¡¯s enchanted, and not imbued. The backlash from the barrier breaking would have destroyed his shield artifact entirely if it were an imbued item, since the concept it embodied would have been undone.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°I hope that wasn¡¯t terribly expensive,¡± Azariah says mildly, speaking up for the first time since Javier and I started arguing. He puffs on his pipe, a smug expression on his rugged face.

    Javier ignores the barb. His eyes still haven¡¯t left my face, his anger replaced by a gleam of calculation. ¡°How long to outfit my team? Halmuth is home to forty-seven [Hunters].¡±

    His intensity and sudden change of attitude surprises me, but I¡¯ve been around more unnerving people. I manage to keep up my polite smile while I deliver the bad news. ¡°Weeks of work, and we¡¯re not staying in town that long. Besides, I¡¯ve only got enough glass for three more spear blades.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t leave,¡± Javier bursts out. ¡°We¡¯ll rush order more glass. I need those spears as soon as possible. We¡¯ll requisition your help if we have to.¡±

    ¡°Bah, I¡¯m the one who¡¯ll decide that,¡± Totten interjects. Still, the boss looks inordinately pleased with himself, jotting down notes in a slim, leather-bound book. He glances up at me. ¡°If I get you glass and assistants, will that speed up your work?¡±

    ¡°No. Assistants won¡¯t be skilled enough. Regardless, I¡¯m not gonna work for free. I can make my own glass, but I need mana and time¡ªwhich is why you¡¯ll have to settle for five or six more spear blades at most. I don¡¯t have weeks to spare. I¡¯ve got a schedule to keep. Besides, I was led to believe that the environmental set was in demand, so I already used the available glass to create helms and totems to moderate heat and cold.¡±

    ¡°Melt it down!¡± Javier says, clapping his hands together. ¡°Simple solution.¡±

    I work my jaw, trying to keep patient while I explain why that won¡¯t work. ¡°I¡¯ve already imbued the set, and I¡¯ll find buyers once your [Hunters] aren¡¯t harassing my customers. Melting it down is not only a colossal waste of time and money, but a secondary concept won¡¯t take. It would be worse than regular glass. Utterly useless.¡±

    ¡°I need four dozen spears for this hunt,¡± Javier says, thick emotion making his voice crack. ¡°Surely your journey isn¡¯t so important that a few extra days will change things! Listen. You¡¯ll save hundreds of lives if we take out the Olethros. Maybe thousands!¡±

    I roll my eyes at his hyperbole. I¡¯m about to get up from the table and force Totten to negotiate a better deal when the door bangs open.

    A young [Hunter] skids to a stop. His shoulder and chest are heaving from a long run, and terror twists his face.¡°Th-the Olethros!¡±

    ¡°Convenient,¡± I drawl.

    It¡¯s all starting to make sense now. The auction, Irving, all the wild stories¡ªthey¡¯re just trying to negotiate a better price for weapons. They¡¯ve been playing me this entire time.

    Javier disregards my sarcasm. His eyes lock onto the young man, and the burning fervor in his gaze is enough to make me rethink my cynicism. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Orav? Breathe. Focus on your report.¡±

    ¡°Caravan. Wiped out,¡± Orav rasps, still sucking wind. ¡°They¡ªdisregarded¡ªthey thought the travel ban¡ªnot important.¡± He pants for a moment, hands on his knees while he tries to catch his breath and get his words out in an orderly fashion. Orav finally straightens up and delivers the rest of the bad news. ¡°They left this morning. Ignored our warnings about traveling during the daylight hours. Wouldn¡¯t listen to our advice. Got attacked. Only one survivor.¡±

    Javier springs to his feet. ¡°I need your spear more than you do,¡± he barks at Camryn, though it doesn¡¯t escape my notice that he still hasn¡¯t given it back yet. ¡°Gather the [Hunters]. We¡¯ve got a monster to kill.¡±

    ¡°It got away before we could tag it with a tracking artifact, Sir,¡± Orav says. ¡°Not sure how we¡¯ll find it again.¡±

    Totten claps his hands together, making Orav jump. ¡°Azariah, track it for us! You¡¯re the most skilled [Pathfinder] around.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s already contracted to guide us to Gilead,¡± I protest, my annoyance slowly turning into true anger. ¡°We¡¯re not getting pulled into your trouble.¡±

    Javier spins around, his grip on my imbued spear tightening. Rage glimmers in his dark eyes. ¡°This is why I hate visitors. Traders, crafters, sightseers. Doesn¡¯t matter. You¡¯re all alike! You selfish, spineless¡ª¡±

    ¡°Enough of that,¡± Totten declares. ¡°We¡¯ll work together to face this threat. Javier, stand down. I said stand down! That is an order!¡±

    Javier bristles, but he lowers the glass spear. His jaw clenches, and a vein throbs on his forehead. ¡°I will not let a crafter run roughshod over my city. We need Azariah.¡±

    Totten sips his mug, buying time. ¡°We¡¯ll work something out. Why don¡¯t you prepare the [Hunters], Javier? Now, Master Nuri, we¡¯ll need your weapons as soon as possible. Whatever it takes. Just get them done. I don¡¯t care if you have to stay up three days in a row to finish them. Make it happen.¡±

    I refuse to be a slave again.

    My breath quickens, and my fingers tremble as I consider whether or not I can fight my way free. There are only four of them. I force myself to relax. I don¡¯t want to drag my friends into a bigger mess. ¡°No. I¡¯m taking my team and leaving.¡±

    ¡°Master Nuri, try to think things through logically,¡± Totten says quietly. The complete lack of aggression in his voice gives me pause. He clasps his hands and looks at me like a favorite old uncle who¡¯s vaguely disappointed, as if imploring me to heed his words. ¡°We need all hands here. Leaving now is as dangerous to you as it is to us.¡±

    That¡¯s their angle, huh? I scowl, realizing that I¡¯m neatly caught in their net.

    I take a step backward, priming my mana. Totten acts sincere, but I don¡¯t know him. Not really. I¡¯m tired of everyone else dragging me around. I have places to be, and more demanding masters to serve. I shake my head at the boss. ¡°Not my problem. I¡¯m tired of all the manipulation and fear. We¡¯re done.¡±

    Totten sips from his mug, answering calmly, as though we¡¯re all still friends. ¡°Master Nuri, no one¡¯s safe to leave while that foul beast roams the Barrens. If an entire caravan can¡¯t defend themselves against the Olethros, then how will your team of crafters fare?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll take our chances.¡±

    ¡°Count me out,¡± Azariah says.

    I glare at the traitorous [Pathfinder], but before I can berate him for his cowardice, Totten reaches for a short, densely-engraved iron rod. His mana sinks into it, and a dull, pale glow fills the room as an enchantment activates.

    ¡°I was afraid you might say that, Master Nuri,¡± Totten says, sighing heavily. ¡°This takes priority over everything else. The only way to continue your journey is by assisting us. Securing the safety of Halmuth is to your benefit, whether you want to or not.¡±

    ¡°I will not be exploited,¡± I snarl, drawing on my [Arcane Domain] to seize the mana in the room. I¡¯m outnumbered, but a burst of sharpness will likely kill everyone in my range. Whatever artifact Totten¡¯s got, it¡¯s not likely to be higher quality than the one Javier already broke.

    My mind races. I can cut my way free, or use [Vitrification], like I did with Scalpel. If I run, I can make it back to the others and slip town before the rest of the [Hunters] realize we¡¯re gone. With any luck, they¡¯ll be busy with the Olethros and won¡¯t chase us down.

    ¡°We have laws here, despite what you might think,¡± Totten continues, his voice firming. ¡°You will be well compensated for your time, and you¡¯ll be free to go once this is done. But we need your help, like it or not.¡±

    ¡°Shatter it all,¡± I hiss after a moment of weighing the likely outcomes. I let go of my mana and clench my fist. Just when I think I¡¯ve gotten out of trouble, fate goes and pulls me back in. Every single time! But if the Olethros is as menacing as it sounds, then most likely Totten isn¡¯t wrong about the dangers of traveling while it¡¯s prowling the region. I probably need their help just as much as they need mine¡ªand fighting my way free is foolish without my team¡¯s help.

    Besides, making a lifelong enemy out of the most influential man in the Barrens doesn¡¯t exactly seem smart. It¡¯s certainly not conducive to our long-term survival.

    I lift my chin defiantly. ¡°You say you¡¯re not going to press me into service. But what if I say no? What¡¯s your leverage?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to threaten your team, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about,¡± Totten replies slowly. He lifts the iron rod. ¡°But I will enforce a [Binding Contract] if you¡¯re inclined to argue.¡±

    ¡°Just go along with it. Better this way,¡± Azariah says. ¡°No meddlin [Traders]. Don¡¯t waste time with yer trinkets. They need weapons, not the comforts of home.¡±

    ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll join your hunt. I¡¯ll make your weapons,¡± I say bitterly. ¡°But it better be worth my time.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll pay,¡± Totten says soothingly. ¡°Try to make haste tonight, though. Javier is itching to get in the saddle, but we¡¯ll all do better if we sleep through the heat of the day. Let¡¯s regroup and plan at nightfall.¡±

    ¡°Trail¡¯s likely cold either way,¡± Azariah says. ¡°Sleep¡¯s smart. We can strategize later.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t you just follow it with your Skills?¡± Javier asks. ¡°I¡¯ve got some tracking ability, but you¡¯re a dedicated [Pathfinder]. Leave the fighting and planning to us.¡±

    Azariah shakes his head. ¡°Skills help. Relyin on em instead of using yer head is just plain stupid. Lock down travel. Poison non-essential water holes. Slaughter its prey. Starve it out and remove options until it¡¯s forced to go to ground. Then I¡¯ll find the path to its lair.¡±

    With that, the last details click into place in my mind. It¡¯s been a trap all this time, and I walked into it willingly. I¡¯m shaking with fury, but I keep a tight rein on my emotions.

    ¡°Slow,¡± Javier complains, his face twisting into a frown. ¡°We can¡¯t expect travelers to sit pretty. Sounds like a waste of time.¡±

    ¡°Smart, not slow,¡± Azariah counters, blowing smoke toward the [Principal Hunter]. ¡°Want my help? Do it my way. Trust me: it¡¯s the best way forward. Still need the glass-maker¡¯s spears, though. Impressive cuttin power.¡±

    Hemmed in by their trap, I can only concede defeat. I hate it, but I don¡¯t know what else to do if I want to get my team out intact. I tilt my head toward Totten and paste on a smile. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll do it. Rakesh will handle the particulars of the contract. He¡¯s a traveling scholar from the Silaraon City Academy, and our treasurer.¡±

    ¡°Wise choice,¡± Totten says, beaming.

    ¡°Frankly, I don¡¯t like you, Totten. I¡¯ll help you since there¡¯s no other way for us to continue on our journey. But after this? We¡¯re done. I¡¯m blacklisting Halmuth. Permanently.¡±

    Totten¡¯s smile never wavers.

    Incensed at the turn of events, I storm out, Azariah on my heels. Camryn glances my way, looking guilty, but I brush past her without a word. I can find the inn by myself.

    On the way to the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge, I ask the question that¡¯s been threatening to drown out all my other thoughts. It¡¯s roaring in the back of my mind, urgent and deafening, and I can¡¯t ignore it any longer. ¡°Azariah, tell me honestly: Did Totten order the [Hunters] to scare off all the [Traders] at the market?¡±

    Azariah spits to the side as usual, but for once he doesn¡¯t meet my eyes. ¡°Scare em? What for?¡±

    Something about his posture is just defensive enough to confirm my worst suspicions. My shoulders slump. So, this is what disappointment feels like. ¡°Obviously, Totten wanted me to be desperate enough to sell to him at a reduced price.¡±

    Azariah sends smoke swirling around his head in a complex weave. ¡°No one¡¯s forcin you to be ¡®desperate,¡¯ or whatever you wanna call it. Sounds like yer own problem.¡±

    My frown deepens. Even now, he¡¯s deflecting. ¡°Tell me the truth. Are you splitting the proceeds with Totten?¡±

    ¡°Course I am! You asked me to arrange a deal. Why should anyone else get our money? Better to keep it in house,¡± Azariah says, staring at me like I¡¯m stupid.

    ¡°I see. That¡¯s what you get out of things. The vaunted way forward.¡± I bite out the words.

    ¡°Yep. That¡¯s the way forward,¡± Azariah agrees. He blows a smoke circle up into the sky and squints at me. ¡°What¡¯s yer problem?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s my problem? You¡¯ve been playing me from the start! All the mumbo jumbo about finding the best path forward¡ªit was all to line your own pockets, and I bought it. I can¡¯t believe I fell for the act,¡± I growl.

    Azariah shrugs. ¡°I found the best way to fix things. I ain¡¯t a [Sage] or [Seer]. Didn¡¯t know about the beast. But I was right. It worked out in the end, so what¡¯s the problem?¡±

    My anger is a dull, muted thing, but it¡¯s growing hotter by the moment. ¡°Selling spears to them isn¡¯t a problem. Manipulating me? That is! Face it, this is the same strategy you¡¯re using on the Olethros, isn¡¯t it? Cut off all resources and escape paths. Leave no other options.¡±

    Azariah holds his hands out wide, gathering even more smoke around his stout body as though preparing for a fight. ¡°What does it matter? Ya got yer money, same as me. Totten owes us an enormous favor now. We earned an ally today, Nuri. Everyone wins. Let it go.¡±

    ¡°There is no ¡®we,¡¯ anymore,¡± I snarl, glaring at our guide. ¡°You didn¡¯t gain anything. You lost an ally, Azariah.¡±

    ¡°Who, you?¡± He snorts derisively.

    ¡°Yes, me!¡± I shout back. ¡°Trust is a costly commodity. And after the stunt you pulled, you can¡¯t afford the price anymore.¡±

    ¡°What about the Olethros? Ya gonna back out of the big hunt? Try to wriggle out of yer contract, mebbe sabotage the glass spears?¡± Azariah has the gall to look at me with disapproval as he spits out his rapid-fire questions.

    I sneer. ¡°Hardly. Unlike some people, I¡¯m honest. I say what I mean. I gave my word. I¡¯ll do the job. Just like I¡¯ll follow you to Gilead since we have a contract. But now I know I gotta watch my back the entire way.¡±

 B5 C7: Glass Heart

    As soon as we get back to the inn, I stalk room to room, knocking on each door and waking up my team. My friends dutifully shuffle into my room for a private chat, though I detect more than one irritated side-eye from the sleepyheads. Once they¡¯re inside, I slam the door behind them, making them startle fully awake. Words fail me at first, so I settle for pacing back and forth on a narrow track of floor between the bed and the drab wall of the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge. Seething over Azariah¡¯s betrayal isn¡¯t conducive to coherent thought.

    Rakesh takes a long, measured look at my relentless pacing. He clicks his tongue and activates an inversion of his communication Skill, the [Echo of the Songbird]. Hazy, liquid-gold mana billows out, filling the room and surrounding us in a bubble of muffled sound¡ªa trick he¡¯s been practicing incessantly the last few days. Instead of using his Echo to facilitate long-range sound transmission, switching around the manifestation of the Skill has led him to experimenting with stealthy applications.

    He nods at me. ¡°Secure, Master Nuri.¡±

    ¡°You missed your calling as a [Bodyguard],¡± Lionel teases. ¡°I can just see you in armor, strutting around with a wizard¡¯s staff and telling everyone where to stand so they¡¯re out of spell sight lines, and how to act in case of an emergency.¡±

    ¡°That does sound appealing. I¡¯ve never realized how refreshing it is to flex one¡¯s power outside of the classroom,¡± Rakesh says, a smug smile on his face. ¡°My brief foray into the world of subterfuge and spy-craft has been bracing! In all honesty, I could get used to doing this in a more official capacity.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll have plenty of chances, given the kind of company we keep,¡± I say, failing to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

    Melina frowns at me thoughtfully. ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice that Azariah¡¯s missing from our meeting. Is that intentional?¡±

    ¡°Very,¡± I confirm.

    ¡°You found out about his exile?¡± Avelina asks. She seems to come alive briefly, but her eyes soon fade into the same dull, far-away glaze when I shake my head.

    ¡°No juicy details, not yet. But he definitely has his own agenda. Thanks to his meddling, we¡¯re stuck here a while longer.¡± I catch them up on what happened at Totten¡¯s, and it¡¯s to their credit that they accept the change in plans with good grace.

    Lionel taps his temple. ¡°Got an idea. Why not raid Totten¡¯s building and melt down all of his windows? He wants us to work quickly, yeah? Let¡¯s see him put some skin in the game and provide us with the raw materials.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll gladly do it,¡± Avelina offers.

    When I give her a sharp look, she laughs darkly. ¡°I promise not to burn down too many of their offices while I¡¯m at it.¡±

    ¡°Ava!¡± her twin admonishes.

    ¡°What? Fire is notoriously difficult to control. Accidents happen all the time. Don¡¯t sound so scandalized.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we can take donations from the townspeople,¡± Mikko suggests. ¡°Totten can build up goodwill if he leads the charge with a few of his windows.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . clever,¡± I admit, nodding at my brother. ¡°Good idea. We¡¯ll announce it tonight. But first, get some rest. We¡¯ll need to be at our best if we¡¯re going to power through imbuing that many spears. I wish you were all able to imbue already.¡±

    ¡°You say that like it¡¯s easy,¡± Melina teases. ¡°But perhaps we can help in other ways. If we melt down the glass and prepare the spear head shapes ahead of time, then you can conserve your mana as much as possible. I¡¯ll keep your cores charged, too.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. Now, let¡¯s get some rest.¡±

    We break for the day, everyone off to their respective rooms. I know I should rest while I can, but I¡¯m pacing again, dead set on planning out my upcoming week. I hate forcing myself to imbue more than twice in a single session, but I¡¯m no stranger to discomfort. I¡¯ll certainly survive three spears before I drain my glass pseudo cores, as long as I maintain perfect efficiency.

    ¡°We need a schedule so we maximize the available mana I can use for imbuing,¡± I murmur to myself as I pace. ¡°If I don¡¯t waste time, and I borrow Melina¡¯s necklace while she refills mine, then I can probably handle the strain of nine spears per day. Assuming, of course, that my own glass cores are ready to go by the time my headache from overloading the first two batches finally fades.¡±

    No margin for error. Bad idea.

    ¡°Hateful little voice of reason. Stop ruining my plans,¡± I mutter, still talking to myself.

    Mikko chucks a pillow at me. ¡°Just make more tomorrow. Now shut up and let me rest. I need my beauty sleep.¡±

    He promptly rolls over and goes to sleep¡ªan enviable skill. I can¡¯t stop thinking about the idea of more glass cores. An extra few sets would be a game-changer for me, given my limited Capacity. If I keep the spares with my teammates, then we could swap them throughout a crafting session. In fact, with proper preparation, delaying the imbued spears for a day to focus on creating new cores might put me ahead in the long run. Of course, that only works if I don¡¯t fail an imbuement and waste the glass.

    Out of deference to my gently-snoring mountain of a brother, I stop pacing. My thoughts haven¡¯t stopped racing, however. I need to calm myself, to get myself in the right frame of mind if I want to succeed with imbuing new glass cores with a sense of belonging. Setting aside the to do list to meditate on mana and glass isn¡¯t easy, however.

    First, I have to meet with the [Hunters] to see what I¡¯ve gotten myself into this time. I¡¯m not sure if Javier will demand I join him. Either he¡¯ll be unwilling to let me out of his sight, or he¡¯ll only want his [Hunters] along for the ride. Next, if all checks out, I¡¯ll turn my focus to creating the new glass pseudo cores. Proper preparation will pay off down the road.

    Everything hinges on gathering enough glass from the people of Halmuth. If I have to use [Vitrification] to fill in the gaps, then that will set us back even further in our schedule, and I won¡¯t be able to work on the spears until much later than anticipated. Something tells me that my explanation won¡¯t hold much weight with Javier, and I desperately want to avoid falling prey to the [Binding Contract] enchantment that Totten wields.

    It may not be slavery, but it¡¯s a near kin. I understand the necessity of a ruler to drafting people into service when his city is facing a dire threat, but it still doesn¡¯t sit well with me after Scalpel. Magically-enforced contracts are beneficial to a functioning society, as long as each party enters the contract willingly. Domination or one-sided control? I¡¯m not keen on that.

    =+=

    ¡°How¡¯d we get here?¡± I ask Melina as we make our way toward the meeting spot near the main gates. ¡°It feels like only yesterday that I was making hedgehogs and flying horses for the kids in Silaraon. Now I¡¯m preparing masterwork weapons and waging war against ancient beasts.¡±

    ¡°Growing up suits you,¡± Melina declares firmly. ¡°Focus on what¡¯s at hand, Nuri. We¡¯ve all got other things we¡¯d rather do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I reply softly. ¡°I know you¡¯d rather head to Naftali. Here I am, dragging you in the opposite direction, and not a single word of complaint. You¡¯re the best, Mel. I¡¯ll try not to be so self-centered.¡±

    ¡°Helping you and Lionel is important.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we can find a way to help Ava, too. I wish I knew what to do for her,¡± I sigh.

    Melina pats my shoulder. ¡°Keep on being a good friend. It¡¯s not going to waste.¡±

    Azariah¡¯s smoke drifts in front of us, interrupting our conversation. The gray wisps glitter in the light of the mana lamps. Wreathed around his body, the smoke twitches and moves as if it¡¯s alive. Mesmerizing as the display is, I remind myself that he can weaponize it at any time.

    Passing through the market district during off hours is eerie. Clear of carts and pop-up shops, the streets are surprisingly broad and empty. Azariah stands alone, backlit by a mana lamp, looking bold and deadly through the haze of ash and smoke.

    ¡°Fell deeds await us tonight,¡± Javier says, striding up to join us. Decked out in black and tan light armor and carrying Camryn¡¯s spear, he looks more like a vengeful [Warrior] than a lean desert [Hunter].

    ¡°We¡¯re up to the task. Let me introduce my team,¡± I say, trying to build bridges with the ornery [Principal Hunter]. I don¡¯t love our partnership, but I might as well make the best of it.

    Javier shakes his head. ¡°Later. Tonight is for scouting, not slaying. I¡¯ll take Azariah with me. We¡¯ll go alone while you work on weapons.¡±

    ¡°Worried we¡¯ll slow you down?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Javier answers bluntly.

    The competitive side of me balks at staying behind for the initial scout, but it¡¯s better if my time is mine to do as I please. My role is to make things. I¡¯m a Master craftsman, and for once, that¡¯s all I need to be. Others can track a beast and slay it, even if my blood runs hot with the thrill of the hunt.

    ¡°Very well. We¡¯ll join you for the final execution. We¡¯re no strangers to killing monsters.¡±

    A flicker of emotion crosses his face. I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s amusement, distrust, or grudging admiration. Perhaps all three rolled into one.

    I turn to Azariah and cross my arms, regarding him for a long moment. ¡°Good hunting. I hope you find the way forward.¡±

    He breathes out smoke. ¡°Always do.¡±

    Mikko places a big hand on my upper arm, holding me back from doing anything rash. I glare at the retreating [Hunter] and [Pathfinder], but I manage to keep my cool. I¡¯m sick of the way people treat me.

    I frown, sensing a familiar mana signature nearby. ¡°Camryn? You spying on us?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Camryn asks, peeling away from a nearby shop, where she was hidden in shadow. ¡°We watch everyone in Halmuth. Only way to keep the peace.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s it. Listen, we have an idea to speed up making weapons, but we¡¯ll need Totten¡¯s help to organize it.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Camryn demands.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Run a citizen¡¯s glass drive. They can contribute to the hunt by donating vases, cups, or bowls. Perhaps Totten can lead the charge by donating a few windows to show goodwill.¡±

    Camryn taps her finger against her chin. ¡°Not a bad idea. All right. Let¡¯s find Totten. But I¡¯d better get the first spear. Javier stole mine.¡±

    ¡°Highly unfair. Of course I¡¯ll help.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not so bad for a [Mage],¡± Camryn says. ¡°Totten shouldn¡¯t have forced your hand like that.¡±

    ¡°Done now. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Twenty minutes later, Totten admits the team into his chambers. Clad in a white fur cloak and sporting more rings than seems fashionable, he cuts a picture of opulence.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised to see you,¡± Totten begins, putting on a stern look. ¡°How goes the project? Here to demand more funds already?¡±

    I bristle at the insult, but a warning glance from Mikko helps steady me. ¡°Hardly. I gave you my word that I¡¯d make the spears. We¡¯ve come up with an idea that might speed things up, but only if you¡¯re willing to make some sacrifices.¡±

    He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°Donate to the cause. Ask the citizens of Halmuth to contribute their glassware. My team will melt it down. Maybe you could offer favors or discounts for the top three donors.¡±

    ¡°Clever, clever,¡± Totten says, his dour face softening into a pleased grin. ¡°Nothing like competition to get around stingy attitudes. I¡¯ll send out an announcement right away.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you could give us a few of your windows,¡± I venture to suggest. ¡°Make it part of the festivities. You¡¯ll look self-sacrificial and flashy¡ªpeople will follow your lead.¡±

    ¡°Not a bad idea. Politics in your future?¡± Totten teases me with a wink.

    I wrinkle up my nose in disgust. ¡°No thanks. I¡¯d rather lose my other hand in another Rift than debase myself with politics.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure that could be arranged,¡± Totten replies, all too cheerfully. ¡°Now, I¡¯ve got some planning to do from the sound of things. Why don¡¯t you set up your studio, and I¡¯ll arrange for delivering materials? Get started with what you have. I¡¯ll come through before you know it.¡±

    Anything that gets me out of Totten¡¯s presence is fine by me, so I readily agree. Rakesh and Melina stay behind to hash out details and logistics with Totten, since they¡¯re the best with numbers and contracts. I trust them to prevent Totten from taking further advantage of us.

    Half an hour later, [Town Criers] announce the news all throughout Halmuth. I¡¯m relieved that Totten¡¯s throwing his weight behind hosting a city-wide glass drive, but part of me is wary that I¡¯ve overlooked an angle. What¡¯s the catch? Once I gave him the prompt to lead off the festivities with a flashy contribution, he was hooked, though. He seems like he¡¯s perfectly happy to work alongside us. He might look out for his own interests at the expense of all visitors, but I guess predictability is something I can use to my advantage. Everyone wants to look good in the public eye.

    People stream in from all over following the announcements. A grandmother hands over a dark blue glass vase that looks newly washed on the inside. I nearly drop it in shock when she tells me that the urn housed her husband¡¯s ashes. Right on her heels, a young boy lifts up a cup with a jolly, red-cheeked face painted on the side. He sniffs, wiping his nose, and tells me that his father died when the Oletheros first attacked.

    While I¡¯m still thanking him for his gift, a short man with shaggy hair thrusts a platter and bowl at me. ¡°That¡¯s my great-nephew. Don¡¯t let his sacrifice go to waste. Hear me?¡±

    I nod, overwhelmed by the outpouring of support. The faces blur together, too many for me to remember, but Rakesh is up to the task of noting down names and contributions. He¡¯s a one-man army with a paper and pen, and I¡¯m grateful to have him on our side.

    ¡°This the spot for glass?¡±

    A new voice breaks me out of my reverie, and I turn with a grin as I recognize the mana signature. ¡°Yuvaan! Changed your mind on my wares?¡±

    The [Caravan Leader] dips his head. ¡°Here to donate to the cause. I knew the [Caravan Assistant] helping navigate across the Barrens. Renjie. Good kid. I was hoping to hire him.¡±

    ¡°Ah. The caravan that got attacked?¡± I clarify. When he nods, I offer a sad, sympathetic smile. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to equip the [Hunters] with good blades. Your glass will sing in vengeance once I¡¯m through with it, I can promise you that.¡±

    ¡°Counting on it,¡± Yuvaan growls. He glances around and lowers his voice. ¡°Not supposed to say this, but if you¡¯re still selling, I¡¯ll take your sets. Apologies, [Hunter] Irving scared us off. I heard that you¡¯re working exclusively for Totten now¡ªseems like they strong-armed you into a bad deal.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re yours if you want them. Best we meet up on the road,¡± I reply quietly, nodding at more citizens of Halmuth who show up to hand over glass.

    ¡°It will be done. Now, make room for our gift.¡±

    Yuvaan gestures grandly. A squad of six men trot forward, carrying a massive chest held up by two thick poles on either side. They grip the handles in both hands, taking great pains not to let their cargo tip over as they present it to me and place it on the ground for our inspection.

    The two men in the front unlatch the lid, sliding it back so I can see the goods inside. A small mountain of glazed glassware and fancy charms fill the entire chest.

    Yuvaan grins wolfishly at Rakesh, who is busy cataloging the extensive list of wares. ¡°I trust that will take the top spot?¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re alone at the top,¡± I say, returning Yuvaan¡¯s grin. ¡°In fact, I think we¡¯ll stop the donations here. This should be more than enough to complete our project.¡±

    The [Caravan Leader] claps his hands together. ¡°Excellent. Then I shall leave you to the task.¡± His demeanor darkens, and he clenches his fists. ¡°Say hello from Renjie when you slice that misbegotten lizard apart.¡±

    =+=

    The melted-down glass is more plentiful than I expected. At first, I feared that whatever old bits of glass the people scavenged up would be too sparse or too low quality for our plan, but when Yuvaan and other caravanners showed up to donate, the collection took off. Hosting a party definitely sparked civic pride in the citizens. When we tally up the final donations, it¡¯s enough materials to make a set of glass cores for each member of our team, with plenty left over for the spears Javier wants. I¡¯ll need to ensure that my friends carry the new pseudo cores far enough apart from each other to avoid a nasty feedback loop or dangerous resonance, but it¡¯s a promising start.

    Back at the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge, Lionel and the Linas divide the glass based on composition and quality. Some of it¡¯s no good, and I wince at the sacrifice from the townspeople. Guilt grips me at asking for so much glass, but after a moment¡¯s consideration, I push away the feeling. Their actions had meaning. They rallied in defense of hearth and home. This isn¡¯t a pointless exercise to them. In fact, I¡¯ll bet that they¡¯d take pride in knowing that we collected excess. It¡¯s a sign of how much they care.

    The thought really does count.

    The more that I muse over their actions, the more I¡¯m impressed at how much people gave, freely and fiercely. Their anger over a monster attacking their town seems downright personal, and it makes me wonder if I¡¯ve misjudged Totten. He inspires far more loyalty than I thought possible. Maybe the difference is that I¡¯m an outsider, while these people already call Halmuth home.

    I set aside distracting thoughts for now. I¡¯ve already given my word that I¡¯m blacklisting Halmuth once I¡¯m a well-established Master. They¡¯ll learn the folly of their ways later. Right now, we¡¯re still allies of convenience.

    Sorting complete, Avelina melts down the glass while I arrange the team in a line along the bar for efficiency. We¡¯re borrowing the inn¡¯s slab of imported stone that functions as a long counter at the bar. Thanks to its alchemical treatments, it¡¯ll hold up to the heat of the glass and work fairly well as a makeshift marver.

    My friends begin rolling out the rough batches of glass to create unfinished marbles, but I have to finish the process for the mana to take. If I¡¯m not involved in the creation of the final product, then the imbuing invariably fails. I take a deep breath, nodding at the team, and begin moving down the line, shaping and refining the glass on the stone surface while the next row of marbles is in progress.

    No need for color injections or applications. I¡¯m not actually making marbles, just large beads to work as a repository for the imbuing. Without my tools, I sheathe my right hand in a double-coated application of my [Greater Heat Manipulation], opting to round out and smooth the glass with my fingers. Molding the hot glass by hand won¡¯t lead to a perfectly uniform finish, like I could achieve if I used tools, but I¡¯m not worried about the aesthetic.

    Layer by layer, I build a mana framework for the imbuing. Latticework still forms the base of my inspiration, but the efficiency is a clear tier above what I could achieve when I started. My old scaffolding was like a child¡¯s crude finger-painting compared with my current iteration, which looks more like sleek pictures drawn by an [Image Mage].

    My mind drifts back to when I first created my glass cores. Inspired by watching Master Melidandri imbue the air for a split-second, I painted a picture of comfort and belonging in my mind, hoping to convince the mana to take up residence. How it worked when my technique and framework were so tenuous, I¡¯m still not sure, but I hold that alluring image in mind again.

    Once more, the energy of the world sings and dances in joy. Mana surges from the world around us, coaxed in by the experience I¡¯m offering. Tidal waves of energy plunge into the glass beads, following the framework I created. Glee and contentment burn in my chest.

    Conjuring up an image of home and welcome¡ªof belonging¡ªmoves me to tears. Since the rest of my team is working with me, I surreptitiously wipe away the evidence of my emotion with the edge of my sleeve, embarrassed that I¡¯m losing my focus mid-crafting session. There¡¯s plenty of time to laugh and cry later, when we¡¯re out of this mess, but I need to keep on track.

    The first set of beads are complete without a hitch. Larger than my old set, each of the glass globes hold a respectable amount of mana. Just like last time, I¡¯ll string them together like a pearl necklace to wear around my neck, tucked under my shirt by my heart.

    ¡°I saw it, Nuri!¡± Avelina says, jumping up and down in excitement. She wipes away a tear from the corner of her eye. ¡°That time, I saw what you were doing, and I don¡¯t even have good mana senses like you or Mel. You gave the mana a home. I never knew glass could do that. You showed the mana how to belong, and now it does. It doesn¡¯t have to be alone.¡±

    Her voice cracks at the end, and she goes stone-still. Her sister steps forward, enfolding Avelina in a tight, trembling embrace.

    We¡¯re not so different from glass, I think solemnly. Fragile, delicate, prone to breaking. Whether the outward bonds of friendship or the inward trials of the heart and mind¡ªwe crack and shatter so easily.

    Unsure of what to say to comfort Avelina, and too embarrassed to admit aloud that I just compared her to glass in my mind, I opt for silence. My heart goes out to my friend all the same. A wellspring of compassion overflows within me. Suddenly gripped by the conviction that I have to do something to show Avelina how much we care for her, I try to project the same image of belonging toward her that I constructed for the mana. Extending a gentle touch of my Domain, I direct my presence to brush up against hers, conveying comfort and peace.

    Hushed by a shared sense of reverence, we stand motionless. For a few minutes, the quiet is punctuated only by the sound of Avelina¡¯s sniffles. Abruptly, she pulls back from her twin, offers me a quiet, knowing smile, and reignites her flames, re-heating the glass to working temperature. Studiously focused on the task, she uses her [Flametouch] and a thin rod of glass to create another marble, rolling out the slowly-melting glass rod with a traditional lampwork technique.

    Since she goes back to work rolling the glass into small globes, the rest of us take our cue from her and also resume our production line. For a brief moment, the bustle of work feels profane, like an intrusion on her grief, but the longer I work, the more it¡¯s a soothing balm. Glass is familiar. Purposeful. Safe. It¡¯s good for the heart to return to familiar patterns, to find work for our hands. It¡¯s not a cure-all, but it¡¯s a step toward healing.

    The rest of the night flies by in a fugue of creativity. We fall into a companionable rhythm. Our heads and hands work in unison. We don¡¯t need to speak or jostle for position. Whenever I need something, my coworker is already there, anticipating the next steps of the process. Each one of us works tirelessly through the session, intent on creating the best art we can.

    Thanks to swapping my spent cores for Melina¡¯s full necklace halfway through, I manage to imbue six sets of glass pseudo cores. They¡¯re each a little over three times the capacity of my previous work, which is a double-edged sword. I won¡¯t run out of mana in combat or crafting as quickly, but refilling them after the fact will be a pain. Not only will harvesting enough ambient mana for each set of glass pseudo cores take more than three times as long, but I¡¯ll also have to fill up half a dozen pairs instead of my single set of glass cores.

    Still. The tradeoff is well worth it to me. If I rotate through all my cores, assuming that I¡¯m working with my team, then I¡¯ll have roughly twenty times my previous output at my disposal. An irrepressible grin spreads across my face at the thought of wielding concepts directly in combat. No longer will I have to choose between powering my Skills or dumping all my mana into a blast of sharpness. Why didn¡¯t I think of this ages ago?

    ¡°That¡¯s a wrap, folks,¡± I announce as I set the last set of cores down in front of Melina for accelerated annealing. ¡°Great work, everyone! Bring it in. That deserves a group hug.¡±

    I was mostly joking, but my friends mob me, wrapping me up in strong arms. My protests go unheeded, and I finally relax and let them express their love. The beating of so many kindred hearts next to mine fills me with undeniable warmth.

    We might not be on schedule. We might have been taken advantage of and tricked. We might have to fight a city-killing monster and brave the Barrens. But none of that matters right now. With friends like these, I¡¯ll take on the whole world.

 B5 C8: Prey

    [Participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

    Halmuth is buzzing with anticipation. Off-cycle vendors crowd the streets, despite not having wares to sell. Families have turned out from the residential district¡ªmore than I thought lived in the wastelands. Whispers fly fast and free. Everyone wants to see what¡¯s going to happen, and everyone seems to have at least one opinion about what Totten should do about it. Some have more than one¡ªoften conflicting¡ªideas about what should be done.

    Most of the time the [Hunters] conduct their business in relative obscurity, from what I can tell. Their only interactions with caravanners and travelers are limited to glorified guard duty. Momentous news like the Oletheros was impossible to keep secret, however, which means the entire city is watching the [Hunters] to see their response to the city-killer threat. One way or another, there will be blood.

    ¡°[Hunters] only,¡± Javier says when he sees us approach, kitted out for war. Although he¡¯s turning down our help, there¡¯s an undertone of respect in his voice that wasn¡¯t there before I supplied him with over thirty imbued spears.

    ¡°I have a Writ from the Royal Army,¡± I remind him quietly, in the hope that it will sink in this time. ¡°Ask yourself: why would they need a craftsman, even a Master, to travel across the Barrens in haste? Do you think it¡¯s so I can outfit a few [Hunters] with spears?¡±

    ¡°You really think your team has something to offer in a hunt like this. Huh.¡± Javier finally seems to realize that I¡¯m not bluffing, but he doesn¡¯t look satisfied.

    ¡°We¡¯re borderlanders. We¡¯ve cleared Rifts before. I¡¯ve told you this, even if you choose not to believe me. We have more experience with incursions and monsters than most people.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d prefer to put you through your paces, have you run the course a few times. But even if you¡¯re solid, that doesn¡¯t mean you know how to work with our team. Can you follow orders?¡±

    I hum, thinking over this question. ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t unduly endanger my team, yes.¡±

    Javier snorts in response. He rakes his fingers through his hair and glares at me. ¡°That leaves far too much wiggle room. What¡¯s to prevent you from using the excuse of danger any time you don¡¯t want to follow my lead?¡±

    ¡°Guess you¡¯ll just have to trust us,¡± I say with a shrug. ¡°I know that¡¯s hard for you without a [Binding Contract], but that¡¯s how most of the rest of the world operates.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not the one with the rod of iron,¡± Javier replies, and his eyes glitter with anger. ¡°I¡¯m not above impressment when required, but Totten and I don¡¯t always see eye to eye.¡±

    I smirk. ¡°Is that a short joke?¡±

    No one laughs. Thankfully, a dandy passes by just then, dressed in a garish outfit that I recall going out of style six or seven years ago. He strikes a pose in his bright orange blazer, leaning on his cane, and tilts his head toward us. ¡°You think they¡¯ll kill it?¡±

    ¡°Likely not,¡± the woman with him murmurs. She¡¯s wearing a far less frilly dress, but she seems to share his proclivity for fake diamonds. Her earrings are enormous, glittering bangles, which match the gaudy costume jewelry on the top of his cane.

    It has to be fake, because it¡¯s half the size of his fist, and anyone that wealthy wouldn¡¯t willingly live in a dusty little trading post like Halmuth.

    ¡°You sure?¡± the fop replies. ¡°Look how grand their spears are! Heard they were imbued by a hidden glass master. Maybe I¡¯ll buy you one of his vases if they kill the Oletheros.¡±

    ¡°Foolish business, if you ask me. Better to hunker down until it¡¯s gone,¡± a stout man next to the pair declares. ¡°Just asking for trouble.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Make it angry and it might come after us! That gate won¡¯t hold forever. Did you see the way it bent last time? Don¡¯t trust it.¡±

    I don¡¯t catch who said that last part, but there¡¯s an alarming number of affirmative shouts. If the hunt goes poorly, will they blame us? I glance over at Mikko and Lionel, who seem to have come to the same conclusion, and shake my head in warning. I definitely don¡¯t want to get stuck in the middle of a disaster.

    One of the [Hunters] takes our side, unexpectedly. ¡°Nah, the main gate will hold. That big [Blacksmith] fixed it. He¡¯s talented.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s easy on the eyes, too!¡± a young woman in the crowd calls out, earning a round of hoots and laughter. I can¡¯t help but join in, elbowing my brother and making him blush.

    It feels good to laugh. My blazing anger at Azariah burnt itself down to dying embers by the end of the week, but I¡¯ve been in a foul mood despite the progress with my glass cores. I still don¡¯t trust our guide anymore, but there¡¯s nothing I can do about it right now. No point getting myself all worked up about it. We¡¯ll deal with him later.

    Right now, our focus is completing imbued glass weapons. With my increased Capacity thanks to the glass cores, I¡¯m able to wield intent more powerfully than ever before. Sharpness is eager to merge with the glass blades, and I¡¯m certain that my new spearheads are superior to anything I¡¯ve ever made.

    Camryn¡¯s replacement spear is a notch above the one Javier requisitioned. They¡¯re not all as fancy as hers, but I appreciate that she was the only one who gave us a chance when the other [Hunters] were busy carrying out Totten¡¯s schemes. She¡¯s all right.

    She¡¯s about the only one.

    Unwilling to give Totten more of my time or work than he¡¯s paid for, I didn¡¯t report on my faster production. Instead, I hand over several spears a day, as promised, and take the rest of the time to work on my own projects. Until Azariah locates the Oletheros, we¡¯re locked down, so I might as well put my extra mana to good use.

    In addition to crafting spears, I¡¯ve been experimenting with glass arrows of sharpness. The biggest problem I¡¯m running into personally is the lack of a bow. Mikko can forge one from springy steel, but I can¡¯t draw even the weakest toy since I only have one hand. My brother offers to construct a gauntlet for me with a bow attachment, so I don¡¯t have to hold the handle and can focus on just pulling back the string, but it¡¯s awkward and unwieldy if I want to do anything else. I don¡¯t fancy carrying around a bow at all times.

    While we¡¯re inside the city, I¡¯m scared to try exploring my [Arcane Domain] more fully, but I suspect that I¡¯ll be able to apply the concept of sharpness from afar with my Domain. If using my Domain works as well as I hope, then that will remove the need for a physical weapon.

    ¡°Could we plan somewhere more discreet?¡± I ask Javier, leaning over toward him and lowering my voice so that no one overhears.

    ¡°Why? Got something to hide?¡±

    ¡°Yes, quite frankly,¡± I reply, which seems to earn me a measure of respect. As I thought, the [Principal Hunter] appreciates honesty. ¡°I¡¯m happy to share further in a more secure location. We have a lot to offer you in terms of coordination. Probably best if we¡¯re outside the Halmuth¡¯s walls, though. I don¡¯t want to disrupt the barrier again.¡±

    ¡°Best not to incite any panic,¡± Javier agrees. ¡°We¡¯ll take you to our shooting range. We use it for any weapons too dangerous to test within city limits. Show us what you¡¯ve got. And Nuri? Try not to disappoint.¡±

    =+=

    Fifteen minutes by lizard ride takes us to a training area away from Halmuth. The [Hunters] have a range for target practice. It¡¯s not a full-fledged facility like the one in the Martial district, but it includes both stationary and moving targets for Skills too dangerous to discharge inside the city walls. In addition to the firing course, there¡¯s an obstacle course that¡¯s even more intimidating than the one back in town. I doubt we¡¯ll all get through it in one piece.

    Lionel limbers up, begging for a chance to run the course. Mikko doesn¡¯t even have to do anything special to try to convince the [Hunters] he can hold his own in a fight. He just rests his hammer over his shoulder and looks smug. Melina explains her temporal fields, which earns the most interest from Javier so far, while Avelina hangs back, pulling her hood over her face. She¡¯s sitting in a corner, trying to make herself look small.

    ¡°This better be worth our time,¡± Javier says.

    I beckon for my teammate. ¡°Hey, Rakesh?¡±

    ¡°How may I be of assistance?¡± the [Researcher] answers, stepping forward and offering a deep bow. ¡°Is it time to unleash the birds of prey?¡±

    I pause, thinking I¡¯ve misheard for a moment, and burst out laughing. ¡°Rakesh, you¡¯re getting entirely too theatrical. But, yeah, go ahead and fold up some paper birds. We¡¯ll send a different one with each group.¡±

    ¡°Paper birds?¡± Javier repeats, a skeptical look on his face. ¡°How will that help us fight? They hardly sound durable, and I¡¯ve been given to understand that this man is a scholar, and has no combat experience. ¡±

    ¡°Watch and learn.¡±

    Rakesh folds the birds faster than I thought possible, apart from making use of Melina¡¯s temporal fields. He hands them out to a few bewildered volunteers, and sends them off a few hundred paces in each direction so their enhanced senses can¡¯t pick up his voice. Almost all of the [Hunters] possess sensory enhancement Skills.

    ¡°Ready?¡± Rakesh asks Javier. When he receives a nod, he inverts the mana weave in his communication Skill, diverting the flows so that the energy activates in reverse. The new sequencing in the complex runic structures of the [Echo of the Songbird] switches the order of operation and effect. He whispers instructions to the closest bird.

    The first group of [Hunters] all jump up and down, waving their arms toward us. Laughter spills out from the bird Rakesh is holding, echoing with unbridled joy.

    Javier nods slowly. ¡°That does seem useful.¡±

    ¡°I also have [Shared Synchrony], but that lacks the range of [Echo of the Songbird]. It¡¯s a strong sense of unified intent and skillfulness, but I have to be nearby to use it. I¡¯m not a combat [Mage], so I¡¯d rather stay out of the fighting.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d prefer that anyway. You¡¯ll stay in the back of the formation and we¡¯ll coordinate with your paper birds. That will be helpful,¡± Javier says, rubbing his chin in thought. He gestures toward the targets down the range and grimaces. ¡°Can any of you help us hunt, though? I keep hearing about your martial prowess, but I have yet to see it with my own eyes.¡±

    My [Arcane Domain] billows out for a hundred paces, encompassing the moving targets. Drawing on the far larger glass pseudo cores lessens the demand of the Skill somewhat, but the mental strain is still significant. I meditate on the concept of sharpness and connect my Domain with a trio of targets. In an instant, all three of them are cut in half, falling to the ground as I bow with a flourish.

    ¡°What in the abyss was that?¡± Javier demands, his eyes going wide. ¡°Those targets are inscribed with durability enchantments. I¡¯ve broken good steel blades on them before.¡±

    I smirk at the [Principal Hunter]. ¡°Sounds like you should pay a Master craftsman to build you better training targets.¡± I snap my fingers as though just remembering something, and make a show of wincing. ¡°Ooooh, wait. Halmuth is on my blacklist. Nevermind!¡±

    ¡°Just do your part,¡± Javier growls.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine. Lionel is a [Healer], Mikko is stronger than any two men you know, Melina can speed up arrows and slow down enemies, and Avelina is as strong as an [Artillery Mage]. If you need to light something on fire, she¡¯s your girl.¡±

    ¡°Now that I¡¯d like to see,¡± Javier replies, cooling down from his irritation at my reminder of the blacklist.

    ¡°Ava? How about a small demo?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep it to half size so I have enough mana for the hunt,¡± Avelina says after a pause. ¡°Can I hit the same targets Nuri did?¡±

    A vein in her neck throbs, and she doesn¡¯t meet my eyes, which makes me regret asking her to use her magic for violence. I shouldn¡¯t push her so hard, but leaving her on her own was a bad idea. By now it¡¯s too late; she¡¯s already trudging over to the line where the [Hunters] stand to launch their arrows and slings.

    Energy gathers around Avelina, traveling along the length of her wand toward the beast core focus. Fire burns, though it seems muted and tepid compared with her usual raging inferno. Seconds later, a bloom of red-orange engulfs a target, rocking it backward and blowing off the upper half with a small thunderclap. Impressive, but not up to her usual standards.

    Still, Javier seems pleased. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been so happy about losing so many targets in one day. Get your team ready to move out. Relieve yourselves, eat a snack, get water. We¡¯re not stopping until it¡¯s dead.¡±

    Or we are, I can¡¯t help but think. I keep that depressing idea to myself, but if the shuffling feet and anxious murmurs in the crowd are any indication, then I¡¯m not the only one to pick up on the unspoken implication.

    After demonstrating our Skills, Javier agrees that Rakesh and I will act as eyes and ears on the hunt. We¡¯ll use my Domain Skill to scout the area after Azariah leads us there. Rakesh¡¯s [Echo of the Songbird] will facilitate communication. Once the battle is joined, I¡¯ll keep my team in reserve in case the hunt isn¡¯t going well. Avelina will serve as an executioner if called upon. This way, we¡¯ll only step in if they need emergency reinforcements, and we don¡¯t take undue risk¡ªor at least, that¡¯s the official explanation.

    While Javier was undoubtedly impressed by Avelina¡¯s fire, and the lethal potential of the way I can use sharpness via my Domain, my gut says that he still doesn¡¯t seem to trust us.

    The feeling is mutual.

    =+=

    ¡°Over that ridge,¡± Azariah hisses. ¡°Big sucker. Dug down into the sand. Dumb idea, if ya ask me, but we¡¯re in the thick of it now.¡± Azariah¡¯s hesitation makes me nervous. I may not like how the man manipulated things for his own benefit, but he¡¯s got more experience with surviving in the wilds than any three of us put together.

    Unlike the rest of the Barrens so far, which was largely flat and monotonous, from here to the inland sea, hills and ravines dominate the landscape, with the occasional small mountain blocking the way. The Oletheros found one of those ravines, burrowing halfway down into the dirt and sands while it digested its grisly meal.

    ¡°[Hunters], with me,¡± Javier commands, speaking softly into one of Rakesh¡¯s folded birds so that everyone can hear. ¡°Companies one and two, take the vanguard. Keep its aggression on you as much as possible. Three and four, you¡¯re on flanking duty. Stay mobile. Don¡¯t draw away its attention; you need to stay free to float and deal damage. Move out!¡±

    The [Hunters] wheel their mounts in unison. The strange lizards aren¡¯t as agile as horses if required to change directions quickly, but they can climb cliffs and are faster in a straight line. Their large footpads and hooked claws give them good stability on the shifting scree on the hills around Halmuth. While companies three and four ride to either side of the canyon, companies one and two climb straight up over the rise, dropping over the edge to attack the monster.

    ¡°This is it!¡± I whisper to my team. ¡°Watch, but stay back. We¡¯re an emergency reserve only. Move up, but keep on guard.¡±

    Roaring in pain when the first attacks hit, its basso voice shaking the earth from the other side of the ridge, the Oletheros rouses itself in fury. Now that the [Hunters] have attacked in earnest, I don¡¯t need to stay hidden.

    My [Arcane Domain] unfurls, instantly granting me Manasight and detailed sensation of the fight underway. The sheer size of the beast makes my breath catch; Javier wasn¡¯t boasting or exaggerating. It¡¯s immense, larger than anything I¡¯ve seen short of the Behemoth floating far overhead in the Rift.

    Worse still is the unrelenting pressure that the Oletheros emits, shoving back against my Domain. It¡¯s a constant, overwhelming force, like an earthquake or the sea during a storm, and my senses recoil in horror before it. I grit my teeth, mastering my fear. There¡¯s no finesse or skill to its metaphysical weight, only vast and unfocused power. Contesting it directly is stupid and pointless, but I can dance around it with skill, just like the [Hunters] are doing in the physical realm.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Taking a deep breath, I steady myself, no longer buckling beneath the onslaught. I can do this. Focus. The team¡¯s depending on you! I pull more mana from the glass cores, exulting in the rush of power as I pour it directly into my Skill. Bypassing my shattered core is still difficult, but I¡¯m getting better at not leaking excess mana everywhere.

    Bolstered by the extra strength, I reinforce my Domain, layering it in the same way that I might form a mana scaffold for imbuing a concept. With a vicious smile,I realize that I¡¯m creating a large-scale version of my first successful imbued weapon, the glass knife I created on my long journeys across Densmore. Leaning into the strength provided by the concept of sharpness, I cleave through the monster¡¯s defenses and cause it to flinch away.

    My sight returns, although it¡¯s still difficult to pierce through the pressure from the beast. Its own Domain is still monstrous. No pun intended. Without an easy way to transmit the details of what I¡¯m sensing through my Domain to my teammates, I start describing what I sense in the ravine, narrating the battle nearby.

    ¡°Javier and Camryn carved open its cheek. I think they were trying to take out an eye on their alpha strike, but it looks like the monster¡¯s reactions are sharper than they anticipated. It¡¯s so fast! The first two companies are slinging arrows at it, and they¡¯re piercing its defenses, but it looks like mice trying to bite a bear. Third company is charging now¡ª¡±

    I wince, jerking back instinctively as the Oletheros lashes out with its spiked tail, pulping a [Hunter] into a fine crimson spray. I fall silent, wondering if we made the wrong choice.

    ¡°Nuri? What¡¯s wrong?¡± Melina demands.

    The worry in her voice brings me back to the present. ¡°Lost the first [Hunter]. Worried it won¡¯t be the last.¡± I struggle to keep my sight going; losing focus for even a moment causes the support scaffolding to collapse. I build it back up and resume the steady stream of description.

    ¡°Our spears are performing admirably. They¡¯re slicing right through its scales! That¡¯s the good news. Bad news is that the [Hunters] can¡¯t get close to its thrashing tail or horned head. It moves way too fast for something so big! They¡¯re buzzing around it like gnats, dashing in when they get a chance to strike, but I¡¯m kinda worried it¡¯s not working. They can¡¯t reach its heart or brain. If they can¡¯t drive the spears deep enough into its body, then the damage isn¡¯t gonna do anything. They can¡¯t hurt it in a meaningful way.¡±

    I fall silent again. The [Hunters] are scoring cuts in the flesh underneath the thick scales of the beast. Yet for all the piercing power of my sharp spears, it¡¯s a problem of size. They dart in and out, stabbing and retreating with surgical precision, but it¡¯s not enough. Given its sheer bulk and teeming vitality, the monster can outlast them.

    The strain of fending off a monster Domain, deciphering what I see in my mana vision, and telling the team about in a semi-coherent fashion is too much. I¡¯m draining my mana at an astonishing rate. If I don¡¯t release my Domain, then I¡¯ll have nothing left in case we need to fight. I grip my belt knife, wishing I could help, but I¡¯m forced to let my Domain go.

    Immediately the strain lessens. Standing tall, I swallow hard and turn toward the team, weighing our chance of success against the cost. I¡¯m not willing to let my team pay in blood. I force myself to meet their eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think we should have come.¡±

    ¡°Too late to back out now,¡± Mikko says. His jaw is set, a grim cast to his chiseled face. ¡°Where can we help?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it. You¡¯ll get yourself killed,¡± I snap. ¡°We should get out of here while we still can. Javier was right. This is beyond us. We¡¯re not going to turn this tide.¡±

    ¡°Let me see what¡¯s going on. We can decide for ourselves if it¡¯s too risky,¡± Lionel says. He takes off, kicking up gravel and red dirt without waiting for a reply.

    ¡°Lio!¡± Avelina screams, her face twisting in anguish as she reaches out for him. She¡¯s not quick enough to catch him, but her panic is rising quickly. ¡°Stop him, Nuri! Let¡¯s get out of here. I don¡¯t want to see the blood. I don¡¯t want to see¡ªdeath, death, everywhere I look! No more. No more dying!¡±

    ¡°Help her!¡± I yell at Melina.

    Avelina drops to her knees in the red dirt, rocking back and forth while she screams. Her twin dashes to her side, holding her tight.

    I leave Avelina in her sister¡¯s care and run after Lionel, mentally beating myself up for my hubris. I should never have put the team in this position. Avelina is a crafter, not a killer. She¡¯s excellent at monster hunting, where burning flesh and dying screams don¡¯t seem to bother her, but she¡¯s been on edge ever since I pushed her to take out the enemy [Mage].

    Idiot! You¡¯re gonna get them all killed!

    The voice in my head won¡¯t shut up. I cut it off forcibly, turning my attention to my team. I can blame myself later. Right now I have to make it a liar and keep them all alive.

    Mikko bounds past me, mana surging in his powerful body to push him far past the limits of human strength and speed. He catches up to Lionel a moment later, lifting him bodily with a single hand, and digs his feet into the rocky ground to stop his momentum.

    ¡°Together, or not at all!¡± Mikko barks, a rare expression of genuine anger on his face. He sets Lionel down roughly, though not hard enough to hurt him, and beckons me over. ¡°We¡¯re a team. We need to act like it.

    Lionel pulls away, a scowl creasing his face. He lets out a yell of frustration and twists away from us. I¡¯m about to say something when his shoulders slump and he turns back. ¡°Fine! I¡¯m just tired of being cooped up. We¡¯ve been in Halmuth way too long, and now we can¡¯t even see what¡¯s going on. I¡¯m sick of feeling useless.¡±

    My gut twists. I know exactly what he means, and I hate that I¡¯m pushing back on it; it makes me feel like a hypocrite. ¡°You think I¡¯m happy here? Lio, none of us like this. We¡¯re just trying to make the best of things.¡±

    Lionel works his lips, searching for words, and ends up groaning and rubbing his face with his hand. A particularly ferocious roar interrupts the moment, and he turns back toward the ridge between us and the battle.

    ¡°We can¡¯t just hide here in safety while they¡¯re dying over that hill. I can help, Nuri. What if they need healing? I might not be much of a fighter compared with them, and I can¡¯t compete with your ridiculous [Mage]-like slice and dice abilities, but I can make a difference.¡±

    There¡¯s something so earnest in my friend¡¯s plea that it slides right past my defenses. I¡¯d steeled my heart to refuse him, to gather up the team and flee before we all die, but Lionel has a point. I sigh heavily. He might save a life. Isn¡¯t that worth it? Without my team¡¯s help¡ªRakesh¡¯s communication, Lionel¡¯s healing, Melina¡¯s speed boosts to retreating [Hunters]¡ªwe¡¯re dooming them to failure.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go collect the Linas and see what we can do,¡± I find myself saying. I spit out the words between clenched teeth. If anything goes wrong today, I¡¯ll never forgive myself.

    We jog back to the twins, who are still locked in an embrace. Grinding my teeth at having to interrupt such a private moment, I place my hand on Melina¡¯s shoulder and shake her gently. ¡°Mel. Gotta get up. Things are looking bad. We can¡¯t stay like this.¡±

    She extricates herself from her sister¡¯s arms, giving me a sharp look. She doesn¡¯t have to say anything to express her displeasure; I already know that I¡¯ll hear about it later. But that¡¯s the burden of leadership. I can¡¯t coddle them if I¡¯m trying to do what¡¯s right.

    So why am I so miserable about it?

    Avelina springs to her feet, glaring at us fiercely. It¡¯s as though she¡¯s daring us to breathe a word about what just happened. None of us respond. We don¡¯t feel like getting burned.

    Staying low to avoid stray blasts of rocks and debris from the Oletheros¡¯s rampage, we run back up the ridge as quickly as we can.

    As a team, we crouch down together on the ridge, overlooking the bloody fight. ¡°Lizard¡± seems too bland a word for the Oletheros. More like a moving mountain than an animal, its mottled brown and red body is long and snakelike, curling down the canyon and into a side gulley. When it¡¯s not resting on the ground, two powerful hind legs bear most of its weight. Somewhat smaller, more dexterous forelimbs end in wicked-looking claws.

    Small is relative, though. Each front limb is still longer than two of the lizard mounts put together end to end, and rippling with muscles capable of crushing stone and shredding steel.

    Huge flaps of ancient, yellowed skin stretch between the spines around its neck in a frill that¡¯s larger than the sails of a ship when fully extended. The massive spikes are more like the pillars of a palace than spears, far larger than the weapons I made for the [Hunters]. White and yellow, they jut out from the heavy ridges of scales in irregular intervals, creating a grotesque and lethal array around its ugly head. Worst of all, a few are tipped with red blood.

    A tattered bit of torn cloak hangs from the furthermost spine. Whoever wore it last won¡¯t need it again. I wish I could say that it¡¯s the only sign of carnage, but at least five or six of the [Hunters] are dead, by my count, and a few more are missing. I¡¯ve lost track of them in my Domain somehow, too distracted to focus properly on what¡¯s happening.

    Taj hurtles in from the side, in the monster¡¯s blindspot, and slams into the haunch of its back right leg. Spear fully extended, he puts his full weight behind the blow, severing a tendon and causing the Oletheros¡¯s leg to buckle.

    Trumpeting in pain, it limps, staggering and crashing down to the ground, unable to lift up its enormous bulk with only three good legs.

    ¡°This is it!¡± Javier roars. ¡°[Hunters], fire at will!¡± With glass spears braced, the mighty host of [Hunters] charge headlong into the fray. They leap over the beast¡¯s thrashing tail, and rivers of blue-black blood soon flow across the red earth.

    Javier stays just out of range of rending claws and snapping jaws, looking for an opening in the chaos. Watching all the companies working together so perfectly gives me chills. There¡¯s something awesome about seeing so many people all devoted to a single task.

    Mana surges within the beast, more than I¡¯ve ever seen in a creature in all my life. Only a Rift compares to the raw power gathering within the Oletheros. I lean on my inconsistent and rudimentary Viewing, hoping to get a sense of what it¡¯s doing, but the monster¡¯s strange runes are twisted and jagged, making my head hurt.

    A single glittering rune of Dominion reveals its truth to me in the middle of the shadowy haze of madness. ¡°Rakesh! Tell them to fall back!¡± I scream.

    To his credit, he immediately relays the orders into his folded paper bird, not even asking for details for once. The urgency in my voice galvanizes him into action, and he yells for them to retreat, repeating the override code Javier gave us in case of emergency.

    It¡¯s not enough.

    The furious billow of mana from the Oletheros completes. Power washes out across the rocky canyon, enveloping the fleeing [Hunters]. A few make it out of range, thanks to Rakesh¡¯s warning, but the rest of the lizard mounts buck and twist, convulsing with savage strength. For a moment, as a few of the skilled riders regain a semblance of control over their mounts, I hope it¡¯s all in my head.

    One of the horned lizards launches itself into a wall, turning and grinding the [Hunter] on its back against the sharp rocks. Another leaps on its partner¡¯s rider, sinking sharp teeth into a [Hunter]¡¯s neck and ripping out his throat.

    ¡°Get out of there!¡± I scream, half standing up from my hiding place. ¡°It¡¯s dominating the lesser lizards!¡± Panicking, I move on to emergency measures. ¡°Ava, ready your flames! Hit its left eye. I¡¯m going to tear apart its right eye with sharpness if I can.¡±

    Avelina lifts her wand, gathering her mana. Her hands are trembling on the glass shaft of her weapon, however, and the screams of the dying make her flinch. The mana gathers, swells, and bursts sideways as she cries out and loses control.

    A raging inferno erupts, blasting apart a jagged outcropping nearby and showering the [Hunters] below us with a rain of rocky shards. One hits a rider on the shoulder, knocking him off his lizard mount. He rolls to the side just in time to avoid the raptor claws of another lizard as it charges past him toward the monster.

    Ignoring the cries from Avelina, I gather my power. I¡¯ve only got one shot before I¡¯m out of mana. I can switch to a new set of cores, but we can only bring one with us at a time.

    Resonance is another problem that will have to wait until we¡¯re out of this mess. I need a better solution. I can¡¯t keep getting into these situations without a plan.

    I punch through the monster¡¯s natural Domain, forming my intent and will into a deadly spear of pure sharpness condensed from the ambient mana itself. The world seems to sing at my command. All my mana rushes out of me at once, leaving me bone-dry and with a pounding headache from channeling that much power at once. Arcane blades rip through the Olertheros¡¯s defenses, focusing on its right eye, and I shout with a ragged voice, cheering as the giant yellow eye explodes.

    Javier doesn¡¯t let my attack go to waste. He leaps forward so quickly that he¡¯s nothing more than a blur to my naked eye. I can¡¯t track him in my Domain since I¡¯m completely drained, but I can still sense the blazing corona of glory around him as he ignites one of the most potent mana Skills I¡¯ve ever felt from anyone below the Second Threshold.

    He pierces the creature¡¯s chest, aiming for the heart. In the same instant, the Oletheros bellows and slams its body straight down on top of Javier, crushing him into ground and hiding him from view in a plume of sand.

    ¡°No!¡± Camryn screams, so loudly that it echoes through the canyon over the clatter of claws on stone and the unsettling hisses of the massive beast below us. She shoves past her bucking, berserk lizard and hefts her spear, sprinting toward the monster with her weapon out.

    I watch in terror as she dashes into range of the Oltheros, somehow twisting out of the way of its spiny frill and sliding underneath a spike that should have impaled her. Blurring with preternatural speed, her spear lashes out, carving a wide path through the monster¡¯s scales and opening a way for her to get to Javier.

    She seizes his body and drags him away in a trail of blood and viscera. Still holding her spear in one hand, she flips it over and uses the blunt end to smack away a belligerent lizard, not willing to kill her own mount when it lunges at her. Seconds later, the strange enthrallment from the monster wears off, and the lizards cease their aggression.

    ¡°Retreat!¡± Camryn bellows, her voice once again cutting through the noise. She heaves Javier over the back of her lizard now that it¡¯s responsive to her commands again, leaping up behind him and tugging the reins to wheel around toward the mouth of the ravine.

    All over the battlefield, [Hunters] heed her call. They wrestle themselves back onto the lizards, scattering to avoid the threshing tail and deadly gouges of the creature¡¯s spikes.

    ¡°Lio! We need you.¡±

    ¡°On it, Nuri,¡± Lionel says, dashing down the slope with impressive agility. He runs back and forth at an angle to avoid picking up too much speed and falling to his death, aiming for the end of the gorge so he can intercept Camryn.

    The rest of us follow, although at a slower pace. Avelina hangs back, ashen-faced and quiet, but she seems to be over the worst of her shock since she¡¯s jogging along with us. If we have to, I¡¯ll ask Mikko to carry her, but that¡¯s certainly not ideal in the middle of the chaos.

    Thankfully, the Oletheros doesn¡¯t pursue, seemingly content to hunker down and lick its wounds. We haven¡¯t killed it, but we¡¯ve weakened it¡ªI only wish we could have blinded its other eye, too.

    Lionel reaches the two [Hunters] and immediately lays his hands on Javier. He¡¯s pushing as hard as he can, spending his mana like water, but I can tell it¡¯s not enough. The wounds are far too grievous for Lionel¡¯s low-ranked Skills to patch up. All we can do is stop the bleeding and hope we get him back to Halmuth in time.

    ¡°Spear¡¯s good, at least,¡± Javier says, spitting out the words through bloodied teeth as we approach. His lips pull back, and he snarls as his last breaths rattle out. ¡°Swear to me that you¡¯ll finish the job. Don¡¯t let him go down to the grave in peace.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill it,¡± I swear.

    I can¡¯t look Javier in the eye. I¡¯m too afraid that I¡¯m lying to a dying man and spitting on his final request. What am I supposed to do to a monster like this? All my hubris at claiming I knew monsters wells up, filling me with shame. I¡¯m a [Glassworker], not a [Hunter] or [Mage]. Have I overestimated my abilities? Are we all going to die because of my arrogance?

    ¡°Good work on the eye,¡± Camryn says tersely, dismounting to greet us. She¡¯s pacing in a tight circle next to Javier, her gaze never leaving the gaping wounds across his chest and the ragged remains of his left leg. It¡¯s missing from the thigh down, torn apart by the sheer force of the monster¡¯s fury.

    The rest of the [Hunters] join us a few minutes later, riding up in various states of health. Most are sporting multiple wounds, and a quick head-count shows over a dozen missing, but they universally share a look of grim determination. No distress shows on their faces; the time to mourn will come later, once they finish the job.

    Irving shoves his way forward. His customary furs are torn to pieces, leaving him almost shirtless. A nasty, notch-edged wound runs from his shoulder to hip, seeping blood. Trembling with pain and anger, he thrusts a finger at my team.

    No, at Avelina.

    ¡°You coward!¡± he shouts, drawing his knife with his other hand. ¡°You had a shot! I saw you, up on the ridge. You could have ended it. You could have saved Javier¡¯s life.¡±

    He stomps in a circle, stalking Avelina like she¡¯s prey, and addresses his brothers and sisters in arms. ¡°This witch sabotaged us. She blasted down rocks and took out my teammate instead of killing the Oletheros. Their blood stains the sands. Now hers will join them.¡±

    Malignant mana surges in Irving. His energy use spikes; I instinctively try to View what he¡¯s doing, catching glimpses of danger, but I don''t have enough left in my cores to complete the process.

    Irving disappears from my sight, appearing in front of Avelina with a snarl transforming his face into a rictus of doom. I call on my Domain to try to stop him, only to belatedly remember that I¡¯m out of mana. I can only watch in helpless horror as Irving hurtles toward my friend, his knife outstretched like a glittering tooth.

    Mikko moves faster than I¡¯ve ever seen, bringing his shield up to block the striking viper in our midst. Despite his enormous strength, Mikko is barely fast enough to intercept him. He lifts his shield, planting his feet in a solid stance that could stop a charging bull.

    The knife splits his shield.

    Mikko staggers back, grunting in effort. A trickle of blood marks his arm where the knife pierced through both his shield and his [Iron Skin] in one go.

    My eyes go wide. That was no posturing. Irving just tried to kill Avelina. He had murder in his heart, as sure as the sunrise.

    Irving staggers back in shock that his attack failed. Dazed from the blow, he¡¯s too slow to avoid my brother. Mikko¡¯s powerful hand clenches around Irving¡¯s neck, hoisting him effortlessly into the air. His other hand grips his glass hammer and raises it above Irving¡¯s head.

    ¡°Mikko!¡± I call out in warning, stepping forward to stop him before he goes too far. He¡¯s a kind man. He¡¯ll regret this later if he lets himself get carried away.

    A hand grips my shoulder, yanking me back. I look over my shoulder, and a shock jolts through me when I realize that Camryn intervened. She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, and then lets me go.

    ¡°Threaten Avelina again, and I¡¯ll turn your head into paste,¡± Mikko growls. ¡°I saw you cut open the monster¡¯s scales with your spear. Where do you think you got that weapon? If not for us, you¡¯d still be hiding in your miserable little town, huddled up behind its walls in fear of the big bad snake. Who¡¯s the real coward, Irving?¡±

    He flings Irving to the ground, bouncing the [Hunter]¡¯s body off the sands with the force of the throw, and spits in the red dirt. ¡°There¡¯s only one enemy I see today, and that¡¯s the beast that¡¯s threatened you and your livelihood.¡± Chest heaving, he breathes deeply and masters his rage. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid and make a second enemy.¡±

    ¡°Tie him to his mount. Let¡¯s move out,¡± Camryn commands, gesturing toward Irving¡¯s unconscious form. ¡°Regroup in Halmuth. We struck a mighty blow today. Tomorrow, we¡¯ll finish the job,¡± Camryn says, lifting her voice so that everyone can hear. ¡°Let¡¯s move out. It¡¯s not safe to stay so close by while the Oletheros still draws breath. But make no mistake: we¡¯ll be back. We¡¯re [Hunters]. We always kill our prey!¡±

 B5 C9: Lair of the Oletheros

    [Participant in the Royal Road Writathon]

    ¡°I can¡¯t, Nuri. No more blood on my hands!¡± Avelina hisses.

    ¡°I know, I know,¡± I say softly. ¡°I hate to drag you back into this mess, but I¡¯m worried that the monster isn¡¯t the only danger after yesterday¡¯s dust-up.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s safe to leave you here with Irving in town,¡± Melina says, clarifying what I¡¯ve only hinted at so far. Who knows who¡¯s listening? She smiles at her twin, placing a soothing hand on her arm. ¡°You won¡¯t have to fight. We just want to keep you close by in case of trouble.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of him,¡± Lionel promises. He clenches his fists at his side, glaring out the window of the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge at Totten¡¯s tower. His eyes burn with dark and unrelenting hate, which unsettles me to no end. What happened to my happy-go-lucky friend?

    ¡°They won¡¯t let any of us in there,¡± Mikko says. ¡°Camryn already warned us off. Trust me, I regret not finishing the job, and I think she knows it.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t let any of you in there,¡± Lionel counters. ¡°I¡¯m a [Healer], remember? I¡¯ve got access to patients. I can make sure that he¡¯s still in a deep sleep when we go to finish the job. Or that he never recovers at all.¡±

    ¡°Whoa, slow down!¡± I say, holding up my hand. ¡°I don¡¯t like him, either, but think about it from his perspective. He just lost his friends, and he saw Avelina¡¯s spell blow apart boulders and send them raining down on other [Hunters].¡±

    ¡°Now you¡¯re blaming me?¡± Avelina snarls. She yanks away from her twin, shaking as her eyes light up with inner flames.

    I lower my hand and soften my tone. ¡°No one¡¯s blaming you, Ava. We¡¯re on your side. I only meant that he lashed out in anger, but from his incompetent point of view, he thinks he¡¯s justified. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s right for us to respond by murdering him!¡±

    Mikko slams his huge right fist into the open palm of his left hand, making me jump with the resounding smack. ¡°And if he recovers and tries again? I shoulda smashed him like a bug. It¡¯s my fault for chickening out!¡±

    The fury radiating from Avelina winks out. She leans against the wall of the small room in the inn, lowering herself to the floor in a dejected heap. ¡°Nuri¡¯s not wrong. It¡¯s my fault. It¡¯s all my fault! I messed up my spell. We could have killed it instead of retreating. This whole disaster is my fault. My fault. My fault.¡±

    Something about the flat, dead tone of her voice scares me even more than the waves of anger rolling off the rest of the team. Something is seriously wrong with my friend, and I don¡¯t know how to help her. That¡¯s one more reason to get to Gilead as soon as possible. If there are [Healers] for the body, then surely there are some for the mind.

    I sink down next to her and heave a heavy sigh. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, Ava. If anything, it¡¯s mine. I never should have gotten us wrapped up in politics and power struggles in Mahkaiaraon. Once it went all sideways, I should have called off the mission and gotten us out of there. At the very least, I shoulda handled things myself. It wasn¡¯t fair of me to make you do it. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Things were so simple when we left Silaraon. All we had to do was investigate a problem on our way to the Menders. I thought we¡¯d take care of a few monsters, sell some glass, and be on our way. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m cut out for leading.

    ¡°We¡¯ve talked about this before, Nuri,¡± Avelina says, her voice still dull and heavy. ¡°Not your fault. I wanted to help. I¡¯d do it again.¡±

    A terrible idea takes root in my mind. I pat Avelina on the shoulder and stand up, leaving her along with her thoughts. I make eye contact with Lionel and motion outside with my head. He follows when I excuse myself from the room in the [Hunter]¡¯s Lodge, joining me as I walk down the hallway to a quiet corner.

    I scan the area with my passive Domain senses, careful not to probe the mana barrier and cause any alarm. Confirmation that we¡¯re alone makes me feel a little better about voicing my thoughts aloud, but I¡¯m still nervous that someone is spying on us. The [Hunters] have a lot of variety between their Class Skills, but they all seem to have some sort of sensory boost. If my words reach the wrong ears, then we¡¯re all in trouble. Assuming, of course, that they can piece together my meaning.

    ¡°You wanna explain yourself?¡± Lionel huffs.

    ¡°I want you to heal as many [Hunters] as you can. We need everyone at full strength for tomorrow¡¯s execution. No one left behind.¡± I give Lionel a significant look, and his eyes widen as he catches my meaning.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± he promises solemnly. ¡°May I borrow one of the sets of glass cores? I¡¯ll probably run out of mana long before my work is done.¡±

    ¡°Take two. We¡¯ll need the rest for tomorrow. Get some of the [Hunters] to carry them over to the healing wards. You¡¯ll probably need to stay closer to three paces apart with these. They¡¯re stronger than the last one I made. Higher resonance.¡±

    Lionel nods. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can save lives, but I can probably make enough difference to tip people over the edge if it¡¯s a question of fighting or not fighting. But can¡¯t we wait longer for more to heal up?¡±

    ¡°Not if we want to kill the beast. We have to strike while it¡¯s still wounded. What sets this type of threat apart from Gold and below is that its body is reinforced by mana. That means it¡¯s able to use mana to boost its healing. Monsters this powerful can recover from almost anything with enough time. Except maybe the blinded eye,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s pretty tough to reconstruct an eye. Delicate structures.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of anything like that,¡± Lionel says, looking at me skeptically. ¡°What have we fought so far? I thought we¡¯ve taken out mid Gold threats.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Nah, not even close. A monster like the Oletheros is probably firmly in the upper Platinum tier. Its regenerative properties are limited only by its access to mana.¡±

    ¡°But Gold is when cores form, I thought,¡± Lionel replies. He crosses his arms, giving me an annoyed look. ¡°You and Melina wouldn¡¯t shut up about it after taking that class with Ezio. If that¡¯s true, then the creatures we fought in the Rift back in Mack-town were gold.¡±

    ¡°Mack-town? Your nicknames are the worst,¡± I say, bursting out chuckling. I didn¡¯t realize how much I needed the emotional release until I find myself leaning against the wall, shaking in almost uncontrollable laughter. After the non-stop tension of the fight with the Oletheros and Irving deciding to blame Avelina for the deaths, I¡¯m ready for a reprieve.

    ¡°Well? Ya gonna answer my question?¡± Lionel demands. ¡°This is important, Nuri. I¡¯ve got a lot riding on this.¡±

    Copying my mentor, Ezio, I use my best professorial tone of voice. ¡°Technically, Lio, a creature in mid to upper Silver can have a core, since that¡¯s when their mana channels bridge the gap between metaphysical and the physical realm. The difference is that in Gold, the core solidifies and becomes far more substantial¡ªand valuable. We never found a core big enough or rare enough to claim that those monsters were Gold.¡±

    Lionel seems to deflate. ¡°Not even low Gold?¡±

    ¡°Nope. Our team isn¡¯t strong enough for that.¡± I pause, running my fingers through my beard while I consider the scenario. ¡°Actually, as a team, we might be able to take on a low Gold threat. Definitely not individually. Only Mikko would survive in a solo battle, and I don¡¯t think he has enough damage to outright kill one, even with a hammer blow to the head. We¡¯d need Ava to blow it up, or I¡¯d have to use sharpness to slice it apart. Otherwise? We¡¯d be in big trouble.¡±

    ¡°Could you, uhh, not tell any of the [Hunters]?¡± Lionel asks, his face flushing. ¡°I may have been bragging that we¡¯re a Gold-ranked team. They think it¡¯s hilarious since we¡¯re all crafters originally, but they¡¯re impressed. If they find out we¡¯ve only fought Silvers, my reputation is sunk. Don¡¯t make me buy my own drinks at the pub!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯ve been doing at night after we¡¯re done crafting?¡± I ask, caught between embarrassment and admiration. ¡°That¡¯s one way to get free mead.¡±

    ¡°The spiced wine here is pretty good,¡± Lionel says. ¡°Azariah may be kinda scummy, but he sure knows his way around the bar. He hasn¡¯t led me astray yet.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s get back to the others. I need to talk with them about our plans. You gather up the cores and head over to the healing ward. Get them in fighting shape. We don¡¯t have much time.¡±

    ¡°Yessir, Boss,¡± Lionel says, throwing me a sloppy salute. He swaggers off, humming a jaunty drinking tune to himself as he goes.

    Seeing him act more like his goofy self is a weight off my mind. I was starting to worry that all my friends are going to come out of this adventure broken beyond repair. If Avelina and Lionel aren¡¯t immune to the pressures of combat and loss, then what hope do the rest of us have? They¡¯re two of the happiest, most laid-back people I know.

    Well. Ava¡¯s not laid-back. But she¡¯s usually fun and a little bit goofy. Those two don¡¯t tend to brood like Melina and I do. Even Mikko is more prone to introspection and moments of doubt than Ava and Lio.

    I put the thoughts out of my mind and return to the rest of the team. ¡°Gather around. We need to figure out what our plan is for the final hunt.¡±

    Mikko shivers. ¡°Don¡¯t call it final. That sounds ominous.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to finish it,¡± I say with more confidence than I feel. ¡°I promised Javier that we¡¯d take out the Oletheros. Don¡¯t make me a liar.¡±

    ¡°Do we have a plan for Irving?¡± Melina asks. She pointedly doesn¡¯t ask about Lionel, and I wonder how much of my scheme she figured out on her own.

    She¡¯s always been insightful in a way that shocks me. There¡¯s something strangely prescient about her view of the world that defies explanation. Sure, she¡¯ll say she just looks at trends and reads body language, but her eerie ability to predict what people will say or do next borders on something straight out of legend. I often wonder if with her time-related abilities and her penchant for study, she¡¯ll eventually evolve her Class into a [Seer] once she hits the Second Threshold someday.

    Most people never make it there, but if there¡¯s one person I know who has the rare drive, opportunity, and talent to reach those heights, it¡¯s Melina. I¡¯m going to do my best to chase her the entire way.

    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ve got it covered,¡± I say off-handedly. ¡°Now, let¡¯s talk about combat roles. We¡¯ll be down Avelina, so we lack range unless I use my [Arcane Domain]. That¡¯s always the goal, since it¡¯s got great offensive options, but we have to be cognizant of its drawbacks. Maintaining control over the mana in the area surrounding the Oletheros is really hard. Contesting a Rift is more difficult because it requires more finesse, but this monster is strong. Really strong. I think it may be more powerful than the Lesser Rift that claimed my hand.¡±

    Rakesh perks up. ¡°Ever since you mentioned a Domain, I¡¯ve been looking into it on the side. Even Ezio wasn¡¯t particularly well versed in that language, but I found some research from an old Palladium-ranked adventurer who talked about how high-leveled beasts develop control over the mana in their surroundings. That would technically put this past Platinum. As strong as it is, though, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s very far into Iridium. Just over the line, perhaps? Point is, it¡¯s rare, even among the most powerful monsters in the world. This beast has some sort of Domain, but it¡¯s lacking aggression and offensive range.¡±

    That puts things in a new light for me, and I nod in appreciation. Rakesh always puts in good work. ¡°Thankfully, for all its size and physical prowess, it doesn¡¯t have much fine control. Its Domain is downright sloppy. But what worries me the most is its Skill. That Dominion rune is nasty, and we can¡¯t risk fighting on multiple fronts.¡±

    ¡°Taj and Camryn says they¡¯ll have to hobble the lizards and leave them behind before we reach the ravine,¡± Rakesh reports. ¡°Not all of them were affected; by my estimation, its Skill only covers an area about one hundred paces around it. I also noticed that it had to remain relatively stationary while it cast the Skill. Even if its leg heals up, we might not need much mobility.¡±

    ¡°It only lasted one minute and fifteen seconds, according to my time Skill,¡± Melina adds. ¡°I finally ranked up my temporal fields after using them so often in fights, and now I have an intrinsic sense of time. Maybe we can bait it out? I could try to seal off the targeted lizards and accelerate the effect, so that it wears off after three seconds in the real world. Then we strike after it¡¯s used up most of its mana in the attack.¡±

    I let out a whistle. ¡°Clever! You¡¯re up to a twenty-five-to-one ratio for your time dilation? That¡¯s impressive! But can you sustain the Skill across so many mounts? I¡¯ve never seen you create that many temporal fields at once.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the biggest problem with the plan,¡± Melina allows.

    I snap my fingers. ¡°Then we combine your plan and Camryn¡¯s! What if we bring only a handful of the mounts, and leave the rest back at our forward operating base? We¡¯ll harass it until it tries to take over the lizards, and that¡¯s when I¡¯ll strike through my Domain. I don¡¯t know if it will be able to contest me while it¡¯s running its Skill.¡±

    ¡°Not a bad idea. What should I do while you¡¯re busy?¡± Mikko asks. ¡°It grates against my pride to watch you all fight while I stand by and watch. Doesn¡¯t seem right.¡±

    ¡°Keep people alive if you can. Use your shield instead of your hammer. It¡¯s barely gotten any use since I made it,¡± I say, teasing my brother about his tendency to focus on only one thing at a time. ¡°Too bad I never figured out how to grant it the same barrier that the badger used. If only I had stronger Viewing back then.¡±

    ¡°Nuri. That¡¯s it!¡± Melina says. ¡°Copy the Skill and use it against the monster.¡±

    ¡°No way,¡± I say, shooting down the idea instantly. ¡°I can¡¯t decipher its Skill and turn it on the Oletheros like that. For one, I lack the time and expertise. Not even Scalpel could figure that out by tomorrow. Besides, I¡¯m too weak. Maybe if I were already in the Second Threshold, I¡¯d be able to take over the lizard mounts. A monster with its own domain? Not a chance there. It¡¯s got a built-in defense that I can¡¯t pierce.¡±

    Melina¡¯s face falls, but she seems to intuitively understand the difficulties. She collects herself a moment later, nods, and doesn¡¯t push the issue. ¡°All right. I think we can bait out a moment of weakness, though. If you cut it open, or blind its other eye, then maybe the [Hunters] can finish the job. Think any of them are up to the task?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. I¡¯m worried that we¡¯re only whittling down its scales and skin.¡±

    Mikko makes a fist. ¡°We need to get to the heart or brain. Find a way to tear it apart from the inside out.¡±

    ¡°Not likely that you can cut that deep, given the beast¡¯s height and heavy bone structure. You¡¯ll have to find a different strategy,¡± Rakesh says, weighing in on our proposals.

    ¡°If someone can cut a path for me to get close enough, then I¡¯ll turn its heart to glass,¡± I say with more bravado than I really feel. It¡¯s risky, but it might be our only chance.

    Rakesh runs his finger along the list of names in his notebook, lips pursed. ¡°Can any of the [Hunters] actually do that? I¡¯m not sure we can rely on them.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m counting on it,¡± I reply, a sly grin slowly spreading across my face. ¡°Just imagine the fame of whoever lands the killing blow.¡±

    Perfect way to launch a career, particularly if the old boss is laid up and can¡¯t lead. Let¡¯s just hope the right man for the job takes the bait. Two monsters, one stone.

    =+=

    Setting up a meeting with Camryn takes less time than I thought. As soon as I send word that I want to talk, an honor guard takes me to Totten¡¯s tower, where Camryn is acting as commander while Javier is in recovery.

    To my surprise, Irving is there as well, propped up on cushions while Lionel channels his [Healing Touch]. The open collar of Irving¡¯s white cotton shirt reveals an angry, red, jagged scar extending down across his chest, but he looks like he¡¯s close to getting back to his feet.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about the lizard mounts,¡± I announce without preamble. ¡°They¡¯re the key to the entire fight.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not taking them,¡± Irving says. ¡°And I don¡¯t want that girl there, either.¡±

    ¡°She wasn¡¯t attacking you,¡± I say, forcing myself to remain as calm as possible. No need to antagonize him right now. I need to get Camryn on my side, and starting an argument in the middle of a planning session is counter-productive on that front.

    ¡°Don¡¯t care. She¡¯s not reliable. Accident or not, she¡¯s dangerous,¡± Irving replies. He¡¯s still glaring at me, but he¡¯s speaking more reasonably than I expected.

    ¡°She¡¯ll stay,¡± I say, holding up my hand like I¡¯m conceding the point. ¡°But we should bring the mounts. I¡¯ve got an idea.¡±

    Irving snorts. ¡°Not a chance. If the Oletheros usurps them again, we¡¯re done for. They stay. End of discussion.¡±

    ¡°Just hear me out. I¡¯ve got a plan.¡±

    ¡°Go on, Nuri,¡± Camryn says, looking between me and Irving. She looks like she wants to say something more, but she swallows her words and settles for uncomfortable silence.

    ¡°Thanks. I think you¡¯ll approve once we explain the goal. We¡¯ll leave most of them behind so that we¡¯re not compromised. That¡¯s smart,¡± I say, nodding to Irving. Might as well flatter him as much as possible if I¡¯m going to get him to go along with our mad gamble. ¡°But we noticed it¡¯s not a long Skill, and it¡¯s limited in area of effect. Melina has a temporal Skill field that¡¯s a perfect counter. We trick it into triggering the frenzy, cut off the mounts from normal time by trapping the lizards in her acceleration fields, and let them harmlessly run out of time. When the Skill is over, we remount and strike the monster while it¡¯s still weakened from the mana expenditure.¡±

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°It¡¯s too risky,¡± Irving snaps immediately. ¡°What if she can¡¯t keep them contained? What if controlling half the mounts means that it can force the effect to last twice as long? You¡¯ve got no idea what kind of variables you¡¯re messing with.¡±

    ¡°All good points,¡± I say in a conciliatory tone. ¡°But you¡¯re overlooking my ability to contest its control of the mana in the area. Remember how I blinded it? Well, that was while dealing with its willpower directly. If its focus is split while it¡¯s trying to control the lizard mounts, then I can cut it faster and deeper without wasting energy getting through its metaphysical defenses.¡±

    Hope leaps into Camryn¡¯s eyes at my words, and exultation rushes through me. I¡¯ve got her now. All that¡¯s left is to convince Irving to deliver the blow. I glance over at him, biting my lip and scrunching up my face. ¡°I can blind it. I¡¯m sure of that. But I don¡¯t think I can cut through its scales with my attack. Or, at least, not as deeply as a spear can penetrate. Javier had the right idea going for the heart like that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the best spear-wielder now that the [Principal Hunter] is fighting for his life,¡± Camryn says slowly. She shivers involuntarily. ¡°But I don¡¯t fancy getting so close again. I¡¯m not as tough as Javier is, and you saw what the monster did to him. He¡¯s got way more survival Skills than I do. Mine are all related to tracking, killing, and skinning. Maybe if I¡¯d already upgraded my Class or reached the Second Threshold, then I¡¯d have a chance.¡±

    Irving perks up. ¡°Ha. Burden of command too much for you already? I¡¯ll do it. Spear or knife¡ªit¡¯s all the same to me. Don¡¯t worry your pretty little head, Cam. I¡¯ve got this.¡±

    My grin grows wicked and sharp-edged. ¡°We have a deal, then? Sounds like you¡¯re the right man for the job.¡±

    =+=

    It¡¯s all happening too fast.

    That¡¯s all I can think when we ride up to the familiar ridge again, navigating by the light of the moon. Ominous in the silvery light, the knife¡¯s edge of the ridge takes on a bloody aspect in my mind. I force myself to continue onward, walking on foot now that we¡¯ve dismounted, leaving the majority of the lizards behind.

    We¡¯re ready to do battle with the beast. The [Healers] in Halmuth worked overtime to get as many [Hunters] as possible back on their feet. They lost another man and two more women to grievous injury over the day, bringing the death toll up to fifteen, but the rest are fighting fit.

    Last night already feels like a distant memory, yet here we are, walking in the same path a day later. I know the reason for taking swift action before the Oletheros is fully recovered, but it¡¯s still disconcerting. Wounded or not, the massive monster is my team¡¯s most fearsome test yet.

    Aside from missing so many [Hunters], the only difference between today and yesterday is that Azariah is nowhere to be found. He gave us a map leading to the beast¡¯s lair, in case it retreats from the canyon, and now he¡¯s hiding in Halmuth. I try not to hold it against him. We left Avelina behind, after all, since Irving joined the expedition.

    Yet there¡¯s a part of me that wishes Azariah would put skin in the game. It¡¯s hard to trust someone who lets others do all the hard work, even if he did give us a clear pathway to find the monster¡¯s cavern if it fled.

    Sure enough, a forward scout runs back to the group a moment later. ¡°It¡¯s gone. We¡¯ll have to move on to the next location.¡±

    I¡¯d hoped we might have wounded it too badly for it to drag itself away, but that¡¯s life. We return to the lizard mounts at a jog, ready to move out. Riding on an extended saddle behind a [Hunter] isn¡¯t the most comfortable way to travel, but it¡¯s far faster than I could run on my own, so I simply hang on and trust that I won¡¯t fall off and be trampled to death.

    Traveling through the canyon soon reveals trails of dark blood, glistening under the stars in the pre-dawn gloom. It¡¯s a small stream almost ankle high, which makes me wonder just how much blood the monster contains within its enormous body. All of the people tracking it down don¡¯t have that much fluid combined. Any lesser beast would have long since succumbed to its wounds and bled out by now.

    Following the trickling rivulet means that we hardly need Azariah¡¯s map. Even when the blood dries up, and the wind¡¯s blown away the furrows in the sand, the [Hunters] are experts at tracking. They may not have been able to find the lair on their own, given the vast Barrens, but now they¡¯ve got their prey in their sights.

    An hour later, we approach an obsidian ring in the endless waves of red dirt and golden sands. It looks like it¡¯s been formed out of immense heat and pressure, which makes me wary. If the Oletheros possess a flame attack, then we¡¯re not prepared for this fight.

    Stop it, Nuri. Don¡¯t borrow trouble. You¡¯ve got enough on your own. This is probably the work of an ancient Rift, scarring the land and leaving behind this strange, glass-like formation after it collapsed.

    Cool logic prevails over my worries, but there¡¯s still a small voice of terror in the back of my mind. What if we¡¯ve overlooked something? What if we¡¯re just food for the devouring beast, serving ourselves up on a platter?

    Mana lamps bloom in the darkness, lighting up the steep descent into the cavernous system. Camryn and Irving take point, while my team falls back to the middle of the formation. A heavy rearguard watches our flanks, just in case we¡¯re walking into a trap. Mikko joins them, but the rest of us are huddled together in what we hope is the safest place.

    ¡°Contact ahead!¡± a soft voice whispers. The sound carries strangely, echoing through the tunnels without losing any fidelity. I wonder if it¡¯s a Skill at work, ensuring communication without alerting our target.

    My entire body tenses up. This is it! Mana swirls all around us in extraordinary quantities, thick and hazy in my Domain. Roars fill the chamber ahead as my spears carve through the skin and scales of the beast.

    We abandon all pretense of stealth, charging forward to join the fray. There¡¯s no turning back now. Kill or be killed!

    Blood covers the floor already by the time we dash into the vast cavern. Flares of mana flash past us, striking the monster and failing to punch through its armored hide. Only the arrows and spears I created do any damage, biting deep and drawing its dark, peculiar blood.

    The Oletheros is so big that I can¡¯t see all of it at once. It stretches on and on, coiling its huge, muscular body around towering stalagmites the size of houses. Despite all the blood, it seems more annoyed than truly injured. Our weapons might be sharp, but so are the little razor blades that I use to trim my beard. They might nick my skin and draw blood, but they¡¯re never going to kill me.

    I can¡¯t shake the worry that all the damage we¡¯re doing is like nicking the beast. Despite cutting through its armor and slicing its skin, we¡¯re not really getting anywhere useful. Have we even penetrated past its thick layers of fat underneath its skin?

    Within my Domain, I sense its irritation, anger, and confusion. I fold a blade of intent and thrust at the monster, probing its defenses. It growls, but bats away the attack with ease.

    ¡°Stop circling!¡± I holler at the top of my lungs. ¡°Everyone attack at once. We need more pressure to force it to fall back on its Skill.¡±

    The [Hunters] follow my lead, abandoning self-preservation and dashing forward to stab their spears in as deep and viciously as they can, shouting out battle cries and hewing holes into the monster¡¯s side.

    Their all out assault finally tips the snake-like creature over the edge. It gulps in a vast volume of air, then releases it all at once in an explosion that flings away the closest [Hunters], scattering them across the cave. At least two do not rise again.

    Trumpeting in challenge, the beast draws on its mana, drinking deeply of its reserves to activate its Skill again. I shout in warning, and the well-trained [Hunters] tug their reins, guiding their mounts closer together so that Melina can reach all of them with her own Skill.

    This is the moment I¡¯ve been waiting for. Activating my Viewing, I watch the runes with single-minded focus to see how the Oletheros uses its Skill to usurp the lizard mounts, trying to commit them to memory for later. As I suspected, the twisted Skill is some sort of combination of its natural Domain and a working of esoteric runes related to ownership, power, and domination.

    ¡°Now!¡± I call out to Melina, just before the Skill completes its nefarious work. I¡¯m cutting it close, but I don¡¯t want to take the risk that we¡¯ll tip off the monster to our plans by starting the temporal fields too early. We don¡¯t want to lose our chance to turn the tides.

    Bubbles of time bloom into existence across the battlefield like deadly roses. The lizards caught within thrash about violently, expending their energy without touching a single [Hunter], slashing and biting at nothing as their bodies contort under the force of the domination.

    At the moment the Oletheros¡¯s attention is split, I lash out with my prepared attack of violent sharpness, pouring mana into my Domain and slicing apart the eye of the beast. The sheer amount of energy flowing through me is intoxicating and excruciating all at once. It burns, screaming through the rough-cut channel in my chest that allows me to bypass my core and cast more advanced magic, but the power is addicting.

    The monster screams, recoiling from the white-hot pain in its eyes. Connected like I am, I feel a dim echo of its agony burning in my own eye.

    ¡°Irving!¡± I shout, my throat straining with the intensity of my scream. ¡°Kill it, kill it now!¡±

    Contesting the Oletheros directly feels like I¡¯m trying to wrestle against the entire ocean, an overwhelming flood of rage and hunger and low cunning. Dimly, I¡¯m aware of my brother¡¯s strong hands under my shoulders, holding me up as I battle the beast.

    I¡¯m not sure who¡¯s more incapacitated¡ªthe monster, or me. I shove back against its hideous strength one last time, then release my Domain with a groan.

    Irving carves through the air, spear outstretched, cutting a heroic figure in the darkness of the cavern, backlit by golden plumes of mana from the lamps as he plunges into the exposed chest of the Oletheros. The sharp spear slides through the overlapping plates of the monster¡¯s armor, piercing so deep that Irving¡¯s hands and arms sink into the wound, disappearing up to his elbows before his momentum is spent.

    The monster judders, its entire body shaking with pain. I¡¯m glad I released the Domain a second before the spear strike, or else I¡¯m scared that the backlash would burst my heart like a sledgehammer smashing an overripe tomato.

    I watch with grim satisfaction as Irving¡¯s spear pierces deeper and deeper, severing skin and scales alike. He cuts deep, opening a path to the center of the Oletheros. The monster writhes and undulates, its powerful body pulverizing boulders and toppling pillars of rock. All the while, Irving¡¯s body is carried along by its death throes, like a knotted bit of rope shaken about by a mad dog.

    Deep within me, an urge to help my fellow man stirs to life. I shuffle forward a half-step, almost convinced that I should intervene, but a cold voice in my mind whispers that Irving is a venomous snake. He¡¯s a naked blade at our backs; leaving him alive will cause problems for us down the road. I can¡¯t allow that to happen. I don¡¯t want to leave him in charge of the [Hunters] in Javier¡¯s absence, either.

    The beast¡¯s thrashing slows at last, but it¡¯s not dead yet. All around us, the broken and battered bodies of [Hunters] cover the ground like dead leaves dropped from a shaken tree in late autumn. My Domain passively informs me that half of them still draw breath. I can¡¯t rely on them for what¡¯s next.

    ¡°Swap!¡± I yell, and Mikko tosses me a fresh glass core. I¡¯m not quite depleted, but I don¡¯t want to risk running dry halfway through this crucial step.

    Draping the chain of glass beads around my neck, I sprint forward, diving into the bloody hole that Irving gouged at the cost of his life. Hand outstretched, I force myself through the gore and viscera, seeking an artery. Caustic blood pours over me, burning and foul, but I push on and find the pulsing blood vessel I¡¯m looking for.

    [Vitrification], I intone in my soul, pouring all of my mana into my hand-crafted Skill. The power explodes out from me, seeking the monster¡¯s heart. I find the beating organ at the very edge of my consciousness, and throw the full force of my domain into guiding the Skill toward the only vulnerable point in the enormous city-killer.

    The Oletheros must have an immense Resistance, since my magic rebounds like it hit a brick wall, but I call on sharpness, overlaying my Domain with a blade of intent, and drive past its natural defenses. It spasms, nearly crushing me as its muscles contract, and seeks to crush me with its natural Domain.

    In that instant, I switch tactics, dropping my Domain and focusing solely on my Skill. I dump every last drop of mana into [Vitrification], shoving past the wall with a desperate burst of power. The Skill connects, transmuting flesh and blood into glass and finally killing the beast.

    I slump over, falling out of its body. Mikko¡¯s there to catch me, cradling me in powerful arms as he runs away from the lethal death-throes. His worried face fills my vision.

    I cough weakly and try to smile at my brother. ¡°I¡¯ve never been so happy to see your ugly face, Ko.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got you, Nuri,¡± Mikko says, his eyes like flint as he sprints away. He doesn¡¯t even crack a joke, which scares me that not everyone made it. After he rounds a corner in the tunnels and brings me to safety, however, he sets me down gently and smiles.

    Mikko wipes the blood off my face. ¡°We did it, bro. You did it. That was amazing!¡±

    ¡°The team?¡± I ask, struggling to sit up.

    ¡°Safe. Unlike some.¡± He scowls darkly.

    ¡°Bad casualties?¡± I ask in a subdued voice. I don¡¯t trust myself to ask the question that¡¯s really on my mind, in case others hear the vicious satisfaction in my voice at the news of Irving¡¯s demise.

    Back in the cavern, the thrashing stops. The ground no longer trembles with the defiant last convulsions of the enormous beast. We regroup with the rest of the [Hunters], make sure my team is safe, and cautiously return to the main chamber of the cave.

    I wave to Camryn. ¡°Is it over?¡±

    ¡°Come see for yourself,¡± she replies. Her voice is bone-weary, despite how short-lived the battle was in the end. She leads us the rest of the way inside, and we tiptoe in her wake.

    My pounding heart and quivering breath don¡¯t settle until I see Irving¡¯s crushed body for myself. Mangled beyond repair, the upper half of his body is obliterated. There¡¯s no doubt that there¡¯s no breath left in his lungs. Even so, a part of me fears he¡¯ll drag himself back up to his feet, leering at me with a bloody grin, and come after my team with his knives.

    Beyond, the Oletheros is unmoving.

    ¡°We did it!¡± Taj cheers suddenly, jabbing his spear point-first into the dirt. He throws his hands up in the air and dances in a circle, laughing hysterically. His actions seem to break the somber mood, and he¡¯s mobbed by other [Hunters] who are equally ecstatic, whooping and hollering as they celebrate the death of the city-killer.

    Yet not all is well.

    Half of the [Hunters] are more solemn, staring at Irving¡¯s corpse. Some are nursing their own wounds. A few of them are sobbing, kneeling down in the dust and trembling. I wonder if any of them lost friends or lovers to the monster¡¯s rampage.

    ¡°Work¡¯s not done,¡± I rasp, interrupting their grief. My throat¡¯s still raw from screaming so loudly for Irving to attack the Oletheros, but I couldn¡¯t hold back my desperation and urgency in the moment. All of our work would have gone to waste if he didn¡¯t strike right then. I try to keep talking, but I devolve into a coughing fit, unable to continue.

    Lionel places his hand on my back, channeling his healing Skills, and Melina offers me a flask of water. I drain it in one long gulp, fortifying myself for what¡¯s still to come, and swap out a new set of glass cores so that I¡¯m not useless after draining the last set to vitrify the entire heart of an Iridium-ranked threat.

    I clear my throat, able to talk again after the water and Lionel¡¯s [Healing Touch]. ¡°This monster was probably upper Palladium, or maybe even Iridium rank. A beast of this size and power has a huge core. Guaranteed. We should harvest it while it¡¯s still suffused with mana. If we leave it for the monster to rot, then the core will also decay. Is anyone here able to help me harvest the beast core?¡±

    ¡°Carving into a carcass that big could take days to find the core,¡± Orav points out. He¡¯s shaking from the fight, covered in blood not his own. His dark eyes look vacant. ¡°Not worth it. The blood scent will attract other monsters soon. We should get our wounded back to Halmuth while we still can.¡±

    I nod slowly. ¡°Normally, you¡¯d be right, but I have mana senses that will speed it up. I can pinpoint its core right now. Are you willing to start digging?¡±

    ¡°Lead on. After what you¡¯ve done for us, I¡¯ll do anything you ask,¡± Orav pledges. ¡°Might even come with you when you leave town.¡±

    Oh? Interesting proposal. I wonder if this is how Totten will spy on us. I know the stout overseer means to keep tabs on us, but I suspect that Orav is simply sick of dealing with things out of his control. Of course, joining us isn¡¯t the smart move if he wants to stay out of trouble.

    Butchering a beast this large is the work of days, normally. With my direction, however, we follow the blazing bonfire of mana in my Domain¡¯s vision, carving a path to the core within an hour. If not for the imbued spears, they never could have cut through the beast¡¯s hard scales or tough hide. Even its muscles are resistant to mundane blades. Its flesh turns aside my belt knife like it¡¯s a dull piece of wood instead of a sharp blade.

    Tired but determined, we push onward. Finally, we reveal the core, gleaming in all its glory. Opalescent and lit with inner fire, it¡¯s almost as large as my torso. I¡¯m not even sure how we¡¯ll transport the core, but I¡¯m not about to give up the chance to craft something magnificent out of it. I direct the [Hunters], showing them where to cut it free.

    Severing the pathways is important so that we don¡¯t let it leak any mana. In a smaller core, like the few low-quality ones we found in the Silver-ranked monsters in the Rift by the Old Keep, the mana channels are already tenuous at best. The size and density of those cores were hardly impressive to begin with, so just lifting them out of the monsters was enough to stop the flow of mana and break the connection.

    Finally free! I think in glee.

    Mikko lifts the core out of the monster, hoisting it overhead with both hands. Even though it¡¯s still dripping blood and ropey viscera, it¡¯s the most beautiful sight I¡¯ve seen in ages. I can¡¯t wait to get to work on the core, although I¡¯m not sure what I¡¯ll make out of it yet. If it were a little smaller and lighter, then maybe I could use it directly as a replacement for my own core, but I¡¯ve heard that beast-human hybridization like that is frowned upon in most places.

    I shake my head. Scalpel has ruined my sense of normal. Besides, it¡¯s better to use it for a larger project. I¡¯m not sure what we¡¯ll do with it yet, but I¡¯m not going to pass up an opportunity like this.

    ¡°How are we gonna carry it?¡± Lionel asks, leaning over to speak in low tones. With all the [Hunters] around, he may as well have announced it from the rooftops, though. More than a few angry glares shoot my way.

    ¡°That¡¯s the beauty of a muscle-bound brother,¡± I reply, grinning at Mikko. ¡°About time we put him to good use.¡±

    Mikko squints at me. He purses his lips and shakes his head sadly. ¡°Is that all I am to you, Nuri? A pack mule? First I carry you to safety. Now I carry your core around. Soon, you¡¯ll make a saddle so that you can just ride on my shoulders everywhere.¡±

    ¡°Of course not! You¡¯re also pretty good at getting hit so that I don¡¯t have to,¡± I reply with an innocent smile. ¡°But your saddle offer is fantastic. Best brother ever.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t take that!¡± one of the [Hunters] protests. ¡°A core that size? It¡¯s priceless! We need it to rebuild Halmuth.¡±

    My Domain billows out, sweeping over the man, and he slams down to his knees before I even consciously realize what I¡¯m doing. Emotions running hot, I glare at the other [Hunters], daring them to contradict my claim to the huge core.

    ¡°Stand down, Shuk,¡± Camryn barks. ¡°None of you are crafters. What are you going to do with it?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Shuk snaps.

    ¡°Sure it does,¡± Taj interrupts. ¡°You think any of us survive today without Nuri? Don¡¯t be selfish.¡±

    ¡°Then he can buy it off us! Give the money to the families whose sons and daughters, husbands and wives died today and yesterday,¡± Shuk interjects hotly. ¡°We already paid for the spears. Why should that crafter get double?¡±

    Camryn bristles at the mention of the dead. ¡°You think you¡¯re the only one who lost a friend? Without Nuri, we wouldn¡¯t have been able to kill the Oletheros. If it came for Halmuth a second time and didn¡¯t get bored of batting around the gate like a child¡¯s toy, could any of us have fought it off?¡±

    No one answers. They already know that the monster was well beyond any of them to handle, apart from imbued weapons. Even then, finishing it off was a close thing.

    ¡°Totten keeps a fund to care for families,¡± Orav says. ¡°No one is getting cheated out of anything. Nuri earned the right to take it, if you ask me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just saying that because you¡¯re miserable and wanna leave. You think you¡¯ll get in good with them and live off the profits when they sell it,¡± Shuk accuses. His right hand strays dangerously close to his knife.

    What is it with deranged [Hunters]? I thought Irving was an isolated case, but he seems to be fairly typical.

    ¡°No one is trying to cheat anyone out of anything,¡± I say, raising my voice. Even though I know all the [Hunters] can hear me, I want there to be zero doubts about what I said. ¡°The beast is dead. Halmuth is open to trade again. Totten forced me into a terrible deal for making you the spears, but my team hasn¡¯t been compensated for blinding and disabling the Oletheros, healing Javier, or the kill itself. All I¡¯m asking in exchange for my troubles is this beast core, which I¡¯ll remind you that I still have to register with the state. Any of you wanna deal with that mess of paperwork?¡±

    Predictably, no one volunteers other than Rakesh, who¡¯s waving his hand in excitement. I give him a pointed look, and he puts his arm down.

    ¡°I can use the core for crafting. You¡¯ll get plenty of money selling off the other parts. Plate armor made from the scales of this beast, plus my imbued spears, will absolutely put your gear in the upper echelon in the Barrens. You¡¯ll be set up for life. That sounds pretty good to me for a couple day¡¯s work.¡±

    ¡°Put away the knife, Shuk. We¡¯ll let Totten sort things out,¡± Camryn says. To my relief, Shuk listens to her warning, although he grumbles the whole way back to his mount.

    Mikko stashes the core. The rest of us collect our gear while a few of the [Hunters] wrap the dead in a long strip of cloth.

    Too many dead.

    Triumphant nonetheless, we return to Halmuth. Now that we¡¯ve slain the monster, the way forward is finally open. Our time in the Barrens is drawing to an end.

    I can¡¯t wait for what¡¯s next.

 B5 C10: Ask Now the Beasts

    Open gates have never looked so enticing. I¡¯m standing at the edge of Halmuth with my team, about to depart the trading post. The festive atmosphere hasn¡¯t stopped for the last three days, delaying us more than I thought necessary, but my friends convinced me that it would be good for morale to relax and celebrate before we continued on with our trek through the Barrens.

    I shake hands with my favorite [Hunter], who¡¯s come to see us off. ¡°Congratulations on your promotion, Camryn. I¡¯m glad to know that Halmuth will be in good hands while Javier recovers. Sure you don¡¯t want us to take him with us?¡±

    She shakes her head. ¡°He won¡¯t survive the transit on foot. We¡¯ll need a [Caravanner] with passenger Skills.¡±

    I perk up at that description. ¡°Oh? Now that sounds intriguing. I¡¯d love to learn how those work. Nothing like creature comforts on the road. Too bad that¡¯s probably not gonna happen. No offense, but we won¡¯t pass through here again. I think I¡¯ve had quite enough monster attacks for a lifetime.¡±

    ¡°None taken,¡± Camryn says. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re fine with Orav joining you? I get the impression that you¡¯re a private group. Don¡¯t let us impose.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s done is done. How else is Totten going to know what we¡¯re up to?¡± I tease her, although I¡¯m only half joking.

    Camryn shifts uncomfortably. ¡°I¡¯m going to talk with him about how we treat outsiders. I¡¯ve never put much thought into it before. We just keep Halmuth safe. Seeing what happened to you has been a revelation. To be honest, I think I preferred it when I thought Totten was just looking out for us.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°It¡¯s easier to be happy with the way things are when you don¡¯t know how they got that way.¡±

    ¡°Good luck out there,¡± Camryn says tersely. She pushes me toward the gate. ¡°Go on. I¡¯m not very good at goodbyes. You¡¯re making me feel awkward.¡±

    Now that it¡¯s actually time to go, I¡¯m stalling. I don¡¯t know why. I¡¯ve been in a hurry to get out of this place since we arrived. I wave one last time, square my shoulders, and march out the gates, following Azariah as he strides confidently into the wilderness.

    Orav and Mikko are chatting as we go, engrossed in a discussion about the best way to use a shield in a fight. Orav is younger than Mikko, but has more experience in skirmishes. They are both tall, although Orav is clean-limbed and agile where Mikko is powerfully built. All the same, I¡¯m glad that my brother has someone to talk with on the way.

    Avelina and Melina are side by side, but they¡¯re quiet, each lost in her own thoughts. We haven¡¯t spoken much with Avelina since we returned from the hunt. She¡¯s been withdrawn and pensive. Once she found out that Irving didn¡¯t make it, she gave me a look like her entire world had shattered, like I betrayed her trust.

    It hurts more than I expected.

    Lionel is bending Rakesh¡¯s ear about some tidbit of gossip that he picked up during the festivities. Popular among the [Hunters] for his quick wit and free healing, Lionel looks like he hasn¡¯t slept a wink in the entire time we were supposed to be resting up and preparing for the next stage of our journey. Watching him chatter on, though, I wouldn¡¯t know that he¡¯s running on his last legs, about to pass out at any minute. Maybe his [Healer] Class gives him a boost to his overall vitality.

    That leaves only Azariah to talk with, since everyone else is nicely paired. I¡¯d rather not engage the crusty old guide. Not after his betrayal. Sure, things worked out in our favor, but that was because we worked hard to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. It had nothing to do with his claim that he can find a way forward in life, not just across the trackless Barrens.

    I drift back and forth between the groups of people I¡¯m traveling with, listening to random snatches of conversation and trying to distract myself from my frustrations. I linger when I hear Orav explaining that he volunteered to guard our team for the next leg of the journey since he¡¯s tired of the constant politics among the [Hunters].

    ¡°Guess I¡¯m just disillusioned with life in Halmuth. Totten runs that place with an iron fist, you know? I wanna see what else is out there. Densmore is a big place.¡±

    ¡°Definitely is,¡± Mikko grunts. ¡°Careful for what you wish for, Orav. A few short months ago, I thought I wanted to see the world. Now, I just wish I could go home. I miss my parents.¡±

    I miss a step. Recovering from my stumble, I hurry onward, out of earshot. I never knew my brother was dealing with homesickness. Why didn¡¯t he just tell me?

    A familiar old argument pops up in my head, accusing me of dragging them into trouble. I should have let them stay in Silaraon, where it¡¯s safe.

    Then again, there are Rifts and an entire contingent of the Royal army patrolling town, so maybe safety is an illusion. They made their choice. Stop going in circles, Nuri! Grow up. Find a new knot to untangle.

    My mind calms as I focus on walking one step at a time. Travel goes well for once, and a little after sunrise, we stop to set up camp and ensure we¡¯ve got shade for the blazing heat of the noonday sun. I pass out the remaining helms to keep us from roasting.

    Dinner is a quiet, rushed affair. We set up a schedule for keeping watch during the day, and Rakesh deploys his paper birds for early warning. Without further discussion, we wrap up in our sleeping rolls and pass out.

    When I wake, it¡¯s already twilight. For the first time on the road, Azariah let us sleep in instead of prodding us awake with his boots. He¡¯s been silent, brooding and avoiding us unless absolutely required. That suits me fine, as long as he gets us where we¡¯re going.

    ¡°Hey, we should play a game the [Hunters] run for our new recruits,¡± Orav suggests, his voice too bright as I struggle to rub the sleep out of my eyes. ¡°Instead of hunting epic beasts or tracking down dinner for the morning, let¡¯s try to sneak up on tiny creatures and put a little daub of paint on them to prove we tagged them. Most critters by sunrise wins!¡±

    ¡°How do we verify if we¡¯ve tagged them?¡± Rakesh asks. His notepad is out, his pen in his hand, and he¡¯s so studious looking that I burst out laughing.

    ¡°What? It¡¯s a legitimate question, Nuri!¡± Rakesh says, scowling at me. He sounds more deeply offended than I¡¯ve heard him in a while. ¡°Not everyone grew up with rustic pastimes like the rest of you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± I reply, getting the words out around peals of laughter. ¡°I just love how you are always so genuine about learning new information. You really, honestly care. It¡¯s great.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a good question, anyway,¡± Orav says, coming to Rakesh¡¯s rescue. ¡°Normally, the paint we use is mana-conductive, and each color is keyed to a different aspect. Javier isn¡¯t the [Principal Hunter] for nothing. Some are better in fights than he is, but no one¡¯s his level when it comes to sensing and tracking. He could count how many we tagged without moving from the central tent.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Rakesh says, and he means it. He¡¯s faithfully noting down everything that Orav says. I know from prior discussion that he¡¯ll synchronize with his grand Skill once it¡¯s recharged again, adding his new knowledge to the compendium of information shared nationally across the index.

    ¡°Heard you have some sort of advanced mana senses,¡± Orav says, nodding toward me. ¡°Maybe you could take Javier¡¯s place for the competition?¡±

    ¡°Not a bad idea,¡± Melina says, finally joining our conversation. ¡°I can probably create an analog for the paint, something connected to our mana signatures, with Rakesh¡¯s help. I¡¯m only concerned that we might hold up our [Pathfinder] if we¡¯re taking time to sneak off and stalk poor little animals.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t use me as an excuse,¡± Azariah growls. ¡°I¡¯ll participate in yer little game. Gonna win, too.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s settled!¡± Orav says, his voice brimming with happiness. ¡°Let¡¯s figure out a prize for the daily winner.¡±

    ¡°How about no cooking, cleaning, or camp setup responsibilities?¡± I suggest. None of the chores take particularly long, but after a long night¡¯s march, settling back and resting sounds like a premium prize. Plus, it doesn¡¯t require me to make anything or promise to give away future compensation. Non-monetary prizes are good until we¡¯re back in civilization and making money again.

    Enthusiastic cheers meet my recommendation. Everyone wants a chance to get out of work.

    Everyone except Rakesh, that is; he sighs in resignation. ¡°Suppose I¡¯ll become our full time camp hand at this rate. I have no tracking or hunting Skills.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll stick to a rotation. Maybe the daily winner will simply get to sit out one time a week or something.¡± I nod to myself as an idea occurs to me. ¡°Hey, how about you and Mel work out a formal rule set for us? That seems like a good distribution of responsibilities.¡±

    Rakesh brightens immediately. ¡°Perfect! I¡¯ll draft up a proposal.¡±

    =+=

    The rules stipulate how long we can hunt and how far we can stray from the team while tracking down harmless creatures. No one can roam all night, and we have to stay within range of my Domain for safety. Even so, there¡¯s a lot of room for us to take turns exploring the Barrens during our nightly trek.

    As expected, Orav is significantly better at hunting than the rest of the team. He wins the nightly hunt for a week straight, prompting a spirited debate about adding an amendment to the rules that requires winners to sit out after three wins in a row. Orav opposes the new rules, but he¡¯s on his own. Even Azariah agrees that he¡¯s got an unfair advantage, although that might be sour grapes after the [Smokeborn Pathfinder] narrowly loses out again. While he¡¯s excellent at finding water and charting a course, he can¡¯t compete against a dedicated [Hunter].

    Lionel is a surprise contender for third place, often matching Azariah¡¯s tag counts. He shadows Orav as much as possible, picking up a few hints on movement and reading the signs of the wilderness. He¡¯s always been good at sneaking around, but working with Orav, a [Hunter] whose Class Skills granted him a proclivity for stealth and speed, gives him a huge boost.

    I¡¯ve also seen an influence from Azariah. As surly as the [Pathfinder] can be, he¡¯s helped Lionel learn to scout and pathfind¡ªalthough I suspect that he¡¯s motivated to create competition for Orav so that someone can dethrone the talented young [Hunter].

    Rakesh and I are the only ones not participating. He prefers to write down his findings, while I feel like I¡¯d be cheating to participate in a contest that I also judge. That makes me think of Lady Evershed, whom I remember fondly despite all her political maneuvering. I wonder if she¡¯s broken through the barrier yet to the Second Threshold. I suspect that she has, given the arrangements she worked out with the [General], not to mention brokering the treaties with Naftali. I should visit her when I¡¯m back from Gilead.

    Instead of hunting, I turn my attention to puzzling out the runes I observed when Viewing the Oletheros. After Scalpel, something in me reacts in violent revulsion to the thought of control or domination. Still, it¡¯s rare that I have a chance to add something new to my runic vocabulary, so it seems wasteful not to learn what I can. Besides, I have an idea for using the rune that will sidestep my ethical concerns.

    Animals are an inspiration to me in general. From the very beginning, I¡¯ve created playful hedgehogs and flying horses. Fairies and tiny swimming creatures abound in my menageries. I love wings and fins and strange shapes. I want to get back to my roots, making a glass bestiary that I can infuse with mana, just like the mana-rich animals of the Barrens. It¡¯s a lifeless region in many ways, yet something animates the animals we¡¯ve encountered.

    If I can apply that mysterious property of mana to glass animals, then maybe I can also decipher the Oletheros¡¯s Skill and find a way to puppeteer my merry little band. If they can move around, then perhaps I can use them to carry my glass pseudo cores instead of distributing the sets to my teammates.

    Visions of exploring Rifts solo, surrounded by a beautiful, glittering horde of animated glass animals that also function as remote mana cores brings a smile to my face. My heartbeat quickens as a new thought suddenly occurs to me. I wonder if I can connect to them via my Domain? Could I potentially draw on the mana from a distance, without needing to touch them directly? I haven¡¯t tried it yet, but theoretically it would enable me to get around the resonance problem¡ªa difficulty I haven¡¯t otherwise solved.

    When we stop for the day, I gather up a few stones, which I set on a spare anvil that I¡¯m borrowing from Mikko. I set out two spare sets of my glass cores and my prototype sketches of animals. ¡°I¡¯m sitting out of camp prep today. I need to work on a new technique while it¡¯s fresh.¡±

    ¡°Perks of being in charge. Keep it up, and I might stage a mutiny,¡± Lionel teases. ¡°Then I can kick back and relax while you do all the work.¡±

    I rub my temples with my thumb and forefinger. ¡°Be my guest, Lio. Trying to keep you in line gives me a daily headache.¡±

    ¡°Har har.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll show you what I¡¯m making when I¡¯m done. Got some kinks to work out, but this is an interesting one,¡± I say, which seems to mollify Lionel.

    He darts around, setting up the camp in record time. Instead of leaving me to work on my project in peace, however, he¡¯s more distracting than ever. He¡¯s experimenting with a new idea as well, constantly releasing mana into his legs to jump farther and faster. Each time he activates the body enhancement technique, it sets off a riot of colors in my Domain¡¯s passive version of manasight. I hope he figures out how to make it work without as much leakage; he still hasn¡¯t resolved that issue, no matter how much we¡¯ve been practicing.

    I shut down my Domain, figuring we¡¯ll rely on Azariah and Orav to keep an eye out for any threats, and review my rough sketches. I¡¯m looking for a suitable creature to use for my first attempt at a glass golem. A soft smile spreads across my face as I finally come to a decision. I¡¯ll recreate one of my earliest animal creations: the hedgehog I made for Ifran when he first started working at the Pehilaraon Glass Works.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    [Vitrification] sings, changing the pile of stones I collected into glass. They¡¯re little lumps of colored glass, depending on the mineral component of the source material. While the result is less predictable than making a batch of glass from known ingredients, it¡¯s still likely to follow a few basic principles.

    The glass is separate and loose, but a blast of [Greater Heat Manipulation] merges them together into one molten puddle. At this extreme heat, the glass doesn¡¯t stick to the anvil, which I¡¯m shielding from the full force of the temperature fluctuations. I layer my hand in a glove of cold to protect myself, and start sculpting.

    Working with my fingers feels therapeutic, in a way. Directly shaping the glass, as though I¡¯m a [Potter] working with clay, is more fun than fiddling around with blow pipes and jacks and blocks. Fine control is great, but what I really love is feeling like I¡¯m a kid again, making big mud pies down by the river while my family is picnicking.

    Hedgehogs are time-consuming, however. Pinching the glass and pulling to create each little spine gets tedious, no matter how much I enjoy the soothing feeling of molding the glass. I briefly wonder if there¡¯s some sort of [Glass Manipulation] Skill that I could pick up to go along with my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. Then I could imagine anything I pleased, and it would just appear, ready to go.

    But where¡¯s the art in that?

    Making things myself, rather than relying on magic to bridge the gap, is worth the long struggle. I pour part of myself into what I make, no matter how plain or simplistic the design. It still bears an imprint of my soul. This hedgehog will be no different.

    Content with the slow practice of patience for now, I pinch another tiny bit of hot glass between my protected fingers. Pulling it up quickly at first, I slow down as the spine reaches its desired length, twisting it slightly between my fingertips to thin it out and leave a spikey point.

    On and on I go, until a tiny forest of spines decorates the top of the glass ball. The heat stays consistent, ensuring the glass is malleable in my hand, and I rest the emerging hedgie on its side so that I can draw out the little legs. Each ends in a cute cluster of wee paws, splayed so that it will support itself when it¡¯s annealed. Next, I turn my attention to elongating its snout. I¡¯m smiling as I give the hedgehog its own snaggle-toothed smile, even though I¡¯m well aware that the real animal wouldn¡¯t share my emotions.

    I shape the little round eyes, lamenting that I don¡¯t have any iron sulfide to turn the glass black. Two quick pinches later, and I¡¯m flattening out the creature¡¯s rounded ears, admiring the adorable little face staring back at me. He looks cuddly, even with the sharp spikes.

    I love him immediately.

    ¡°Mel, mind annealing this little guy? I think I¡¯m done for now, since I don¡¯t have any other colors to work with at the moment.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure, Nuri!¡±

    Melina doesn¡¯t even look up from her own work as she helps. She lifts up the hedgehog with her [Object Manipulation], applying both her temporal field and [Flawless Annealing] without needing to reach out and touch the glass. Her control has come a long way over the last couple years, and I¡¯m excited to see how she evolves the Skills once they rank up even higher.

    ¡°Done,¡± she announces only minutes later. ¡°Cute lil guy. Will you give him a name?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Too worried he¡¯s going to break when I start experimenting. I¡¯d rather not get too attached.¡±

    Melina pouts. ¡°Aw, shame.¡±

    Setting aside melancholy thoughts, I thread a little mana into the hedgehog to see if I can forge a connection. Nothing happens. Layering the energy and creating a scaffold likewise does little other than enhance the glass¡¯s durability and luster slightly. Mentally, I form the shape and intent of the Dominion rune that I Viewed the Oletheros using, but it fizzles out on contact.

    I shrug. I¡¯m not really expecting that I¡¯ll be able to imbue it with life. Creating a golem is usually a two-step process: building a form and then enchanting it with function. Imbuing might be a way around that if I can rank up my ability, but it won¡¯t be easy.

    ¡°Well. Worth a try,¡± I murmur.

    It would be nice to earn it as an actual Skill, with a label to show that it¡¯s lesser, normal, or greater, but that might be too much to ask. I¡¯ll have to settle for a trial and error approach for now, relying on a freehand spell. On the plus side, that will give me more versatility, if less power than a similar Skill, so maybe it¡¯s for the best.

    Surveying the vast void within my soul space, however, reminds me that my Potential is higher than ever before, but with only three Skills to show for it. I miss my old ones, even if I¡¯m making the best of things.

    ¡°Still no luck?¡± Melina asks.

    I shake my head. ¡°Even when I try to recreate the domination rune through intent, it¡¯s not taking root. It¡¯s like talking to a brick wall. No response.¡±

    Melina sets down her notebook and comes over to sit next to me. She pats my arm and smiles. ¡°Nuri. Why so down? You don¡¯t have the full Skill like that monster. I know you¡¯ve made excellent progress with runes, but a freehand spell like that is incredibly difficult. I don¡¯t think Ezio could do it. Don¡¯t hold yourself up to an impossible standard.¡±

    I laugh weakly. ¡°But that¡¯s what I do best, Mel. If others can do something, then why not me? I do expect to replicate whatever the beast did to usurp the lizards.¡±

    ¡°I believe you¡¯ll get there in time. Let me help you, though, instead of beating yourself up when you run into a dead end,¡± Melina says. She flicks me on the arm with her pen. ¡°Hey! None of that now. Frowning is a bad look for a leader.¡±

    I sit up a little straighter. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m wallowing. Time to get to work instead of letting myself sink into self-pity. Wanna go over the runes with me?¡±

    Melina taps her pen on her book of notes. ¡°Got them pulled up already. Honestly? I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the answer.¡±

    ¡°Oh? You¡¯ve got an idea?¡±

    She nods eagerly. ¡°I do! I just realized that you¡¯re skipping a step. Have you tried using imbued glass? There¡¯s already a mana connection, so you won¡¯t be trying to connect with an inanimate object.¡±

    ¡°Pretty sure glass is inanimate no matter how much I imbue it,¡± I joke. Then I think over the statement again, and stand up to pace. I always think best when I¡¯m pacing. Movement lets me get out all the nervous energy so that I can think without interruption.

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . an excellent idea. I can¡¯t believe I overlooked it. I¡¯ve been thinking about life in too narrow of a context. Mana is the power of creation. It¡¯s not alive the way you and I are as organic beings, but it¡¯s an entire paradigm of life. You¡¯re right!¡±

    ¡°Slow down!¡± Melina says, laughing at me. She beckons Rakesh over to join us. ¡°What happened to scholarly rigor? We have to properly test every hypothesis, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my line,¡± Rakesh says stiffly. He folds his arms and gives Melina a stern look, but his eyes are gleaming with amusement. ¡°I will allow you to use it this time, however.¡±

    I gesture toward the inert hedgehog, still pacing. ¡°If I¡¯m trying to forge a connection with the glass, then Mel¡¯s right. It will be easier to connect with something already imbued with my mana and intent.¡± The longer I talk, the more I warm up to the idea. ¡°The real question is if I can connect to anything I¡¯ve made, or only specific concepts.¡±

    Rakesh raises his hand as though he¡¯s in class, so I do my best Ezio impersonation and call on him. ¡°Do you have anything other than the glass pseudo cores and the helm of frost? I don¡¯t know if either of those are ideal candidates for what you have in mind. Neither are your spears of sharpness, most likely.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s test it out. I¡¯ll make something new,¡± I say. Inspiration blossoms within me, and I can¡¯t wait to try out all the fresh ideas.

    =+=

    Orav tosses a deerlike creature down next to the campfire. He stretches out, his jaw cracking as he yawns, and gets to work skinning the animal and preparing the meat. ¡°Mana-awakened Oryx. Good eating. Expensive anywhere else due to its strengthening properties.¡±

    Melina¡¯s notebook and pen seem to materialize in her hand, which makes me think she cut off the rest of us momentarily so that she could dig it out of her bag and not miss any of Orav¡¯s explanation. ¡°Is that why I¡¯m less tired after marching for a week than I was when we left Halmuth?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Little-known secret. We don¡¯t advertise it, except to rich clients. Unless you¡¯ve got the [Hunter] Class, then chasing down many of the mana-awakened beasts in the Barrens is a death sentence. Even then, it¡¯s no guarantee that things will work out.¡±

    It¡¯s only been a week and a half, but already our bodies seem to have become stronger thanks to the mana-rich meat we¡¯ve been eating. Orav hunts for real after the competition each night. While Azariah is better at finding things no one else can¡ªlike when he tracked down the Oletheros¡ªOrav is more practiced at normal hunting. He¡¯s bringing in a bounty of food for us to eat, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever feasted so well.

    Beyond feeling more refined as we eat well, Azariah leads our team to formations that help with increased mana absorption. I can¡¯t take advantage of it as well as the others, though it¡¯s nice to top off my glass pseudo cores. How he finds them so quickly is still beyond me, since he refuses to drop his shields and let me get a proper Viewing of how his [Wayfinding] Skill works.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe so many Rifts were closed in the Barrens,¡± I remark after we find our third scar on the land. Even though the portals are no longer active, and the mana flow isn¡¯t a torrent like it would be with an open Rift, there¡¯s still an elevated amount of energy in the air.

    ¡°[Mages] get around,¡± Azariah says cryptically. He spits to the side. ¡°Could do with less of their meddlin, truth be told.¡±

    I stroke my beard. ¡°Not in the Utility faction, I see. Don¡¯t blame you. Tapirs is a real piece of¡ªwell, nevermind. I don¡¯t wanna talk about him.¡±

    ¡°Got experience with [Mages]?¡± Azariah asks. There¡¯s a knowing tone in his voice. ¡°You act like one sometimes, but ya ain¡¯t so bad.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a [Mage]!¡± I protest, although I can see how from his perspective I share a lot of characteristics with them. My mastery over mana, my claim to have closed Rifts, and my ability to produce masterworks without a studio or forge is suspicious.

    ¡°Might as well be. How come you know so much about Rifts, anyhow? Sometimes I go years without meetin someone who¡¯s seen a Rift, let alone been in one.¡±

    ¡°Studied them for a while at an Academy. Then I got suckered into delving into a Greater Rift with a high-leveled [Scout].¡±

    Orav chuckles, shaking his head. ¡°You keep claiming you¡¯re not a [Mage], but how many normal people go to an Academy?¡±

    ¡°I only audited one class. Melina was with me, too. Nothing all that strange,¡± I mumble.

    ¡°You mean the lass who can control time and levitate things? Yeah, she doesn¡¯t act like a [Mage], either,¡± Azariah says, snorting out a stream of smoke from each nostril. His bushy white eyebrows climb up his forehead as he looks at me skeptically.

    Thankfully, Lionel runs up to the campfire just then, saving me from any further awkward discussion. He waves boldly. ¡°Five in an hour! Beat that, O Mighty [Hunter]!¡±

    Orav scoffs. ¡°No way you got five.¡±

    ¡°Did too! Taking home the prize. Nothing you can do about it,¡± Lionel boasts. ¡°I got you. I got you good this time!¡±

    I don¡¯t point out that it¡¯s the ninth night of our competition, and everything that Lionel has learned so far is from copying Orav. We¡¯ve made it a little over halfway to the inland sea, and everyone is determined to take a win off Orav before our time is up, so I let the teasing slide.

    ¡°I¡¯ll eat smoke for dinner if you got more than three,¡± Azariah says, piling on. ¡°You¡¯ve got a trick planned. Always do, ya wily little stinker.¡±

    ¡°Whoa. He¡¯s not lying. Verified his claim,¡± I say, nodding at Lionel. ¡°He managed to tag two jerboas just before the time ran out. Congrats!¡±

    Orav groans at the same time that Lionel jumps into the air and pumps his fists. He claps Azariah on the back, earning a dirty look, and runs around in circles.

    A slow smile spreads across my face. It¡¯s good to have downtime after the craziness of fighting the Oletheros.

    While Lionel indulges in an extended victory dance, I return to the task that¡¯s eluded me since we set out from Halmuth: creating an imbued glass animal that not only accepts a mana connection, but is receptive to the Dominion rune. I still feel uncomfortable at the idea of forcing my will on something, but controlling a glass creation is no different from a [Toymaker] making a marionette dance across the stage.

    Tuning out all the noise and boisterous celebration around me, I re-create the hedgehog shape that I¡¯m so fond of experimenting with each time we stop for camp. This time, however, I let my mind run free. I imagine the first mewling cry of a kitten, wet and miserable and desperate for its mother. Mentally, I coax a magnificent oak from a lowly acorn, exulting in its green shoots and towering, graceful boughs.

    I meditate on the concept of life, orchestrating a song of joy for the mana to accompany. Singing in my spirit, I welcome the ambient mana around us to become more than it is right now. I invite it to flourish, to abound and overflow with plenty.

    The energy of creation sings with me, cavorting about like my friend Lionel, spiraling into the cheerful little hedgehog and imbuing it with vitality. Life, although it¡¯s not alive.

    Power rushes into me. My inner world expands abruptly, shifting and rattling like a pantry full of plates during an earthquake. The world¡¯s essence solidifies before me in my inner sight. I watch in rapt fascination and trembling awe as it forms a thousand mysterious, eldritch shapes that coalesce into the runic super-structure of a Skill.

    I did. I did it!

    My hard work pays off. I¡¯ve finally earned a new Skill. Excitement races through me, raw and vibrant and unrestrained, as I examine the meaning and interplay of the majestic runes. I¡¯ve never seen so many new and unusual runes before. I can¡¯t wait to learn them all.

    Pride rises like a warm flood in my chest. Although I didn¡¯t directly create this Skill, like I did with [Vitrification], I was halfway there on my own. Until the Rift, when I gained my beloved [Arcane Domain], I wasn¡¯t even sure that I could earn a Skill until I fixed my core¡ªand even that Skill was a surprise. Sure, I made [Vitrification], but I created that from the rubble of my previous Skills. This one is different. I formed a theory and pursued it, and it¡¯s uniquely mine.

    Once again I see that magic is more than we make of it. My core is just a shortcut. It¡¯s an easy way to store mana. Likewise, our channels streamline the process of pumping mana into our Skills. Without them we can still function in the metaphysical realm¡ªwe lose efficiency and gain excruciating pain, but we can do it.

    Anticipation gets the better of me. I can¡¯t wait any longer, watching with bated breath as the banner on the new Skill unfurls. Glittering in cobalt and platinum lettering, it proclaims the name of my newest Skill:

    [Glass Animation]

    Shrieking with excitement, I fall out of my soul space and back into my body. ¡°Ahhh! I did it! I did it!¡±

    Everyone clusters around at my yelling, confused by my hysterics. I grab Melina by the arm and spin her around. ¡°You were right! Imbuing with life was the key, Mel!¡±

    ¡°You got the Skill?¡± Melina screams, equally excited. She grabs my arms back and spins with me, dancing next to Lionel, who joins us instantly despite me upstaging his victory.

    ¡°I got the Skill,¡± I confirm. ¡°Unlocked something new, thanks to you. It¡¯s covered in runes that I¡¯ve never seen before. This is a huge boon for our library!¡±

    Rakesh perks up in interest. ¡°You¡¯ll have to write them down for us later. But I¡¯m nervous, if I¡¯m allowed to be forthright, that you may regret earning this new Skill. You were trying to copy the monster¡¯s domination Skill. What did you get, in the end?¡±

    I laugh at Rakesh¡¯s cautious nature. ¡°No need to worry. It¡¯s called [Glass Animation]. If it does what I think it does, then prepare to march across the Barrens with an army at our heels.¡± I¡¯m practically vibrating in excitement as I continue talking, laying out my plan for creating glass golems with connected mana cores, so I never run out of mana again.

    ¡°Is this how you turn into a bad guy?¡± Lionel asks, snickering. ¡°Because you¡¯re sounding a little like an evil overlord right now.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I was gonna make a golem for you since you won tonight,¡± I say, shaking my head at my friend. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll make the first one for Mel, since she actually helped me earn a Skill. I¡¯m not sure I would have made the jump, since I was so focused on animals.¡±

    ¡°Ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee,¡± Azariah murmurs under his breath. He stares at me, expression unreadable.

    ¡°What did you say?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Ah, just somethin my mum said once.¡±

    I scratch my chin. ¡°I like it. Kinda has a ring of ancient wisdom.¡±

    Azariah lifts his head suddenly. He growls in frustration. ¡°Save yer celebrations for later. Skill¡¯s buzzin like angry bees. No time for jestin. Storm¡¯s comin.¡±

    Orav squints up at the clear skies. ¡°You sure? No signs I can¡¯t see. Storm season isn¡¯t supposed to hit for another few weeks.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Azariah replies, looking shaken. He starts rushing about, packing up anything in the camp that¡¯s not still in a travel bag. ¡°Get movin or get washed away,¡± he roars. ¡°Rain in the Barrens ain¡¯t a joke.¡±

 B5 C11: Loch LaMara

    Staying ahead of the brooding stormfront consumes every second of our lives. We jog day and night, ignoring cold and heat alike, not even pausing to cook or eat. Instead, Orav hands out jerked strips of meat while we move, and we refill our water using one of Azariah¡¯s emergency survival Skills.

    All I want to do is practice my new Skill, [Glass Animation], but I don¡¯t have that luxury at the moment. We¡¯re keeping up a demanding pace that leaves no time for anything other than the grueling march to avoid the driving rain and ominous thunder at our backs.

    It¡¯s not enough.

    Above us, the windows of heaven open. Unrelenting rains pound the formerly-parched wastelands, soaking us to the bone and turning the red dirt into thick, clinging mud. Keeping our footing becomes almost impossible, although Azariah, Orav, and Lionel seem to handle it much better than the rest of us.

    Azariah points to a low rise perhaps ten minutes away. ¡°Up there! Take shelter!¡±

    We struggle on toward the hill, but the mud becomes so thick and deep as the greedy ground drinks up the endless rain that we¡¯re slipping and falling. Behind us, thunder ruptures the sky. Great sheets of dazzling white lightning explode, blinding and leaving behind afterimages.

    I can¡¯t see, crawling around in disoriented terror. I reach out with my Domain, trying to get my bearings, but it¡¯s difficult to orient myself while sliding around in the mud. Moving forward feels impossible. Bile rises in my throat, and fear grips my heart in icy talons. Is this where my journey ends?

    ¡°Up! Run,¡± Azariah yells. He pulls me to my feet and breathes out a cloud of pipe smoke in front of us. Smoke curls and billows, spreading out at our feet, and it hardens into a rough sheet that resembles concrete.

    I step onto it, half-pushed by Aariah, and begin walking. Traction immediately improves, allowing us to join our guide when he sprints ahead. He blows out more and more smoke as we move, replacing the track in front of us. I run for all I¡¯m worth, not wanting to get caught out in the gale-force winds, pelting rain, and occasional shards of hail. Each droplet stings my cheeks, and the sharp hail draws blood, which runs hot and mingles with the cold rainwater as it washes down into my matted beard.

    Just as I think I can¡¯t run anymore¡ª desperate for air, my chest heaving and my heart pounding in my chest like Mikko hammering at the forge¡ªwe reach the top of the hill. It¡¯s hardly even a hill, but compared with the mostly flat topography of the Barrens, it may as well be a mountain. And, best of all, there¡¯s a cave carved into the rocky outcropping at the top.

    We pile inside, needing no prompting from Azariah to hurry. He drops his Skill as soon as we¡¯re in, panting from the exertion of hardening his smoke into a walkway big enough for an entire group of people to run on at the same time. Gasping for air, he tries to talk, but it takes him almost half a minute before he spits out the words.

    ¡°Seal. Close off the cave.¡± He breaks off, bending over with his hands on his knees, and vomits all over the floor. His eyes look dull and vacant, and his forehead is slick with a sheen of sweat, not rain. He¡¯s badly overdrawn his mana to build us a causeway over the thick mud, and now he¡¯s paying the price.

    ¡°Mikko! Drag those boulders over,¡± I command, pointing at a pile of rocks and rubble at the back of the cave. ¡°I¡¯ll glass em, melt it down, and spread it across the mouth of the cave.¡±

    My brother lurches into motion, rushing to the back of the conical room. He hauls the rocks effortlessly, dashing back and forth along the silca-flecked floors to grab a new boulder and carrying them to the front. At the mouth of the cave, he stacks the rocks up to obscure the howling, angry sky outside, and nods at me when he¡¯s done.

    I place my hand on the rough, gray-and-brown rocks, and channel [Vitrification], turning them into a massive amount of glass. It takes nearly all my mana, due to the sheer amount of the material I¡¯m transmuting, but I have enough energy left to melt it all with my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. My new cores are amazing. With Melina and Avelina working in tandem, we copy the same technique we used for the window in Totten¡¯s tower. [Object Manipulation] spreads out the glass thin to cover the gap, and [Strong as Stone] reinforces the hastily-prepared window.

    ¡°Take the spare cores if you¡¯re almost out,¡± I tell Melina, knowing that she¡¯ll need to use [In the Blink of an Eye] and [Flawless Annealing] in conjunction to ensure that the glass sets. I don¡¯t want to risk something getting through.

    ¡°Is that strong enough to hold a mana-awakened beast?¡± Orav asks, eyeing the window with open skepticism. ¡°We should still set a watch.¡±

    ¡°Agreed. You¡¯re up first,¡± I say.

    Orav nods, taking up a position where he can see outside while resting on a flat, fallen rock, leaning against the wall of the cave. ¡°I¡¯ll keep watch. Get some sleep, everyone. Storms like this last a day or two. Maybe longer. It¡¯s the first of the season, so it¡¯s hard to predict.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. We¡¯re counting on your expertise,¡± I say, nodding at Orav. ¡°Lio, can you take care of Azariah? Make sure it¡¯s just mana-related. I didn¡¯t see anything happen to him, but I¡¯d rather not take any chances.¡±

    ¡°On it!¡± Lionel says, hopping to his feet. He scurries over to our guide, whose ashen face looks less hale than usual. A few applications of his healing magic later, Lionel shrugs. ¡°Seems fine. Nothing else I can really do for him. Used all my healing Skills, just to be safe. Don¡¯t think my [Lesser Neutralizing Touch] does anything for mana poisoning, though.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for checking. We¡¯ll see what he suggests once he¡¯s awake. For now, let¡¯s all get some rest. Like Orav said, we might be holed up for a while, so let¡¯s take full advantage of the time that we have. No sense wasting a chance to recover.¡±

    =+=

    As it turns out, setting a watch was smart. Midway through the second day of furious storms, a massive, centipede-like monster tries to break its way into the cave while I¡¯m sleeping, shrieking and hurling itself against the glass barrier. Armored in big, gray, overlapping scales and covered in mottled brown patterns, it blends into the surroundings¡ªexcept for its fearsome, open pink maw with ringed rows of triangular teeth.

    Rakesh¡¯s panicked cries wake us up as it skitters up the hill toward us. Three times as long as a wagon, it somehow moves with astonishing agility for its size.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t notice it approaching until just now! Can it get through? Looks like it can break things with that horn,¡± Rakesh asks, pointing at the sturdy spike projecting from its forehead. Panic rolls off him in waves.

    ¡°We got this!¡± I shout.

    Forewarned just in time, I expand my Domain and slam against it mentally, halting it in its tracks at a heavy mana cost. ¡°Fall back, Rakesh. Good work spotting it.¡±

    The centipede shakes its great head side to side, then lets out an ear-splitting shriek and charges at the glass as fast as it can. Its legs move in mesmerizing unison, propelling it at us as quickly as a horse at full gallop.

    Cracks radiate across the surface of the window when it hits. Despite [Strong as Stone], the glass is too thin to withstand this kind of beating. We¡¯ll have to layer it with a few more panes to make it hold up, but I lack the raw material to fuel the transmutation. Still, the barrier does its job, and the monster rebounds with a sickening crack as its horn splinters.

    Twin axes materialize in Azariah¡¯s hands. He takes a stance in front of the window, ready for when the beast breaks through. Mikko joins him, hefting his shield and hammer. The grim set of their faces declares that they won¡¯t let the beast past them.

    Anger flares within me. This is my team. It can find some other prey. My glass pseudo cores have recharged over the last day and a half, so I pour mana into my [Arcane Domain]. I seize the mana in the air outside, overcharging my Domain as powerfully as I can, and calling on my keenest understanding of the concept of sharpness to rip apart its carapace in a storm of invisible blades.

    The beast stumbles, roaring in pain, but doesn¡¯t stop. It crashes into the glass again, and this time it shatters it completely. It plows onward, colliding with Mikko and cracking his shield.

    He stops its charge.

    Straining for all he¡¯s worth, Mikko shouts in defiance, pushing back against the beast. He swings his glass hammer, crushing armor and sending green ichor flying. ¡°Attack! Drive it off!¡±

    We rally at his warcry, launching whatever attacks we have available. Lionel¡¯s rapier is a glittering stinger, piercing its left eye. Axes trailing streamers of gray smoke bisect two sets of legs. Paper birds swarm its right eye, exploding into sharp strips that shred their target.

    Whoa! That¡¯s new.

    I draw hungrily on the mana in my larger glass cores, preparing to boil the beast¡¯s brains in its shell, when blue-white flames engulf the huge beast in glorious heat, sending it flying out of the cave in an explosion of fire.

    ¡°Leave my friends alone!¡± Avelina screams, stalking out of the mouth of the cave with her hands lifted. Undaunted by the driving rain, she marches onward. Fire blazes around her, so hot that the water evaporates in a sizzle before it can even touch her. She thrusts out both hands, and a stream of liquid flame gushes forward, overwhelming the ugly creature and setting its entire body on fire.

    Avelina spins on her heel and strides straight back into the cave, her chin held high. She makes her way to a stone in the back of the cave and sits, folding her legs under her and staring at the wall.

    The centipede writhes in agony, shrieking for nearly five minutes before it finally dies. No one feels like going back to sleep again. We move on as soon as the rain finally stops just after daybreak. Orav suggests butchering the monster for meat, but no one takes him up on the offer.

    ¡°Better this way. Gotta get used to daylight again and sleepin at night,¡± Azariah explains gruffly when we groan about lack of sleep. He¡¯s mostly shaken off the effects of using so much mana, but he¡¯s more subdued than usual.

    Along the way, we¡¯re forced to dodge one more storm by climbing onto a small plateau and hunkering down in the cold, wet, wretched weather. Exposed to the elements, there¡¯s not much we can do to keep dry or warm; even with [Greater Heat Manipulation], I¡¯m fighting a losing battle.

    Regardless of how miserable we are, it¡¯s still better than getting caught down below. Flash floods surge past our spot, frothing with white-water fury. I¡¯d rather be alive, thank you.

    A day out from Loch LaMara, we get a break in the clouds, and Azariah picks up the pace of travel. I don¡¯t complain; it¡¯s nice to be back under the light of the sun. Returning to a day-time dynamic is far stranger at first than I anticipated, though. Without even realizing it, I¡¯ve become wholly acclimated to our nocturnal existence. The heat and light of the daytime seem almost overwhelming now, a garish reminder of the chaos of the world around us, but I¡¯ll take it over the sleet and hail that comes with the severe storms.

    Still, daytime living is a good policy now that we¡¯re reaching the border of the Barrens and passing into cooler climates. The rest of the world operates during the day time, while it¡¯s light out and people can easily see, so we have to follow along. It used to be normal for me, but it¡¯s odd how quickly I adapted to a different mode of existence. People are endlessly fascinating that way; we find ways to change, grow, and thrive in any environment.

    The Barrens are all but gone now, giving way to bushlands and small stands of trees. On the far horizon, foothills and even the occasional small mountains poke up through the purple haze of dawn. Just on the other side, we¡¯ll finally reach the inland sea. Bolstered by the thought of a hot meal and a soft bed, we push onward. The hours fly by until we reach the top of the last hill and behold our destination at last.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°I present to you the port of Loch LaMara,¡± Azariah says grandly, gesturing with his pipe. Trailing his ever-present gray smoke, the pipe inscribes a lazy circle in the air, which pops into a perfect circle a moment later, creating a mirror to display the sea-side town in greater detail.

    Not many people line the streets. The few shops are boarded up in preparation for the stormy season. Ramshackle warehouses dominate the cityscape. Not very many houses or residential units appear to exist, which makes sense since people pass through, but don¡¯t tend to stay long. Over a dozen quays jut out into the dark waters of the inland sea.

    The people who work here are almost all in logistics, according to Rakesh. The laborers travel with the ships, loading up goods and then pulling double-duty as the crew when they sail to the next destination. Unlike Halmuth, which serves as a trade hub, Loch Lamara is nothing more than a glorified stopover. Strategic, but barely civilization.

    ¡°Who knew there was so much water in the entire world,¡± Orav whispers. He stares at the picture in the scrying circle, a hungry expression in his eyes at finally getting a look at the inland sea. ¡°We¡¯d never have to search out springs again if we lived here.¡±

    Something about his childlike awe at seeing a body of water lifts my spirits. I should see more of the joy and wonder of the world around me, instead of wallowing in cynicism. I vow to take more time to enjoy seeing the sights. I¡¯ve always wanted to travel the world. I just didn¡¯t know it was so dangerous.

    Still, there¡¯s something off about the image before us. Loch LaMara is the only port on this side of the inland sea, since it¡¯s the only place with a harbor. For some reason I expected more ship traffic.

    Or, really, any ship traffic.

    Swallowing my pride, I approach Azariah to see what he knows. I lift an eyebrow and point down toward the docks. ¡°Where are all the people? Looks less popular than a restaurant with a rat infestation. Shouldn¡¯t the Loch LaMara jetties be full of boats and barges?¡±

    Azariah puffs on his pipe. When he answers me, he looks regretful more than anything. ¡°Stormy season. We dallied far too long in Halmuth. Sailin is outta the question now.¡±

    I bite down on my first thoughtless reply, take a deep breath, and say, ¡°I thought you said sailing across the sea would cut a month off travel time? Now we¡¯re stuck here?¡±

    ¡°I did, and it will. Problem is findin a captain. You see any watercraft capable of that kind of voyage? Even if you did pick out a boat, no one¡¯ll sail now. Two storms deep into the season.¡± He sniffs, looking up at the sky. ¡°Next storm¡¯s on the horizon, too. Might as well ask them to slit their own throats.¡±

    ¡°What choice do we have?¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°We circle around the long way. No other options that I can think of¡ªwell, no other safe options. Rumor says we can meet with the sea-people, but I can¡¯t get a read on em with my Skill.¡±

    I squint at him. ¡°The sea-people? Never heard of them. What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°Forget I mentioned it,¡± Azariah says, scowling. ¡°That¡¯s a last-ditch measure, and I ain¡¯t putin too much weight in hearsay.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t your pathfinding Skill alert you?¡± I ask him in a measured tone. Inwardly, I¡¯m seething, but I¡¯m trying to be more even-keeled. As our leader, I can¡¯t afford to act rashly or let my emotions get the better of me. That doesn¡¯t mean ignoring my feelings; it just means that I have to consider how my actions impact others. Learning to see the bigger picture, instead of doing what I want, is part of the burden of leadership.

    Azariah puffs on his pipe once more, his favorite tactic when he doesn¡¯t want to give me an answer. His brow is furrowed, and he looks troubled, but I can¡¯t help but wonder if he¡¯s taking his time to cook up a line to feed me. Yet when he finally heaves a heavy sigh and shakes his shaggy head, I believe he¡¯s sincere. ¡°That¡¯s the thing. I consulted my Skill. Always do. It¡¯s led us here every time.¡±

    I tamp down my natural skepticism and consider his words, trying to get to the heart of the matter. ¡°Oh? You think there¡¯s something more going on that meets the eye?¡±

    He nods slowly, still drawing on his pipe. He breathes out a thick wreath of smoke. ¡°Stay on guard. I don¡¯t have a good feelin about the place. We¡¯ll know more soon enough.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the warning,¡± I say stiffly. I still don¡¯t trust Azariah, but until I can figure out his angle, I¡¯d be stupid to ignore his warning. Remaining vigilant is smart anyway, so it¡¯s not like he¡¯s counseling us to do something that I wouldn¡¯t already want to do. All I want to do is find a place to relax for the night and work on my glass animals, but my team comes first.

    ¡°Yep,¡± he murmurs, still staring at the town in his strange, smokey mirror. He tugs on his ear a few times, then resumes walking, letting the scrying mirror dissipate.

    ¡°You heard Azariah. Stay watchful, but look out for opportunities to continue our journey. Don¡¯t let your guard down,¡± I instruct my team.

    Sticking as close together as we can without creating uncomfortable resonance between all the glass cores we¡¯re carrying, we pick our way across the foothills, following a winding path that¡¯s smoother and better maintained than anything we¡¯ve dealt with in the Barrens for the last few weeks. It¡¯s a good reminder that we¡¯re returning to civilization.

    Civilized doesn¡¯t mean safe, though.

    ¡°Nuri! Look at their street lamps. They¡¯re using the same models that we have at home,¡± Melina points out cheerfully.

    ¡°Must be a standard across Densmore. I did wonder why the glass panes we made were so uniform. For some reason, I just assumed that Mikko¡¯s forge made the iron frames.¡±

    ¡°We do, but they¡¯re based on a template,¡± Mikko says. ¡°Makes it easy to churn out a ton of em all at once. Simple work to hand off to an [Apprentice Blacksmith] or less skilled laborer, since it always follows the same basic pattern.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Smart. That probably freed you up for more interesting things, like working on all the pieces of the Iron Lunk.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered that you thought I was beyond basic work, Nuri, but I made my fair share of those street lamps. Silaraon asked for so many of them that it was all hands on deck. Eventually I did work my way up, but it wasn¡¯t right away.¡±

    ¡°Maybe they¡¯ll have work for us,¡± I say, squinting at the lights through my Domain. Now that Azariah dropped his smoke-based illusion that gave us a bird¡¯s-eye view of Loch LaMara, I have to find alternate ways to see what¡¯s going on. They don¡¯t seem to be in good shape, which isn¡¯t great right before a stormy season. If someone¡¯s caught outside at night, trying to get to safety, then it will make the dark all the more difficult to navigate.

    Maybe I can duplicate what Azariah is able to do, I muse. Since I can connect to imbued glass now, then maybe I can display what I¡¯m able to sense in my Domain. I just have to figure out a way to show it to the other people in our team. A few small rondells, like hand-mirrors, would be a perfect way to share. Between Rakesh¡¯s birds and my animated glass¡ªassuming I can figure out how to use it properly¡ªwe¡¯ll have eyes and ears on everything around us. No one can surprise us again.

    ¡°Would you mind lowering your defenses and showing me that scrying magic again, Azariah?¡± I ask as politely as I can.

    ¡°Trying to steal from me?¡± Azariah barks.

    ¡°Only if you¡¯re willing.¡±

    ¡°Diplomatic for a thief,¡± he mutters, but his lips unexpectedly twitch into a smile. ¡°Mebbe I¡¯ll show ya.¡±

    Just when I think he¡¯s going to turn me down, he breathes out a smoke in a slow stream, forming the Skill with exacting precision. I watch as closely as I can, although my Viewing is still far from consistent or advanced. I need to practice more before I see Mbukhe again. He¡¯s much quieter than Casella, but he has more demanding standards.

    ¡°That¡¯s more complicated than I thought at first,¡± I say while watching the dizzying Skill unfold. ¡°It¡¯s not going to be easy to duplicate. Might take me weeks. Would you mind if I draw it out later? Rakesh and Melina are helping me write down runic arrays and create a dictionary of what we discover.¡±

    ¡°Guess so,¡± Azariah grumbles.

    From him, that¡¯s downright friendly. I¡¯ll take a win however I can, so I nod my thanks and fall silent as we continue our journey into town. An hour later, we descend from the craggy hills and reach the low walls surrounding the port of Loch LaMara proper. There aren¡¯t any [Guards] at the gate, which is a surprise after Halmuth. Even so, it¡¯s not exactly a warm welcome.

    The broad, flat fields surrounding the walls are completely bare for at least two hundred paces. Not a single weed pushes up from the ground. No pebbles or stray mounds of dirt mar the ground. I assume that someone¡¯s watching at all times, keeping tabs on anyone who tries to enter the city.

    ¡°They¡¯re in the watchtower to your left,¡± Orav says quietly, making a point not to look in that direction. ¡°Might look unattended, but I don¡¯t think they¡¯re slacking. Foreboding, huh?¡±

    ¡°Not the warmest welcome,¡± I agree.

    I tuck away that bit of information, although I don¡¯t acknowledge his words or give myself away by craning my neck to stare in the direction indicated. Azariah already warned us to stay on guard during our time here, so I¡¯d be foolish not to listen.

    Still. Couldn¡¯t we go to a single place that¡¯s friendly and safe? I¡¯m getting tired of always watching my back¡ªand things won¡¯t exactly improve once we get to Gilead. I don¡¯t think we¡¯re on our way to a vacation. Even if we come out with advanced healing Skills or a Class evolution for Lionel, and a restored body and channels for me, it won¡¯t be an easy or fun visit, I¡¯ll wager. Nothing the [Inquisitors] are looking into ever proves as simple as it seems on the surface.

    ¡°Should be an inn this way,¡± Azariah says. His smoke forms itself into an elaborate sign, pointing the way for us to follow. We trot along behind him, lured on by the promise of real beds and a change of menu. We¡¯ve eaten well in the Barrens¡ªwhich seems like a strange name to me, now that I¡¯ve seen how mana-rich the creatures are that call the wilderness their home¡ªbut it¡¯s still nice to eat something fresh.

    Just as the inn comes into sight a few streets over, lightning splits the sky. A deep and bone-rattling clap of thunder shakes the heavens.

    I glance up in shock; only a moment ago, the clouds had barely begun to darken, but it¡¯s almost pitch-black out now as winds rage and enormous thunderclouds loom high overhead. I¡¯m reminded of the chaos storms that ravaged Silaraon after I emerged from the Greater Rift when I adventured with Tem, but this looks entirely natural.

    ¡°Inside!¡± Azariah yells, breaking into a sprint. Watching his short legs pump as fast as the stout man can move spurs us all into action. We¡¯ve had more than enough storms over the past week to last us a lifetime.

    The rain falls on us like a sluice gate opened above us, dumping more water than I ever would have thought possible in such a short amount of time, if I hadn¡¯t survived two storms just like it recently. This close to a body of water, however, the bad weather is even more extreme. The cobblestones beneath us grow slick with water, but we lean into each other as we run down the street, huddling together for support. Each fat raindrop hits like a flung stone, so we put our heads down and run for all we¡¯re worth.

    A man waits for us at the entrance to the inn, waving us on with a grim look in his eyes. He¡¯s wearing an oil-slicked raincoat, even though he doesn¡¯t leave the overhanging eaves of the inn¡¯s front porch, and he¡¯s holding a lantern up to guide us.

    ¡°Sea¡¯s bounty be yours, travelers! Last ones in for the season,¡± he calls out, cupping his free hand to his mouth.

    We run through the driving rain and make it the last few dozen paces to his inn, leaping up the steps to join him on the porch. Mikko shakes off water like a wet dog, and I wipe my eyes as one of the stinging drops hits me in the face.

    Azariah snorts out smoke, and it turns into scalding steam, evaporating the water off his body. I follow his lead, flexing my [Greater Heat Manipulation] and clearing off the water from the entire team in one pulse of power.

    ¡°Handy,¡± the innkeeper mutters. He gives me a hard look. ¡°Don¡¯t get a lot of high ranking folk out here, especially not on foot. Staying long?¡± Then he laughs ruefully. ¡°Well. Not like you have much of a choice anymore. Nowhere to go.¡±

    His weather-lined face is more deeply tanned than I¡¯d expect from someone who works inside. He looks more like a retired seaman, and the limp in his right leg seems to reinforce that he¡¯s changed careers not entirely of his own volition. His hair is white as sugar, and he¡¯s slightly overweight, but his sky-blue eyes are sharp and lively.

    I shrug. ¡°Not staying if we can help it. Doesn¡¯t seem like much we can do with the storm hitting, though.¡±

    He grunts non-committedly. ¡°Curious time to roam into town. Come on, then. Let¡¯s get you sorted. Name¡¯s Ned.¡±

    I can¡¯t seem to place where Ned¡¯s from. His accent is lilting in a way that we don¡¯t hear in the borderlands very often, but he lacks the usual paleness of the far North, and his eyes say Easterner. I¡¯ll bet he¡¯s got stories to tell, but they¡¯ll have to wait.

    ¡°Rooms sound fantastic after the Barrens. Orav, you sticking with us?¡±

    ¡°Got nowhere to go for now,¡± Orav says awkwardly. He fumbles at his belt pouch for his money bag, but I wave him off.

    ¡°Just bunk with one of us for now. You¡¯ve been a big help with hunting food, so it¡¯s the least we can do to repay you.¡±

    ¡°Where you folks headed, anyhow?¡± Ned asks.

    ¡°Osaria,¡± Azariah says, at the same time that I blurt out, ¡°Gilead.¡± We exchange glances, and I chuckle and shrug when Ned¡¯s piercing gaze grows even sharper.

    Our [Smokeborn Pathfinder] takes the lead, summoning up a puff of pipe smoke and shaping it into a map of Densmore and its surrounding territories. He draws a line in scorching red fire, right across the undulating gray background of smoke. Flickering and spitting, the line goes from Loch LaMara through Gilead, and then hooks Southwest toward Osaria.

    ¡°That¡¯s why he¡¯s our guide,¡± I say, smiling broadly and nodding toward Azariah. A few of my teammates join me in an awkward chuckle, and we move on as though nothing happened. I hope I didn¡¯t inadvertently cause us any trouble by telling Ned where we¡¯re going. Sternly, I remind myself to keep an eye out for that sort of thing in the future. I¡¯m too quick to give away information that I shouldn¡¯t.

    A leader needs to learn to control his tongue¡ªand that means starting with my thoughts. I have to curb my worst impulses, discard my worries and selfishness. I can¡¯t endanger my team because I¡¯m thoughtless or reckless.

    Ned ushers us to a side hall past the main great room, which seems strangely empty for an inn at a trading port. ¡°Everyone left yesterday. Whole place is empty. Take whichever rooms you want; let me know, and I¡¯ll get you keys. Food¡¯s on at the noon bell. Hope you like fish.¡±

    ¡°Anything¡¯s better than jerky,¡± Lionel mutters, which sets off a round of chuckles, though Orav looks mildly offended.

    Soon, we¡¯re fed, dried, and exchanging stories with Ned. Like most fishermen, he¡¯s got an amazing knack for telling tall tales, and the team lets off steam laughing at his obvious lies about catching eels bigger than the inn, or seeing fish-people wave to him from beneath the waves of Loch LaMara.

    Yawning overtakes me after a few hours, and I bid our friendly host farewell to get settled into my room. I crawl under the covers and sleep for the rest of the day and all through the night, glad to be done with our wilderness crossing. It¡¯s nice to be back in civilization. I¡¯ve got a good feeling about Loch LaMara.

 B5 C12: Seaside Inspiration

    Breakfast the next morning is a seafood affair: a meal of steamed freshwater oysters and some sort of water-based greens that I don¡¯t recognize. They¡¯re chewy and have an unusual, bumpy texture, but I enjoy the flavor. No one speaks much while we eat, too busy stuffing our faces with delicacies. Over an hour later, Ned clears the plates off the table in the main room, and we begin discussing our options. Bellies full, our bodies all seem to share the same lethargy. We¡¯re speaking idly instead of planning for our next stage with any urgency.

    Setting out to explore the town in the heavy rain seems like a non-starter, since visibility is poor and shops are closed. According to Ned, they¡¯ll open back up once things slow down, so I guess it¡¯s all right to take our time.

    ¡°Should blow over by twilight,¡± Azariah says, picking a bit of the tough, salty vegetable out of his teeth. ¡°Getting a sense we should talk with the mayor, see what¡¯s going on.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t outright mention his Skill, so I don¡¯t, either. I just nod and take in the details for later. ¡°Rakesh, you¡¯re our treasurer. How are our funds looking if we need to book passage? Surely there¡¯s a [Storm Captain] who can still navigate during the squalls.¡±

    ¡°Not likely,¡± Azariah says. ¡°Best bet may be to find a [Caravanner] and go around the far edge of the inland sea. Slow, but doable.¡±

    ¡°What about the people you mentioned on the way in?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Dunno what ya mean. I asked around,¡± Azariah says. He puffs out a wisp of smoke that curls around my spot at the table, forming a faint impression of a word.

    Later.

    ¡°Oh. Well, thanks for checking.¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    I resist the urge to drum my fingers on the table. I don''t need to show off my impatience. Instead I nod at the [Pathfinder] and run through the numbers in my head. ¡°How much delay are we looking at? We¡¯re already on the back foot after Halmuth. I¡¯m worried that we¡¯ll run out of funds on the road.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you can refill the coffers here,¡± Rakesh suggests. He taps the lumpen clay mugs at the table. ¡°Could see about upgrading these, to start.¡±

    Ned drifts back through the room at that moment, carrying a basket of linens. He sets it down on an empty table, grimacing as he stretches out his hip. ¡°Got a problem with my mugs?¡±

    ¡°Never, good innkeeper!¡± Rakesh says, perhaps a touch too hastily. ¡°But I travel with a company of glass-makers. Perhaps we could interest you in a set of matching glasses?¡±

    Ned shrugs. ¡°Expensive. Break easily.¡±

    ¡°How about one free cup to see what we can do?¡± Melina suggests. ¡°Perhaps you could point us in the right direction in exchange.¡±

    ¡°Nah, don¡¯t need your bribes. Sailing season¡¯s over. Your guide¡¯s got the right idea. Only way is overland now, unless you can grow fins and flippers.¡± He grins widely at his last comment and reveals a snaggle-tooth grin, stained yellow-brown.

    ¡°Afraid I¡¯m not much of a fish,¡± Lionel quips, grinning back at Ned. ¡°But I think Mel meant that you could tip us off about potential jobs. Know of anything that needs fixing around town? We can do any glass project. Oh, and steel. Big guy¡¯s a [Blacksmith].¡±

    Ned licks his lips. He fishes around in his pockets, his gnarled fingers trembling until he pulls out a packet, unrolls it, and produces a dark brown, taffy-like little roll that he pops into his mouth. As he chews, his jitters slow down. ¡°I can ask. Probably some windows will blow out during the storm. Happens every year. Usually we ship in replacements. Not cheap. I¡¯m sure the mayor will take you up on that offer.¡±

    ¡°Our thanks,¡± Melina says. She smiles as kindly as she can. ¡°We¡¯ll have a cup and goblet waiting for you at dinner tonight.¡±

    The innkeeper just nods and picks up his basket again. He shuffles off to the back door, leaning against walls or tables when he can to take the pressure off his hip. The narrow door swings shut behind him with a creak.

    ¡°Wish I could do something for his limp,¡± Lionel says quietly. He shakes his head and lets out a frustrated sigh. ¡°Guess it¡¯s too late, even if my Skills were stronger. The body likes equilibrium, and he¡¯s probably gotten used to this now, so my [Healing Touch] wouldn¡¯t do much other than remove some pain. I can¡¯t really help him, not with how low-leveled my Skills are for my second Class.¡±

    ¡°Have you made progress in your original Class since picking up [Healer]?¡± I ask Lionel. I¡¯m curious how the Skills scale in terms of mana costs. ¡°Rakesh, I¡¯ll bet you know the answer. Are most Class-related mana costs standardized?¡±

    ¡°Most common Classes, yes. But it¡¯s exceedingly complicated to calculate difficulty and expenditure costs for unusual pairings like Lionel¡¯s. I¡¯ve only come across a few crafters who also picked up healing in any form during my studies, and I can say with confidence that none of them have the adventure and combat experience that Lionel does. We¡¯re in uncharted territory, and it¡¯s incredibly exciting!¡±

    ¡°Glad I could be your pet research project. Wouldn¡¯t want you to get too bored on our trip, seeing as it¡¯s been so uneventful so far,¡± Lionel teases.

    Rakesh chuckles, soft and polite. ¡°Nothing¡¯s ever uneventful around Nuri, that¡¯s for sure. I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve come to peace with being dissected for the sake of my career advancement.¡±

    ¡°Whoa, now you sound like Scalpel,¡± I say, shuddering. He looks horrified, so I shake my head. ¡°No, no, I¡¯m not worried about you. I know you were just joking. But don¡¯t you think it¡¯s an interesting parallel? The difference is that you and Lionel are working together to move forward our understanding of how magic works. It¡¯s collaborative research. Scalpel just did as she pleased. But the research itself is almost the same. Sometimes the line between right and wrong is stark and obvious, and sometimes it¡¯s a matter of motives.¡±

    ¡°Profound,¡± Rakesh says, and he sounds like he means it. ¡°I don¡¯t know if there¡¯s always an easy answer, but I do hope that if we¡¯re always honest with each other, we¡¯ll keep ourselves in check.¡±

    ¡°Look at you turning into a philosopher. My shrimpy brother, all grown up,¡± Mikko says, miming wiping away a tear.

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Let¡¯s get some rest and prepare to head over to the mayor¡¯s office once the storm stops.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you forgetting something?¡± Melina pipes up. She lifts up a mug, wiggling it around in front of me. ¡°We promised to replace these. Lend us some glass, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°Or I could just transform the mug directly,¡± I say. ¡°Keep the rustic look, but turn it into glass and let Ava use her Skill to reinforce it. Saves us time.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Avelina says.

    She grows silent afterward, not even meeting my eyes when I glance over. I vow that I¡¯ll find a way to help her. I thought she was breaking out of her funk after using fire again to defeat an enemy, but she''s back to staring into space. Maybe if I find the right tools for her, then she can help herself. She¡¯s resilient; she just needs time.

    ¡°Oh, c¡¯mon! Don¡¯t you miss making cups?¡± Lionel says. He chuckles at my stricken look.

    I shake my head. ¡°Can¡¯t say that I do. Honestly, I do miss making glass animals. I miss creating chandeliers too extravagant to sell in the shop. I miss strange shapes and learning complicated techniques. The rest of it? Nah.¡±

    ¡°Too boring for our budding [Mage],¡± Melina says, amusement coloring her voice.

    ¡°I do wonder if you¡¯ll get an option to re-Class soon,¡± Rakesh interjects. ¡°You¡¯ve done an exemplary job pushing the boundaries of mana manipulation. With your strong connection to the higher-order concepts, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if you earn the chance.¡±

    For some reason, that thought makes me melancholy. I scratch my chin, digging my fingers through my thick beard as I consider his words. ¡°Glass is in my blood. No matter how much I pursue magic, it¡¯s an inescapable fact that I¡¯m not complete without an outlet. Knowledge alone isn¡¯t enough for me. I need to create, to express myself artistically.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s start in small ways,¡± Melina says gently. She gestures, and pebbles levitate out of her pack in a small stream to hover over the table in a circle. ¡°Nuri, if you¡¯ll do the honors? One cup, please.¡±

    A soft smile curves my lips. I draw on the mana of my glass cores, threading it into the rugged Skill structure I created for [Vitrification], and transmute the rocks into glass. A pulse of willpower heats up the glass, and I modulate the temperature until the batch is suitably elastic. Using my finger, wrapped in a protective double-layer of manipulated thermal energy, I stir the glass to set it spinning gently, all while it¡¯s suspended by Melina¡¯s [Object Manipulation].

    Ned walks back in with an empty basket just then. His feet stutter to a stop. He stares in wonder and fear as I shape the cup by hand, turning it and forming it like putty while the glass glows with inner light.

    ¡°Want a handle?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Y-yes,¡± he replies unsteadily, his eyes fixed on the magic on display in front of him. ¡°You aren¡¯t gonna burn down my inn or anything, are you?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re as safe as a newborn nestling in his mother¡¯s arms,¡± I reply, pulling out a long, elastic cane of glass from the large cup. Bending it over on itself, I adhere it to the side of the cup. It¡¯s more of a big mug, or perhaps a flagon. I imagine it will be popular with [Sailors], if Ned''s stories are correct that they can drink their weight in rum.

    Or maybe that¡¯s just a stereotype, I chide myself. Somethow, I can¡¯t muster up enough energy to care if it¡¯s not realistic. Caricatures are fun sometimes. Besides, I just wanted to make something that catches my fancy. With a few more spins to smooth out the mouth of the cup, using my flat hand in place of the more typical graphite paddle, I complete the cup.

    ¡°Ava? You¡¯re up.¡±

    Our [Flametouched] artisan goes to work, firing up her Skill and strengthening the cup so that it¡¯s stronger than the stone from which the glass was originally created. A faint smile touches her face while she works. Perhaps making something that has no violent purpose, something intended for celebration and good times, is what she needs.

    I wisely refrain from mentioning how lethal of a weapon an unbreakable beer mug would be in a bar fight. She doesn¡¯t need that kind of interruption right now.

    ¡°Done,¡± she says a moment later, satisfaction warming her voice more than I¡¯ve heard in a while. ¡°Wow, that was way easier than usual. Adding [Strong as Stone] to something made from stone originally is more effective than on silica-based batches. Write that down, Rakesh! It sounds smart. Plus, I¡¯ll die of embarrassment if Lionel gets more page time in your paper than I do.¡±

    Her chuckle of delight is so genuine that it hurts. I give her an encouraging smile, trying not to overdo it, and nod at Melina. ¡°All right, finish up the annealing so that our host can get on with his day. I think he¡¯s fallen into a trance.¡±

    Ned shakes his head, rousing himself, and rubs his nose sheepishly. ¡°Never seen that before. What¡¯s a bunch of talented folk like you doing way out here?¡± Then he raises his hands, a look of fear flashing across his eyes. ¡°No, don¡¯t tell me. None of my business.¡±

    ¡°Just passing through,¡± I say casually, flashing a friendly smile. ¡°Spread the word that we do good work, will you? We need to find passage across the water, and we¡¯re open to trade.¡±

    ¡°Mayor¡¯s your best bet,¡± Ned reiterates. He rubs his nose again, looking at Mikko. ¡°You¡¯re a [Blacksmith], I hear. Could you spare a few minutes to fix some hinges? Cellar door blew up in the last storm season, and the hinges bent. I haven¡¯t been able to bend them back myself. Been a busy year.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure,¡± Mikko says. He leaps up from the chair, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ¡°Been cooped up way too long. Let¡¯s go!¡±

    ¡°Now?¡± Ned says, seemingly taken aback by Mikko¡¯s good-natured willingness to jump at the opportunity. ¡°Very well. Come on, then, big fellow.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get into too much trouble without me, Nuri,¡± Mikko says, saluting me with a wink as he follows our host out the back door and into the driving rain.

    ¡°I¡¯d never dream of it,¡± I call at his retreating back. When the door closes, I turn to the rest of the team and speak in a conspiratorial voice. ¡°All right, I¡¯m going to take a nap. Pretend I got arrested when Mikko returns. He¡¯ll love that prank!¡±

    Lionel groans. ¡°Don¡¯t even joke like that. Knowing you, you¡¯ll find a way to actually get arrested. I give it until about dinner time.¡±

    ¡°Hey! Give me some credit. I haven¡¯t been arrested in weeks, Lio. Weeks!¡±

    ¡°Is this normal?¡± Orav asks quietly, staring around the table like we¡¯re all crazy. ¡°Because I¡¯m starting to think that I should have stayed in Halmuth.¡±

    ¡°Normal enough,¡± Azariah grunts. ¡°You get used to it after a while. Not the worst group I ever laid eyes on.¡±

    I turn and stare. ¡°Is that a compliment?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get used to it,¡± he grumbles.

    =+=

    Ned has a small collection of books in the main room of the inn: five of them, to be exact. He¡¯s very proud of them, which I understand given the immaculate green covers, gold lettering, and full-page color illustrations within. They¡¯re a set of sea-tales covering the history and mythos of the inland sea. Loch LaMara doesn¡¯t feature as prominently as I expect, but it¡¯s pleasant reading about the other trade cities along the sea. Best of all are the pictures of fantastical creatures.

    ¡°This is it!¡± I say, stabbing my finger down onto the page. ¡°Look at that magnificent snake eating an entire ship.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna make that?¡± Lionel says, his distaste evident. ¡°Why not try for birds, like Rakesh? Snakes aren¡¯t exactly suited for quick deployment.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s cute,¡± Avelina puts in. She peeks over my shoulder, a soft expression on her face as she peers at the page.

    ¡°Nuri! You have to make it now,¡± Mikko says, nudging me from the other side with a sly smile. ¡°Maybe you can give it a fire rune so that Ava can have a matching pet.¡±

    Avelina turns to look at him, her eyes wide and innocent. ¡°Are you calling me a snake, Mikko?¡±

    ¡°With your flames, you¡¯re far more like a dragon than a humble snake,¡± Mikko says, cracking a smile.

    Smooth, brother.

    ¡°That¡¯s acceptable,¡± Avelina says, a slight curve of her lips betraying her pleasure. She¡¯s not quite back to her boisterous self, but it¡¯s nice to see a more laid back interaction take place between them.

    I shuffle my feet, caught between leaving to work on the snake and wanting to stay to try to encourage Avelina. Impatience wins out. ¡°All right, well, I¡¯m off to create a snake. Or a dragon. Whatever I can come up with. Just as long as it doesn¡¯t look like the Oletheros, then I¡¯m happy. If I get stuck, maybe I¡¯ll ask you for some sculpting pointers, Ava.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t think you need flameworking for this piece,¡± she replies absently, smiling at Mikko and moving to sit in the seat next to him.

    I beat a hasty retreat.

    On my way to my room to practice with my newest Skill, Azariah intercepts me. One look at his furrowed brow, and I know it¡¯s not good news.

    ¡°Change of plans,¡± he says without preamble or pleasantries. ¡°Mayor¡¯s no good. Dunno what¡¯s goin on, but my Skill¡¯s warnin me off.¡±

    ¡°Why, because you¡¯re not getting a cut of the proceeds this time?¡± I ask, though I keep my voice as level as possible. I¡¯m still angry over the stunt he pulled back in Halmuth, but I¡¯m trying to keep an open mind if he has solid advice. Antagonizing him isn¡¯t in my best interest.

    ¡°Stop whingin and listen. Funny business goin on around here. Keep yer head down and let me find us a way to Gilead. Ya hear?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah, this place is suspicious. You might even say it¡¯s fishy!¡± I say, snickering at my own bad joke. Eating seafood for two straight meals left an impression, I guess.

    Azariah shrouds us in a cloud of smoke. The world instantly feels more muted, even with my Domain running. It¡¯s a neat trick to shroud our words and discussion. ¡°Ain¡¯t the time for jokes and festivities. I mean it, Nuri. Keep yer eyes peeled. Do not trust the mayor.¡±

    Groaning at the thought of another uncomfortable interaction with an authority figure, I nod to show my understanding. ¡°I¡¯ll be on guard. But I¡¯m not going to turn down a commission. We might as well make use of our time here.¡±

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Peh! Can¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you,¡± Azariah mutters. He inhales, drawing all the smoke in the air back toward him, and it funnels into his pipe until it all disappears.

    ¡°True enough,¡± I murmur, hating to give Azariah any credit. ¡°Now, what¡¯s the news you wanted to share later?¡±

    ¡°Got a lead,¡± Azariah says.

    He looks uncomfortable, like something¡¯s eating at him, but I gesture for him to continue. We might as well know what our options are, no matter how bleak. Nothing else has come up, so we may have to resupply and strike out on foot, taking the long way around the inland sea. It¡¯s not ideal, but Azariah says he can get us there in one piece.

    ¡°Asked around a bit. Definitely somethin up. Fish people are more than a rumor. Never had a reason to look into it before. Heard some rumors from old [Sailors] at the tavern. Don¡¯t know how much stock to put in em, but my Skill started stirring.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s great! What¡¯ve you got?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯m anxious to get moving. Not a lot to do here, and all this rain is making me feel gloomy.¡±

    Azariah pauses, swallowing hard. I¡¯ve never seen him look quite so unsettled before. ¡°I dunno if it¡¯s worth it. Might be a load of hogwash.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t bring it up if you didn¡¯t think there¡¯s some merit,¡± I say. ¡°Spit it out. Not like you to let your nerves get the better of you.¡±

    ¡°Apparently, there¡¯s some underwater kingdom hidden deep in the inland sea. Used to do some trade here, generations ago. The [Sailors] claim something happened. Something big. A calamity, though I couldn¡¯t find out much more than that.¡±

    ¡°You think they¡¯re still around? I wonder if they can sail through storms. But how would we even get in touch with them?¡± I ask, my interest mildly piqued.

    ¡°That¡¯s what has me worried,¡± Aariah says, still tiptoeing around the subject. It¡¯s not like him to hedge, which has me both intrigued and concerned. ¡°Did some diggin. Found out that the underwater traders didn¡¯t sail here. They walked.¡±

    ¡°Across the water?¡± I say, laughing at the absurdity of the idea. I¡¯m imagining a flotilla of people walking on giant paddles, like snow shoes adapted to the seas.

    Azariah gulps. ¡°No. Under the water.¡±

    I pretend to clear out my ear, as though I¡¯ve misheard him, but he gives me a miserable look. ¡°Wait, seriously?¡±

    Azariah waves a hand, and his pipe smoke comes back. It weaves into the shape of a sea shore, and extending from the beaches are tunnels leading out into the waves. ¡°Not happy about it, but yep.¡±

    ¡°Someday you¡¯ll have to show me how that pipe works,¡± I say. ¡°I could learn a lot from the person who made it.¡±

    Azariah scoffs. ¡°Fat chance. Always diggin into secrets is a good way to get into trouble.¡±

    We stalk off in opposite directions, each appearing equally dissatisfied with our talk. In a way, I suppose that¡¯s the best outcome. ¡°Mutually disgruntled¡± is probably an optimal scenario for interacting with Azariah.

    I make my way to my room and shut the door behind me. Collecting ashes and charred wood from the fireplace gives me time to think and plan out my next steps. If we don¡¯t find a way forward soon, then we¡¯ll be forced to take the grueling overland route around the inland sea. I¡¯m already weeks behind schedule, although I suppose it¡¯s a self-imposed deadline. But the longer we take to fulfill our duties, the longer we delay my real goals: visiting Zephyr to learn what she uncovered about the inheritance, taking the team to Grand Ile to see how Lady Evershed is getting along, and traveling to Naftali with Melina. She deserves happiness after all the sacrifices she¡¯s made on my behalf.

    ¡°We¡¯ll figure that out later,¡± I tell myself. Speaking the words aloud makes it seem more like a promise than a wish. I don¡¯t have a solid plan, but I¡¯m not going to let that deter me. I will pay back my friends for all their support, starting with Avelina and Lionel.

    My favorite fire-touched friend needs help. Mental and emotional healing, more than what I can offer. And Lionel will take a giant step forward if we can get him a proper tutor. His Aunt is a kind-hearted lady, but she¡¯s content to work on small projects and keep people healthy. She¡¯s not pursuing the pinnacle of her path, not like Lionel.

    Or like me, for that matter.

    That reminds me why I¡¯m holed up in my room. Holding the image of the sea serpent in mind, I begin. First, I turn the collected wood and ash into glass for the project. Finding material is always the tricky part out here. I¡¯m looking forward to reaching Gilead, which I¡¯m sure boasts many established studios. In a city that size, I ought to be able to find another master, or maybe multiple, and arrange to push my understanding to the next level.

    Even without a Class upgrade on the horizon, I can make small but significant upgrades to my knowledge and techniques. The improvements will add up over time, although the Second Threshold seems far off without fixing my core and channels. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s even possible to ascend to the next tier without a working connection to the metaphysical realm.

    ¡°Focus, Nuri. Serpent body first, existential crisis later,¡± I chide myself, both amused and a bit chagrined at how easily I¡¯m sidetracked.

    Without an optical star mold to create easy ridges, I¡¯m forced to improvise. Instead of pushing the glass down into the metal shape, I gently squeeze my fingers around the ball of hot glass, grateful that I won¡¯t burn myself while handling it. It¡¯s not as interesting of a texture this way, since I only leave five grooves instead of a dozen or more, but when I elongate the glass, similar to pulling cane, it still has more dimensionality to it than a smooth rod.

    I pull on the glass until it¡¯s about as long as my arm, then twist it several times in quick succession and wrap it on an iron fire poker I borrowed from the fireplace. Since I don¡¯t have an actual mandrel, I have to make do with what I can find readily available.

    Wrapping the glass gives it the look of a snake coiled around a tree branch, which isn¡¯t quite a match for my inspiration. In the book Ned has, massive sea creatures wrap themselves around sailing ships, but I don¡¯t feel like making a ship to go along with the serpent. Besides, my focus is on making glass animals to rank up my new Skill, not creating the accompanying decorations.

    For once, I wish I had a studio setup, so that I could practice dipping a pipe sideways into hot glass and pulling an ultra-fine, gauzy layer of glass up from the batch. Lady Evershed taught me that technique. It¡¯s a slow, delicate process, but it would be a perfect way to create a small set of gossamer wings for my serpent.

    Once I finish the coils, I slide the iron poker out of the body of the snake. I¡¯ll shape its head and fangs next, but I want to make sure that I¡¯ve got the proportions right. A quick eye test shows that the body has gotten thicker than I intended, which means I¡¯ll have to enlarge the head to match. That means more glass, which means finding more material that I can transform with [Vitrification]. I grab an unburnt log and sacrifice it to the cause. I won¡¯t need a fire to keep myself warm, anyway.

    As proud as I am of my self-made Skill, sometimes I think it would be a lot easier to just buy batches of glass pre-made. Ease of use. That¡¯s what I miss. Access to any tool or material I need, without extra work or worry. I¡¯ll get that in Gilead, assuming we ever make it across the sea during the stormy season.

    ¡°No need to complain, Nuri,¡± I tell myself, muttering aloud in my room at the inn. ¡°You¡¯re doing what you love, surrounded by your favorite people, on an adventure to one of the most famous places in all of Densmore. Cheer up!¡±

    But after Azariah¡¯s cryptic warning, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that everything is primed to go sideways. Azariah was all about meeting the mayor until just recently; whatever changed is enough to throw him off balance.

    Regardless, it¡¯s out of my hands, so I get to work on what¡¯s right in front of me: shaping the head and fangs of my glass sea serpent. After a few false starts that see me crushing the hot glass back into a ball, I settle for an impressionistic snout with small teeth. There¡¯s no real texture or detail to its face, but I don¡¯t have the patience right now to be more exacting.

    I use a hot join to connect the head and the coiled body, and add small wings about a third of the way down its coils. It¡¯s not my prettiest piece, but it¡¯s not ugly, either, so I¡¯ll take it. I¡¯m sure I can do better once I¡¯ve got access to tools again.

    And a working set of hands.

    That¡¯s probably why I¡¯m feeling so melancholy. I¡¯m so close to finally restoring what I¡¯ve lost that I can¡¯t bear waiting around. I just want to get it all over with and be whole again. Even if fixing my core and channels is beyond the skill of the Menders, I¡¯m confident that regrowing a limb is well within their purview.

    The glass sculpture in my hands starts to cool and solidify. With a startled shout, I heat it back up and tap into my newest Skill, [Glass Animation]. Just like with imbuing, I have a narrow window of time to apply the Skill before the object hardens. For some reason, not even the raw creative power of the universe can impart a change of identity to an object after it¡¯s made. Only during the creation process, before form and function are written in stone, can a fundamental shift take place.

    Thankfully, I¡¯ve caught it in time. I guide my borrowed mana into the Skill structure and forge a connection to the glass. Now that I¡¯ve earned a codified Skill, I no longer need to imbue the glass before attempting to create a connection, but it¡¯s still not easy. The mana cost is high, exceeding my former Capacity with the original glass cores, but the mental strain is even more strenuous. Apart from my Domain, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever grappled with such a demanding and persnickety Skill. Not even my Way of the Artisan set was this difficult to use.

    As the Skill takes root, a tiny flicker of mana grows within the glass sea serpent. It pulses in a gentle rhythm, akin to a heartbeat. I watch in awe through my mana senses as the serpent lifts its head, wiggles its body, and slithers up my hand and around my arm, settling in place like a vambrace.

    Aware that it¡¯s not truly alive, I¡¯m still giddy with excitement. The little animal moved on its own, without a command from me! I¡¯ve only been able to test the Skill twice so far, thanks to our soul-sucking, back-breaking, abyssal march across the Barrens. Previously, the hedgehog was practically inert, only twitching slightly or tilting its head a mere fraction of a degree. I had to manually direct it to shuffle forward, straining to control each limb individually, and that led to an embarrassing face-plant when I tried to show off the Skill in action.

    ¡°Right! So what was different this time?¡± I ask myself, rummaging through my travel pack to find my notebook. Rakesh and Melina would be ashamed if they saw how disorganized I am; their writing implements are never out of arm¡¯s reach. Chuckling at the thought of how much I¡¯d let them down with my sloppy scholarship, I write down everything I just did.

    Observations: previous attempts used glass imbued with the concept of life. Maybe my understanding of life is inconclusive or incomplete? Current attempt made use of non-imbued glass, and it worked due to the Skill incorporating the animation component directly. Imbuing with unbreakable will likely succeed, I suspect.

    Perhaps I was doubling up previous attempts? My burgeoning understanding of life may have conflicted with the Skill, or resulted in unintended consequences. Will test more thoroughly.

    I¡¯ll have to test that theory later, but I nod to myself in satisfaction. This feels right. I have a hunch that I¡¯m on the correct path, not just making things up. Sure, maybe I overlooked some obvious answers, but sometimes the simple solution is the best. I¡¯ll run it by Rakesh later. He¡¯s our best chance at deciphering and analyzing obscure information.

    I yawn, strangely tired after my crafting session. It didn¡¯t take me very long, all things considered, and normally I could create a dozen of these animals in a single day, but my newest Skill feels like lifting a heavy weight. The demands on my mental energy are too much for me to maintain for hours on end. Just like my [Arcane Domain], it¡¯s too intense for me. Perhaps it¡¯s a Skill that¡¯s usually earned in the Second Threshold.

    Repeated use should improve my tolerance. Perhaps in the future, if the Skill ranks up, I can animate multiple creations in one go. Leveraging my [Greater Heat Manipulation] should let me keep the glass at working temperatures, and thus bypass the world¡¯s restriction on changing an object after it¡¯s complete; I can extend the ¡°creation¡± phase and imbue them later.

    Maybe I can even teach more advanced versions of my little creations to replicate themselves. Then I can be a one-man team, relying on my glass golems for assembly, while I apply the finishing touches and animate the entire batch. As long as I have enough material and mana, I can make liberal use of [Vitrification] and keep the process going indefinitely. And, if I¡¯m able to succeed in embedding pseudo cores in each of my creations, then they can harvest mana for me automatically, returning to top me off any time I run low.

    Visions of grandeur flash through my mind, and I struggle to contain my excitement at the prospect of how powerful I¡¯ll become in the future. Even if the Menders can¡¯t fix my internal channels, I have an alternative that will take me as far as I want to go¡ªimagination is my only real limit right now.

    ¡°Well, that and money. And time. And Mana. And, well, a lot of things,¡± I say, laughing at my tendency to get swept away. But those are considerations for the future. For now, I dash out of my room and back downstairs to the main hall in the inn to show off my latest creation.

    If Avelina likes it, I intend to make another version to give her as a pet. Maybe she and I can figure out a way to embed a small fire rune in it, so that it can help her with her flamework. It¡¯s not exactly the dedicated help she needs from a [Mind Healer], if those exist, but maybe it will cheer her up anyway.

    The whole team is gathered around a dinner table when I arrive. They¡¯re deep in a lively discussion about what we¡¯ll do next, after Gilead. I slip in and take a seat between my brother, who¡¯s sitting next to Avelina and making small talk, and Lionel.

    Not bothering to stop and greet me, Lionel is waxing eloquent, grandly explaining that he¡¯s going to take over the entire order of Menders and become their head [Healer] in the next few years, and introduce a revolution of medical knowledge to Densmore.

    I elbow him in the ribs when he finally stops to take a drink of rum. ¡°Wow, Lio. I thought I had ambitions, but look at you! Way to dream big.¡±

    ¡°Are you all aiming to become heroes or something?¡± Orav asks. He¡¯s fiddling with a fork and knife, absently stabbing at his plate of prawns smothered in red sauce, a contemplative look on his face.

    ¡°Not all of us. We just like to imagine how high we can ascend if we keep trying. What do you think? I¡¯ve been wondering what your plans are,¡± Melina says, nodding at Orav.

    ¡°Don¡¯t really have one,¡± he says, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. ¡°I¡¯ve grown up in the Barrens. Always wanted to see what else is out there. I didn¡¯t really think things through.¡±

    ¡°Could guide people with me,¡± Azariah says. ¡°You¡¯re a natural on the road. Competent. Quiet, too. Beats these chatterboxes.¡±

    My jaw drops open at Azariah¡¯s invitation. ¡°Whoa. Never seen you so sentimental. Are you feeling ill? Lionel, cast [Healing Touch] on our guide!¡±

    Azariah swats Lionel¡¯s hand away, condensing his smoke into a cleaver and giving him a stern look before he lets the smoke dissipate back into nothingness. ¡°Bah! Ya make it sound like I got no friends. I don¡¯t hate the world. Just most of ya.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a bad idea,¡± Orav says, but there¡¯s some hesitancy making his voice hitch. ¡°Mind if I go all the way to your journey¡¯s end first? I¡¯d like to see a big city for once.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re just loud and smelly,¡± I say, grinning. ¡°The Capital wasn¡¯t all it was cracked up to be, let me tell you. Not going back if I can help it.¡±

    Lionel rolls his eyes. ¡°Oh, here we go again. Nuri and his tall tales. First time he told us about his adventures, he was starving and broke, just trying to survive. Next thing you know, he claims he¡¯s best friends with the [Viceroy] and hobnobbing with the leaders of the Royal Army. By the time he tells the story again, he¡¯ll be in line to take the throne or something.¡±

    ¡°Mostly I just did some research and made some glass,¡± I say as modestly as I can, all the while giving Lionel a significant look. While Orav doesn¡¯t seem particularly dangerous, and I think he¡¯s sincerely just looking to see the world¡ªthe only reason I agreed to let him join us¡ªI don¡¯t want to spill all of our secrets.

    ¡°Oh, you ¡®just made some glass¡¯ out there?¡± Avelina says, uncharacteristically joining the conversation. ¡°You left home a competent glass-maker, and came back a Master! Totally unfair. I wish I got to learn imbuing in the capital.¡±

    ¡°What does imbuing do, anyway?¡± Orav asks. He seems nervous. Out of his depth. ¡°You made the greatest weapons I¡¯ve ever seen. Out of glass! I didn¡¯t even know that was possible. I mean, we hear about legendary swords made by Master crafters, but I always thought that they were just stories. Exaggerated, you know? Impossible. But then I saw you turn a melted-down window into a weapon capable of cutting a city-killer.¡±

    ¡°All imbuing means is that I take an idea and merge it with an object, binding them with mana and remaking it on a fundamental level.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that all?¡± Melina teases.

    I shrug. ¡°More or less, yeah.¡±

    ¡°Is that something I could learn? Or is that only for advanced glass-makers?¡± Orav asks. ¡°How come your friends can¡¯t do it? They¡¯re really skilled from what I¡¯ve seen.¡±

    ¡°They just need more practice,¡± I say sternly, gazing around the table in my best Ember impression. ¡°Technically, you could learn the principles without being a crafter, if you don¡¯t want to take a second Class. All you need is to forge a connection with one of the main underlying concepts of creation. Then you build a mana-scaffold, create a bridge for the energy so that it has a place to live, and you¡¯re done.¡±

    ¡°Somehow, that sounds even harder and more complicated than when you explained it the first time,¡± Orav says, laughing. ¡°I think I¡¯ll stick to tracking down game.¡±

    ¡°Probably for the best. Everyone¡¯s got different strengths and weaknesses. That¡¯s what makes us all so interesting.¡±

    ¡°How far can ya take things?¡± Azariah asks abruptly. ¡°Can you add any concept? You¡¯ve got some way to copy Skills. Never seen its like, not apart from high-leveled [Enchanters]. If you can make me a compass with my [Pact of the Wayfinder] Skill, then I¡¯ll refund your individual cost of travel.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh? Are we secure?¡±

    Birds flutter out from Rakesh¡¯s notebook, folding themselves and flying to the corners of the room. His eyes twinkle in excitement as we stare with open mouths. ¡°Ranked it up last night. Never got a chance to show you yet. I don¡¯t have to fold them myself.¡±

    He inverts the weave of mana, closing us off from eavesdroppers. ¡°I should have done that as soon as we started talking. Apologies. I¡¯ve grown slack during our time alone. I¡¯ll be on guard again.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. It was my fault for not watching what I let slip earlier,¡± I say. Rakesh isn¡¯t to blame for my foolishness. ¡°We gotta be careful. Azariah said the mayor might have it out for us for some reason. To answer the question, though: No. I can¡¯t copy Skills. Not exactly. I can only borrow certain runes.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re Viewin the Skills,¡± he muses. ¡°You¡¯re readin how they work, taking em apart, and buildin yer own version.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re compiling a runic dictionary,¡± I clarify, although how quickly Azariah sees through my actions makes me uncomfortable. Still, is it giving away information if he already figured it out just by observing? ¡°Bear in mind that just because we add a rune to the dictionary, doesn¡¯t mean that I¡¯m skilled enough to use it. Rakesh and Melina are much more scholarly than I am.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re the key,¡± Azariah insists, fixing me with an intense stare. ¡°They can¡¯t do what you can, even if they understand the theory better.¡±

    All at once, all my fears and suspicions come roaring back. Our guide is prying deeper than before, and I¡¯m not sure I should say anything further. I still don¡¯t trust him.

    ¡°Trade ya,¡± he says, interrupting my spiral. ¡°I¡¯ll show off the scrying mirror again for you to copy, and you make artifacts for me n Orav. He¡¯s gonna need em when we go on the road together. I always look out for my team.¡±

    ¡°I . . . I don¡¯t even know if I¡¯m joining you,¡± Orav protests, though without much strength of conviction. He seems unsure of himself, even though I doubt he¡¯ll find a better job offer than learning from Azariah.

    ¡°Yeah, you do,¡± Azariah says, letting out an ugly chuff of laughter. ¡°It¡¯s definitely yer best way forward. Hate seein people take the wrong path.¡±

    I send a mental nudge to my sea serpent along the pathway of mana connecting us, and it unravels from my arm, slithering into the center of the table. ¡°Tada!¡±

    Azariah forms a spear of smoke, almost impaling my poor little glass serpent, before he realizes that it¡¯s my Skill at work. His eyes narrow, and he mutters incomprehensibly into his big beard, all the while puffing away on his pipe.

    Orav stares in slack-jawed shock. ¡°That¡¯s what you just made? In an hour. By yourself, in a room of an inn. That¡¯s insane!¡±

    ¡°Can I hold it?¡± Avelina asks, her voice delicate with guarded hope. When I direct the sea serpent closer, she picks it up and coos, cuddling it to her chest like it¡¯s a real, live animal.

    I clear my throat. ¡°Mikko suggested making another one for you, with a fire rune so that it can assist alongside you when you¡¯re flameworking. You wanna pick a design?¡±

    Avelina glares at me with a scandalized expression. She clutches the snake closer, and turns her body to shield it from me. ¡°Make another one for yourself. This is mine, Nuri! Just try to take Yuuni away, and I¡¯ll show you what your wand can really do.¡±

    ¡°You named it already?¡± I burst out. Now it¡¯s my turn to be scandalized. ¡°But that¡¯s mine!¡±

    ¡°Not anymore, she¡¯s not,¡± Avelina says indignantly. ¡°Yuuni loves me.¡±

    ¡°What! You don¡¯t even have a mana connection with it,¡± I protest. ¡°I can help you make one that shares your signature. Er, I think. That¡¯s just a theory.¡±

    ¡°Come on, Yuuni,¡± Avelina says, flouncing away from the table. ¡°These dummies aren¡¯t worthy of your presence.¡±

    Mikko collapses into his seat, letting out a deep belly laugh. ¡°All according to plan, little brother? You have a knack for making things work out.¡±

    I sigh, shaking my head. ¡°Who needs nice things? Not me. At least I can make another one once my mana replenishes.¡± For a brief moment, I decide to be cheeky, and I reach out with my Skill to make the sea serpent move in Avelina¡¯s arms. Maybe it will pretend to bite her, and I can get some petty revenge.

    Nothing happens.

    I let out a groan, dropping my head to the table as I realize the problem. ¡°My new Skill takes forever to recharge! Ugh. I didn¡¯t notice while we were in the Barrens, since we were too busy for me to use it again, but I estimate that I¡¯m out for two or three days. Ava owes me.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for helping my sister,¡± Melina says, wiping away a stray tear as she laughs. ¡°You¡¯re a good friend, Nuri.¡±

    How am I supposed to argue with that? I let out an exasperated sigh, but I¡¯m actually the happiest I¡¯ve been all day. Even if I¡¯ll never get my sea serpent back.

 B5 C13: The Burden of Leadership

    After more celebrations and speculation about [Glass Animation] applications, I retire to my room for a brief nap. By the time I wake up, however, the day is long since spent. Blue-wreathed shadows outside announce that the wee hours of the night are upon us. In the distance, I make out the soft glow of a mana lamp on a side street.

    Huh. Rain musta stopped while I was asleep, I realize after several moments of silence, belatedly remembering that we had planned to meet with the mayor once the weather cleared up. Guilt and indignation war within me. I can¡¯t believe I slept through our agreed-upon time to meet up¡ªand I also can¡¯t believe that no one woke me up for the appointment.

    ¡°Maybe I needed the sleep,¡± I murmur to myself. I¡¯ve been on the ragged edge for a long while now. No sense in getting worked up about it. Sometimes things are simply outside of my control, I finally decide. We pushed hard to get here. Taking some time to sleep and catch up on rest is never a bad idea.

    I must have drifted off again after that, because the next thing I know, it¡¯s morning again. Bright sunlight streams through the smudged window. The day is clear, although storms are never far off during the stormy season, from what I¡¯ve heard. My eyes are crusted over with sleep and my mind feels like my head got stuffed full of newly-shorn wool.

    With a great display of willpower, I stagger downstairs to breakfast feeling a little like a dead man walking. Looking around the table, I see that I¡¯m not alone in that regard. The only one of us who looks chipper is our normally-irascible guide, who¡¯s puffing away furiously on his pipe, an empty plate in front of him with scant traces of gravy where he failed to lick it clean.

    ¡°Mornin, princess,¡± Azariah greets me, belching as he snatches up the last sweet roll from the table and munches it in front of me. His eyes glimmer with self-satisfaction at having stolen a march on me.

    I shuffle over and sit, pulling the breakfast platter closer and helping myself to the only food still untouched: cold fish. It¡¯s not what I¡¯d choose for a breakfast meal most days, but I¡¯m too hungry to complain about it. Well. I won¡¯t complain too much. ¡°Should I be concerned?¡±

    ¡°By what?¡± Azariah demands.

    ¡°Your smug tone is typical,¡± I say, grimacing as I chew on a particularly pungent bite of fish. A quick scan around the table reveals some sort of sour, pulpy juice available in a ceramic pitcher. I pour myself a drink and drain the whole thing hastily, preferring the bite of citrus to the taste of whatever strange carp I¡¯m eating.

    Once my throat is clear, I continue. ¡°Nah, your persistent surliness doesn¡¯t bother me. You¡¯re only happy when you¡¯re grumpy. But you acting peppy, Azzy? That¡¯s downright terrifying.¡±

    He scowls, and his pipe smoke combusts into tiny sparks of golden-red fire. ¡°I told Totten not to call me that. Little sucker¡¯s gonna pay for that nickname.¡±

    ¡°Payback for the sweet roll,¡± I clarify, glaring at him while I eat another bite of fish.

    Azariah snickers. ¡°If the price of messin with ya is a dumb nickname, then I¡¯ll take that trade all day, every day. Shoulda seen yer face!¡±

    I sigh dramatically, which sets him off even more. ¡°Yeah, yeah. What happened while I was out?¡±

    ¡°Well, ya missed the meetin. Luckily.¡±

    I perk up. ¡°Oh? Is your Skill behaving better since I wasn¡¯t there to talk with the mayor? Finding the way forward is pretty busted, by the way. Like we¡¯re traveling with a [Seer].¡±

    Azariah picks up a napkin. He pats his mouth, cleaning the last of the sauce from his beard, and shakes his head. ¡°Still bad. But no more dead ends. Path continues.¡±

    I stop with my serving knife halfway to my mouth, struck by the way he phrased things. ¡°Dead ends¡ªis that literal? You thought we were all gonna die?¡±

    ¡°Not me,¡± he clarifies cheerfully.

    ¡°Just us, huh?¡± I set down the knife and rub my eyes, blinking moisture back into them until they feel less like a side of salted fish. ¡°I guess I should be touched that you were looking out for us. Forget [Seer]. You¡¯re a true [Saint].¡±

    ¡°Just doin my job,¡± Azariah grumbles.

    ¡°Uh huh. Well, thanks for the warning, anyway. Nice to know you care.¡± I finish another bite, wash it down with more juice, and catch Rakesh¡¯s eye. ¡°What¡¯d you negotiate? Favorable terms, I hope.¡±

    ¡°Of course! Thanks to Ned¡¯s excellent recommendation, the mayor hired us to repair a few broken warehouse windows, as well as fixing up the street lamps that blew out during the first storm of the season. When he heard that Avelina can cast [Strong as Stone], his eyes lit up like bonfires! He agreed to pay extra if we replace all the streetlamps in town with unbreakable varieties.¡±

    ¡°Sounds promising,¡± I allow.

    ¡°In addition to monetary payment, the mayor is sending out messages to his contacts up and down the coast. If anyone¡¯s willing to navigate the storms, then we¡¯ll know in a day. Two at most. If no one agrees, then we¡¯ll set out on foot,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°That¡¯s still in our favor versus circumnavigating the inland sea. Ideally, we¡¯ll wait for faster passage.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we should build our own boat,¡± I muse. ¡°I¡¯ll bet [Glass Animation] could create a set of paddle wheels that turn themselves.¡±

    Azariah laughs so hard he snorts juice out of his nose. ¡°You know how to sail, kid?¡±

    ¡°No, but if we¡¯re enclosed in fortified glass, then we should be safe,¡± I counter. ¡°Maybe a [Captain] would take us on if he has confidence in the vessel.¡±

    He shakes his head, more serious. ¡°No [Captain] worth anythin would take ya aboard an unknown, unproven ship. They¡¯re a superstitious and ornery lot. Not a chance.¡±

    ¡°Ornery? That¡¯s funny coming from you. I¡¯ll bet if we work together, our glass craft would be awesome. Probably better than any boat they could make,¡± I mutter, a touch too defensively. It¡¯s a fun idea, and the more I think about it, the more I like it. Admittedly, finding that much glass in Loch LaMara¡ªor transmuting it from raw material¡ªwould take too long and cost more mana than I can pay right now.

    Azariah glances around, licking his lips. ¡°All right. Ned ain¡¯t pokin his nose into our talk, so now¡¯s as good a time as any. Listen, I looked into another option. The underwater way I told ya about, Nuri? I think we should take it.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t like my boat idea?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± he insists. ¡°Wait if you want, piddle around with makin lamps and windows, but listen to me when I tell you about the way forward.¡±

    ¡°By the way, Rakesh, thanks for taking care of things with the mayor,¡± I say, opting not to answer Azariah just yet. I don¡¯t like the reminder of what his particular brand of finding a way forward looks like, and he knows it. I¡¯m being petty, but he made me angry.

    I push my plate away and glance at Melina, who¡¯s likely taken charge while I was out. She¡¯s always been good at that. Ember trusted her for a reason. ¡°Do you already have a division of labor for the window and lamp panes?¡±

    Melina¡¯s face crinkles up as she smiles. ¡°Already taken care of, Nuri. All we need from you is [Vitrification]; we¡¯re making everything ourselves.¡±

    My shoulders sag as a weight I didn¡¯t know I was carrying seems to lift off me. ¡°Thanks, Mel. I knew I could count on you. Sounds like I can focus on [Glass Animation] while we¡¯re here. I appreciate your help.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Nuri. You don¡¯t have to do everything yourself. What, afraid we¡¯re only gonna keep you around for the convenient access to glass on demand if you don¡¯t prove your worth to us on a daily basis?¡± she teases.

    ¡°Yeah, kinda. Honestly, it¡¯s a relief. I keep forgetting to rely on you like I should,¡± I say. I stand up from the table and nod farewell. ¡°Heading back up to my room, I guess. My Skill isn¡¯t recharged yet, but I¡¯ve got a few prototypes that I want to practice making while I wait. Call me when you run out of glass.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just top us off now?¡± Avelina asks. ¡°Then we can leave you alone to play with your toy animals all day. You can pretend you¡¯re a kid again!¡±

    Mikko chuckles. ¡°When you say it that way, it sounds like Nuri¡¯s twelve again and playing with the stuffies that Ma made for him. He always loved animals.¡±

    Lionel gives me a strange look. ¡°Nuri, you told me when we were ten that you were way too old to play with stuffed animals anymore. I was so ashamed about still playing with mine that I went home and gave them to my cousins. Were you lying?¡±

    ¡°Look, a new stormfront¡¯s rolling in!¡± I say, lying again as I point out the window behind Lionel. As soon as he turns around, I run out of the main room, chortling all the way.

    ¡°You owe me replacement animals, ya big baby!¡± Lionel shouts, his voice cutting above the din of conversation. He dissolves into laughter. A moment later, the team joins him.

    =+=

    That evening, the team gathers together in my room in the inn to discuss Azariah¡¯s suggestion of trying to travel underwater. Azariah took Orav out to the tavern to give him the hard sell on joining him. It¡¯s almost endearing, since the crusty guide doesn¡¯t seem to take too kindly to most people. We take advantage of his absence, settling in for a debate. My friends from Silaraon are all here, standing around the bed since there¡¯s no place to sit. It¡¯s cramped, but secure, given Rakesh¡¯s undying love for his modified version of the [Echo of the Songbird] Skill.

    ¡°Never thought that our unflappable guide would be afraid of water,¡± Mikko says, shaking his big head. His flaming red hair is getting shaggy after months on the road, so it flops into his eyes. He blows it away with a puff of air, but it falls right back into his eyes. He sighs, giving up, and leans against the wall. ¡°Kinda funny. Guess it makes sense, though, since he can¡¯t use his smoke underwater.¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    I hum, considering that claim as I scratch my beard. ¡°Maybe he can. Who knows how it works? I¡¯ve never seen a Skill that flexible. Honestly, his mana control is so good it disgusts me. That¡¯s probably just envy speaking.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s probably got a reason to be scared. The inland sea is extremely deep,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°Are you familiar with the properties of water?¡±

    ¡°No, but I¡¯ve got a feeling I¡¯m about to be,¡± Mikko says, smirking at our overly sincere [Researcher]. ¡°Should I take notes?¡±

    Lionel raises his hand. ¡°Will there be a test?¡±

    Displaying great dignity, Rakesh ignores the pair of troublemakers. ¡°According to the guidebooks I perused, the depths are still uncharted. No [Explorer] or [Cartographer] can swim deep enough due to the pressure. The deeper you go, the more water presses in against you. We can determine exactly how much pressure by calculating the depth of the liquid, the density of the liquid¡ªfreshwater and saltwater are different, naturally¡ªand the acceleration of objects due to gravity. Multiplying the numbers gives you a standardized unit. Go deep enough, and the pressure is unbearable for humans. Even you would be crushed, Mikko, if you ventured far enough beneath the waves. Eventually, light can no longer penetrate the depths, either. Monsters lurk in the freezing dark.¡±

    ¡°Got it. Dark. Cold. You¡¯ll either get crushed to death or eaten by a beast. Fear seems like an appropriate response,¡± Lionel says, nudging Mikko.

    ¡°All right, you¡¯ve got a point,¡± Mikko concedes, raising his hands in surrender. ¡°But that still doesn¡¯t explain how the people supposedly living down there survive. If it¡¯s so dangerous, then why did they build a kingdom there? Something doesn¡¯t add up about Azariah¡¯s suggestion to go underwater.¡±

    Melina nods along. ¡°Salient point. They probably don¡¯t live in the deepest trench. That sounds like an impossible feat of engineering, even with high-level [Architects] or [Builders]. If they¡¯re closer to the shore, however, then it¡¯s doable. Maybe their tunnel system follows the line of the sea, then cuts across a shallower region. That would reduce travel time, not to mention keep us sheltered from the storm.¡±

    ¡°Sounds too good to be true,¡± I mutter. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t we have heard about it before now if it¡¯s such a perfect way to travel?¡±

    Rakesh frowns. ¡°Maybe the powers that be in Loch LaMara don¡¯t fancy competing trade routes. They might clamp down on access. In fact, I¡¯m almost certain of it; my Skill just buzzed in the back of my mind when I speculated like that. There¡¯s definitely an overlooked detail; we¡¯re on the right path, I¡¯ll wager.¡±

    I chew on the inside of my cheek. ¡°If it¡¯s been a while since they¡¯ve traded with the town, then maybe there¡¯s bad blood? Ned didn¡¯t mention them at all, and the mayor didn¡¯t bring them up when you negotiated. That makes me think they don¡¯t even consider it an option at all. I don¡¯t want to presume it¡¯s safe to try to use the tunnels.¡±

    ¡°Are we sure there are tunnels?¡± Avelina asks. She scowls, her arms crossed, glaring at everyone from her corner of the room, where she¡¯s wedged in beside a small clothing dresser. I¡¯d feel bad for her current spot, since she looks so squeezed, except that she was the first one in the room. She did that to herself.

    ¡°It would be just like that smelly little man to leave out the worst of it,¡± Avelina continues, her nose wrinkling up. ¡°He let us draw our own conclusions. I¡¯ll bet there aren¡¯t any tunnels. We probably have to wear helmets with a breathing enchantment. Sounds wet and gross.¡±

    ¡°You just don¡¯t like that your beloved fire won¡¯t work underwater,¡± Mikko teases. ¡°But I¡¯ll keep the fish away if you¡¯re worried about something trying to eat us.¡±

    ¡°Ew! What if they¡¯re slimy?¡±

    Lionel shudders. ¡°I don¡¯t want them touching me, either. Can I veto the underwater idea? Avelina is the only one making sense for once. It¡¯s like bizarro world tonight.¡±

    Avelina shakes her head at him, her lips thinning in displeasure. ¡°Thanks a lot Lio. I always make sense.¡±

    ¡°Nuh uh!¡±

    ¡°Do too! Mel, tell him.¡±

    ¡°Fight your own battles, sister.¡±

    ¡°All right, no bickering,¡± I interrupt, although it warms my heart to see Avelina talking like this again. She¡¯s always given as good as she got, but lately it¡¯s hard to reel her into our teasing. If she¡¯s up for some verbal sparring, no matter how meager, then I¡¯ll take it as a good sign.

    ¡°Let¡¯s discreetly look into some options.¡± I scratch the back of my head, suddenly itchy as I consider my next suggestion. Something about all of this makes my skin prickle, and I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s just nerves, or a deeper sense of intuition. ¡°I think we should also consider parting ways with Azariah. I don¡¯t trust him, not after the stunt he pulled to help out his buddy Totten. Orav is nice, but I¡¯m not sure he¡¯s any better. He¡¯s basically a friendly spy.¡±

    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s definitely a spy. But he¡¯s nice. I liked hunting with him on the way. I picked up a lot of helpful pointers on how to track animals¡ªand how to sneak up on my unsuspecting prey. No one¡¯s safe from me anymore. Especially not liars!¡± Lionel says cheerfully, breaking off into a mad-sounding cackle.

    I snicker. ¡°And you said that I sound like an evil overlord. Watch yourself, Lio. You¡¯re not far behind me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re definitely still well in the lead. Peering into people¡¯s souls? Stealing all of the best Skills? Creating an unfeeling army of glass monsters to do your bidding?¡±

    ¡°Ha. When you put it that way, I guess I do sound like one of the villains that Tem and his team would track down,¡± I admit with a slight chuckle.

    Lionel leans in and raises his eyebrows meaningfully. ¡°Yep. You¡¯re basically a bad guy now, Nuri. Good thing you have a team of plucky friends to keep you from going crazy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the ones who pushed me over the edge,¡± I mutter, but I appreciate their presence here with me. Leaving without them was one of the worst decisions I¡¯ve ever made when I left Silaraon last year. Sure, things more or less worked out, but I never want to be alone again. Not like that.

    ¡°We¡¯re getting off track,¡± I continue, putting on a sterner tone of voice. ¡°I don¡¯t really trust Azariah anymore. If we can find another guide, we should settle up with him and part ways.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea, Nuri,¡± Melina says, surprising me with her disagreement. ¡°He¡¯s clearly our best bet. Trust him or not on a personal level, he¡¯s an excellent [Pathfinder].¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s skilled,¡± I allow. ¡°But he¡¯s not the only one around. Just keep an open mind?¡±

    Melina nods after a moment¡¯s consideration. ¡°Certainly. If we find another option, then I¡¯ll consider it. But don¡¯t you think that¡¯s optimistic? We don¡¯t have anyone else. And the longer we delay, the less utility we get out of finding a short cut. We¡¯ll end up eating into our schedule one way or the other.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an excellent point,¡± I acknowledge, frowning. ¡°Rakesh, can you run the numbers? Give me a few different scenarios¡ªtravel by sea, around the lake, under the water¡ªand how long you estimate each will take. Compare them to the most likely wait times to find a guide, and let me know if we¡¯re better served staying in Loch LaMara or pressing onward with Azariah. That might help us figure out the right way forward.¡±

    ¡°Already on it,¡± Rakesh says, brightening at the task I¡¯ve assigned.

    ¡°You probably have a spreadsheet already,¡± Lionel says. His laughter dies on his lips when Rakesh pulls out a folded paper from his pocket and shows off that he does, indeed, have a spreadsheet at the ready.

    He loves that sort of fiddly work, which amazes me. I can¡¯t stand that stuff, personally. I clap him on the shoulder. ¡°Glad you¡¯re with us, buddy.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ve been tracking our likely delay for a while. Discovering the possibility of underwater routes changed the calculus, however. I think we should take that route, should the opportunity arise.¡±

    ¡°Excellent work, Rakesh. Sounds like we all know what to do next. Let¡¯s go enjoy some well-deserved relaxation at the tavern.¡± I chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m sure Azariah will be delighted when he sees us follow him there.¡±

    =+=

    The mayor gives us a corner of a warehouse to use as our headquarters while we work. He¡¯s not the most natural administrator I¡¯ve ever seen, but I guess that makes sense since he¡¯s not Classed into it. Like Ned, he¡¯s a [Sailor] who retired and got elected to run the outpost. They call him the mayor, but he¡¯s not really in charge of anything as far as I can tell. Unlike Totten, who rules the trading town of Halmuth with an iron fist, the mayor just listens to complaints and tries to keep the town running. His authority is paper-thin, which makes me think he¡¯s just the person least likely to argue back when others make demands.

    Few people live in Loch LaMara permanently. People don¡¯t buy and sell here, not like in Halmuth. There are no public markets. Goods are simply offloaded from caravans onto ships, or vice versa. Even so, there¡¯s a steady population flowing in and out of the seaside town, except for the stormy season, and they need places to stay and safe streets to travel.

    Mikko sets up his anvil, getting to work with the few ingots they have stockpiled. He can bang out a streetlamp in minutes, since he¡¯s familiar with the template, so everyone else tries to keep pace with the small window production. I¡¯ve joined them while I work on [Glass Animation], since they still need me to use [Vitrification] when they run out. Plus, it¡¯s lonely sitting by myself in my room all day.

    ¡°While you¡¯re here, could you try a new technique?¡± Melina asks. ¡°I think we can speed up production considerably.¡±

    At her behest, for the first pane of glass, we spread out a thin layer of crushed rocks. She levitates them with her [Object Manipulation]. I run [Vitrification] through the rock collection, bring it up to temperature with my manipulation Skill, and then she presses it flat and thin with a second application of [Object Manipulation].

    ¡°Oh! That could work,¡± I say.

    Her eyes spark with joy as she shares the vision. ¡°It¡¯s like using rollers for thin sheets, but we¡¯re using kinetic magic instead. I¡¯ve been challenging myself to think more creatively and consider how to use magic in unique ways instead of relying on tools.¡±

    Her excitement only increases when the prototype is a success. ¡°We can probably finish up today, if I make use of your spare mana cores. Do you mind?¡±

    ¡°Of course not. That¡¯s why I made you one in the first place. You should use as many as you need if it puts us ahead of schedule. The sooner we finish the work, the easier it is to leave as soon as we¡¯ve confirmed our path forward.¡±

    ¡°I still think you should strongly consider following Azariah¡¯s lead,¡± Melina says. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll lead us astray. Even with Totten, he made sure you got paid. He just put his fingers on the scales¡ªand at least he was honest about it when you confronted him. We don¡¯t have to hire him for the return trip, but I think you¡¯re letting your anger cloud your judgment, Nuri. No, don¡¯t give me that scowl. Promise you¡¯ll think about it?¡±

    I work my jaw, caught between conflicting emotions. ¡°Only because I trust you, Mel. I¡¯m not happy about it, though.¡±

    Melina gives me a sad smile. ¡°You don¡¯t have to like every choice you make. Just don¡¯t overlook a good choice because you¡¯re upset. For what it¡¯s worth, I think you¡¯re doing well. You learn from your mistakes and apologize when you¡¯ve messed up. That¡¯s an important quality in a leader. No one¡¯s perfect, but growing over time is a matter of attitude, not talent. If you¡¯re not making the same mistakes over and over again, then you¡¯re getting better.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, returning her smile. ¡°I need the encouragement sometimes. It¡¯s way too easy to think that I have to do it all on my own. But that just leaves me feeling isolated.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll follow you, Nuri. We¡¯re not asking you to turn everything into a vote. At some point a leader needs to lead. But don¡¯t try to shoulder all the burden by yourself. We¡¯re here to share the load.¡±

    A lump forms in my throat as Melina speaks. I swallow twice, trying to dislodge it, but I¡¯m overwhelmed by the support. She¡¯s always been a good friend.

    ¡°Don¡¯t ruin the moment by saying something silly,¡± Melina says. She laughs melodically and levitates another set of pebbles into the air. ¡°Let¡¯s try this again. I¡¯ll bet I can speed up now that I know how to direct the Skill. It¡¯s good practice with mana manipulation. I¡¯ve neglected that for too long.¡±

    I oblige Melina and thread mana into the loose sheet of rocks, activating [Vitrification] to transmute them all at once. ¡°Mana manipulation is tough. Remember the puzzles Ezio used to give us to solve?¡±

    ¡°Tell me about it!¡± Melina shudders. ¡°I still get headaches just thinking about the puzzles. But he did help me learn how to practice more effectively. Without him, I don¡¯t think I would have ever been able to push [In the Blink of an Eye] to the next rank.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like it was a profitable time,¡± I say, watching her perfectly press out the glass in a thin pane. She beckons over her twin to use [Strong as Stone] before it cools.

    ¡°Do you miss it, Mel?¡±

    She taps her chin with a finger. ¡°Yeah. Sometimes. I¡¯m better suited to the classroom than a Rift. Adventuring is a little rich for my blood.¡±

    ¡°When this is done, we¡¯ll get you back to class. Whatever it takes, I¡¯ll do my best to pay you back. You¡¯ve given up so much for me¡ªit¡¯s only right that I help you.¡±

    Melina¡¯s eyes grow soft and unfocused, as though she¡¯s staring at a future that only she can see. ¡°That sounds wonderful, Nuri. Come on. Let¡¯s finish up the commission and head to the tavern. Why should Azariah get all the fun? It¡¯s high time that we kick back and relax, too.¡±

    I grin. ¡°Best idea yet, Mel!¡±

 B5 C14: Passages Unseen

    ¡°Underwater tunnels? Aye. They¡¯re real. Saw the portal meself when I was a wee lad. It¡¯s a bear to open, I¡¯ll tell you what. Takes some sorta magic. But you can walk clear from here all the way to the other side of the sea. Least, that¡¯s the rumor.¡±

    We¡¯re across from an elderly [Sailor] who¡¯s enjoying his second serving of rum, courtesy of Melina. Seated at a low, sticky table that¡¯s been stained from long years of spilled drinks, we are deep into a conversation about the rumored sea people. Tables and chairs are packed in at haphazard angles all throughout the side room we¡¯re in, as though maximizing usable space never occurred to anyone. The tavern is a maze to navigate, but we made it to our seats with minimal stubbed toes.

    ¡°Where can we find the portal?¡± Melina asks, leaning closer to the old codger we found in the tavern. She gives him the most winning smile she can muster, and I have to admit that she looks dazzling in the reflected mana lamp light glittering off her glass core necklace. I¡¯ve never seen her gussied up quite like this. I don¡¯t even know where she managed to get a dress on such short notice.

    The ancient [Sailor]¡¯s cheeks are flushed. He smiles at Melina, gazing at her like she¡¯s a fairy from a children¡¯s tale. He¡¯s well past his prime, but he still looks smitten. ¡°Dunno. Sorry to let ya down, pretty lass! It¡ªwell, it shifts. Magic. Never went to see the sea people meself.¡±

    I suppress a sigh. We¡¯re never getting any details at this rate. But he¡¯s the only [Sailor] in the tavern who will talk with us. I hope the others are meeting more success in their fact-finding endeavors than we are. The rest of the [Sailors] and [Dockhands] we talked to have shut down our line of inquiry, and unless I miss my mark, they¡¯ve been too afraid to talk. That just begs the question: afraid of what? There¡¯s something off about the entire thing. I can¡¯t figure out what¡¯s going on.

    He sniffs, rubbing his overly-red nose, and taps the side of his head. ¡°Y¡¯know who would know? Old Ned. Surprised ya haven¡¯t asked him.¡±

    ¡°Our innkeeper?¡± Melina says, a note of interest brightening her voice. ¡°I¡¯ll bet he¡¯s got a few stories to tell. I didn¡¯t get the impression that he¡¯s as eloquent as you are!¡± She flutters her eyelashes at him shamelessly. ¡°Don¡¯t you have any other secrets to share?¡±

    The [Sailor] runs his fingers through the last remaining wisps of his thinning white hair, beaming at Melina. His smile suddenly turns sour, however, as something beyond us catches his eye. He shifts over on the wooden bench. ¡°Another time.¡±

    I glance over my shoulder to see what spooked him. The mayor bustles over toward us with a trio of rough-looking men in long coats. They¡¯re each carrying harpoons that look like they could skewer a ship, and the roil of mana surrounding them tells me that they¡¯re priming Skills in case of a fight.

    ¡°Trouble,¡± I whisper to Melina, keeping my voice low. ¡°I¡¯ll try to handle it, but get ready.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll slow them if we have to make a quick exit,¡± Melina whispers back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±

    I stand up, lifting my mug of rum toward the mayor with a big grin. ¡°Good to see ya! Join us for a round? We were just toasting you for providing commission work for us.¡±

    The toughs spread out, cutting off the table from the room, and the mayor steps forward, his face twisted into a mask of concentration. ¡°You work fast. Impressive.¡±

    ¡°We aim to please,¡± I say, my smile growing wider. I reach out with a delicate touch of my Domain, searching for the rest of my team. They¡¯re scattered throughout the tavern, enjoying a well-earned night off. Most of them seem to be singing or dancing in the next room over, but a quick pulse of my presence makes each one jolt upright. They¡¯ll be on their way to come find me before long, I hope.

    ¡°Heard you were looking for other passages outta town,¡± the mayor continues. ¡°Look, I said I¡¯d ask around. No one¡¯s available. Taking another path is a bad idea. Besides, it¡¯s been a tough year. We could use the help getting through the stormy season. Stay here, make what we ask ya, and I promise that you¡¯ll leave next season with pockets full of gold. Not safe to move in these conditions, anyway.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered that you think we¡¯re talented enough to help,¡± I say, still smiling at him with immaculate politeness. ¡°But we really must be on our way soon.¡±

    He glances at the table, his eyes squeezed shut for a few breaths before he looks back up at me. ¡°I hate doing this,¡± he mutters. A sharp look from the [Harpooner] makes him flinch. He sighs heavily. ¡°Afraid I can¡¯t let you do that.¡±

    ¡°I see. Are you pressing us into service?¡±

    He refuses to meet my gaze, shuffling back behind one of the big men with the harpoons and long knives. ¡°Call it what you want. We¡¯ll pay, ya hear? Doesn¡¯t have to get ugly. Works out for the best if you agree. Everyone wins.¡±

    ¡°Ah! I didn¡¯t realize you knew what¡¯s best for us,¡± I say, blithely chattering on. ¡°You see, we have very different ideas of what counts as a win, and I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯m tired of playing by other people¡¯s rules. I¡¯ll have to decline your offer, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    His face goes stony. ¡°Bah. Hate doin this, but there¡¯s no other way. Grab the girl,¡± the mayor orders his assembled thugs. He glares at me. ¡°You¡¯ll get her back when we get our deal.¡±

    Melina snaps, activating her Skill and trapping the three harpoon-wielders in a temporal bubble. At the same, she flings a big ceramic tankard of rum at the mayor¡¯s face using [Object Manipulation] and another time-field to accelerate the throw, crunching his nose with the force of the impact.

    My [Arcane Domain] unfurls in the same instant, helping me keep track of where all our teammates are as the entire tavern erupts in shouts and the scraping sounds of seats pushed back from tables abruptly. Relying on my Skill to help me navigate, I grab Melina¡¯s hand and dash away from the table. Guiding her toward the back door is a must if she¡¯s going to maintain her fields while moving; the temporal acceleration effect takes way too much concentration for her to run at the same time she¡¯s moving, unless she brings the bubble of time along with us.

    Behind us, shouts of anger and confusion break out, but I ignore them and run faster. It¡¯s a shame it came to this, but I refuse to play by their rules anymore. Melina clearly agreed, since she started the fight.

    I¡¯m kinda proud of her.

    It¡¯s a rogue thought in the middle of our frantic dash, but I can¡¯t help it. Melina isn¡¯t well suited for confrontation, but she acted immediately. Zero hesitation.

    The team streams out of the tavern behind us, led by Lionel. His sharp eyes and quick feet make him a perfect scout for this situation, and he takes the lead, finding us good footing across the rain-slicked cobblestones outside. ¡°Head to the docks, Nuri! From what I gathered talking with the lads, the tunnels you¡¯re after are underneath the water. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if that crusty guide of ours is heading there now, thanks to his weird Skill.¡±

    Following Lionel¡¯s suggestion, we dash through the town, a pack of angry [Sailors] on our heels. Mikko detours, rips up a loose lamp post, and chucks it behind us, knocking over a few of the frontrunners and buying us time. He seems to take grim satisfaction tearing up the very same lamp posts that he worked so hard to make the last few days.

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to hurt anyone,¡± I gasp between breaths, turning toward Avelina, ¡°but if you could raise up some scary pillars of flame, that might deter them.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you just freeze the ground so they slide?¡± Avelina asks. There¡¯s an undercurrent of dread in her voice, so I don¡¯t push the matter.

    I reach behind me with my Domain, connecting to the wet cobblestones just ahead of the pursuers. Drawing all the heat out of the stone and rainwater is a trivial matter for my [Greater Heat Manipulation]; the water freezes over instantly as the cold shock covers the ground and turns it into a treacherous sheet of ice. When the first pounding feet hit the slick surface, they go flying, slipping and tumbling over each other.

    I¡¯d find it comical if I weren¡¯t so enraged. I refuse to let anyone order my team around against their will again. Totten tried, and I went along for the most part. Even when I got angry, I let him off easy, settling for a blacklist against the trading post of Halmuth instead of pushing the matter further.

    ¡°You head to the docks,¡± Mikko calls. ¡°I¡¯ll swing by the inn and grab our bags. Can¡¯t leave the core.¡±

    ¡°Not worth the risk!¡± I shout back. ¡°We need to stick together and get out alive. Nothing else is important.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t die, or I¡¯ll track you down and give you a piece of my mind,¡± Mikko growls. He cuts away from the group abruptly, sprinting back toward the inn. Every time he reaches a lamppost, he rips it out of the ground with his incredible [Strength of the Forge Gods] and flings it at the thugs who¡¯ve broken off from the group.

    Yep. My brother¡¯s the best.

    I have no time to dwell on what an awesome guy Mikko is, however. A powerful working of mana surges behind me, and I fling myself to the side just in time to avoid one of the massive harpoons the thugs were carrying earlier. They¡¯ve broken out of the time dilation, and now the three of them are hot on our trail.

    I track the [Harpooners] in my Domain, blinding them with bursts of heat. I don¡¯t want to use the weight of my [Domain] to bat away the projectiles if I can help it, since it will drain way too much mana, so I fall back on old tricks. A burst of willpower coats the ground beneath them in a layer of frost so they fall over, unable to target us.

    I break off, turning a corner and panting in exhaustion. We haven¡¯t run far, but pushing my casting through my Domain is taxing in a way that nothing else can match.

    Rakesh releases a few of his birds. ¡°I¡¯ll hold them off, Nuri. Keep moving! We can¡¯t let anyone fall behind.¡±

    I blink in surprise, too taken aback to respond at first. What are his paper birds supposed to do against the [Harpooners] chasing us? Then I hear an ear-piercing screech behind us, shrill and biting, and I clap my hand over my ear and keep running.

    ¡°Amplification weaponized,¡± Rakesh explains smugly, winking at me as he picks up the pace. He¡¯s never been the most physically fit, but the weeks of trudging through the Barrens treated him well, and he¡¯s stronger and more agile than ever before.

    ¡°Smart.¡±

    Between the sheets of ice and the terrible shrieks from Rakesh¡¯s paper birds, the group pursuing us is forced to retreat and find an alternate path, buying us time to make the docks.

    Mikko comes barreling down the road just as we reach the seaside. He¡¯s got everyone¡¯s bags hanging off his shoulders, including the massive, reinforced pack that he¡¯s been using for the beast core. Best of all, he¡¯s got some of Ned¡¯s sweet rolls in a basket, tucked under his arm.

    ¡°Thank you!¡± I yell, dashing over and launching myself at my brother. I rebound off his muscular frame, my attempt to hug him leaving me staggering and dazed.

    Mikko chuckles. ¡°Of course, bro.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t believe you ran back to the inn that fast. I thought for sure we¡¯d have to give up the core. Anything else we leave behind can be replaced, but that¡¯s priceless. You can¡¯t buy something like that, Mikko. It¡¯s not about the gold value; they¡¯re literally not for sale. Every core has to be registered, but anything above high-Palladium is forfeit. Those [Hunters] didn¡¯t know what they were dealing with, but it¡¯s not something that I could ever get on the open market.¡±

    ¡°Good thing you¡¯ve got me,¡± he replies. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get to the tunnels before we take a harpoon to the knee.¡±

    Despite my misgivings, I¡¯m almost relieved to see Azariah at the edge of the seashore when we arrive at our destination at last, following Lionel¡¯s directions. He¡¯s pacing back and forth, wrapped in a veritable cloak of pipe smoke, and a look of cold fury has settled on his face. Orav stands nearby, holding extra equipment.

    ¡°Stupid mayor!¡± Azariah growls when we get closer. ¡°I told that git to leave you alone. What is it with greed these days? Every place we go, people are tryin to rip us off!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who arranged things with Totten!¡± I snarl back. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you aren¡¯t culpable.¡±

    ¡°It was the only real way forward,¡± Azariah insists. ¡°I told you that already. I ain¡¯t lookin to make yer lives miserable, despite what ya think.¡±

    I cross my arms. ¡°Is this why you got kicked out of Mahkaiaraon in the first place? Too many unilateral decisions like this?¡±

    Azariah¡¯s face darkens. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about that. Dig around and you¡¯ll find more than you bargained for. You don¡¯t know me.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s focus on getting out of here. But we¡¯re not done with this discussion,¡± I snap. ¡°You have more secrets than I do, and that¡¯s saying something.¡±

    Azariah huffs. His smoke swirls around him, darkening into a foul black stream of oily consistency, and then vanishes. When it¡¯s gone, he smiles, seemingly in a better mood, as if he siphoned off all his negative emotions and burned them away with his pipe.

    Maybe he did. That¡¯s handy.

    ¡°Didja figure out how to open the portal?¡± Azariah asks. ¡°I¡¯m a wayfinder, not a lockpick. If we can¡¯t get inside, then we¡¯ve got a real fight on our hands. What a pain. I¡¯ll never be allowed back here. One less route open to me.¡±

    ¡°Not sure. Lionel?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a magic key. I can handle a physical lock, but this sounds like enchantments from what I could figure out. That¡¯s probably a good deal beyond me,¡± he says, looking around with a puzzled expression. ¡°But I still don¡¯t see them. Tough to say for sure before I know what I¡¯m dealing with. Where are they, anyway?¡±

    ¡°This way,¡± Azariah beckons. He leads us down a steep, shale-covered hill, walking at an angle so we don¡¯t slip and tumble down to the rocky beach below. ¡°Near as I can tell, they¡¯re all underneath the current docks. Might hafta swim.¡±

    ¡°I hate getting wet,¡± Avelina hisses.

    ¡°Just keep moving. Let¡¯s not get caught out in the open with enemies on our heels. They looked like they¡¯re out for blood,¡± Rakesh says, casting nervous glances over his shoulder. ¡°My birds are all gone. Can you believe it? They tore them up!¡±

    ¡°Maybe I should have tried a more diplomatic approach,¡± Melina mutters. ¡°You¡¯re a bad influence on me, Nuri.¡±

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Diplomacy wouldn¡¯t have worked,¡± Azariah says, surprising me by coming to her rescue in the discussion. ¡°Remember I warned ya about the mayor? He ain¡¯t got a spine. Whatever the rest of ''em tell him to do, he just goes along with it. Didn¡¯t seem like a bad kid, when I first met him, but I¡¯ve avoided getting entangled in issues here for a long time. Thought we¡¯d slide under their notice, but then ya had to go and wave your fancy magics around under his nose.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my bad judgment,¡± I say, shaking my head. I hop down from the last boulder to the beach. ¡°I didn¡¯t think that it would cause so much trouble. All I wanted to do was make a little extra money before we moved on to our final destination.¡±

    ¡°Extra?¡± Azariah explodes indignantly. He jumps down beside me, sending up a spray of pebbles and sand on the beach. ¡°You¡¯re already rich! What more do you need, boy?¡±

    I meet his incensed gaze with a cold, calculated glare. ¡°More than you know, not that it¡¯s any of your business. Menders aren¡¯t cheap.¡±

    He tugs his beard, squinting at me, and grunts. ¡°That¡¯s right. Your core and channels are busted, you said. Don¡¯t know that¡¯s much of a problem. You¡¯re practically a [Mage], anyway. Do ya really need more?¡±

    ¡°Focus on getting to the tunnels,¡± I admonish him.

    Azariah spits to the side, but doesn¡¯t push the issue. He squeezes down under the edge of the pier, scrabbling in cold, clay-like dirt, and we follow on his heels. The mud streaks all over my clothes, but I can¡¯t stop in the middle of our escape to clean off. I push forward, relying on the pseudo-sight of my Domain to guide me through the sudden darkness underneath the pier.

    Mikko¡¯s strong hands latch onto my shirt so he can keep track of me in the dark. From the sounds of it, he¡¯s guiding the next person behind him, and so on down the line. Everyone is holding onto the next person¡¯s shirt in an unbroken chain so that no one¡¯s left behind.

    We reach the water a short while later. I don¡¯t see anywhere else to go, but my Domain expands to fill the space until something clips in my sight. Glowing with the garish light of too many enchantments stacked on top of each other, a round door twice as tall as I am appears to be sunk into the seabed about a dozen paces out from the edge. We¡¯ll need to submerge in the cold, inky-black water in order to enter, but there¡¯s no other way.

    ¡°It¡¯s about thirty or forty feet out, just under the water. Lionel, how are we getting in?¡± I ask. ¡°Can you figure out the portal? I tried to dig up some clues, but no one knows much of anything.¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°Best I can figure out is that we need a key of some sort, but I can¡¯t say for sure until I¡¯m over there. Not fancying a swim right now.¡±

    ¡°No idea what those enchantments do,¡± I mutter. ¡°Might be faster to simply overload the circuits with mana and get Mikko to pry them open.¡±

    Azariah snorts. ¡°Only problem is stopping the water from getting in. If we can enter, so can the sea.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I say, peering at the arcane traces and wishing I could decipher them. They¡¯re not runes, strictly speaking, but they¡¯re compressed spells, which still rely on the language of magic to operate. More or less. There¡¯s some vague overlap, although it¡¯s like trying to read a foreign language transliterated into my own alphabet. I understand the individual letters, and I can sound out the words, but I don¡¯t know what they mean.

    ¡°Ava, light?¡± Melina suggests.

    Avelina complies, and a bloom of gentle white flame sits in her cupped hands a moment later. She scuttles over, bent down to avoid hitting her head on the beams, and holds the flames close to me so that I can see what I¡¯m doing.

    In my notebook, I sketch out what I¡¯m able to observe through my Domain, wishing that I¡¯d had time to already master the scrying mirror trick that Azariah employs. That would make this entire process so much easier if I could just project what I¡¯m observing. Nonetheless, I shut out my worries and fears, forcing myself to draw clearly and calmly. They¡¯ll find us soon enough, but until then, I can¡¯t fixate on getting discovered.

    ¡°Rakesh, Melina, do you recognize any of these?¡± I ask the scholarly pair, handing them my notebook while I scan through my memories to see if I can recall any of the shapes. ¡°Some of the base runes are familiar, but I don¡¯t see a way to open it.¡±

    Above us, back on the boardwalk, I hear frustrated shouts and heavy boots clattering around as the [Sailors] look for us. Thankfully, they haven¡¯t discovered our footprints yet, but it still makes me nervous. We¡¯re trapped down here, stuck like rats in a cage.

    My least favorite feeling.

    I nudge my brother. ¡°Mikko, can you roll a boulder over the gap in the pier where we came in? We need to buy time.¡±

    ¡°Wait! I recognize this one,¡± Melina says, her voice rising half an octave in excitement. ¡°I think there¡¯s a barrier function that keeps out water.¡±

    ¡°Good catch,¡± Rakesh says, nodding in approval. ¡°Don¡¯t touch that one, Nuri. If you avoid the barrier, and overload the enchantments locking the door, then Mikko might be able to force it open.¡±

    ¡°With leverage, maybe,¡± Mikko says, scratching his head. ¡°If they¡¯re as big as Nuri says, then I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m strong enough to open it since I¡¯ll be swimming. Nothing to brace against to push or pull, y¡¯know?¡±

    I nod, considering his input. ¡°All right, so we need something to anchor you. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s going to be easy, however. We still need to swim out there, and I doubt you wanna drag a boulder with you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll light up the place,¡± Avelina offers. Her flames shoot out from her hands, multiplying and hovering in the area to illuminate everything underneath the pier. Her smile is sharp-edged and grim, but she seems committed.

    ¡°Nuri, break those scripts. Leave the rest to me,¡± Mikko declares confidently. He dives into the waves, swimming out to the sealed circular door with powerful strokes, leaving me with little time to override the enchantment with a burst of mana.

    Prior to earning my [Arcane Domain], I¡¯d never have had a chance. An enchantment on this level is well beyond my understanding, and usually has some built-in defenses to prevent wear and tear, let alone tampering. Leaning on my Skill, however, makes the task possible. With a burst of power, I throw the weight of my Domain against the ethereal traces in the door; for half a heartbeat, they resist, but they soon burst apart like a soap bubble as I flood power into the connection.

    ¡°Go!¡± I call out to Mikko.

    He wedges his fingers into the handles on the doors, presses his legs against the frame of the circular door for leverage¡ªI guess we didn¡¯t need a boulder, after all¡ªand heaves for all he¡¯s worth. His muscles strain, but nothing happens. He pours more and more mana into his strength Skill, blazing like a bonfire in my Domain, but there¡¯s no movement at all from the door.

    ¡°It¡¯s not enough!¡± Mikko roars, his frustration making his voice louder than it should be if we¡¯re still committed to stealth.

    ¡°My smoke might help,¡± Azariah says.

    ¡°Nuri, that looks physically stuck,¡± Melina points out. ¡°Can you sense anything beyond the door? Anything on the other side blocking it?¡±

    ¡°Oh, good call.¡± I extend my perception farther, and sure enough, discover the problem. ¡°You were right. I think there¡¯s a bar blocking the door. I can sense it through my Domain. If we break it, then we can open the door.¡±

    ¡°How ya gonna break it from here?¡± Azariah says. ¡°Let me condense some smoke in the crack and push it out.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± I say, rolling up my sleeves and prepping to wade out into the water. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you can get through the seal, but give it a try.¡±

    Azariah dives into the water without any further urging. He and Orav swim out to the big round doorway, and the young [Hunter] holds our guide in place while he attempts to use his pipe smoke to lift the bar on the other side of the door. It doesn¡¯t seem to be going well.

    ¡°I¡¯ll melt it if I have to,¡± I call, figuring out a plan as we go. Mana signatures ping in my Domain just then, and I spin around to glare up at the unseen assailants. ¡°Let¡¯s go! I¡¯m sensing movement on the pier. [Harpooners] inbound.¡±

    We all plunge into the water, making for the doorway ahead of us. Swimming isn¡¯t my favorite activity since I lost a hand, but it¡¯s not far to reach the portal. I¡¯ll be in range to pull off my plan soon.

    ¡°Move, Ko,¡± I bellow.

    ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±

    ¡°Gonna melt the bar. Once it¡¯s weakened, shove the door and pull it apart like taffy.¡±

    He turns, giving me a quizzical look, but shifts out of the way. ¡°Need help staying afloat?¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± I grit out between my chattering teeth. The water is freezing. With my [Arcane Domain] active, and more urgent target for thermal energy, I can¡¯t afford to keep running my [Greater Heat Manipulation] just to keep myself comfortable in the water.

    My first attempt fizzles out.

    ¡°Getting a lot of resistance,¡± I mutter. ¡°Tough to manipulate heat energy when I can¡¯t get a good sense of it. I¡¯ll have to overlay my Domain, I reckon.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve gotchu!¡± Mikko assures me.

    Resting against my brother¡¯s strong frame so that I won¡¯t go underwater, I close my eyes and touch the portal door with my right hand. I focus on extending my touch through the door to establish contact with the mana-infused steel on the other side. While I¡¯m not touching it directly, I¡¯m technically touching something connected to it, which should work.

    In theory.

    I push forward, seeking to establish a stronger connection. Mana flows from me, yet my progress barely inches forward. I shove more mana into the Skill, no longer worrying about how inefficient it is or how much I have left in reserve. We¡¯ve gotta get out of here!

    ¡°I can¡¯t do it!¡± I scream in frustration, clenching my hand into a fist and pounding against the side of the portal. ¡°There¡¯s too much resistance, and I can¡¯t pull in enough ambient heat.¡±

    ¡°Mana-infused steel has nearly three times the melting point,¡± Mikko says, frowning. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you¡¯ll have enough juice to melt through something that thick. My sense of the metal is that it¡¯s pretty hefty. High quality stuff. Maybe turn it to glass first?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a genius, Ko.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± he replies smugly. ¡°Now get on it. This water¡¯s making my skin shrivel up like a prune, and I can barely feel my toes anymore.¡±

    I nod and get to work, an application of [Vitrification] queued up. I¡¯m not sure how well it will work through my Domain; unlike my other Skills, forcing [Vitrification] to work without contact has been a fruitless endeavor so far.

    Focusing on the task, I reach out to the mana-infused steel. My perception sinks into it, and I coax the runes in my Skill to pit themselves against the metal security bar despite the lack of physical contact. C¡¯mon! You can do it, Nuri.

    Like a key sliding into place and clicking in a lock, my Domain bridges the gap between me and the mana-infused bar on the other side of the circular door. I slam the rest of my mana into [Vitrification], turning a fist-sized section in the middle of the steel into glass.

    I¡¯m struggling to maintain the connection with my Domain. It¡¯s slower to transmute than normal materials, but as soon as it¡¯s mostly done, I switch to [Greater Heat Manipulation] and melt away. Once it¡¯s pliable enough to bend, I pump my fist and nod at my brother.

    ¡°Hit it with your hammer!¡± I yell at Mikko

    He brings the hammer to bear, not even asking questions, and the blow rattles my teeth in my mouth. Beyond the door, the weak point of the melted glass gives way.

    The doors rumble open.

    They open internally, which surprises me since it seems like a security flaw. Sea water doesn¡¯t gush in, however, proving my suspicion right about the barrier enchantment.

    I kick forward, about to enter, when Mikko grabs me and pulls me back. ¡°Swim down to the bottom first! Otherwise, you¡¯ll fall a dozen feet and break something.¡±

    ¡°Good point,¡± I concede, taking a breath and diving down. I swim until I reach the silty floor of the inland sea, and push myself forward through the barrier. I pass through it easily, with no strange fluctuations like stepping through a Rift portal. No water pours into the opening.

    Once everyone¡¯s through, Avelina relights her flames, giving us illumination. I blast out my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to dry us out, and Melina layers her temporal fields over the edge of our clothes, accelerating the drying process.

    I motion them all over. ¡°Close the door back up. We can fuse the metal bar back together to block our path. Mikko? Hold the pieces together side by side. I¡¯ll turn them into glass again. Ava, can you use [Strong as Stone] so that it won¡¯t break if they try to force their way through? We need to get as much of a headstart as possible.¡±

    Mikko heaves the doors shut and slams the two ends of the security bar together, resting them in the notches designed to hold it in place. With practiced precision, we combine our Skills, overlapping effects and resealing the massive circular doors. Unless our pursuers have more potent Skills than harpoons¡ªwhich are admittedly terrifying against fleshy targets¡ªthey aren¡¯t likely to breach the gates anytime soon.

    ¡°Anything unusual we should know about the tunnels?¡± I ask Azariah, glancing around at the strange environment. ¡°You seem to have more information about them than we do. I wanna make sure we¡¯re ready for whatever we run into along the way.¡±

    ¡°Not a bloomin clue,¡± Azariah murmurs.

    Avelina sends her flames down the tunnel, lighting the way for us. We follow Azariah, who¡¯s trudging along already.

    He turns back and beckons us. ¡°C¡¯mon. No idea what awaits. Just gotta pray the tunnels don¡¯t collapse. We¡¯re going down into the deep. Danger lurks, but the path forward hasn¡¯t shifted. Skill still says this is where we need to go next. Not my first choice, but it looks like ya put your foot in it.¡±

    My gut clunches. ¡°Sorry. You did warn me about the mayor. Guess we shouldn¡¯t have had anything to do with him.¡±

    ¡°Nothin for it now. Not yer fault his cronies are maniacs.¡± Azariah snorts. ¡°Course, it¡¯s kinda yer fault that ya never listen.¡±

    ¡°I don''t know how we could have avoided it,¡± I say, caught between feeling guilty and annoyed at the accusation that this is all on me. ¡°How were we supposed to know that selling our services was gonna create problems?¡±

    ¡°Cuz I warned ya!¡± Azariah says. He stomps off down the tunnel, puffing away furiously on his pipe. The smoke thickens behind him, solidifying like cooling glass, and cloaks his passage.

    What am I supposed to say? He did warn me, and like a fool, I didn¡¯t listen. I let my anger over Halmuth and Totten cloud my judgment. I thought Azariah would betray me again, just like all the other people I¡¯ve come across in the last miserable year.

    Melina pats my arm. ¡°It¡¯s not really your fault. We made this deal as a team. It seemed like a good idea. You can¡¯t shy away from ever trusting anyone again just because of a few bad actors. Blame me, if you want.¡±

    ¡°Nah. You just did what we talked about, and did it better than I could. I appreciated you taking care of things, Mel. If I was proactive, though, maybe I could have gotten us out of there faster, or shut the mayor down sooner. Somehow, it feels like I failed everyone.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense! We all have a part to play, Nuri. We made it into the tunnels, and we¡¯re on the way to our next stage of the journey. What is there to worry about anymore?¡± Melina asks, a soft smile on her face. She pats my back and trots off to walk next to her twin.

    My teammates are getting farther away, and Avelina¡¯s light is fading. No one seems to have noticed yet that I¡¯ve lagged behind; they¡¯re all too busy chatting and exploring the new surroundings. I don¡¯t blame them, since I¡¯ve never seen anything like the reinforced walls of the tunnels. There are some sort of mana traceries embedded in the walls, threading through like enchantments, yet without an actual spell form.

    I peer at the phenomenon more closely, or as closely as I can now that I¡¯m jogging to catch back up with my team. They aren¡¯t actually enchantments, or at least they''re not like any I¡¯ve ever seen before. No actual Skill fragments or runic arrays from what I can tell. They are definitely mana-sensitive, though. They¡¯re more like mana conduits, I realize, which makes me wonder if they transfer energy from a natural formation like the ones we ran into in the Barrens. Maybe that¡¯s what powers the enchantments at the entrance to the tunnels.

    Vowing to pay more attention to wise counsel, I run after my friends, deeper into the undersea tunnels. When I catch up, I reactivate my [Greater Heat Manipulation], blanketing the team in what meager warmth I can pull out of the ambient air. The farther we go, the colder the surroundings, but there¡¯s still enough heat dispersed through the surrounding ocean water if I spread out my Domain and draw on the energy deeply enough.

    ¡°How far across is the inland sea, anyway?¡± I ask Rakesh. If anyone is likely to have taken a long look at a map, it¡¯s certainly our [Researcher]. I¡¯ll wager he¡¯s probably memorized three different variants, just in case there are discrepancies between the maps.

    ¡°Roughly twenty miles at its narrowest. From Loch LaMara to Gilead, though, it¡¯s closer to seventy-five miles across,¡± Rakesh replies without missing a beat.

    ¡°Four days if we conserve our energy,¡± Azariah says. ¡°You¡¯re a hardy lot, but I ain¡¯t as young as I used to be. I¡¯m not keen on marchin the whole way in one go like I could when I was young and bold.¡±

    ¡°Not as bad as I feared. I thought it was hundreds of miles from the way you talked about the journey,¡± I say, surprised at the answer.

    ¡°The sea¡¯s a few hundred miles long, and there are jagged cliffs blockin the way north. Can climb em, but it takes weeks to move from camp to camp, and the wind is a terror.¡±

    ¡°Couldn''t we have just found passage from a different town? Seems like Loch LaMara can¡¯t be the only port,¡± Avelina says.

    Azariah shakes his head. ¡°Not a lot of beaches or harbors along the way. The coastline is unforgivin. That¡¯s why Loch LaMara does such good business. Nowhere else for big ships to put in. And tryin to cross in a dinghy during stormy season ain¡¯t any better than diggin a ditch and coverin yourself with dirt.¡±

    ¡°Any warnings from your Skills?¡± I ask Azariah. ¡°I¡¯ll try to do a better job listening if you¡¯re concerned about something.¡±

    Azariah¡¯s eyes flick up and to the side, as though he¡¯s reading something that only he can see. ¡°Nothin. But lemme tell ya, sometimes that¡¯s worse. When trouble comes, it¡¯s usually twice as bad.¡±

    ¡°Guess we have no choice but to keep going. I wish we¡¯d had time to pack food,¡± I say, glad that I¡¯d stuffed my face at the tavern just before we left.

    ¡°Well, you might be surprised how long we last. Eating all that good meat in the Barrens will leave you pretty resilient,¡± Orav says. He winks. ¡°But I packed provisions when Azariah told us we had to leave in a hurry.¡±

    ¡°Good man!¡±

    He ducks his head sheepishly, then rakes his fingers through his hair, looking around the tunnels in wide-eyed wonder. ¡°Who knew something like this existed? Got my wish after all.¡±

    I clap him on the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s a big world. This is just the beginning, Orav. I¡¯ll bet our next few days will be even more exciting. Just wait. We¡¯ve got an adventure on our hands, mark my words.¡±

 B5 C15: The Yathawn

    ¡°Gettin the feelin we¡¯re headin smack dab into bad trouble,¡± Azariah says after nearly two days of monotonous travel. He comes to a dead halt in the middle of the tunnels and sniffs, rubbing his nose. ¡°Not sure what¡¯s ahead, but thought ya might wanna know my Skill¡¯s going crazy.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. We¡¯ll be careful, but I don¡¯t think we have much of a choice but to push onward. Unless you think that¡¯s a bad idea,¡± I say, suddenly feeling unsure. ¡°If you say we retreat, then I¡¯ll listen.¡±

    Azariah takes a long puff on his pipe, exhaling smoke before he answers. ¡°Opportunity and trouble are brothers, see?¡±

    I nod sharply. ¡°Onward it is.¡±

    I stop using [Greater Heat Manipulation] to keep warm, and instead try to harvest mana and store as much energy as possible in my cores. If Azariah¡¯s Skill is anything to go by, then we¡¯re likely to need it before long. I gulp. What does he consider bad trouble, considering what we¡¯ve gotten ourselves into so far?

    ¡°Mel, time?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been forty-five and a half hours since we entered, Nuri,¡± Melina replies absently. She¡¯s studying a marker high up on the side of the tunnel, and barely pays much attention to me. ¡°I think these are numbers! They¡¯re in a script I¡¯m not familiar with, but I¡¯ve seen enough repeats that I think I get a sense of one through nine, and the symbol for ten. Good thing it¡¯s the same base we use. If I¡¯m right, it¡¯s been steadily counting down. This is five, for what it¡¯s worth.¡±

    ¡°Good catch,¡± Rakesh says, sounding both impressed and miffed. ¡°When did you plan to share that tidbit with me?¡±

    ¡°Not all research is in books, Rakesh,¡± Melina replies gently. ¡°The world is full of marvels if you just open your eyes.¡±

    Rakesh sniffs. ¡°You make it sound like I¡¯ve got my head stuck in the clouds, Melina. I¡¯ve been advocating for more observational research for a while.¡±

    Mikko nudges me, and I tune out the friendly bickering between the scholarly duo as he turns toward me with concern on his face. ¡°Hey. You just asked for a time report twenty minutes ago. Getting anxious?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°But I¡¯m also curious about how much longer we¡¯ll be here. If we¡¯re almost to the halfway point, by Rakesh¡¯s calculations, then where are the signs of civilization?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re in a giant man-made tunnel.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but we still haven¡¯t caught any indication of the supposed undersea kingdom. Shouldn¡¯t we encounter their scouts, at least?¡±

    Mikko rubs the back of his head. He glances around with a terrified expression. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re all dead. We¡¯re about to intrude on a bunch of ghosts or something spooky.¡±

    ¡°Ghosts aren¡¯t real,¡± I say dismissively, although I can¡¯t help but shiver at the thought. What if we¡¯re trespassing where we aren¡¯t wanted? There¡¯s a reason the portal was sealed.

    Now that I know to watch for the distance markers in the tunnel, I can¡¯t stop looking up at the top every few dozen strides. Compulsive behavior has always been my weakness. Once an idea worms its way into my head, I can never seem to get it out easily. I pick and worry at it, like a cat playing with a loose bit of string in a ball of yarn until the entire thing unravels. Traveling in the tunnels, time trickles slowly; each time I ask her for another update, Melina reports that only a few minutes have passed.

    Yet eventually, about three quarters of an hour later, we reach a more elaborate symbol embedded in the wall. A short deliberation later, Melina and Rakesh agree that it stands for the number one, although it¡¯s inlaid with mother of pearl, so it probably indicates something special. As soon as we approach the marker, my Domain buzzes and hisses, as though it¡¯s running into interference.

    I shout for everyone to halt. ¡°Something¡¯s up. That mile-marker is a cutoff. As soon as we step across that dividing line, we¡¯ll walk into someone else¡¯s Domain. Or, actually, it feels like a powerful mana barrier. Probably the underwater city head. What¡¯s our play?¡±

    Lionel shrugs. ¡°You¡¯re the boss.¡±

    ¡°You just don¡¯t wanna vote,¡± Avelina says, rolling her eyes. ¡°That way no one can call you out later if you make the wrong decision.¡±

    ¡°You wound me, O Mistress of Flames!¡± Lionel says, clutching at his heart and swooning.

    ¡°She¡¯s not wrong, Lio. You do like making other people choose for you.¡± I¡¯m about to tease him further when a dense group of bright mana signatures light up in my Domain.

    ¡°Incoming,¡± I hiss. I flatten myself to the side of the tunnel, and the team follows my lead. ¡°Ava, douse the flames. We¡¯ve got company, and they¡¯re moving fast.¡±

    Darkness swallows us alive.

    Mikko shuffles forward, his hand on the tunnel wall to guide him, and plants himself in front of the team. He no longer has a shield since we left in such a rush¡ªI¡¯ll have to make him a new and improved one; one more item on my to-do list, I think¡ªbut he wields his hammer with both hands.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fight unless we have to,¡± I whisper, reminding him that we¡¯re looking for a quiet, safe passage. He nods in the dark, apparently trusting that I¡¯ll pick up on it my Domain, but his resolute determination still comes through loud and clear.

    With practice using my Domain, I¡¯m picking up more mental resilience, which helps me run it longer and with more fine results. I¡¯m getting better at feeling more sensations than just vague impressions of creatures and places, but emotions are still difficult for me to parse unless I know the person well. I wonder if I¡¯ll ever be able to combine my Domain with the [Inquisitors]¡¯ vaunted Viewing technique? That would be incredible. I could analyze everyone around me all at once.

    ¡°They¡¯ll be here in seconds,¡± I whisper. ¡°No sudden moves. Let¡¯s stay hidden until we get a better idea of their intentions. If possible, let¡¯s keep things friendly.¡±

    Rhythmic footfalls drum out a quick tattoo up ahead¡ªsome sort of mount, although none I recognize. A dozen shapes emerge in my Domain, not bringing their own lights with them. That makes me wonder if they can see in the dark. They clatter to a halt just before they reach our group, spreading out into a semicircle to block off the tunnel.

    ¡°The seaway is shut! Return whence you came, dwellers of earth,¡± an odd voice booms.

    ¡°Stand down, Mikko,¡± I say, sighing as I realize that they have some way to track us. We were never concealed, for all my paranoia. We must have triggered some defensive mechanism when we approached, which is why they¡¯re here in the first place.

    I step out into the middle of the tunnel, my open hand held up in a universal declaration of peaceful intent. ¡°Greetings, guardians of the seaways! May we illuminate ourselves?¡±

    ¡°You may,¡± the sonorous voice replies. ¡°But keep your weapons sheathed. Violent action will be viewed as a declaration of war. Rest assured that we will not leave your docks intact this time if we are forced to sally forth.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not from Loch LaMara. Or, rather, we¡¯re not with them,¡± I¡¯m quick to clarify. ¡°We just happened to enter the tunnels there. We seek passage to Gilead.¡±

    Avelina lights up the tunnel with her fire at that moment, circulating a dozen small balls of flame around both us and the newcomers. They spin in a mesmerizing cycle, clearly the result of high control and power, but without the blazing heat that might mark them as a threat or an attack. Nonetheless, I sense that her mana is primed in case they break the truce.

    A warband is arrayed before us, menacing despite their small numbers. Wicked lances of carved bone, etched with runes I don¡¯t recognize¡ªyet they warp my vision if I stare at them too closely¡ªare leveled at our group. Each of the mounted warriors bears a curved sword at his hip in addition to the lance, and an assortment of throwing daggers across the chest.

    Their mounts are peculiar creatures, but thankfully they¡¯re not lizards like the mounts back in Halmuth. Those things make me shudder just remembering the way their necks rotated all the way around, as though they had no bones. By contrast, these share the general shape of a horse, although they have no hoofs. Loose webbing between their legs seems to indicate that they¡¯re equally at home swimming or running. They appear amphibious in nature, although I have no idea if they can breathe underwater.

    I flinch back as my gaze rises. The people on their backs are just as hybridized. While their frames and speech are humanoid, their blue-green skin color, gilled necks, and webbing between their fingers and toes¡ªnone of them wear boots or shoes, I notice¡ªshow that they are a species well adapted to dwelling under the sea. I¡¯ve never seen anything like these people, but suddenly Ned¡¯s tall tales of undersea people seem more like reality than fiction.

    ¡°Gilead bars entry to our kind,¡± the leader intones in his low, rumbling tones. ¡°We are not willing to open the gates just to deposit lost wanderers.¡±

    I smile, hoping I seem friendly. Do they even interpret smiles the same way? For all I know, it¡¯s a sign of aggression to them. ¡°We¡¯re happy to pay for passage elsewhere. Do you have boats, or some sort of undersea craft? As long as we reach the Gilead side of the inland sea, we don¡¯t mind walking the rest of the way.¡±

    ¡°Not for charter,¡± the leader says, frowning at us. He lifts his lance, hissing a command to his compatriots in a language that I don¡¯t recognize, and dismounts. ¡°You don¡¯t seem hostile, but I cannot risk an incident. If you will not return the way you came, then I¡¯ll be forced to bring you before the council to determine our course of action.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem like it would avoid an incident,¡± I point out as delicately as I can. ¡°But I¡¯m admittedly not a diplomatic expert.¡±

    He smiles wryly, which answers my question about facial expressions. ¡°Then you see how it¡¯s in everyone¡¯s best interests if you simply return to Loch LaMara. I bid you farewell.¡±

    ¡°Not likely to be in our best interests, unfortunately,¡± I reply, matching his wry tone.

    His gaze sharpens. ¡°You are in some kind of trouble?¡±

    ¡°They tried to send a press gang after us,¡± I admit, hoping that we can bond over shared grievances over poor treatment at the hands of the [Sailors] in the port city. ¡°But we¡¯re not lawbreakers, not really. We simply wanted passage to Gilead, but they wanted us to stay and work for free during the stormy season.¡±

    ¡°Work? What do you do?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re glassmakers. Except for the big guy. That¡¯s my brother. He¡¯s a [Blacksmith], and a good one at that,¡± I say. Almost as an afterthought, I gesture at Azariah and Orav. ¡°This short fellow with the ever present smoke is our guide. The last one who¡¯s not a glassmaker is this [Hunter] who traveled with us to help procure meat on our journey. I don¡¯t think his tactics will work very well underwater.¡±

    The spokesman for the guards in front of us returns to his team, conferring with them in urgent tones. I can¡¯t follow the conversation, not even through my Domain, since they¡¯re using a language I¡¯ve never heard. It¡¯s strangely unsettling to find myself on the outside; I¡¯ve grown used to snooping thanks to my Domain, and it¡¯s only gotten stronger after upgrading my glass cores. Learning a new language is out of the question right now, but it leaves me feeling off balance.

    ¡°Great. We¡¯re gonna get arrested again,¡± Lionel moans from behind me. He pushes off from the wall and shuffles over to me. ¡°Traveling with you is nothing but bad luck, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Arrested again?¡± Orav asks, giving me an odd look out of the corner of his eye. ¡°Stirring up all that trouble in Halmuth was normal for you?¡±

    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Avelina confirms.

    Orav gulps. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll join Azariah after all. I¡¯m not cut out for a life of crime.¡±

    After a few minutes of discussion, the undersea dweller approaches halfway between our two groups, beckoning for me to join him. In a show of goodwill, he even leaves his lance with his teammates.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Unless you are a clever spy, you have excellent luck, traveler. We happen to be in need of a [Glassworker] to repair some of our domes. If you are willing to help us, then perhaps we can help you in return. Know this, however: the way to Gilead is forever closed. We will not put ourselves at risk for your sake.¡±

    ¡°Bad luck, huh?¡± I quip at Lionel before turning and offering a shallow bow to the guard. ¡°My name is Nuri. I am a Master [Glassworker], and three of my team are from my studio. We¡¯d be happy to assist if we can. Depending on the nature of the damage and the required scope of the repair, however, it may not be easily done without a workshop. I will be very clear, however: we will work for an agreed upon period of time, and not a second longer. I¡¯ve had quite enough of employers trying to keep me against my will.¡±

    ¡°Well met, Nuri. I am lead [Outrider] of Company One, defender of our people: the Yathawn. If your company is willing to join us, then we will escort you to Natan, the pearl of the inland sea.¡±

    ¡°Enough lollygaggin. Let¡¯s get movin,¡± Azariah growls.

    I groan, hoping our brusque guide isn¡¯t going to cause any sort of international incident due to his lack of manners, but none of the Yawthan seem disgruntled. I present my most winning smile to the [Outrider]. ¡°We¡¯ll join you. Thanks for the kind offer. What¡¯s your name, if I may ask?¡±

    ¡°I have not earned a permanent place among the Yawthan. You may call me [Outrider] One.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Sorry if I offended you.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, ya talk more than a [Diplomat],¡± Azariah grumbles as he stomps forward, crossing the mile marker and plunging through a thin film that marks the boundary of the city.

    The rest of us follow with various degrees of confidence in our new hosts¡¯ hospitality, but [Outrider] One doesn¡¯t seem upset. I¡¯m acutely aware of more than one guarded expression, or a hand straying toward a weapon, however. Not that I blame them; we¡¯re all on guard after our experiences with the first three towns we¡¯ve been to on our journey.

    Compounding matters is entering a new nation, since Natan clearly stands apart from Densmore by virtue of its language and inhabitants. How, I haven¡¯t a clue. Even Rakesh looks dumbfounded. If anyone should know about a sovereign state within Densmore, it¡¯s him. Yet he seems as surprised as the rest of us.

    I drop my Domain before I cross the threshold into the city. After Halmuth, I¡¯m on high alert around mana barriers, nervous that I¡¯ll cause another set of problems unintentionally. On instinct, I flinch as I enter the city boundaries, but nothing happens. This barrier feels like it¡¯s several orders of magnitude sturdier than the one surrounding Halmuth, although I¡¯m not sure how to measure that accurately. Maybe Rakesh might know.

    I don¡¯t know for certain that my emerging Domain would have much of an effect at all, now that I¡¯ve felt it for myself. I still don¡¯t want to take the risk. Better to save it, just in case.

    [Outrider] One doesn¡¯t offer us a ride. He seems content to let us walk the entire way to the city of Natan, which annoys me at first. Two short minutes later, however, I understand his choice when my Domain reveals an abrupt cutoff to the undersea pathway we¡¯ve traveled along for the last two days. There¡¯s not much to gain by riding.

    We reach the end of the tunnel, a portal sealed in a similar manner to the one under the pier in Loch LaMara. [Outrider] One produces a disk from his pocket. It¡¯s brimming with circuitry in my mana senses. He removes the bar from across the portal, taps the disk against the center of the enormous circular doorway, and backs up quickly to avoid the opening halves of the door.

    The first thing I notice when the portal doors slide open an inch is the influx of a massive amount of energy. Mana rushes in like the tide, overwhelmingly dense. My eyes widen, and my hand goes to my knife before I get hold of myself. The energy signature is intense and wild, like nothing I¡¯ve felt outside of a Greater Rift.

    ¡°Welcome to our humble nation,¡± [Outrider] One says, revealing a sharp-toothed grin as he gestures at an impossible sight. Endless rows of golden bubbles cover the sea bed, lit up by the strongest continual use of mana I¡¯ve seen. It lights up the sea, visible to the naked eye.

    Usually, that level of mana intensity happens in short pulses, like when a Skill activates. To sustain it indefinitely takes an absurd amount of energy throughput. There¡¯s something odd about this place. My suspicion is that they have a Rift underneath the city, although it¡¯s probably an Architected variety and not liable to spew monsters out into the populace.

    For some reason, I¡¯ve always imagined that the seabed is uniform and smooth, like the bottom of a basin filled with water. Nothing could be further from the truth. Rolling hills and an intricate maze of sharp, winding valleys form an incredibly complex vista. Domes of all sizes are clustered across the underwater metropolis, ranging from small domiciles to a vast semicircle of transparent glass that looks large enough to swallow up the entire SCA.

    A terrible premonition fills me with mounting dread. I point at the main dome, which is so large that it appears to encompass over half of the city. ¡°Uhh, [Outrider] One? That¡¯s not the one that needs repairing, is it?¡±

    He barks out a laugh, once again revealing his shark-like rows of sharp teeth. ¡°Naturally not. We would need to hire a far larger crew for that endeavor, if we could convince enough surface-dwellers to travel under the seas. I expect no miracle from you. No, it is a cracked dome over our Leeward hydroponics facility that you must fix, among other things.¡±

    ¡°Hydro what now?¡± Azariah asks.

    [Outrider] One¡¯s fingers flutter, a gesture that a few of his colleagues copy. They all seem amused, but are polite enough not to make fun of Azariah to his face. ¡°Growing fields. We need no earth to plant our produce, unlike you surface dwellers. Our plants grow directly in the water, which our [Growers] keep fresh and clean. Fish are good, but we enjoy variety in our diet. That¡¯s a characteristic we share, yes?¡±

    I nod, taking it all in. ¡°Yeah. We¡¯ll do our best to fix it. Do you have any glass stockpiled? If we have to create our own, it may delay the project.¡±

    ¡°The [Quartermaster] will see that you have what you need. I will take you to see him now. Make arrangements; then we go before the [Queen].¡±

    ¡°Royalty?¡± I squeak. ¡°Can we at least bathe and dress ourselves properly? I left my nice suit behind; our departure was fairly abrupt. I¡¯m not ready to meet a [Queen]!¡±

    [Outrider] One chuckles again, but this time it feels distinctly less cheerful than before. His wide grin doesn¡¯t change, however. ¡°The [Quartermaster] will take care of everything. I suspect you¡¯ll find it an enlightening experience.¡±

    =+=

    ¡°We have three tons of glass on reserve, but I¡¯ll need to see a requisition before I can remand it to your custody,¡± the [Quartermaster] says. Unlike [Outrider] One, he doesn¡¯t seem familiar with the common tongue of Densmore; he¡¯s speaking into an artifact held between us. It translates for us as we discuss.

    ¡°Understood,¡± I reply, smiling vaguely. I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from the artifact. All I want to do is take it apart and learn its secrets. Scalpel would be so proud. But it¡¯s a remarkable design. The enchantments alone are fascinating, since I don¡¯t really understand how it¡¯s made, but what really amazes me is that it seems to handle new concepts and vocabulary on the fly. How does it figure out the meaning if the words aren¡¯t preloaded?

    His fingers flutter as he looks over at [Outrider] One. ¡°Clothing for your audience will be no problem, however. I would not dare dream of dishonoring our [Queen] by allowing all of you surface-dwellers to appear before her as you are currently.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for your generosity,¡± I say, sketching a slight bow. I¡¯m about to ask if there¡¯s a specific title or honorific we should use to address the [Queen] when I catch a glimpse of what my friends have discovered to keep themselves occupied while I¡¯m negotiating.

    Lionel and Mikko are making faces at each other from across the room, snickering as the endless rows of mirrors distort their expressions into unrecognizable, grotesque masks. The mirrors stretch on before me, as far as the eyes can see, although I can¡¯t discern the purpose of so many reflections stacked on top of each other. The curvature of the metal and glass makes for elongated or compressed body shapes, often simultaneously, the images overlapping and competing for attention, depending on where you look.

    I¡¯m about to motion for them to stop, horrified that they might offend our hosts, when I see [Outrider] One stick his fingers into the sides of his mouth and stretch out his lips in a ridiculous grin while his long, pale tongue flickers back and forth. He giggles alongside Rakesh, who has also joined the dubious festivities.

    Tearing my gaze away from the ridiculous display, I smile politely at the [Quartermaster], hoping that he won¡¯t hold my friend¡¯s behavior against me. ¡°May we borrow a small batch of glass for our audience? I want to show what we can offer to the city of Natan.¡±

    ¡°[Outrider] One? Will you cover costs?¡±

    ¡°Sure! Take it out of my allotment. I¡¯ve got extra credits this month,¡± [Outrider] One says.

    ¡°Ah. Right. The business with the serpent,¡± the [Quartermaster] says. He bares his teeth and hisses. I¡¯m not sure what that signifies, but he looks angrier than I¡¯ve seen from the others. When he catches my quizzical expression, he explains.

    ¡°[Outrider] One is one of our foremost, ah, agitators. He¡¯s skilled at detecting threats and leading them away from the city. He took a lance of fellow [Outriders] and led a beast on a merry chase. I¡¯m told that he did not even need to feed any of the others to the serpent to pacify it. An endearing quality, if quaint.¡±

    Feeding your friends to monsters is normal here? I catch myself at the last second, biting my tongue before I get myself in trouble. I glance over at Melina, who¡¯s half-heartedly watching the reflections in the mirror, and she subtly raises an eyebrow. I¡¯m glad at least one of my team gets the message to be on guard.

    Of course, Azariah needs no such warning. He¡¯s already glowering at the glass dome of the warehouse, arms crossed. He¡¯s squinting out at the endless black seas, refusing to look in the mirrors no matter what; as soon as we walked into this warehouse, he recoiled from them as though they burned his eyes. He seems even more sour than usual, although he¡¯s had the good sense to drag Orav along with him, making the young [Hunter] sit and stare at the cold depths.

    I resolve to ask him later what his Skill is warning the [Smokeborn Pathfinder] about; this extreme level of irritation seems beyond his usual standoffish mood. Something in this room is definitely triggering his Skill. I just wish I could figure out what.

    We get no further answers from the [Quartermaster]. He just hisses out a strange laugh, hands over a bundle of clothing to each of us without taking our measurements, and gives the requested glass to [Outrider] One.

    Melina and I review the glass, ensuring that it¡¯s up to par. To my relief, it seems like he¡¯s ordered it from Gilead, bypassing their travel restrictions somehow. Maybe they have a supplier who works as an intermediary. Regardless of how they¡¯ve done it, I¡¯m happy to use quality glass for a project. Ideally, I¡¯d want to find a way to layer tempered glass, like with the laminate models that Melina and I worked on back in Silaraon when we were experimenting with glass armor. I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯d scale it up to fit the dome, however. We¡¯ll have to make do with what we have.

    ¡°Come! Baths await,¡± [Outrider] One declares. He jogs down a metallic corridor, taking a sharp right to veer into a larger hallway, and we follow as quickly as we can.

    How he navigates the vast web of connections between the countless brass buildings, each capped with glass domes, is beyond me. I don¡¯t see any signs or markings to guide us, but he runs about with confidence. Perhaps he¡¯s memorized the map. Or perhaps the Yawthan have some alternate method of navigation beyond ours. I recall Ezio telling me a theory about birds orienting themselves by the world¡¯s magnetic field when migrating, for example. It seems almost too fantastical to be true, but I trust the [Scholar].

    Trotting to keep up, we follow our host through the hallways. I¡¯m desperate for a chance to clean off. Drying from the swim through the sea is easy enough, but all the minerals stuck to us, crusting on our clothes and stinking. I can¡¯t wait to be clean again.

    =+=

    ¡°You offered passage without verification?¡±

    ¡°I did, your majesty,¡± [Outrider] One says from his prostrate position on the floor. How his voice is so clear while speaking into the engraved sea-green tiling is beyond me.

    Truth be told, I¡¯m envious of his view. One glance at the [Queen] tells me far more than I ever wanted to know about the cultural and biological peculiarities of the Yathawn, but I have a hard time looking away. Deep blue where the rest of the Yathawn are more cerulean or shades of green, the [Queen] is enormous, three or four times the size of the rest of the people we¡¯ve met. She¡¯s floating on a pool of glowing water, covering a clutch of dull-red egg sacs with what look like a profusion of tentacles rather than hands.

    ¡°We will require a demonstration.¡±

    ¡°I very much hope you weren¡¯t lying about being glassmakers,¡± [Outrider] One whispers to me, still face-down. ¡°Otherwise, she¡¯ll eat us all.¡±

    The sheer cheerfulness of his dire pronouncement is unsettling, but I¡¯m starting to piece together something about Yathawn culture. While they are exacting and formal in their speech, it is not indicative of a lack of humor. In fact, their jokes tend to be goofy, far sillier than what I¡¯m used to¡ªother than Lionel¡ªand death is a more prominent theme than anticipated. They don¡¯t find it ghastly or gauche to talk about dying, just funny.

    I step forward when summoned, producing the glass from the [Quartermaster]. At the command of the [Queen], I begin my demonstration, touching the glass and melting as quickly as I can with my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. Working in conjunction with Melina to levitate the hot glass, I make a show of shaping it into a dome-shaped barrier. We choose to keep my imbuing secret, for now, relying on Avelina¡¯s [Strong as Stone] Skill instead, and anneal it quickly so that we can move on to the next stage: bouncing the result off the tiled floor to display its sturdiness.

    Once we¡¯ve shown her that the glass neither breaks nor scratches, she gestures, and an attendant scurries over, collecting the small dome for the [Queen] to review further.

    ¡°Sufficient,¡± the [Queen] pronounces at last.

    Sufficient! I grumble. If that¡¯s not the best glass she¡¯s ever seen, I¡¯ll eat my socks.

    ¡°Fix the cracks in the hydroponics facility, and we¡¯ll honor the agreement made with our little [Outrider]. He has no authority to strike such a bargain, but we will overlook his impudence today. He has earned his reprieve, and will not be used as sea serpent bait for two more cycles of the moon. We¡¯ll deliver you to the shores a few hours walk from Gilead.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, your majesty,¡± I say, bowing stiffly, although my mind is whirling. What does she mean, he¡¯s earned a reprieve for two months? Why doesn¡¯t he seem more torn up about it? They use their own people as bait?

    The more I think it over, the more the details slot into place. Of all the people we¡¯ve met so far, only the [Quartermaster] appears to show any signs of aging. The rest are young, in the prime of life. No children. No women. Warriors, workers, and the [Queen], presiding over her enormous clutch of eggs.

    I shiver involuntarily. Aside from the [Queen], the Yawthan might look human other than the webbing and gills, but they¡¯re not like the other people I¡¯ve met. The only other time I can think of encountering a being that was as difficult for me to understand as the Yathawn was in the Greater Rift, when Tem struck an [Accord] with the control room technician. I still don¡¯t know what oath he swore, or what it cost him to do it, but I¡¯ll never forget the strange, alien sensation of seeing a sophont creature that¡¯s utterly different.

    ¡°How many days will you require to fix the cracks? We will command our [Quartermaster] to prepare lodging and sustenance for the duration of your stay,¡± the [Queen] declares.

    ¡°Difficult to say until we see the extent of the damage. Likely three or four days, unless it happens to be a gigantic chamber. Then we might be looking at a week or two,¡± I say to be safe. My suspicion is that we can plug the cracks within a day or two, but I don¡¯t want to run afoul of their hospitality if we overpromise.

    Outsiders are probably easier to feed to sea serpents than the [Queen]¡¯s own spawn, after all.

 Two year anniversary of the Glass Mage!

    If you''re just here for the story, feel free to skip this entry! Check back Wednesday for the next chapter. :)

    Two years ago, I wrote a quick character sketch for fun. It was only supposed to be a few paragraphs pages chapters. Next thing I knew, I had an entire book on my hands and no idea what to do next. Then a couple more books sprang into existence. Here we are two years later, moving into the mid-point of book five. I''ve (mostly) finished the rough draft of book five, and I''m working on book six currently. That''s right, I have a backlog for the first time! I''m almost a dozen chapters ahead right now, and I''d like to keep it that way. No more missed chapter uploads. Does this mean I should finally make a Patreon? Let me know.

    I wanted to take a brief moment to acknowledge the milestone. I wouldn''t have made it here without my readers. Thank you all for the comments and critique. It''s been challenging at times to see where I could have done better, but it''s also been immensely rewarding and encouraging to know that other people enjoy this little adventure. I appreciate you.

    So, what''s next?

    Rewriting the beginning. Book one was pretty bad. It suffered from aimless plot lines, poor character development, and a general lack of worldbuilding. To all of you who read the original: I salute you! I''m working hard to make the reading experience smoother for new readers. I''ve changed the introduction, added a school arc where both Nuri and Melina receive training from Ezio, and tried to incorporate more character interactions and signs of personal growth. I still have to redo the arc with Tem, but it should be much stronger after I''m done.

    Books two and three are also in my plans for revisions, although it should be a much lighter rework rather than a rewrite. I specifically want to strengthen his reasons for going on the road solo, as well as make it less of a fugitive from the law situation--in the revision, it will be clearer that the [Adjutant] has a personal vendetta, and that Nuri isn''t a criminal who will be forever on the run. I know at least one reviewer dropped the story entirely because of that.

    In book three, I want to give Nuri more agency. Instead of falling into a nice little apprenticeship with Evershed, they''ll be at an impasse. She stands her ground, and he can''t compete until Nuri finds a way to force the issue. She''ll still teach him, but now it will because he''s earned respect, and not just because she''s nice. Likewise, I''ll give him more options to flee or return to the capital, and he''ll have an actual choice in the matter--returning has its tradeoffs, but he''ll get to clear his name and improve his understanding of magic. That leads into Scalpel: yes, she''ll still be creepy and strange, but I''ll tone it down a little and give clearer reasons for why he''s there and what he''s learning.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Beyond that, I''ll eventually touch up a few passages to remove whining where I can. I won''t turn Nuri into the perfect gentleman and scholar, but I do want him to show clear growth.

    What about books five, six, and so on? Plans can always change, so please don''t hold me to this projection. Without too many spoilers: book five is about his personal growth, learning to step into leadership, and regaining what he''s lost. I hope it''s satisfying! Book six should build on that foundation, and will re-integrate some characters who have fallen by the wayside. Heavy crafting component: this is the glass half of the title. I''m keeping things vague for now. Book seven will finally explore the wraith world and the mysteries of Rifts. The goal is to bring all the plot threads together and set up for the rest of the series as we march toward a conclusion. Book eight will focus on the mage half of the story''s title. Power scaling will likely shift significantly.

    Book nine will ideally be the last in the series (it was supposed to be 5 originally, then 7; I revised that up to 10, but I think I can do it in only 9 if I''m concise). I don''t have the energy or creativity to write this forever, and I miss my other projects. I''ve got a dozen other novels already written that I want to share with the world someday, but they need editing and improvements. I''d rather wrap up The Glass Mage around one million words than drag things on and run out of ideas. Don''t worry, the end is certainly not imminent. I suspect it will probably take me another year to a year and a half. If we''re still working on the series at the end of 2025, well, something either went horribly wrong or really right. You be the judge.

    Goals: before the end of the series, I''d like to hit 1,000 followers. I''d also like to improve enough to earn at least 4.25 stars. I think that means applying feedback and incorporating critique, as well as finishing the story on a high note. I''ve read a great many of the other crafting and dungeon-diving stories on here to see where I can improve, and I''d like to think that with time I can get on their level. Let me know in the comments where you think I should focus my attention moving forward to bring up the quality of the series. I''ll do my best to listen. Thanks again for sharing this journey with me.

    Much love.

 B5 C16: Repair Work

    Hoisted up to the thick glass dome in a harness, legs dangling down from the leather and brass contraption, I regret my cavalier promise to the [Queen] of the Yathawn. The cracks are far more extensive than I was led to believe. Water is held at bay by their mana barrier system, and not much else. The compromised integrity of the dome is only just bearing up under the pressure. Bitter cold seeps through the mana barrier, though I shunt it away with a mere thought, since I can afford the extra mana costs with my new cores.

    Huge steel winches work overtime, lifting up prepared batches of glass to the dome. In the center of each resides a mana crystal the size of my head, empowering the mechanical lifts. The city is full of such wonders, which tells me that mana crystals are in ready supply. Taken in conjunction with the density of mana released into the area, I¡¯m almost certain that there¡¯s a Rift nearby. Perhaps even underneath the city itself? Densmore rose to power on the strength of just such an arrangement of Rift-empowered cities.

    I stretch out my neck and shoulders, groaning with the accumulated pain and stiffness of finding myself stuck in a bad position for too long. Craning to look up all the time is getting very uncomfortable. I wish it were simpler to patch the cracks in the dome, but I have to be up close and personal. Casting through my Domain is still difficult and costly; the mana requirements are too much to handle for long even with my upgraded cores.

    Filling in the cracks isn¡¯t a perfect process, either. I have to melt the edges of the broken glass, bring the replacement up to temp, and plug up the gaps as best I can while trying to avoid thermal shock. Otherwise, the entire thing is useless, which means I¡¯m constantly tiptoeing on a tightrope. The balancing act is exhausting, and we¡¯re way behind schedule.

    Our spare glass is stored on swaying platforms next to us, and an assistant hands me the next batch each time I ask. Compounding my frustration is how much we¡¯ve already used; we¡¯re not only behind on time, but also on resources. I may have to dip into [Vitrification] if we want to finish the job right.

    Shaping the glass on my own is slow once it¡¯s at working heat, but no one else can touch the molten glass directly unless I¡¯m permanently running [Greater Heat Manipulation]. Aside from me, only Melina has a manipulation Skill that lets her work without tools.

    Unfortunately, Melina nearly threw up when she first tried using the harness to survey the dome. She¡¯s taken to all the other challenges in our journey without any trouble, so seeing her suddenly struggle is unsettling. Apparently, swinging back and forth at such heights made her deathly ill. I had no idea she found the odd motion nauseating, but she refused to return to the air. She was not impressed when I teased her about wanting to learn flight spells, either. Of course, she reminded me that it was her future children that she hopes will learn to fly, not her, which neatly sidesteps her fear and nausea when airborne.

    Avelina finds the harness and lift system fun, thankfully. She helps me maintain working temperatures and also casts [Strong As Stone] as needed¡ªand the rest of the time, she pushes off from the dome, shrieking and laughing as she spins and careens through the air high above the chamber floor. It¡¯s good to see her laughing again.

    ¡°Hey! Nuri! Do you think that serpent¡¯s related to my little Yuuni?¡± Avelina asks when she spins back my way, waving to get my attention.

    I turn and squint against the glare of the mana lamps, trying to track her wide swings as she picks up speed. ¡°Which serpent?¡±

    Avelina spins back to the dome. She taps on the glass and points to an immense shape slithering by in the darkness. ¡°Think it can break in? I hope we don¡¯t look like food.¡±

    I shudder, suppressing my instinctual desire to flee. The monster looks almost as big as the Oletheros, although it swims placidly. ¡°Probably a distant relation to the one in the picture, yeah. I hope they¡¯re not attracted to light. Or mana. Or anything about us.¡±

    Avelina leans back in the harness, yawning and stretching until her shoulders and arms pop. ¡°Relax, Nuri. You worry too much. Do you really think this city would still be here if they got attacked all the time?¡±

    I squint at the ominous serpents cavorting in the deep, and turn toward my fire-touched friend. ¡°Uhhh. What do you think broke the dome in the first place?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not think about it,¡± she replies airily. ¡°Seriously. You worry enough for all of us put together. This is the first fun time I¡¯ve had in months! Don¡¯t ruin it.¡±

    I can¡¯t very well argue that, so I shrug and get back to work. Progress is slow, since the gaps are enormous and joining fresh glass to old is never as easy as it sounds. Without Avelina to strengthen the glass, I¡¯m not sure we could do it at all, even with [Greater Heat Manipulation] to assist the process. I wonder what they were planning to do before we came along, given their isolationist policies. Maybe they would simply abandon the facility.

    Who made it originally?

    That thought brings me up short. If the Yawthan built all of this, then why can¡¯t they fix it? And if they didn¡¯t build it, then who did? Everything is remarkably uniform from what I¡¯ve seen so far in Natan. Someone put an incredible level of work into this place. It must have been terribly expensive to construct. Nothing about this place adds up.

    Three days after our audience with the [Queen], we¡¯re not even half the way through the repair job in the hydroponics facility. Their glass stockpile, once so extensive, is beginning to dwindle, and it doesn¡¯t take an [Accountant] to see that we¡¯ll fall short. I can always supplement their supplies with [Vitrification] if necessary, but I¡¯m not sure that I want to reveal all my secrets just yet. It hasn''t worked out so well the last few times I took jobs in a new city, although Azariah assures me that we stand to gain from sticking out this course of action.

    The entire Leeward hydroponics facility is empty while we work, despite the severe hit to their agricultural production. Presumably, they can sustain themselves during the downtime by supplementing their diet with fish. All of that assumes that the crops grown in the Windward hydroponics facility will prove insufficient for their nutritional needs. I don¡¯t particularly want to find out more about their feeding and bait tactics, since I don¡¯t want to end up as a snack, so I urge Avelina to pick up the pace. Working here is profitable, since we have access to such dense mana in the ambient environment. It makes my progress toward ranking up my Skills feel a lot more tangible.

    ¡°You know, you could team up with Lionel if you want to go faster. He¡¯s great at cranking out glass prototypes quickly,¡± Avelina says suddenly.

    ¡°What happened to having fun?¡±

    Avelina stares out the window, her lips pursed. Her eyes are soft and wistful. ¡°I found out the Yathawn have breathing packs for surface-dwellers. We could take a craft up to the shallows and go swimming under the surface. Imagine watching a storm from underneath the waves! We could feed the fish, too. Some of them like to receive pats on the back, like puppies. Working all day is no fun, Nuri.¡±

    I scrunch up my face. ¡°[Outrider] One has been filling your head with more nonsense, I see.¡±

    Avelina scrunches up her face at me. ¡°Aw, c¡¯mon. It¡¯s not nonsense! You¡¯d have fun if you stopped being so sour. Yuuni would have fun, too.¡±

    That makes me laugh. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to pass the bond to you if I knew how. I¡¯m glad you like the little sea serpent. Seriously, though, I made some mistakes. I planned on giving you an upgraded version later, once I had more practice¡±

    Avelina scowls. ¡°Don¡¯t speak about my Yuuni that way. You did a great job making her. Your sculpting has come a long way. But, Nuri, we really gotta talk about her poor face.¡±

    ¡°Oh, hey! Looks like it¡¯s lunch time,¡± I say, leaning on the release lever connected to my harness to lower myself back down to the cross-hatched metal walkway far below. My obvious attempt to escape Avelina makes her cackles in glee. I¡¯m too slow to avoid the teasing about the poorly-finished details on Yuuni''s face.

    Wait. I¡¯m calling the snake ¡°Yuuni¡± already? No! I can''t give up that easily!

    I sigh dramatically. In my heart of hearts, I know it¡¯s too late. We¡¯ve all already conceded and named the dumb thing. Avelina won that battle without a fight. I shrug. I might as well move on to making a new glass golem, since I''m never getting Yuuni back. A different type of animal could carry the glass cores more easily, anyway. Maybe I''ll make a spider that can skitter up any wall or across the ceiling.

    Avelina joins me on the walkways for a quick lunch. When we''re done eating, we stretch out on our backs for a while and stare up at the dark water. Neither of us talk. We watch schools of deep-water fish swim by the dome far overhead, caught up in the mesmerizing patterns and undulating shapes. There¡¯s something spellbinding about the way the creatures dart about so effortlessly.

    Alas, our relaxation does not last.

    We return to work, hauled up by the winch system to keep repairing cracks. If not for the mana barrier holding back the rush of dark water, we¡¯d have been swept away by the incredible pressure of the deep. It¡¯s like nothing I¡¯ve ever seen before, pushing on me with so much force it seems to transcend the physical and manifest as psychic oppression.

    I know it¡¯s just fear making me nervous, but looking up at only a layer of glass between me and certain death is tough to swallow. Knowing how strong enchanted materials can be is little comfort. All it takes is one disruption to the mana barrier, and the damage would spread, growing from small cracks to gaping wounds in the dome overhead. I can¡¯t fix that failure.

    ¡°Do you really wanna switch with Lionel? I don¡¯t mean to keep you,¡± I say quietly, hoping that Avelina won¡¯t mind if I pick back up the dropped thread of our earlier conversation. It¡¯s a risk to bring it up. Sometimes, she gets irritated if she thinks a matter is closed. She hates wasting time rehashing things that are already settled in her mind.

    ¡°Nah. It¡¯s kinda nice working with you, since you can appreciate fire more than anyone else. Besides, if I go back to our chambers, I¡¯m just gonna want to swim off somewhere, and we aren¡¯t exactly free to leave yet. All this waiting around is just making me anxious.¡±

    ¡°I do like heat,¡± I say. Then I give her a sly look. ¡°Must run in the family.¡±

    Avelina blushes. ¡°Shut up!¡±

    ¡°Speaking of fire, could you melt another batch? I¡¯m saving mana for [Vitrification] right now. I need to transmute some more chunks of rocks soon. We¡¯re running low on glass stores already¡ªno surprise given the size of the dome.¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± Avelina mutters, studiously avoiding my gaze. She shuts down my line of inquiry about Mikko, but the blush on her cheeks is proof enough that I¡¯m not imagining things.

    An irrepressible grin splits my face. About time! I¡¯m gonna have so much fun with this development. Just wait until Mom finds out.

    =+=

    When we finally call it a day and return to our chambers, the others are deep in a discussion about who gets the next glass animal I make with [Glass Animation]. Lionel seems to bear a deep-seated grudge about my stuffed animal comment, and he¡¯s determined to be next in line, but Rakesh is making a strong argument that a bird would complement his paper friends. Maybe a glass bird would become the ringleader of the group.

    ¡°I think Melina should get the next animal,¡± I say, putting forward the last person who wants to get involved. ¡°It¡¯s not fair that her twin got one and she didn¡¯t, after all.¡±

    ¡°Hey! Leave me out of this,¡± Melina laughs. Then she winks at Lionel. ¡°But I won¡¯t say no if you want to be generous, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re both traitors,¡± Lionel grumbles.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Is it really traitorous to want my own little creature?¡± Melina demands, hands on her hips now. ¡°I was only going to tease you about it, right up until you decided to make it personal. Now I insist on going to the top of the list. Nuri, make me a phoenix!¡±

    ¡°Nooo,¡± Lionel groans. He turns on me, scowling. ¡°This is your fault. If you¡¯d just told the truth back when we were kids, I wouldn¡¯t have developed a complex.¡±

    ¡°I can make two animals,¡± I say, chuckling nervously. The last thing I want is to get stuck between the two of them. As nice as they are most of the time, they each know how to nurse a grudge. ¡°I¡¯ll just need to borrow the extra set of glass cores. I¡¯m out after all the work on the dome today. Trying to patch in glass that thick is a nightmare. I¡¯m constantly bottoming out and getting a headache.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Lionel says, throwing an arm over my shoulders and giving me an overly warm smile. ¡°Poor friend I¡¯d be if I made you get a headache or start bleeding out of your eyes and nose just because I¡¯m still salty about giving up my poor Mister Xkarner.¡±

    I laugh and throw his arm off my shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible. Fine. What do you want? I hate to break it to you, but I don¡¯t remember what Mister Xkarner was.¡±

    ¡°Ha, that¡¯s because I made him up,¡± Lionel says. ¡°But I¡¯d be happy with any form you know how to make. I¡¯m not sure if you have much range or versatility. Based on the way poor Yuuni looks, you might need some help with faces, though.¡±

    ¡°Not you too!¡±

    Avelina smacks Lionel, but not very hard. ¡°Shut it, Lio. Only I can make fun of Yuuni. Get your own snake if you wanna tease Nuri.¡±

    Lionel shudders. ¡°No thanks. I saw that sea serpent outside the dome earlier. That was the most terrifying thing I never knew I should be afraid of before now. Are those things always swimming around beneath the water? Never getting on a boat again.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a baby,¡± Avelina taunts.

    ¡°Pfft. I¡¯m the only sane one. Who lives in a city surrounded by monsters? You heard how [Outrider] One had to lead away a serpent. That¡¯s how he got extra credits. But I was with him while he did his rounds, since I was helping heal some of the injured from his last scouting trip into the water. He was showing off how the city worked, and you know what he did when I saw that massive thing outside the window?¡±

    I shake my head, although I¡¯m intrigued by anything that makes Lionel look queasy. He¡¯s usually the brave one.

    ¡°That crazy man waved! Waved! Like he was greeting a passing farming lass on her way to milk the cows. Casual. Unconcerned.¡±

    ¡°I can see how that unsettles you, Lio,¡± Mikko begins gravely. ¡°Working up the courage to talk with a milk maid is terrifying.¡±

    ¡°Not the point!¡± Lionel fairly shouts back. ¡°Pretend it¡¯s one of those little messengers in Mack-Town. Y¡¯know, the guides all over the place that lead us around the labyrinthine streets? That place was nuts.¡±

    ¡°Good fit for you,¡± Rakesh mutters.

    I suppress a snicker at the unexpected comments from our usually diplomatic and cool [Researcher]. ¡°Sounds like they¡¯ve got you figured out. But what¡¯s your point? You don¡¯t get spooked this easily most of the time. Something really shook you, huh?¡±

    ¡°Nuri. He waved. Didn¡¯t even mention the big ole snake until I asked him if we were safe. Then he looked at me with his weird googly eyes and said that if I found that snake impressive, I should see one of the big ones sometime. That thing was almost the size of the Oletheros. I don¡¯t want to see a monster bigger than that. Nuh uh. Not for all the gold in Gilead.¡±

    ¡°Presumably, the Yawthan have a way to deal with it. They¡¯ve survived this long. I can¡¯t imagine they¡¯d get very far if they were in constant mortal danger from passing sea monsters,¡± I say, searching for a reasonable explanation.

    ¡°That¡¯s an awful lot of conjecture!¡± Lionel squeaks. ¡°I want to be on dry ground again.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that.¡± Azariah¡¯s voice echoes through the room. He shuffles into the chamber suites we¡¯ve been given for the duration of our stay, Orav in tow. Both look grim.

    Azariah declares, ¡°Strange place. Their [Outriders] had some good tips for how to track in the water, though. That¡¯s not something I¡¯ve done much of before, so it was a good opportunity to learn. I don¡¯t wanna stagnate.¡±

    ¡°You see that snake?¡± Lionel asks.

    ¡°Chin up, lad,¡± Azariah replies. ¡°Look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost. Things like that swim the depths. Worse things, too. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t wanna come down here in the first place if we could help it. But they¡¯ve got it covered. That¡¯s why their squads lead the monsters away, y¡¯know?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d move to the shallows if I were them,¡± Lionel says, refusing to be placated. ¡°More sunlight, no monsters. What''s not to like?¡±

    ¡°Got it. No snake for Lio. How about a cute sea turtle instead? Or maybe a lion, like your namesake. Or maybe an owl, or a¡ª¡±

    Knocking at the chamber door cuts me off. Lionel winks and dashes over to open the door before I can continue.

    ¡°Oh, hey, [Outrider] One. How¡¯s it going?¡± Lionel asks, rubbing the back of his neck in an overflow of nervous energy. ¡°That enormous snake still out there?¡±

    ¡°The baby returned to her mother,¡± [Outrider] One says, grinning when Lionel groans and steps back with his hand over his forehead.

    ¡°You earth-dwellers have no sense of adventure,¡± [Outrider] One says, baring his sharp teeth and fluttering his fingers in a manner that I now associate with amusement. ¡°If you have never snatched your own death out of the jaws of an otherworldly beast, have you truly lived?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve killed bigger monsters before,¡± Lionel scoffs. He folds his arms across his chest.

    [Outrider] One laughs softly. ¡°Yet your hands shook with fear at the thought of watching it through the dome. How would you kill something like that with your abject fear? You won¡¯t even go into the depths with me. How could you possibly kill such a thing?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, uh, we can breathe above water. Makes it a lot easier on us when we can move and breathe freely,¡± Lionel points out.

    ¡°Ah. An unfortunate limitation.¡±

    ¡°Were you looking for us?¡± I prompt.

    ¡°Yes. The [Queen] desires to speak with you further. Come with me to discuss the dome repairs. The rest of the team may wait here,¡± [Outrider] One tells me.

    While we walk down the hallways, which are ribbed with mana-steel for reinforcement, he keeps giving me sideways glances. Finally I grow tired of it and put my fist on my hip as I turn to stare him down. ¡°All right, out with it. What¡¯s eating at you?¡±

    [Outrider] One licks his lips with his long, pale tongue. ¡°Nothing is eating at me, Master Nuri. I am simply perplexed and amused at the thought of your friends hunting monsters. You do not seem particularly ruthless to me.¡±

    I throw my Dominion against [Outrider] One, slamming him to his knees as the weight of my presence grows too much for him to handle. Thermal energy gathers in my hand, and I step forward, opening the bloom of heat in front of his face¡ªjust enough to make him uncomfortable, but not enough to burn his skin. Well. Not too badly.

    Abruptly, I release him from the thrall of my mana, and he skitters backward, his hand going to his sword. I smile as mildly as I can. ¡°Don¡¯t mistake friendliness for weakness.¡±

    Again, his throaty, raspy laugh echoes through the tunnel. [Outrider] One springs to his feet and shakes himself loose. ¡°You would make a great Yathawn.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. I think,¡± I say, suddenly embarrassed by my behavior. I shuffle in place, and shrug one shoulder with an apologetic smile. ¡°I¡¯d rather not do that again. I like your people, [Outrider] One. Remember this, though: my teammates are better fighters than I am. And we don¡¯t take kindly to threats.¡±

    He returns my smile. ¡°Noted, Master Nuri. Are you really hunters on the surface?¡±

    I nod. ¡°We really are. Well, among other things. We make things, as you¡¯ve seen with the glass work. We explore and investigate the world of magic. We also sometimes delve into Rifts. I¡¯ve cleared a few with teams, and even closed one solo.¡±

    At that last pronouncement, [Outrider] One goes utterly still. Only his veins pump blood, throbbing across his face as though he¡¯s under great duress. The rest of him is unmoving as the grave. Then he leans forward and hisses, with his lips curled back from his sharp teeth. ¡°The [Queen] is bored. She will ask you about your work. You must speak to her of Rifts, instead. Swear to me.¡±

    ¡°I thought the mana density here seemed unusual,¡± I say, watching for signs of reaction from [Outrider] One. His fingers flutter, but I¡¯ve seen the Yathawn do that all the time. Perhaps I should ask Raskesh if he understands their body language better than I do. Relying on shock and surprise doesn¡¯t work very well with such an unknown audience.

    ¡°Save it for the [Queen].¡±

    With that final pronouncement, [Outrider] One strides away toward the throne room as quickly as he can, forcing me to jog to keep up with his long legs. We pass by clusters of other [Outriders], if their uniforms are any indication. All of them give my escort a nod of deference. Few civilians seem to populate the area through which we¡¯re passing, but even so, I¡¯m surprised that everyone seems to know an unnamed Yathawn.

    ¡°Are you a celebrity?¡± I ask just before we enter the palace. ¡°Everyone seems to have a word or nod for you. It¡¯s impressive.¡±

    [Outrider] One turns toward me, a hand on the handle of the ornate doorway, and gives me his trademark toothy grin. ¡°I am known. You¡¯re not the only hunter, young worker of glass.¡±

    I roll my eyes at his melodramatic pronouncement and follow him inside. Twin rows of [Honor Guards] stand at attention, their enchanted glaives forming an archway over our heads as we proceed toward the elevated pool that serves as both throne and spawning point. When we pass through the center of the room and emerge from the glaives, [Outrider] One falls down to the deck and presses his forehead into the floor, genuflecting before his monarch.

    Grumbling internally, I follow his lead, kneeling down and bowing so that the guards don¡¯t get all bent out of shape. They¡¯re entirely too concerned about any perceived slights.

    ¡°Rise, [Glassworker]. Approach the sacred pool,¡± the [Queen] intones. ¡°Reports from the [Quartermaster] say that you¡¯ve burned through our supply more quickly than projected. What do you have to say to these accusations?¡±

    I shuffle forward, wary of a trap. After the last few towns, I¡¯m on high alert any time I have to deal with authority. ¡°That¡¯s true, your majesty. The cracks are more numerous and more severe than feared. Already, our supplies dwindle. We¡¯ll need to come up with an alternate plan if we¡¯re going to complete the repairs.¡±

    ¡°We cannot ship in more glass,¡± the [Queen] says, her broad face somehow displaying her displeasure without a frown or furrowed brow. Several of her tendrils drift closer to me. They seem to float on an unseen wind, and for the first time I see the stingers hidden within their tips.

    ¡°I can make glass if required,¡± I say, although I¡¯m not happy at revealing all my tricks. It¡¯s not worked out in my interest the last few times. I have no desire to end up on the run again; this time, there¡¯s nowhere to go. The water will kill us faster than the guards can, I¡¯ll wager.

    ¡°Does that not require sand and ash? We do not burn much underwater. Nowhere for the smoke to go, as I¡¯m sure your [Pathfinder] friend has discovered. Without offense meant, we find his distress most amusing.¡±

    I grin. ¡°So do I.¡±

    ¡°We like that about you,¡± the [Queen] says. Her tendrils start fluttering again. ¡°Not all of the surface-dwellers and dirt-lovers share your humor. We are disposed to overlook your slow work in favor of your other qualities. What will you need to complete the work?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to hear more about those humorless humans you know sometime,¡± I say.

    ¡°Perhaps. For now, we must hear the plan to fix the dome. Losing Leeward Hydroponics for a greater length of time is not part of our projections.¡±

    ¡°All I need is rocks. I will do the rest, as long as I have sufficient mana to work with.¡± I tilt my head to the side and stroke my beard, considering how far I want to take things. ¡°That may be a problem, though. As dense as the mana is in Natan, not all is well. I can tell it¡¯s shifting. Disappearing. Something¡¯s wrong with your Rift.¡±

    It¡¯s a statement, not a question. Unease ripples through the Yathawn. The guards who let me pass shift their stances, lowering their glaives. If I¡¯m wrong, I suspect that I¡¯ll meet a bitter and abrupt end.

    The [Queen] shifts her enormous body. Fins and tendrils flutter, and the guards withdraw, although I can sense their reticence through my Domain. She stares down at me and swishes her appendages in an annoyed pattern¡ªher emotion obvious even to me. ¡°No point hiding the truth from this surface-dweller now.¡±

    ¡°How long do we have?¡± I demand.

    ¡°The Rift below Natan is drying up,¡± the [Queen] says, confirming my suspicions. ¡°Our defenses weaken. The domes overhead rupture. We can no longer pay the mana costs to maintain the barriers. Destruction is at hand unless we reinforce the glass. You see why your coming was fortuitous; we believe you are favored by the heavens.¡±

    That catches my attention. I want to ask more about the failing mana barriers, but the [Queen] is not finished with her monologue.

    ¡°We stabilized the Rift and closed off the portal after we migrated out here seventy years ago. We¡¯ve tried to maintain the mana density, and for decades it hardly shifted. Something has shifted. The mana is waning. We fear ancient enemies have sabotaged our measures to keep safe. Thus, we prepare for a fight.¡±

    ¡°Since you migrated¡ªwait, you¡¯re Rift creatures?¡± I blurt out, connecting the dots at last. ¡°Like the Wraiths?¡± Although, it hardly seems relevant anymore. We¡¯re all about to die here if the barriers give way. Wait, I wonder if the Wraiths are the ancient enemies she mentioned?

    ¡°We¡¯re from a different realm. No love lost between us and the denizens of the abyss,¡± the [Queen] hedges. Her tendrils flutter again. ¡°Not important right now. If we die, then so do you. Please, you must help stabilize the dome. You must finish the job.¡±

    [Outrider] One steps forward to join me. A dozen shouts echo through the room, and as one, the guards bring their weapons to bear, pointing at my friend. He stands tall despite the risk and looks the [Queen] in the eyes. ¡°Our unexpected savior has delved into Rifts before. Perhaps he can work a miracle now.¡±

    ¡°Uh, no promises,¡± I say haltingly.

    ¡°Can you do anything about the Rift?¡± the [Queen] demands, insistence adding a dozen tonal overtones to her voice, making her sound like a devouring creature from the abyss. Rough and terrifying, she growls out more questions in rapid fire, asking if I can stem the mana drain.

    ¡°Repair the damage? Hm. Not likely,¡± I say, shaking my head as I consider my options. I don¡¯t have an easy answer for them. ¡°I could redirect some of the mana from the Rift core and use it to empower the barrier while we work. Or I could siphon some off and transmute enough glass to finish up the dome. Which is preferable?¡±

    The [Queen] regains her regal dignity. Tendrils trace shapes in the air, and some of her guardians flutter their hands back. She waves me away. ¡°We shall consider your words. Summons will be presented to you when we forge a plan of action. You are dismissed, [Glassworker]. Be prepared for anything.¡±

 B5 C17: Deluge

    ¡°They¡¯re what?¡±

    ¡°Rift dwellers. They came through a few generations ago and stayed,¡± I repeat myself, wondering if my own expression mirrors the shocked looks on my friends¡¯ faces. I¡¯m not sure how to feel about the revelation. I¡¯ve had some time to process the idea, however. My friends are hearing it for the first time, so I can¡¯t fault them for the unease and disbelief.

    We¡¯re in our chambers, gathered for a debrief. Like most of the rooms in the city, it has minimal furniture. The walls are dark green, flecked with silver threads and black dots. Enchantments fairly thrum with power, woven into the walls and floor. Overhead, a thick glass dome keeps the water out and gives us a view of a passing school of bioluminescent fish. When we do move on, I have to admit that I¡¯ll miss the sights down here in Natan.

    ¡°I heard you the first time. I just don¡¯t know if I believe you,¡± Melina says, shaking her head. Her eyes flit over to her notebook, and I know her fingers are itching to take notes and write down her prevailing theories. Her face is glowing, alight with excitement and possibility. I¡¯m happy she still has an outlet for scholarly pursuits.

    ¡°They don¡¯t look like monsters,¡± Mikko says, his confusion evident by his halting speech. He rubs underneath his eye with one finger, staring off into space while he thinks it over. ¡°I kinda like ¡®em. Does that make me stupid?¡±

    ¡°Not at all,¡± I say quietly, too rattled to even tease my brother for once. ¡°Besides, not all monsters are monstrous. The Wraith I ran into in the control room¡ªI still think of what Tem said about him. Maybe he was seeing good that didn¡¯t exist. Maybe the [Viceroy] was right, and Tem¡¯s a plague-bearer and a traitor to the realm. Or maybe the truth is more muddied than that. All I know is that he let us go when he could have captured us. Plenty of people are no good, anyway. Just look at the trouble we¡¯ve run into the last few towns. I¡¯ll take the honesty we¡¯ve received from [Outrider] One over them any day.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an excellent point, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Mel. Every once in a while I have a brainwave!¡± I say, chuckling at how proud she is of me. She looks like a mother hen fretting over a chick, all because I said something that was vaguely smart.

    Mikko nods, but he seems reticent to agree. He starts pacing, though there is little space to maneuver; it¡¯s cramped with all of us crammed into the main room. ¡°I see where you¡¯re coming from. I do. It¡¯s just not easy to change my mindset. Rifts have been a blight on the borderlands for generations. Irruptions. Incursions. Full on invasions! If we had actual allies on the other side, then wouldn¡¯t we have found them by now?¡±

    I clear my throat. ¡°Don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not gonna claim to be an expert. Philosophy aside, I might be able to access their Rift if I play my cards right. I think it¡¯s worth a look at what¡¯s under the city. If they¡¯re willing to let me divert mana from the core, then I could use [Vitrification] on the entire dome and seal it off in a single go¡ªI¡¯ve got experience channeling mana, and I know how to do it safely now. Of course, they might not want me to drain the mana they have left.¡±

    As expected, the room is split on that declaration. Avelina and Lionel look sick, like the pair of them expect me to drag them into another life or death situation. I suppose that¡¯s fair, since I¡¯ve been overly casual with their lives before. Melina and Rakesh, ever fascinated by new and fascinating information, look ready to go right this second. Mikko just shrugs his big shoulders at me; he¡¯ll go along with anything I decide.

    Azariah and Orav are off in their own world, practicing somewhere in a training facility that [Outrider] One showed them. I¡¯ll have to ask our [Smokeborn Pathfinder] if his Skill leans one way or the other regarding this decision. If he¡¯s finding our way blocked, then I¡¯ll back off pushing us down this path.

    ¡°Does this really change anything?¡± Rakesh asks once the hubbub dies down. ¡°We¡¯re stuck here until they provide passage for us. Making a run for it and forcing open the portal to Gilead sounds like a good way to kick off a skirmish. Quite frankly, I don¡¯t want us to get caught in the crossfire.¡±

    ¡°Right, you¡¯ve got a good point. Fix the dome, keep on friendly terms, and get out of here. We¡¯ll figure out the rest once we¡¯re safe on dry land. Everyone agreed?¡± I ask.

    Nods of assent meet me from all around. Regardless of what we think of our hosts, we¡¯ll have to be practical. Rakesh is being sensible, so following his suggestions is probably for the best. Only a fool ignores good counsel.

    ¡°In that case, I only have one question left,¡± Lionel says.

    ¡°Is this about your latest glass animal request?¡± I ask, preemptively burying my face in my palm.

    ¡°You know me so well!¡±

    I groan. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s do this.¡±

    Squeals of excitement break out. Melina and Lionel both dig through their notebooks to produce sketches of their requests. They jostle for position, laughing as they play fight and try to give me their hand-drawn ideas first. Melina escalates, throwing a wicked elbow while Lionel is busy making funny faces at her. When he wheezes and doubles over, clutching at his chest, the wind knocked out of him, she shoulders by and hands me her picture with a triumphant grin.

    ¡°And [Outrider] One thought we weren¡¯t ruthless enough,¡± I say with a snicker. ¡°All right, let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got.¡±

    I make a show of taking her paper, turning it upside down, and pretending to squint at it before ¡°realizing¡± that I had it wrong. Ignoring Melina¡¯s affronted protests, I hem and haw, taking my time reviewing the image. ¡°What is this? A mutated chicken? Hm, no, looks less edible than a chicken. Whew! Those colors. Feathers are garishly bright!¡±

    Melina turns toward her twin, a grim expression on her face. ¡°Ava, I do believe we must team up. This insult cannot go unaddressed.¡±

    Tongues of fire coat Avelina¡¯s hands. ¡°Indeed, sister. The mighty phoenix will not stand for such flagrant humiliation.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that what it is?¡± I ask innocently.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell Azariah,¡± Melina threatens.

    ¡°No! I can¡¯t deal with all three of you Phoenix supremacists against me at once,¡± I say, feigning horror. ¡°I relent, O Great and Terrible Linas. Mercy!¡±

    ¡°More making, less squawking. I want my glorious firebird,¡± Melina says to a chorus of chuckles. Everyone seems to need the break in tension after the heavy revelations about the Yathawn and their dying Rift.

    It warms my heart to see them all laughing together. Despite everything we have endured the last few months, we still have some sense of humor. Huh. Maybe it¡¯s because of what we¡¯ve gone through that they''re so tight-knit. We¡¯ve always been friends, but we¡¯ve become family.

    ¡°All right, but you¡¯re going to help since I¡¯m tired and my cores need to be refilled. Let me get my back-up glass cores and we¡¯ll work on this together. I shouldn¡¯t need more mana than my old cores have as long as you do most of the shaping and manipulation. I¡¯ll just animate it at the end.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the worst gift-giver I¡¯ve ever met,¡± Melina says, sighing dramatically. ¡°So be it. I will make the body myself. Ava can make the face. We can¡¯t very well leave that to you, after all. Phoenixes are too beautiful for your hand to sully.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll never live down Yuuni¡¯s face, huh? All right, let¡¯s do this,¡± I say, rummaging through my equipment and extracting my old set of glass pseudo cores. We¡¯ve stashed the glass necklaces in separate rooms to avoid any resonance issues, but I can track them all through my Domain without any trouble.

    Once we¡¯ve got my original set of glass cores, plus enough glass from the storeroom to complete the phoenix, we settle into the sitting room of the main chamber. The rest of the team is busy with their own projects¡ªLionel resting from a day of healing, Rakesh writing down new theories about Rifts, Mikko puttering around with bits of wire and metal doing whatever it is that he does.

    It¡¯s nice to have some downtime, although I¡¯m not sure if making something with glass is a valid way to relax from making things with glass. Although, in my defense, patching the cracks in the glass dome is grunt work, and has little room for creative expression.

    Sculpting glass with a team is extremely different from solo work. Blowing a glass bubble and shaping the hot glass bit by bit is what I am accustomed to doing in the hot shop; with Melina and Avelina, however, it feels more like we¡¯re working with marble or ceramics. The Linas use techniques I¡¯ve rarely practiced, folding the glass in layers and using a rasp for deep cuts and dimensionality.

    We heat, fold, shape, scrape, and treat, adding colors and bits of fritz as we go. It¡¯s a fascinating process to me, almost like cooking with spices for flavor¡ªI¡¯m no stranger to adding things to glass, but the bits of crushed crystal taken from our time in the Barrens, tiny metal filings scavenged from Mikko, and paints borrowed from our hosts provide amazing amounts of lifelike texture.

    Thanks to their Skills, Avelina¡¯s [Decorative Touch: Fantastical Glassware], and Melina¡¯s [Artisanal Acuity], the bird that slowly takes shape is far more beautiful than anything I¡¯ve made. I¡¯m not bad at glass. In fact, I¡¯ve earned my title of Master. But the Linas have a gift. Seeing just how lovely and intricate the feathers are on the phoenix inspires me to work more on my finesse and fine details. I can do standard, traditional techniques, but they¡¯ve acquired a level of artistry that¡¯s beyond what I can do.

    Talons, impossibly sharp, seem to carve the air itself as the twins shape them to a point. Melina is using her [Object Manipulation] to directly sculpt the glass, while Avelina provides a blowtorch with flames from her index finger. She¡¯s got a small pair of jacks in her off hand, and she uses them to add score marks across the glass as she works on the feather structure.

    I take careful notes as they work, curious to see if I can apply any of the techniques to my own projects. While I don¡¯t have the flames that Avelina does, and I¡¯m limited in my use of tools since I haven¡¯t found a way to fix my missing hand yet, I can approximate what Melina is doing through my Domain. Of course, that drains me of mana at an accelerated rate, so it¡¯s not currently sustainable. Maybe if I could use multiple sets of glass cores all at once.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    As the phoenix nears completion, I step into the mix, adding a few extra rods of glass to the creation for structural rigidity. Then I close my eyes, focus, and connect to the glass with my newest Skill: [Glass Animation].

    The bond snaps into place. My control over the process is growing with practice, and I¡¯m able to feel connections that never existed before. New avenues open up, new possibilities for mana and the higher-order concepts to enrich and enliven. Reverberating along the bond is an intelligence keener than any I¡¯ve managed so far. Yet it¡¯s still incomplete. Something¡¯s lacking.

    Beckoning over the two artisans who did most of the work, I gesture for them to place their hands on the bird. ¡°Feed your mana into it,¡± I instruct, and bridge the gap with my Domain, prioritizing connecting Melina¡¯s mana to [Glass Animation].

    Life blooms in the inert folds of glass. As the phoenix cools, mana quickens within it¡ªa neat reversal of the myth. Instead of being reborn in fire, it¡¯s born for the first time as it anneals. Activating the Skill takes all but the dregs of the mana contained within my original glass pseudo cores, leaving me more drained than expected.

    It¡¯s worth the trade off.

    The mythic bird shakes out its wings, cocks its head to the side, and parts its beak as though trying to speak. There¡¯s a gleam of intelligence in its eyes that far surpasses my crude work with Yuuni. I¡¯m not sure if I could do it by myself, but incorporating Melina in the process turned out to make all the difference.

    I let out my best evil-villain laugh and turn toward Melina with a crazed grin on my face. ¡°It¡¯s alive. It¡¯s alive!¡±

    =+=

    Back in the main chamber, Melina is showing off her phoenix. It can¡¯t actually fly, to my great disappointment, but I have some ideas for how to fix that in the future. Idly, I ponder what else I can make, which prompts me to get my last set of glass pseudo cores. The rest will recharge by morning, but I hate not having access to mana in the meantime.

    Flying makes a breakthrough when Melina realizes that it¡¯s easier to cast her [Object Manipulation] Skill through the bird than it normally would be to use it from a distance. There¡¯s some sort of connection forged between them, thanks to her providing mana for my Skill.

    Levitation isn¡¯t true flight, but it works well for Melina due to their partially-shared mana signature. She laughs in childlike delight, clapping as her glittering glass phoenix swoops and dips like a real bird. While it doesn¡¯t do anything yet, there¡¯s something about the joy on her face that makes me rethink the need for pure utility. Happiness is a goal worth pursuing.

    The entire world shudders.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Lionel shouts, his eyes going wide. He drops down to all fours to brace himself as the walls tremble and the ground shakes again. All thoughts of play and excitement go out the window. Instantly, he¡¯s on guard, ready to fight or heal.

    ¡°Whatever it is can¡¯t be good. We should consider finding shelter,¡± Mikko growls, gripping the bolted-down table with one hand and Avelina with the other, preventing her from falling over as more tremors make the entire city quiver.

    Melina brings her bird back down, directing it onto the seat nearby. She swaddles it in a blanket to ensure nothing breaks it. Task complete, she stands up and folds her hands, looking at us calmly. ¡°We should prepare to leave. Something is wrong.¡±

    [Outrider] One sprints into the room just then, banging the door open in his haste to get inside. His golden eyes are glowing, and the flaps around his neck are lifted, opening and closing in time to his breathing, much like gills on a fish out of water. ¡°The Serpent Matriarch is back! We need to evacuate immediately. The dome has been breached.¡±

    ¡°The main dome?¡± I say dumbly, although it¡¯s obvious what he means. Nothing else is likely to incite the terror making his entire body shake.

    ¡°Yes!¡± he shouts, seizing me by the arm and bodily hauling me out of the chambers. ¡°The named [Honored Guards] are escorting the [Queen] and her spawn to safety right now, and I¡¯ve directed the [Outriders] to round up civilians. We have to move before the entire city is lost.¡±

    I stumble along beside him, the entire team flanking me. All of a sudden I shiver as a new, chilling thought occurs to me. ¡°What about your young?¡±

    The mention of the Yathawn spawn cracks [Outrider] One¡¯s composure. Agony writes itself across his face; he might not be human, but the emotion of sorrow is universal. He snarls and shakes his head curtly. ¡°We will spawn more. No time!¡±

    Refusal to write them off as acceptable losses burns in my chest. I tug my arm free, turn away from the path, and run past our host. Away from the emergency exits. Away from the ear-splitting klaxons guiding us toward safety.

    Instead, I sprint toward danger.

    I run toward the main dome, following my sketchy memories of when I visited the palatial chamber with [Outrider] One. I don¡¯t have his sense of direction, but I remember the first several turns. That will be enough; I¡¯ll bet almost anything that he¡¯s hot on my heels. He doesn¡¯t seem like the type to flee from danger, either.

    As I run, I sweep out my Domain, sensing for life forms. An immense, ancient presence circles the outside of the city, crashing and grinding against the mana barrier with such intensity that the shockwaves are nearly blinding in my mana sight. That must be the Matriarch. I¡¯m not foolish enough to take it on directly. Unlike the Oletheros, it¡¯s skillful with its aura. Yet I might still be able to save some of the Yathawn.

    I have to try at least.

    Stranger still is the sudden suction against my Domain, like water draining from a tub. It takes me a moment to pinpoint it, but as soon as I identify the source, it¡¯s unmistakable. Mana is draining from the city, spiraling around a point that I¡¯m certain is their Rift core.

    Just like the great cities of Densmore, the sprawling underwater metropolis of Natan is built atop a Greater Rift. Nothing else explains the sheer density of the mana in the environment around us. But what¡¯s happening now? Based on my discussion with the [Queen], I know mana has been slowly draining away for a while, but this is far more intense. Did something cause it to collapse?

    Like a labyrinth breaking?

    Footsteps slap against the decks behind me, shaking me out of that line of thought. I chance a glance over my shoulder, but I already know who it is thanks to the mana signature. [Outrider] One pursues me, a determined look on his face.

    ¡°What are you doing!¡± I shout, although I knew he¡¯d pursue. He¡¯s like me, I guess: too determined to fix things to consider the personal cost.

    ¡°I could ask the same of you, land-dweller! The exit is the opposite way,¡± [Outrider] One says, catching up to me and latching on with a powerful hand. ¡°I cannot let you follow this fool¡¯s errand. The [Queen] will spawn more of my brethren. We will persist. Your limited biology does not allow for such luxury.¡±

    ¡°Noble of you, but I¡¯ve made up my mind. Let¡¯s see how bad the crack is¡ªI still have one more trick I haven¡¯t shown you.¡±

    Hope sparks in [Outrider] One¡¯s eyes at my hasty proclamation that I might be able to do something. His grip on my arm tightens, and he accelerates faster than I thought possible. He drags me along at breakneck speed, hurtling past Yathawn who are sensibly fleeing the deluge, and soon we burst into the main level of the palace.

    Up above us, so high that I can barely make it out without the aid of my Domain, cracks spiderweb out from a central impact point. The enormous snake, a true leviathan of the depths, slammed into the glass dome so hard that it splintered the two-foot thick, enchanted glass dome above the main chamber. It¡¯s hard for me to get a good sense of the sheer scope of the place. If I had endless mana, maybe then my Domain could reach from one side to the other.

    I gulp at the extent of the carnage. I don¡¯t think that either my still-emerging concept of unbreakable or Avelina¡¯s basic [Strong as Stone] Skill are as powerful as the multi-layered enchantments that enforced the glass dome. It was laid by a true master. I still want to know the story behind that. But for now, we just have to survive.

    Staring up at the destruction, I have a hard time holding on to hope. Unless I come up with something new, the Yathawn will lose their young. I have to get out while I can, although I¡¯m not ready to give up without trying something. I just don¡¯t know what to do yet.

    Please, Mikko, make it to the escape pods in time.

    The intense pressure of the deep sea forces the dark, freezing water through the cracks high above us. More and more water gushes in, widening the cracks further. Barriers fail all around the city. Mana lamps wink out around us as the silvery traces of mana circuits break.

    ¡°Look! The serpent Matriarch," [Outrider] One breathes out. Awe transforms his voice; his words take on an almost reverent tone as he points upward.

    I follow his gaze. A deep shadow blots out the horizon, easily three or four times the size of the serpent we saw previously. Coiling around the dome, the powerful body of the beast looks like it could wipe the city off the map with nothing more than a flick of its tail.

    ¡°[Outrider] One! What are you doing here? Evacuate immediately, as ordered,¡± a gruff voice interrupts. A pair of ornately-armored [Honor Guards] charge toward us, holding out their glaives at a threatening angle.

    ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡± I demand. ¡°I was hoping that I might be able to help, but I can¡¯t patch that much glass. I thought your mana barrier would keep out the worst of it. What happened? The density is dropping like a stone.¡±

    A floating barge with a mobile pool comes into view, bearing the [Queen] and a pitifully small brood beneath her. She gestures for the guards to stand aside and let me pass.

    They exchange glances, but obey. One of them growls at me in warning, which seems silly considering our circumstances. What do they think I¡¯ll do, try to kill the [Queen]? We¡¯re all about to die. I stride closer to the ruler of the Yathawn, undeterred by the odds stacked against us. I¡¯ve faced world-ending threats before. What¡¯s one more?

    I lift my voice, shouting so everyone can hear me. ¡°I might be able to buy some time if you bring me to your Rift. Give me access to the core, and I¡¯ll redirect the mana. I can wall off the water and buy you time to escape.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll doom us all if you destroy our Rift,¡± an [Honor Guard] snarls, striding forward with his glaive at the ready to disembowel me.

    ¡°You¡¯re already doomed,¡± I snap back, gesturing at the broken glass and water rushing in from the far side of the gigantic dome. ¡°There¡¯s no time for this grandstanding. If you all die, then what¡¯s the point of preserving your Rift? Act or perish!¡±

    The [Queen] waves her guards back¡ªan all too familiar scene lately, I think absently. I¡¯ll need to reevaluate my life after this; I keep getting into trouble with rulers. ¡°Master Nuri, your words are brash. We may have no other choice, however. We are evacuating as many as we can, but the young in the hatchery are at the greatest risk; they need time to mature before they can breathe air like we do. If you have any other glass Skills to stem the flooding and buy us time, then we¡¯ll be in your debt forever. Yet we cannot damage our Rift permanently; we still desire a return to our homeland one day.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can,¡± I promise, my mind racing to come up with a solution for the problem. ¡°But as you said when we met, don¡¯t expect a miracle. I need far more mana if I¡¯m going to fix anything, and the Rift is the only way to do that.¡±

    ¡°Our entire existence is a miracle so far,¡± the [Queen] says. Her wide face, reminiscent of a manta ray more than a human, still looks sad in a way that¡¯s instantly recognizable to me. It¡¯s odd how little I think of the Yathawn as monsters, despite their foreign culture and disconcerting habit of offering themselves up as bait for the rest of the spawn to live.

    A dangerous idea takes root in my mind. I gulp, realizing that I¡¯m about to do something foolish once more. I hope my team won¡¯t hold it against me if I don¡¯t make it out. I bow before the [Queen], mind made up. ¡°Very well. Then let¡¯s pray for one more miracle. Show me to the Rift. I¡¯ll buy you time to escape.¡±

    Yet in the back of my mind, I can¡¯t help but think that I wish there were a better option. Delving a Rift makes no sense right now. ¡°Where¡¯s Azariah when I need him?¡± I mutter. For all I find our [Pathfinder] annoying, he always seems to have a way forward. The Rift is tempting, but I know in my heart of hearts that we don¡¯t have time. Besides, it¡¯s too dangerous and unreliable.

    There has to be a better way.

 B5 C18: Shelter from the Storm

    ¡°We desire that you avoid desecrating our Rift,¡± the [Queen] declares in her stentorian tones.

    An undercurrent of unease runs through the chamber at the pronouncement. Several of her [Honor Guards] bristle, stepping forward to crowd me out of the way. The frills around their necks bulge and quiver in fear and anger.

    ¡°Outsiders are forbidden, your Majesty!¡± a massive Yathawn protests. He and his mirror image, another [Honor Guard] with more brawn than Mikko, move to block me from traveling to the other side of the mobile spawning pool.

    ¡°Help with the young. I¡¯ll do what I can to fix this,¡± I yell at [Outrider] One, edging around the hostile guards.

    ¡°On it!¡± the [Outrider] shouts.

    I turn the corner of the pathway, preparing to run closer to the terrible flooding. Crossing the palatial grounds, exquisite gardens, and training grounds of the city center will take me at least twenty minutes on foot, but dread and determination should lend me wings. At least, that¡¯s what I¡¯m counting on.

    As I run, taking in the scene, I take stock of what I have at my disposal. Can I even do anything? I only have a single set of glass pseudo cores with me after swapping out my old set for a newer pair. Pulling on the mana within it instantly leaves me with a feeling of emptiness. It¡¯s not enough. There¡¯s insufficient power to do anything¡ªnot on the scale that the cracks above require. We have a matter of minutes before the entire thing implodes. I won¡¯t even be able to make it over there and find a set of winches before we¡¯re all swept away.

    The Rift core is my only hope.

    But there¡¯s no time.

    The insistent voice in the back of my head draws me up short¡ªthat, and the two [Honor Guards] who move again to bar my way toward the center of the chamber. That must be where the Rift opening is, since it¡¯s aglow in my Domain.

    Terror and chaos surround us. I stare up at the deluge as I skitter to a halt, racking my mind for a better solution than transmuting the rushing water with [Vitrification]. The main dome protecting the palace and city center is compromised; there''s no fixing it as is. Maybe if Melina were well into the upper echelon of the Second Threshold, then she could transfix the water in place using [Greater Object Manipulation]. More likely the Third Threshold, I scoff. Or maybe Lionel could make a new prototype of the glass dome if he were infinitely stronger.

    ¡°Can I really transform the water directly into glass?¡± I mutter aloud, eyeing the flood and imagining how I might overload the sturdy runes in [Vitrification] enough to plug the gap with the very thing that threatens to destroy the city. But my glass cores aren¡¯t enough.

    I shout at the [Honor Guards] ahead of me. ¡°We¡¯re running out of time. Stop blocking my way! The Rift is the only way to keep you alive.¡±

    ¡°Better that three quarters of the Yathawn die and the way still remains open. You want to steal our inheritance,¡± a guard snarls.

    ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡± I scream back. ¡°I¡¯m not planning to die here. Either lead me to the Rift, or get out of my way.¡±

    Twin blades whirl around, leveled at my throat as the [Honor Guards] advance in unison. Their deadly prowl leaves me with no recourse; if I don¡¯t act decisively, then my adventure ends here and now.

    I growl and reach out through my Domain to bring sharpness to bear on the shafts of the glaives, severing the blades from the handles. Heat warps the air around me as I step forward, shaking with rage and preparing to burn them to a crisp. ¡°What¡¯s the point of protecting the Rift if we all die here? If you¡¯re so eager to sacrifice your people, then you can be the first on the chopping block.¡±

    Tension thickens in the air, becoming almost palpable as the memories of violence echo all around me. I prepare myself for a fight, unwavering in my conviction that I have to do something or we all die.

    Familiar mana signatures burst into my Domain, catching my attention. They¡¯re moving fast, likely propelled by Melina¡¯s time-warping Skill. I back up, shifting a half-turn so that I can see the [Honor Guards] as well as my approaching friends. Those wonderful fools. They were supposed to flee. Yet, here they are.

    ¡°Hold on, Nuri! Don¡¯t do anything rash!¡± Mikko thunders.

    I grind my teeth, wishing that my brother had escaped, but overwhelmed with relief that he¡¯s here with me.

    He charges up beside us, inserting himself between the [Honor Guards] and me. Even weaponless, they look menacing, but my brother doesn¡¯t back down. He sets the Linas down on the ground, swinging a twin off each shoulder. Behind us, at the far edge of my Domain¡¯s range, I sense Rakesh and Lionel struggling to reach us. They¡¯ll be here in a few minutes.

    On Mikko¡¯s back, a huge travel pack on his back bounces with each step. He unslings it and sets it down next to me. He pats me on the back, pulls out his glass hammer, and spins it in a lazy pattern to discourage the guards from trying anything.

    The [Honor Guards] shuffle back, apparently intimidated by my brother¡¯s muscular frame and obvious familiarity with the big weapon. I don¡¯t blame them.

    ¡°Need more mana, Nuri? There¡¯s another way aside from the Rift. Don¡¯t do something that you¡¯ll regret,¡± Mikko says, glaring at me. He must have heard my desperate comments.

    ¡°My stupid, amazing brother! You¡¯re supposed to run to safety,¡± I say, choking up at the sight of him coming to my aid. It¡¯s a testament to my fear that I didn¡¯t even notice him arriving via my Domain until he was almost here. I should have sensed him much earlier.

    ¡°Gotta help you save the world, bro. As soon as you disappeared, I knew you¡¯d be here. You don¡¯t have a single bit of common sense in you. Heroic to your bones,¡± he says, his voice cracking. ¡°We¡¯re probably all gonna die, so I wanted to tell you that I¡¯ve never been prouder to be your brother. All right. There. I said it, so now we can go and die tragically. You two¡ªscram while I¡¯m still feeling magnanimous.¡±

    The [Honor Guards] don¡¯t look back. They snatch up the cut-off blades of their weapons and sprint away from the terrifying catastrophe unfolding above us, their willingness to defend the Rift evaporating into nothingness. As they bolt away, I look up and across the enormous chambers at the water streaming in through the far side of the glass dome, and wonder briefly if I should join them.

    Dashing away the sudden tears that spring to my eyes, I fling my arms around Mikko and squeeze tight. ¡° You¡¯re the best brother I could ever ask for. Certainly more than I deserve.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re gonna fix things, but Rakesh thought that you might need this,¡± Mikko says, disentangling himself from me. He drops the heavy travel pack on the ground. It¡¯s blazing bright, overwhelming in my mana senses, and when he unwraps the pack, my knees go weak with the realization that my friend¡¯s quick thinking may have saved us all.

    I really didn¡¯t want to brave a Rift just on the off-chance that I¡¯ll find the core and be able to pull the mana out through the entrance. Solo delving is the surest way to die, forgotten in an obscure corner and lost to time.

    ¡°You brought the Oletheros core?¡± I say stupidly, gaping at my brother. ¡°You¡¯re a genius. Or, Rakesh is, I guess. Give it to me. And stand back. This could get ugly.¡±

    I reach out and touch the core as soon as he pulls the covering off. Drawing power from it shocks me; it feels endless, even more immense than the Lesser Rift I explored with Smoke over a year ago¡ªalthough it feels far longer than that.

    The mana contained within is significantly more potent, too, since it¡¯s been refined over and over again, compacted into a tight core and built up layer by layer for who knows how many centuries. Perhaps millennia, given the size of the monster from which we cut it.

    ¡°Nuri? Be careful. You better not lose a foot this time. I¡¯m not gonna carry you the entire way to Gilead if you cripple yourself,¡± Mikko says, trying to force some levity into the situation. But the trembling in his voice betrays his fear.

    I don¡¯t answer. I¡¯m too focused on surviving, wrestling with the vast and overwhelming power in the enormous core. Gorgeous in my mana senses, like a perfect pearl catching the sunlight and gleaming opalescent, it almost seems a shame to use it. But I¡¯ll drain it a thousand times over if it means saving my friends.

    I grapple with the flow of energy, gaining control by degrees. All my hard work with runes and mana manipulation pays off. Mastering the mana, I route it to the right runes in the right sequences, preparing for a great display of magic like nothing I¡¯ve ever done before. I don¡¯t dare dump all of the power into [Vitrification] directly, without regard for how I activate the Skill. That¡¯s how I lost my original Skills in the first place, melting their beautiful crystalline structures under the relentless assault of far too much mana gushing forth from a Rift core.

    My control is worlds better now. And more importantly, I actually know what I¡¯m doing in the liminal space of my soul. Studying runes feels like second nature now, despite the gaps in my knowledge. Channeling the power contained within the Oltheros core feels far less painful than I imagined it might. Dizzying, but not destructive. I¡¯ll figure out that mystery later.

    Just like in the Lesser Rift, I seize the power within, forcibly pushing [Vitrification] past its limitations. Unlike in the Lesser Rift, however, I¡¯m handling the flow of mana far more efficiently. Thanks to all my mana work, [Vitrification] is sturdier than my pre-Threshold Skills, reinforced with over a year of intense mana-soaking. The mana roars through me, lighting up the Skill, but it doesn¡¯t disintegrate or warp under the strain. Hairline cracks cover the surface, but they¡¯re not deep enough to prevent the runes from working, so I ignore the temporary damage.

    I¡¯m confident that they can be repaired in time. Besides, if I fail here, there¡¯s nothing to worry about in the future, since we¡¯ll all be dead anyway. Happy thoughts, Nuri!

    With a flex of my will, I spread out my [Arcane Domain], exulting as it expands endlessly in every direction, moving quickly. Faster than I can run. Faster than a bird in flight. Faster than the blink of an eye. Without fear of running out of mana, I pour as much power into the Skill as it wants¡ªand it never seems to slake its thirst. Awareness blossoms in me like never before, and I take it all in greedily. Every scratch and divot in the dome stands out in exquisite detail. I press my consciousness up up up, into the glass¡ªand beyond, into the dark, cold water.

    Guiding the gushing font of potent, domineering mana into my Skills, I layer [Vitrification] over my Domain, weaving the runes and intent together like a tapestry of power. The Oletheros core erupts with even more energy as I can draw deeper, fueling the transformation. The edges of the cavernous cracks in the dome begin to fill in as some of the water turns into glass, but the main flood of water is moving too quickly for the transmutation magic to take hold.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Think, Nuri! I scream at myself internally, trying to figure out how to fix things but coming up empty. Water is pouring in too quickly, with far too much pressure. The leak is so far away that even with the massive amount of mana flowing through me, I can barely do anything. The gap is insurmountable at this distance. My Skills can¡¯t affect reality powerfully enough.

    Footfalls shuffle up the deck behind me. My eyes go wide. I don¡¯t dare turn away from the precarious working far above and in front of me, but I heave a sigh of relief. ¡°Mel! What am I doing wrong?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who gets to play hero,¡± Melina says to me. She¡¯s shaking in fear and exhaustion next to me. The incredible speed at which they all approached tells me that her exhaustion is more mental than physical, since she was boosting their speed with her temporal acceleration fields.

    ¡°It¡¯s no use,¡± I whisper, still staring up at the waterfall that¡¯s widening by the moment. ¡°I¡¯m not fast enough. Not strong enough.¡±

    ¡°Stop trying to fix everything yourself, Nuri,¡± Melina gasps out between her ragged and tremulous breaths. After a few deep, shuddering inhales, she steadies herself. ¡°When I saw you run off with [Outrider] One, I knew that you were trying something crazy. Rakesh was right to tell us to grab the core. Are you using [Vitrification] on the entire dome?¡±

    ¡°Only the water, but it¡¯s moving too quickly for my Skills to take hold,¡± I explain, glad that she instantly figures out what¡¯s going on. She¡¯s always been smart like that.

    She scowls. ¡°You have to imbue it. Nuri, you¡¯re a Master [Glassworker], not because you¡¯re unparalleled with glass, though you¡¯re good. It¡¯s because you can imbue! Stop limiting yourself. It¡¯s time to use all the mana in the city to work for you, not just to fuel your Skill.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI need time,¡± I growl in frustration, unsure how I¡¯m going to apply her advice. I believe her that it¡¯s the right choice, but as the rushing water grows closer, it¡¯s all I can do to focus. It¡¯s increasingly difficult to tear my gaze away from the impending doom rapidly flooding toward us.

    Meditating on a new higher-order concept right now feels impossible. I need to calm my mind and think.

    ¡°I will buy you time,¡± a Yathawn declares, gliding away from the side of the [Queen] to float on a shallow stream of water toward me. ¡°Stand behind me, young surface-dweller.¡±

    Before I can ask what he means to do, the Yathawn lifts his hands and grasps with his fingers, curling them and then thrusting his hands high overhead. The frothing water rushing toward us lifts up into the air, forming a curtain of foam, and then a wall of solid water.

    ¡°Oh! A [Hydromancer]!¡± Rakesh exclaims in excitement as he and Lionel finally reach us. ¡°A privilege to see such a rare Class in action.¡±

    Brow furrowed in concentration, the [Hydromancer] holds off the oncoming water. His arms tremble under the strain, and his flowing robes whip around him, caught up in an unseen current of powerful wind. His mana output blazes in my Domain, but he stands firm, holding true to his promise to buy me time.

    Redirecting the excess water down drainage grates, a pair of younger Yathawn flank him and work together to keep us alive, if not altogether dry. In the face of impending doom, that¡¯s all I can really ask.

    I close my eyes.

    Time to focus, Nuri. This is it. This is what all your training is for. Every late night poring over arcane runes, every bit of mana manipulation, all the hard-won resistances to distractions of pain and sorrow. They were all for this moment.

    Plans solidify in my mind. My eyes open and I jut out my chin, glaring up at the water as it rises higher and higher above us. I redouble my siphon, pulling on the surging energy within the enormous beast core, a mad plan forming in my mind at Melina¡¯s words. She¡¯s right. I can¡¯t get a grip on the water fast enough if I¡¯m only using my self-made Skills, but there¡¯s more to magic than the codified gifts of the heavens. Imbuing will work. It has to work, if only I can find the right concept.

    Master Melidandri once imbued the air itself. Surely with all my advantages and training, I can follow in his footsteps and imbue water.

    ¡°Imbuing is the way forward,¡± I repeat, lost in a daze of inspiration. Melina¡¯s insight is so obvious in retrospect. I¡¯m not one of the youngest Masters of glass for nothing. Hope roars back to life within me. Calling to the mana of the world instead of relying solely on the core, I bring the full weight of my imbuing experience to bear.

    What do I want most? I muse, considering which concept to call upon. I want to keep my friends safe. I don¡¯t always know how. I¡¯m not an unstoppable juggernaut like Mikko. I¡¯m not a clever and cheerful healer like Lionel. I¡¯m not a resourceful, talented scholar like Rakesh. I¡¯m not a genius at time and space manipulation, bending the world to my whims like Melina. I¡¯m not an explosion of violence waiting to happen like Avelina.

    Meditating on the concept of safety and refuge doesn¡¯t seem like enough. My mind flies through a dozen ideas and discards them all before I settle on sanctuary. I shiver as something in me resonates with the concept on a spiritual level. Something deep within my very soul exults in the idea of sanctuary.

    I draw in more and more wild mana, luring it in with the rush of power from the Oletheros¡¯s core. In my mind, I set the right scene. Painting a picture, telling a story, composing a poem¡ªit doesn¡¯t matter how I attract mana, but I have to capture a slice of truth, an underlying reality of life to make the imbuing take hold.

    For me, sanctuary is my friends at peace, free from both monsters and men. No more scheming politicians or wily [Inquisitors]. The freedom to choose our next steps without looking over our shoulders in constant fear, and the strength to carry out our plans.

    Sanctuary is a place of safety, where hurt and harm are not welcome. It¡¯s my mother¡¯s soothing touch when I¡¯m weeping. It¡¯s my brother¡¯s strong arm blocking a blow meant for me. It¡¯s my father¡¯s wise words and open doors, ready to welcome me home when the chaos is more than I can handle. It¡¯s returning home after a nightmare and knowing that I can lay down and sleep in quietness and peace, without fear of bad dreams.

    Sanctuary is embracing death so that my friends might live.

    As the truth sings in my soul, something in the shifting flows of power around me settles into certainty. I gasp, almost losing control over the tenuous [Vitrification] process, as I realize what just happened. Looking inward confirms it: a new Skill glimmers in the space of my soul.

    [Sanctuary of Glass]

    Desperation drives me. I connect to my newest Skill, drawing mana from the core of the Oletheros and feeding it into the stunning beauty of the Skill structure in my soul. [Sanctuary of Glass] towers far above the other Skills, outclassing even my hitherto-most-impressive Skill, [Arcane Domain], in terms of sheer size and complexity. I can¡¯t even take it all in at once, so dizzying is the complex fractal spirals of runes and meaning.

    It shouldn¡¯t surprise me that it takes even more mana to activate, but I¡¯m still shocked by the immensity of the cost. It feels utterly endless¡ªa match for the Olethros core, perhaps? It¡¯s obvious that I couldn¡¯t fuel it myself with my glass pseudo cores. Not even all of my new sets combined could begin to empower the Skill. For the first time, the boundless depths of energy in the beast core I¡¯m using to fuel this desperate plan feels insufficient.

    I can¡¯t shake the sense that I¡¯m not supposed to have this Skill. It¡¯s too weighty for me, too substantial, too real, for someone still below the Second Threshold. I gulp, pouring even more mana into the Skill without fully activating it. The Skill is a gaping maw, a bottomless pit, and no matter how much mana I feed it, the Skill still demands more.

    It may be more potent than I realized at first.

    I got the same inkling when I earned my non-glass Skill [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil]. Yet this time it¡¯s even heavier and more significant. I can only imagine that this Skill will bend the world to my will in more potent ways since it¡¯s fully aligned with my Class. But first I have to initialize it, and my mana is bottoming out far faster than I ever thought possible, given the size and density of the core I¡¯m using for fuel.

    Tipping point!

    The idea flashes through my mind, although I¡¯m barely cogent at this point. Everything is a haze of images and ideas too lofty for me to grasp. Yet I know for sure that the unlikely miracle the [Queen] asked for has arrived.

    I gasp, my entire body going stiff in shock as I pull enough mana from the core. It finally pours into the [Sanctuary of Glass] Skill to ignite the runes in the way I envision. An immense wall of glass springs up from nowhere, surpassing my wildest expectations. It grows in a rush, reminding me of the [Eternal Glass Forge] as mana itself becomes glass.

    I can barely believe that I¡¯m able to power it fully. The Lesser Rift wouldn¡¯t have done the job. Even the Oletheros core, which once felt so boundless, drains at a rapid pace. The energy is rushing through the bored-out channel in my chest carved by the Rift over a year ago, spilling over into my channels with searing pain. It surges into my core, forcibly expanding the pool even in its broken and useless state.

    The mana builds up in a crescendo, imprinting itself on reality. A glass tower juts into the air, reaching for the dome like the finger of a primeval giant. It soars upward, touching the curve of the glass. There it expands outward, looking almost like the shape of a mushroom as a new, slightly-smaller dome fits into place.

    Not a second too soon. A section of the old dome breaks like a brittle egg shell, dropping down to crash into the new dome of glass holding the sea at bay.

    More water gushes in from above, but my [Sanctuary] patches the damage, slowing the flow of water enough for [Vitrification] to take hold. I switch my mana over to my self-made Skill, plugging up the gaps with water turned to glass. Every part of me aches like I¡¯ve been trampled by wild horses, both physically and metaphysically, but I push onward.

    Dimly, I¡¯m aware of strong hands under my arms and head, holding me up as my body staggers under the intensity of the forces I¡¯m channeling. Soothing energy flows into me¡ªLionel is healing me. He arrived alongside Rakesh, which means that the entire team is supporting me, each in his or her own way. Risking themselves for my sake, I think with a lump in my throat.

    No, for a chance to do what¡¯s right.

    Shimmering waves of energy crash over me. Rebounding and rippling in a latticework of roiling mana, the fractured fractals of reality overlap and expand, like a wounded thing heaving heavy, desperate breaths. I feel like I¡¯m looking into a million mirrors all at once, each displaying an end to this madness. In most futures, I die, torn asunder by the sheer intensity of the power I¡¯m attempting to wield.

    A steadying pressure falls over me, carrying the hint of fragrant pipe smoke. Unfurling like a dazzling banner against a stormy sky, a familiar Skill presses against me, supporting me, showing me the path forward.

    There!

    The way to go abruptly becomes clear. Divergent realities crystalize into a single vision, and I grasp it with my full intent, bringing the full weight of the remaining might of the Oletheros core to bear against the vision I¡¯ve chosen with Azariah¡¯s help.

    The last of the mana rushes through me, again spilling over from the furrow in my chest to supersaturate my broken core and cracked channels. Like a cleansing fire, the energy burns and widens, straining the boundaries of what my metaphysical body can sustain.

    The working takes hold at last, guided by Azariah¡¯s signature [Pathfinder] wayfinding Skill, and I let out a triumphant shout of victory. It¡¯s a shame to lose the priceless core, but I¡¯ll take it over dying.

    ¡°A tree to hold up the world itself,¡± I whisper, searching for words to describe what I see in front of me. Transforming the water itself into glass is finally possible after my [Sanctuary] is fully deployed, buying me time to transmute the remaining streams of cold, dark water.

    Using the very thing that threatens to wipe out our existence to shield us from further destruction is vaguely poetic, I can¡¯t help but muse. The pressurized jets of sea water reaching down to the palace floor transform as they crash into the mana of my self-made Skill. Fierce pride burns in my chest as the Skill holds.

    Transmuted into glass pillars, the water reinforces the [Sanctuary] holding up the dome. I stagger, dropping to one knee as I fully drain the entire core. Overloaded as I am, I manage to stay alert. Lionel¡¯s healing magic bolsters me, healing the tiny tears in my muscles from where my body tried to convulse and shake itself apart. Soothing calm flows into my mind, and I note in detached satisfaction that I stayed cogent this time.

    ¡°Hey, no more passing out! I think that counts as progress,¡± I whisper, nudging Lionel and giving him a tired smile.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not make this a habit,¡± he replies, swallowing hard. ¡°Not that I didn¡¯t trust you or anything, Nuri, but¡ªoh, wow, we should all totally be dead right now!¡± He breaks off into a high-pitched, hysterical giggle as the tension breaks.

    Mikko steps in between us, throwing an arm around each of our shoulders to hold us up since we¡¯ve both drained ourselves bone-dry pushing our Skills as hard as we could. ¡°We¡¯re a pretty good team, huh?¡±

    ¡°No. We¡¯re a great team,¡± Lionel corrects as a lopsided grin stretches across his face.

    I can¡¯t help but agree.

 B5 C19: Ghosts of the Past

    ¡°Incredible,¡± Avelina breathes, coming over with her sister to join us. She looks up at the pillar of glass and is struck nearly silent. I¡¯ve seen her quiet before, but never this reverent.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t have done it without you, Ava,¡± I start to say, but she shushes me.

    ¡°Nuri. Don¡¯t. Everyone did something except for me.¡± She glances down at the deck, and for a moment the familiar darkness seems to cloud her eyes. Then she lifts her chin and smiles shyly. ¡°But next time? I¡¯m ready. I¡¯ll be the hero of the day. I know it.¡±

    Melina squeezes her sister¡¯s hand.

    Too exhausted to say anything that doesn¡¯t sound cliche, I turn away from the twins and consider the breath-taking [Sanctuary] holding up the dome. The glittering glass pillar reaches up from the floor of the chamber like the trunk of an ancient tree, branching out in a complex tangle of tendrils and sheets of glass that merge into the new windowed dome. The entire length of the massive pillar is imbued¡ªan impossibility if anyone had asked me even an hour or two earlier.

    Even now I can¡¯t believe that I did this. My promised miracle materialized, born from the joint efforts of my team and the Yathawn specialists. It seems impossible, an inconceivable set of circumstances working together to transform hope into reality. Yet the fiery pain smoldering within me, where massive amounts of mana overflowed into my core and channels, is proof that I actually did it and I¡¯m not hallucinating.

    I¡¯m glad that I didn¡¯t pop like a balloon from trying to channel so much mana. I shiver, still remembering the crazy rumors that circulated about some of Ezio¡¯s former students. I definitely don¡¯t want to end up like them. If the rumors were true.

    My metaphysical body may still be broken, but channeling so much mana is a boon now that I know how to prevent burnout. I peek within, amazed at how much my pool has expanded. If someone in Gilead can fix me, then I wonder what my Capacity reading might be now. Far higher than the twenties I first tested at with Ezio, of that I¡¯m certain. Now that I¡¯m deep in the First Threshold¡ªmoving past the mid-ranks, if I were to guess¡ªI might have to throw out my old scale. Part of me wonders if I¡¯ve even pushed myself hard enough to be graded against the Second Threshold benchmark. The sheer amount of energy coursing through me should have killed me, by all rights.

    Similar to [Glass Animation], the Skill itself seems to apply the imbuement as part of the process. I¡¯ve never heard of such a thing, but I have clear and obvious evidence right in front of me. Only a fool would argue that it¡¯s not possible after seeing it in person. Part of me feels like it¡¯s a shortcut. Cheating somehow. Like I don¡¯t deserve the benefits of whatever I¡¯ve wrought.

    Nuri, now¡¯s not the time to act like an idiot. Be grateful for your good fortune. Nodding as I mull it over, I feel better about my contributions. I still needed to meditate on the concept and discover the insight myself. I still had to figure out the right runes. I still had to come up with the intent and plan. Once I supplied the vision, the Skill used it as a template, sure, but it wasn¡¯t an automatic process. Even with the Skill running at full power, I still had to guide the shape of the [Sanctuary of Glass]. No sense quibbling about whether or not I earned my new power.

    Rakesh still hasn''t closed his mouth. He¡¯s gaping at the dome in shock. Like everyone else, he goes back and forth between staring up at the new glass dome and down at the enormous glass pillar I raised up from the chamber floor. Unlike the rest, he has his trusty pen and notebook out, his hands blurring into motion as he furiously documents everything he sees. Something tells me that I¡¯ll have to answer an awful lot of academic inquiries over the next several years as scholars across Densmore try to verify or debunk his claims.

    Bring it on, I think with a smirk. Let them learn the power of glass.

    For now? Time for answers.

    I march up to the [Queen], inclining my head slightly as I draw near. I¡¯m too tired to bow, far past caring if I offend the Yathawn¡¯s sensibilities. This time, the grim [Honor Guard] no longer bars my path. They part before my approach, bowing to me instead.

    The [Queen] herself heaves her bulk from her spawning pool, tilting forward to offer her own shallow bow in return to my greeting. ¡°Hail, Master Nuri. Surface-dweller, yet savior of the Yathawn. We offer you our favor.¡±

    ¡°You would have figured something out,¡± I say awkwardly, scratching at my ear. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re so weak that you need an outsider to solve things for you. I just happened to have the right Skills for today¡¯s work.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Flattery, even now? Shameless human,¡± the [Queen] huffs. Her tendrils flicker and waver, and I get a vague sense of amusement through my Domain.

    I realize I¡¯ve switched over to the last bit of mana in the glass cores. It¡¯s a paltry, thin bit of energy in comparison to both the quality and quantity of mana contained in the Oletheros core, which sparks an idea in my mind. Later. I¡¯m too tired to deal with it now, but I need to talk with Rakesh and Melina about mana density as well as Capacity. Why it¡¯s not in the official test is beyond me, now that I¡¯ve tasted the difference firsthand.

    ¡°I could be domineering and demanding, if you prefer. That is what you¡¯re used to from my kind, is it not?¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± the [Queen] says.

    A suspicion takes root. Just how did an entire species get sealed off, relegated to the depths? When I met with the [Viceroy], he never mentioned this Rift. During his overview of Densmore and its important locations, he skipped straight over the inland sea. Yet I¡¯m willing to bet that he knows all about Natan. If I¡¯m right, he probably had a hand in creating this situation.

    Simmering rage builds up within me. [Viceroy] Tapirs was so adamant that the Wraiths are nothing more than monsters. His attitude is pervasive among the military, which I get since they fight on the front lines, but it¡¯s becoming increasingly difficult to know exactly what to trust based on my recent interactions with the Yathawn.

    I stand shoulder to shoulder with creatures that are theoretically monsters, based on the classification that the [Mage] cabal insists is canon. Whether or not the Yathawn are enemies of the Wraiths seems like a secondary issue; they¡¯ve come through a Rift. Far more relevant is the question of whether or not they are people like us.

    I instinctively know that answer.

    With the Wraiths¡ªat least outside of the Rifts¡ªit¡¯s easy to go along with the official line that they¡¯re actual monsters. The ones Tem and I fought certainly qualified. Yet the Yathawn are more varied. I like a few of them a lot. The [Quartermaster] and [Outrider] One I¡¯d consider my friends. I dislike others, like the [Honor Guards] ready to kill me instead of trying to help me save as many as I can. Maybe they simply saw the bigger picture. Maybe not. But I don¡¯t like them. A few of the workers I¡¯ve met are friendly. A few are surly. Some would gladly run me through or lop my head off with their glaives.

    In short, they¡¯re just like humans.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± I ask, my voice rasping and hoarse. I cough, wishing I had water to drink, but clear my throat enough to speak more clearly. ¡°Exactly how did you end up confined here? Did the [Viceroy] do this?¡±

    An unreadable look passes across the [Queen]¡¯s face. ¡°Ah, of course you know him. We are unsurprised that strength bands together. He sent you here?¡±

    ¡°Hardly!¡± I protest. Then I think back over circumstances, from receiving my mission to the way we¡¯ve been forced into corners time and time again. Maybe he did send me here in a way, pulling the strings from the shadows. I swallow hard at that uncomfortable thought.

    ¡°Our benefactor. Our captor.¡±

    ¡°Benefactor?¡± I repeat dumbly. ¡°What could he possibly do other than insult and threaten until you agree with his plans? Tapirs isn¡¯t exactly altruistic.¡±

    ¡°Not a [Mage], my foot,¡± Azariah grumbles from beside me. ¡°Hobnobs with the [Viceroy]!¡±

    I ignore the barb, although I have to admit that it seems suspicious. After all the peculiar things I¡¯ve done and secrets I¡¯ve revealed since meeting our guide, letting slip that I know the [Viceroy] is far from the most shocking bit of information.

    ¡°We were nomads when we came through the Rift,¡± the [Queen] elaborates. ¡°We fought the monsters from our homeland, fleeing after a new Invasion too powerful for us to withstand wiped out our ancestral home. When we met the [Mage] you mentioned, he was startled to find us fighting off monsters. He thought we were just like them.

    I cross my arms, scowling. ¡°He loves slinging around that accusation. I think he¡¯s afraid of losing power if he doesn¡¯t have an enemy threat to point toward. By keeping everyone scared and on high alert, he ensures that they don¡¯t think too hard about how much political power he¡¯s stolen from the [King] of Densmore. Instead, they greet him like a savior.¡±

    ¡°Much like you,¡± the [Queen] replies. She laughs in her strange overtones when I sputter and try to deny the comparison.

    ¡°What choice did we have in the face of overwhelming power?¡± the [Queen] says bitterly, her laughter dying out. ¡°He destroyed the monsters with a wave of his hand. Just like that, all of our struggle was over. How can we grow if we are not tested? Surviving is nice, but building us these homes is nothing more than confining us to coffins.¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    I blink rapidly in shock. ¡°Wait. He built Natan? But that would take unimaginable wealth! What drove him to that?¡±

    ¡°Indeed, surface-dweller. Your [Viceroy] delivered his cruel ultimatum: return to where we fled, fighting on our own with our depleted strength, or settling here in safety while we spawned, with the expectation that he will call on us to fight his wars when we are strong enough again. I am ashamed that we did not test ourselves. It seemed so futile to fight back then. Yathawn are no one¡¯s pets. We considered ourselves grand! Yet a single human did what we could not. He swam down to the depths, defeated the monsters, helped us close the Rift, and commanded us to do his bidding. We never had a chance. So we accepted his help, contenting ourselves to trade their goods. Like common errand-spawn!¡±

    Melina sidles up to our conversation. ¡°Your majesty? How did you learn our language? I know you use your own native tongue when we¡¯re not around.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Your [Mage] had a translation artifact. We relied on that for a decade, until we could speak more naturally. Our young train in each language now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what the [Quartermaster] used,¡± I murmur, details clicking into place.

    ¡°Could . . . could we see the artifact?¡± Rakesh asks, his voice shaking in excitement. He and Melina exchange wide-eyed grins, caught up in the anticipation of learning something new.

    ¡°You may have it. Thrice-cursed thing,¡± the [Queen] growls.

    ¡°Why do you say that?¡± Rakesh asks, looking aghast at the suggestion. I can practically see the scandalized offense rolling off him in waves, as though he can¡¯t believe someone would give away something so priceless. To him, fresh knowledge is always worth pursuing, no matter where it comes from¡ªwhich makes me think of Scalpel again, even though Rakesh is kind and well-meaning, unlike her.

    ¡°We have no need for it any longer. Some of the younger spawn even prefer speaking in the manner of surface-dwellers,¡± the [Queen] says, trailing off sadly. ¡°They know nothing of our history. Nothing of our dreams of return.¡±

    Rakesh still seems confused, but Melina picks up on the implication immediately, if the way she bites her lip is any indication. She pulls Rakesh aside to explain it to him.

    In the awkward silence, I shift my feet uncertainly. ¡°We still need passage to the surface, despite your, um, travel restrictions.¡±

    The spawning pool swirls as the [Queen]¡¯s agitation stirs up the water. She lifts up into the air on her long fins, looming over me. ¡°Can you not stay and stabilize the Rift? Something is wrong, and none of us can fix the trouble. We require your aid.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, we have business in Gilead. We simply can¡¯t stay much longer. Besides, you told me that you need to test yourselves. Perhaps restoring the Rift is the whetstone upon which the Yathawn will sharpen themselves.¡±

    ¡°Well said,¡± [Outrider] One says, swaggering up just then. I¡¯m not sure how much of our conversation he heard, but it seems like he¡¯s finished the work of securing the young. Someone must have relayed the news that we averted disaster for now.

    The [Queen] glares at [Outrider] One. She gestures for the [Hydromancer] and the head of her [Honor Guard] to approach. After deliberation with her advisors, she lifts her voice and makes her proclamation. ¡°Perhaps we can deposit you an hour south of the city. That should be far enough away to avoid detection¡ªor, at the very least, retaliation.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Best make it three hours to be safe. First of all, I don¡¯t want to cause an incident for you, even though I¡¯m fairly confident that Tapirs would look the other way on my behalf. But who knows? He might find it annoying that I couldn¡¯t figure things out on my own. He is not to be trifled with, and I¡¯m not so well-established that I can afford to anger him.

    ¡°My second reason is less altruistic. We must seem to simply be an unremarkable group of travelers. We can¡¯t afford to appear suspicious or in any way connected to a potential threat against the city. It will set off too many alarm bells in people¡¯s minds.¡±

    ¡°Prudent. Very well, we shall see it done,¡± the [Queen] replies, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief. ¡°[Outrider] One. Step forward. We will judge you.¡±

    Our first friend among the Yathawn trembles, but obeys his [Queen]. He glides forward three paces and drops to his right knee, bowing until his head nearly touches the ground.

    ¡°My life for your will.¡±

    ¡°As ever, we are sure.¡± The [Queen] sounds faintly amused. ¡°You disobeyed orders during a catastrophe. By our law, as you stated, your life is forfeit.¡±

    My team immediately circles our host. Wary as I am to start a foolhardy fight after going through all the trouble of saving the city of Natan, I¡¯ll never be able to live with myself if the price of our deliverance is standing by while a good man dies. My brother seems to share my same thoughts, lifting his hammer and setting himself between our friend and the Yathawn [Honor Guard]. We seem to be doing a lot of that lately.

    Avelina draws her wand, a hard look in her eyes as white-hot fire leaps to her command. Somehow, that hits me the hardest. She¡¯s determined to do what must be done, but she¡¯ll pay a price if we fight. I hope it doesn¡¯t come to it.

    The [Queen] flutters her tendrils and motions her guards away from us. ¡°Peace, surface dwellers. [Outrider] one is already dead, as befits his unforgivable crime. Yet, the Yathawn you see before us has proven his worth a thousand times over. Rise, Vedarian, one of our Named generation. We expect great things from you.¡±

    Tension bleeds out of us. Fires die down. Lionel puts away the glass sword that he drew at some point. I never even noticed that he¡¯d joined us.

    As one we congratulate Vedarian on his promotion, even though I don¡¯t fully understand their naming customs. I¡¯m too busy shaking from relief to figure out their cultural norms. I had no real recourse, not after channeling so much mana. My head feels like a slurry of confusion and dull, throbbing pain. If we¡¯d fought now, I would have died without putting up much resistance, utterly unable to do anything useful for my friends.

    ¡°Vedarian, work with the [Quartermaster] to prepare a feast. We shall celebrate with our surface-dwelling friends. Then we will give you leave to pilot a submersible to the shore.¡±

    Vedarian snaps a crisp salute. He ushers us out of the main chamber, leading us back to our rooms. The zigzagging maze of passages seems more confusing than ever, but he guides us with his customary confidence.

    ¡°Fortuitous that [Outrider] Two fell ill when you set off our alarms,¡± Vedarian says, baring his sharp teeth at us.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Azariah says drily. He shoots a meaningful look at me, as though to point out that sometimes the best way forward is the one that benefits yourself.

    I studiously ignore him.

    ¡°Now that I am Named, I will disregard the [Queen]¡¯s orders. Best to get you out of the city as quickly as possible. The [Honor Guards] will seek vengeance.¡±

    Lionel bursts out laughing. ¡°Nah, you can¡¯t con a professional con man. I¡¯ve been down that road plenty of times. Look. I get it. You want us out of the picture so that you can take all the credit. Devious, but admirable.¡±

    I snicker and return Vedarian¡¯s wicked grin. ¡°I¡¯m actually with you. Let¡¯s get out of here! As long as Azariah agrees, of course.¡±

    Our surly [Pathfinder] gives me a flat look, but he nods brusquely in the end. That¡¯s all the confirmation the team needs.

    Fifteen minutes later, we¡¯re packed up and following Vedarian through the labyrinthine hallways. He adroitly weaves past other Yathawn, taking us to the underwater dock, which is essentially a hole in the bottom of the floor that leads down into the depths.

    The vessel we¡¯ll travel in looks too small to carry all of us, but somehow we manage to squeeze inside. We plunge into the water, zipping along as the enchantments hum to life and propel us far faster than I can run.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t the [Sailors] in Loch LaMara use these?¡± I ask. ¡°Couldn¡¯t they avoid all the trouble of the stormy season?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re primarily interested in trade. Not a lot of storage on these,¡± Vedarian points out. ¡°Besides, we¡¯re not keen on selling secrets to our competitors.¡±

    ¡°Sensible,¡± I grunt.

    We lapse into silence as we surge through the sea. Everyone seems lost in their own thoughts, and I can¡¯t blame them after what just transpired. The rocking motion lulls me to sleep, and by the time I wake, Vedarian has drawn the craft onto a beach a few hours from Gilead.

    My mind feels fuzzy, and my tongue has a too-thick feel from drying out, but as I climb out of the hatch and jump down into the sand, I can¡¯t help but smile. Wind ruffles my hair. Birds chirp and chatter nearby. It¡¯s nice to be back above the water.

    Waving farewell to our friend as he puts back out to sea, I can¡¯t help but find it both funny and sad that the only time we haven¡¯t been betrayed is when dealing with creatures classified as monsters. Humans aren¡¯t always the heroes we paint ourselves to be.

    ¡°All right. This way,¡± Azariah says, thrusting out his thumb. ¡°Got two and a half, mebbe three hours, until we reach Gilead. Let¡¯s get movin.¡±

    After the strain of my new Skill, I avoid using mana. Trudging along without my Domain running feels like walking blind, but I trust my team to keep us safe. I¡¯m too worn down to keep an eye on our surroundings. At first it feels scary, but soon I¡¯m just grateful for my friends.

    Almost exactly three hours later, by Melina¡¯s time-keeping, we catch our first glimpse of Gilead. The fabled home city of the Menders is as big as the capital¡ªpossibly even larger¡ªand the mana barrier is several times more intense than anything I¡¯ve felt before. Of course, I didn¡¯t have a reliable sense of mana when I went to Modilaraon, so maybe this formidable display of power is standard for a big city. The towering stone buildings are certainly impressive, as are the massive roads with thousands of travelers.

    Few guards seem about despite all the people. No one stops us at the walls, either, but the cart and foot traffic slows down as we funnel through a gate that¡¯s dense with enchantments. Someone¡¯s definitely monitoring the city, despite how relaxed the entrance appears.

    I resist probing the enchantments with my Domain, and we slip inside without attracting any attention. It almost seems too easy after such a long and arduous journey, but I¡¯m glad for small victories right about now.

    Azariah guides us toward a district slightly inland from the docks. Inns right on the water are exorbitantly expensive, according to the [Smokeborn Pathfinder]. He says that he knows a place where we can stay for more reasonable rates, so we gladly follow. Thankfully, we arrived on shore in the morning, after saving Natan and traveling through the night, so we have plenty of daylight by which to see the city around us.

    It¡¯s a riot of colors, with city blocks sharing themes. We pass by a tall concrete apartment building in every shade of blue imaginable, and then a series of shops and bakeries all painted in red. Colors don¡¯t seem to follow any pattern that I recognize, but it certainly gives Gilead a lively appearance.

    Living quarters seem to stack on top of the shops, and I¡¯m amazed at how vertical life in Gilead seems to be. They have room to sprawl, which tells me that there must be more people around than I¡¯ve seen in one place before. Tentatively, I reach out with my Domain, bracing as the mana runs over my raw connections, and confirm that thousands of mana signatures are nearby.

    I don¡¯t dare loose the reins on my Domain, worried that if I expand my range, I¡¯ll find the tens of thousands of competing signatures overwhelming.

    Abruptly, I spin around, my entire body going stiff. A familiar signature travels through my Domain, although I can barely believe what I just saw.

    ¡°Nuri? What¡¯s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost,¡± Melina says, concern in her voice.

    I nod, numb with shock and concern as I confirm the signature. ¡°I don¡¯t know why she¡¯s here, but [Lady] Saphora just walked by.¡±

 B5 C20: Balm in Gilead

    [Lady] Saphora is in Gilead.

    I work my jaw, trying to find the right phrases to put my discomfort into words. I¡¯d all but forgotten about her in the aftermath of our harrowing fight in Halmuth, the long trek across the Barrens in the rainy season, fleeing from Loch LaMara, stumbling across an entirely new people from a Rift, and patching up Natan with the most glorious Skill I¡¯ve ever received.

    Her schemes to steal the rulership from [Lord] Dimitri were bad enough, but I¡¯ll never forgive her for kidnapping Lionel. I won¡¯t hold back if we run across her again.

    ¡°Does that change anything? We don¡¯t have time for revenge. We¡¯re here to fix you up,¡± Melina says, gesturing to my left arm. She puts a hand on my shoulder, shaking me out of my whirlpool of endless thoughts. Her brows are furrowed in concern.

    ¡°Actually, we . . . Ahem. Let¡¯s get to our inn and then we¡¯ll talk,¡± I say with an awkward shuffle of my feet, glancing back and forth between my teammates.

    ¡°Nuri¡¯s hiding something again. On a mission from the big boss, huh?¡± Lionel says, chuckling.

    ¡°I¡¯ll never be free,¡± I mutter.

    Azariah gives me a sharp look, but doesn¡¯t say anything. He¡¯s been strangely quiet ever since he found out that I know the [Viceroy]. Setting a brisk pace, he guides us to our inn. For once, he holds his peace, no matter how much he looks like he wants to dig into my secrets. Maybe his Skill is warning him off.

    We get set up with rooms, and Azariah surprises us by announcing that he¡¯s taking his leave. ¡°Orav and I are headin out. Trainin. You¡¯ll have to get a new guide for your trip home.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re leaving during the rainy season? I thought you¡¯d stick around with us,¡± Lionel says. His shoulders slump, and I can tell he¡¯s going to miss the irascible [Pathfinder].

    Azariah clears his throat. ¡°Yep. Just don¡¯t tell the guild that you came in with me. I¡¯m not exactly popular with those folk.¡±

    Just like that, Azariah leaves. Striding off in a cloak of smoke, he drags Orav behind him before we can bid them farewell.

    ¡°Not one for goodbyes, huh?¡±

    I pat Lionel¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s all right. He feels bad about it. He¡¯s not even masking himself from my Domain¡ªI think that means he wants us to know. That¡¯s about as emotional as that old codger gets.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Nuri. I¡¯ll miss those rascals,¡± Lionel says fondly. He rubs his nose. ¡°All right. Tell us what¡¯s up so that I can distract myself from feeling sentimental.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh, would you do the honors?¡±

    Our [Researcher] nods, happy to answer my request for privacy. The inversion of [Echo of the Songbird] silences us, ensuring that no casual eavesdropping will work. As soon as I confirm no one unreasonably strong is within range of my Domain, I fill in the team.

    ¡°Something suspicious is going on with the Menders. [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote says the order is building political alliances and stockpiling weapons. My primary goal is to investigate their doings and get a clear idea of what¡¯s going on. According to the [Inquisitors], I¡¯m an ideal candidate because of the extensive damage I¡¯ve taken physically, and to my core and channels. I have a clear and legitimate reason to be here. I¡¯m also not an actual [Inquisitor], so I¡¯m less likely to raise their suspicions.¡±

    Melina scowls. ¡°You agreed to this foolishness? I knew something was going on, but this is more involved than seems wise.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have a lot of choice,¡± I protest, more heat in my voice than I intend. More than Melina deserves. ¡°If I wanted to clear my name and pay back my debt, I had to go along. You¡¯re all aware that I stole something from the Rift¡ªlook, nevermind. Old news. Less you know about everything, the better. But I have to follow up on this lead, and I want everyone to help.¡±

    Melina crosses her arms, leaning against the wall and giving me a prim look. ¡°I always figured you had some arrangement like that, but really! Couldn¡¯t you share it with us sooner?¡±

    I sink down into a chair with a groan, exhausted from the last few days. ¡°Sorry. Look, I got distracted by all the other stuff we had to do first. Mahkaiaraon was our test run, so I wasn¡¯t sure if we¡¯d even continue on to Gilead or not. You passed, by the way. I had so much on my mind after that¡ªI¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ll try to be better about communicating.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you know [Lady] Saphora would be here?¡± Lionel asks. He looks queasy, shifting in seat with his eyes darting around, as though he¡¯s about to make a break for it.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t. But I¡¯ll bet it¡¯s connected. You all saw the way she tried to stage a coup. That¡¯s a strange line of business for a [Healer].¡±

    ¡°Are you all right? You look feverish.¡± Melina steps over to Lionel and places a hand on his forehead, clucking her tongue as he squirms away.

    ¡°Just . . . don¡¯t wanna run into her.¡±

    ¡°You never told us what she did to you,¡± Mikko says. He grips the armrest of his chair so hard that I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s about to splinter in his grasp.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Lionel says, too hastily.

    ¡°Should I trail her?¡± Rakesh asks. ¡°I¡¯ve got some experience with reconnoitering.¡±

    I tap my fingers on the armrest of my chair, considering our options. ¡°No. Let¡¯s get settled and see the Menders first. We need to figure out how long of a wait time we¡¯re looking at before they¡¯ll see us. For all we know, it will be months.¡±

    ¡°Months!¡± Mikko explodes. ¡°I told ma we¡¯d be back in half a year, tops. We¡¯re pushing the halfway point soon. She¡¯s not gonna be happy, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I can think of some good news that might distract her from her disappointment,¡± I reply, winking at my brother.

    He doesn¡¯t take the bait.

    I sigh. ¡°Fine. If it comes down to it, then I can probably use my Writ to gain an audience if we¡¯re in a bad spot. I¡¯d rather not let them know that I¡¯m associated with the Royal Army, but it¡¯s helpful to have just in case. In the meantime, why don¡¯t you find a smithy? Mel, you and Ava look for a glass studio. Rakesh? I¡¯ll need your researching prowess. Sync up with your big Skill. Get to a library, too, if you can find one with public access.¡±

    ¡°What about me?¡± Lionel asks, still looking on edge. His eyes dart back and forth, finding the windows and doors as though he¡¯s calculating escape vectors.

    I chuckle. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll like this part.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a scheme, don¡¯t you?¡± he says, squinting at me. ¡°Not sure if that should be a relief or a terror. Your last few have been pretty scary. But after your [Sanctuary] worked out so well, I guess I gotta trust that you know what you¡¯re doing. You¡¯ve come a long way, Nuri. Don¡¯t tell the others, but I¡¯m proud of you.¡±

    ¡°Your secret¡¯s safe with me, Lio. I won¡¯t tell them that you¡¯re going soft in your old age. But since you asked about my plan: You¡¯re coming with me to the Menders. We¡¯ve gotta find a way to get you a teacher. If I show them how destroyed I am internally, but tell them that you¡¯ve kept me patched up, then I¡¯ll bet they¡¯ll take an interest in you.¡±

    Lionel grimaces. ¡°Uh, pass.¡±

    ¡°What! Why? That¡¯s a great idea.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s a terrible idea, Nuri.¡± He rubs his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. ¡°Look, let me spell this out for you. If you paint me as some miracle-worker, they¡¯re going to expect me to show off something grand or exotic. All I have are the most basic healing Skills out there. Not a chance they believe me that I¡¯ve done something useful. I have no talent to commend me.¡±

    ¡°Gold usually does the trick,¡± I say, waggling my eyebrows at Lionel. ¡°I¡¯m confident. Why aren¡¯t you? Once we start selling imbued glass items, we¡¯ll rake in a ton of money. We can buy our way in if all else fails.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure no one¡¯s ever thought of that before. Nuri. Think this through. Do you know how many people in this city are a thousand times richer than you are? If they can¡¯t get in, then neither can we.¡±

    The crunch of someone chewing distracts me from answering. I glance over to my right to see the Linas sharing a bag of toasted nuts. Based on the glistening appearances, I¡¯ll wager they¡¯ve been dipped in honey. I frown at the twins. ¡°Are you seriously watching us argue for entertainment? You broke out the snacks for this?¡±

    Avelina shrugs. ¡°What? You¡¯re pretty funny when you¡¯re annoyed. But you should listen to Lio. He¡¯s making better points than you are for once.¡±

    I take a deep breath and hold it to the count of five before I exhale and hold up my hand in mock surrender. ¡°Noted. My plans need some refinement.¡±

    ¡°We can still ask about the entrance times and requirements. I¡¯d be happy to join you for a stroll around the Menders campus,¡± Lionel says by way of peace offering.

    ¡°Thanks, buddy. I knew I could count on you.¡±

    ¡°I still think we¡¯re doomed,¡± Lionel says. He leans over and snatches one of the honey roasted nuts, tossing into his mouth and chomping down with a look of pure bliss. ¡°But, hey, what are friends for?¡±

    =+=

    ¡°This way, please.¡±

    ¡°Right now?¡± I ask, taken aback by my abrupt entry into the Menders. Queuing up took a while, but as soon as we reach the front desk, they wave us onward.

    ¡°Yes, an [Apprentice Healer] will review your symptoms and triage your case. He¡¯ll take care of everything from there. We¡¯ll give you an assigned [Healer] after that depending on the severity of your illness or wounds. Missing a limb automatically moves you up the list.¡±

    The woman who meets us at the front desk of the Menders campus recites the words in a monotone voice laced through with bone-weary boredom, as though she¡¯s delivered the speech a thousand times already this week.

    Maybe she has, I think as I look at the long line snaking through the lobby and stretching out the door. We waited for an hour just to reach the doorway, and then another two hours once inside the building.

    I get moving, following the [Apprentice Healer] who waves to Lionel. He¡¯s young, maybe fifteen, which means he¡¯s still fairly new to his Class. On the one hand, that makes me skeptical that he can help me, given my long list of strange ailments and afflictions, but on the other, it makes me think he¡¯s likely to be a child prodigy. If an exalted group like the Menders accepted him at his age, with only an Apprentice version of the Class, then he¡¯s likely more talented than Lionel will ever be even with the full Class.

    I keep those thoughts to myself.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    We scurry down a bright white hallway, illuminated evenly by a profusion of mana lamps every few steps. Shadows simply don¡¯t exist inside the Menders buildings. Every single sense is pampered: pleasant aromas drift down the open hallways; the architecture and decoration are sublime; soft, soothing music makes everyone relax; and even the low benches we sat on when we were tired of standing were luxuriously plushy. I¡¯ll bet the food tastes great, too.

    Everything about the Menders is resplendent, inside and out. Although I¡¯ve seen a great many wonders in my travels, the graceful buildings of the Menders campus still sent a thrill of wonder through me when I first caught sight of them earlier in the day. The enormous, imposing dome surrounded by flying buttresses is visible from just about anywhere in the central district of Gilead, and immediately drew our attention when Lionel and I crossed the bridge over the river Saski. Dividing the city in two, the Saski marks the upscale areas from the working class regions of Gilead.

    The Menders are decidedly upscale.

    ¡°The second door on your right, if you please,¡± the [Apprentice Healer] says in calm and professional tones. His voice is still high, although he sports a downy mustache, but he presents himself with all the self-possessed assurance of a seasoned veteran in this line of work.

    We enter the designated room, and I immediately note the scented candles burning in the corner. They release a mana-enhanced aroma that makes me want to smile and lie down on the bed to my left. Two chairs are arranged on the right, overstuffed and upholstered in shades of blue and green that remind me of an ocean on a summer day.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the patient? You both look well.¡± Our assigned Mender pauses, and for the first time, a mischievous hint enters his voice. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ve come to the right place?¡±

    I hold up my left arm. ¡°Anything you can do about this? Or am I too late?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m teasing, of course. You think we have time for intake forms? We scanned you with an enchantment on the way in the door. Your insides appear impaired. As for your missing hand? Hmm. Depends. Do you have the rest of the appendage? Reattaching is easiest in the first forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Less in an un-Classed individual, and considerably longer for anyone who has ascended to the Second Threshold. You don¡¯t look like you have.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t. My hand was completely obliterated. Mana accident,¡± I say with a shrug, trying to look appropriately apologetic. ¡°Same thing that tore apart my channels. Impaired is putting it lightly.¡±

    ¡°Sorry to hear that. Sounds tragic,¡± the [Apprentice Healer] says, still in the same tone of voice that seems too old for his years. He scratches down a few notes. ¡°Why don¡¯t you sit on the bed while we examine you? We can take a look at your hand, but a magical prosthetic is likely your best course of action. Regenerating flesh and bone is not trivial, unfortunately.¡±

    I follow orders and sit on the bed. As expected, it¡¯s extremely comfortable, and I have to fight the urge to stretch out and take a nap. ¡°Not even with the Azure Rod?¡±

    The [Apprentice Healer]¡¯s professional fa?ade finally cracks. He actually laughs before he clears his throat and dons the mask of the calm, caring Mender. ¡°Possibly, but the head of the Menders is an extremely busy woman. She travels across Densmore, and occasionally to other countries, to heal the worst cases imaginable. I don¡¯t mean to sound rude, but there¡¯s almost no chance of gaining an audience.¡±

    ¡°We have some gold,¡± I say, trying to fight off a rising tide of desperation. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for charity.¡±

    He smiles sadly. ¡°So does everyone else. Look, I¡¯m sorry, but it¡¯s not likely. I haven¡¯t met the headmistress during my entire time here. Nearly three years without a meeting.¡±

    I nod numbly, even though I expected as much. It still stings to hear the words with such finality. It was nice to dream that I might get lucky.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try to slot you in tomorrow with our prosthetics team as long as your vitals check out,¡± the [Apprentice Healer] says. A genuine look of sympathy softens his eyes, and he sighs. ¡°Best I can do. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate it. Hey, do you have any [Healers] who specialize in the metaphysical? I¡¯m also looking to repair my core and channels, as your scan revealed. Everything got destroyed during the accident. I¡¯ve never been able to use my Skills properly ever since then.¡±

    His eyebrows crawl up his forehead. ¡°The scan said something was wrong, but that¡¯s way worse than I feared. Wow! To check your internal health, I need to initiate physical contact. Is that all right?¡±

    I nod, and he reaches out to place a hand on my chest, just below my rib cage but above my navel. A pulse of mana rolls down his arm and into me; it spreads out, like water filling a jar, and reverberates through me three times before returning to the apprentice.

    ¡°How . . . how are you still alive?¡± Sheer horror crosses his face. ¡°I thought you might be joking, or trying to lie your way into an appointment with a higher-level [Arcane Healer] even if the scan said you were impaired. But you actually burned yourself out. I don¡¯t understand how you¡¯re walking around and smiling. I¡¯ve only read about this, but by all accounts, most people with your, um, malady die in miserable pain.¡±

    I smile mysteriously. ¡°The pain was pretty bad for a few months. I¡¯ll give you that. But I¡¯m tougher than I look, so I pulled through. What¡¯s an [Arcane Healer], anyway? Could someone really restore my connections to the metaphysical realm?¡±

    ¡°Theoretically,¡± the [Apprentice Healer] hedges. ¡°Please wait here. I¡¯ll bring my superior in for a look. I don¡¯t want to get your hopes up, though. It¡¯s still rare.¡±

    ¡°But easier than regrowing a hand?¡± I ask, chuckling incredulously. ¡°That seems like it¡¯s simpler to me, but what do I know?¡±

    ¡°Strangely, yes. Repairing damage is always easier than regenerating something after it¡¯s gone. We have specialists who deal with metaphysical injuries, but they aren¡¯t usually on staff. They accept contracts, and they can be picky, or so I¡¯ve heard. Please don¡¯t be angry with me if it doesn¡¯t work out.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± I say quietly. I slump back on the bed, staring up at the off-white ceiling and not replying when Lionel asks me a question.

    Time seems to lose its meaning. I don¡¯t know how long I look up. My eyes unfocus after some indeterminate time, leaving me with the overwhelming sensation that I¡¯m staring into an undefined, pale abyss.

    Blinking back tears, I take in a deep breath and sit up. Life is no different now than it was before we talked with the apprentice. I¡¯ve got my cores and an astonishing set of powerful Skills that go well beyond what I¡¯d expect in the First Threshold.

    Most valuable of all, I¡¯ve got the best friends in the world. My brother and the rest of the team are always looking out for me. They¡¯ve been patient despite my mistakes as a leader, and they¡¯ve never once complained about leaving behind home and careers in order to support my mad ideas.

    By the time the [Apprentice Healer] returns with his superior, Lionel and I are laughing and cracking jokes, just like old times.

    ¡°Good day, gentlemen. I am Mender Uttara, a lifelong [Healer] in service to the order. I hear that my little apprentice believes that you¡¯re a candidate for a consultation with one of our metaphysical experts?¡±

    ¡°Correct. I¡¯m Nuri. Thank you for your kindness, Mender Uttara,¡± I say, offering a bow to the jovial [Healer]. He¡¯s got a neat goatee and bushy black eyebrows, which lends him a slightly roguish look. ¡°Do you happen to know how long it may take to receive approval for a consultation? I was under the impression that it might be a lengthy wait.¡±

    ¡°Under most circumstances, yes. But from what I understand, you¡¯re quite the intriguing case. Nuri, may I verify what my apprentice found when he sounded out your vitals?¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± I say, surreptitiously activating my Viewing while he repeats the process. I¡¯m curious to see what he¡¯s doing with the mana, but it turns out that it¡¯s not truly a Skill. What he¡¯s doing is more like the Viewing technique¡ªpure mana sense manipulation¡ªby running his mana through my body to map out the results. It¡¯s similar to what Lionel¡¯s Aunt did after the jaguar attack back in Silaraon, but on a more complex level.

    ¡°Can anyone learn how to perform a Sounding?¡± I ask, hoping that I don¡¯t put him off by sounding overly eager. ¡°Seems like that technique is pretty useful.¡±

    ¡°Interested in becoming a [Healer]?¡± Mender Uttara says, speaking in a jocular way that makes it clear that he¡¯s not putting any stock at all in the idea.

    ¡°No, but my best friend here has taken the Class. Lionel kept us patched up on the road during the long trek. He¡¯s hardworking, courageous, and cool under pressure.¡±

    ¡°Oh? As your second Class?¡± Uttara says absently, still sending waves of mana through me. Unlike the three cursory waves that his apprentice utilized, these are far more numerous and complex. They itch inside me, which makes me wonder if Uttara¡¯s mana is aspected.

    ¡°Yes. I took it after a monster irruption,¡± Lionel explains, looking a bit bashful. Usually, he¡¯s the most outgoing and shameless of all of us, but it seems like I embarrassed him when I bragged about how much he helped us on the journey.

    ¡°Well done! Not many show that kind of initiative, [Healer] Lionel,¡± Uttara says with a sly grin. He finishes his Sounding, and turns to Lionel. ¡°Where are you from, again? We don¡¯t get many irruptions here in Gilead. Somewhere in the Barrens?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re borderlanders,¡± Lionel says. ¡°Rifts are more common out there. Everyone works so hard to protect each other. I wanted to do my part to keep them alive.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating! A very long trip indeed. Many weeks, if not months. That¡¯s dedication to get all the way out here. Tell me, Lionel. Are you self-taught?¡±

    I look back and forth between them, surprised that Mender Uttara has elected not to go over the results of his Sounding with me. Maybe he¡¯s just not interested, since he¡¯ll send me for a consultation

    I give Lionel an encouraging gesture. He shrugs back helplessly, as if to apologize that I have to wait for the verdict.

    Lionel straightens up and nods at Mender Uttara. ¡°Mostly. My Aunt is a [Healer], so she guided me as much as she could, but she taught herself, originally. I¡¯d be interested in learning more in a formal setting someday.¡±

    Mender Uttara picks up a scalpel from a tray on a nearby counter. He holds out his hand and makes an incision, enough to draw blood but not enough to slice a tendon. ¡°Go on, Lionel.¡±

    Lionel doesn¡¯t hesitate. He pulls out a clean bit of gauze from his belt pouch, wipes off the blood, applies a poultice, and binds up the wound. Only then does he place his hand over the cut and cast his [Healing Touch], in addition to [Lesser Neutralizing Touch].

    ¡°Excellent instincts using mundane methods first! Most students here are afraid of blood. If there¡¯s not a magical fix, then they won¡¯t even attempt healing. Would you believe it? Bunch of useless cowards.¡±

    ¡°I try to be practical, but I don¡¯t blame them. Magic is incredible,¡± Lionel says. ¡°When you watch people die because you can¡¯t do enough¡ª¡± He grows silent, his voice choking.

    Memories of the [Hunters] bleeding out, torn to shreds by the Oletheros, flood my mind. I get up from the bed and squeeze Lionel¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Stop, Lio. You can¡¯t blame yourself. You did more than could have been expected.¡±

    ¡°That sounds like a story and a half. I¡¯d like to hear it later, if you¡¯re willing to share more, Lionel. Now, as for my patient: I have good news and bad news. Which do you prefer first?¡±

    ¡°Bad,¡± I answer instantly.

    ¡°Very well. Your body has acclimated to your missing hand. It is almost impossible for us to ¡®suggest¡¯ that it should return to its original state. You¡¯ve found equilibrium, and it¡¯s beyond us to override your body in such an extreme case. Perhaps if you¡¯d come directly here, we could have done something, but you¡¯re many months too late. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Something about Uttara¡¯s brisk, business-like tone makes me feel better about the bad news, paradoxically. I nod at him. ¡°If that¡¯s the bad news, then I¡¯m fortunate. Everything looks up from here, yes?¡±

    Mender Uttara nods after a moment¡¯s hesitation, although with less confidence than I¡¯d like to see. ¡°More or less. I won¡¯t mislead you, Nuri: this is beyond my skill. You look like you¡¯ve tried to drink an entire ocean of mana in one go. It scalded you from the inside out. I can¡¯t even begin to imagine what happened there. Your core space is the largest I¡¯ve ever seen¡ªnot even my patients beyond the Second Threshold compare. Yet it¡¯s falling apart.¡±

    ¡°I wrestled a Rift into submission,¡± I say in a light voice, falling back on my favorite trick of lying with the truth. Chances are good that they won¡¯t believe me.

    ¡°Ha! An intact sense of humor, I¡¯m pleased to report,¡± Mender Uttara says. He chuckles, winks at me like he¡¯s a great wit, and eases himself into one of the sea green chairs. ¡°You¡¯re in luck, however. One of my colleagues is back in town at the moment. She tends to wander the continent at unexpected moments, but she¡¯s the foremost expert on metaphysical healing.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure that she¡¯ll see me? I can pay,¡± I hasten to assure Uttara, which makes his apprentice crack a slight smile.

    ¡°No promises. She¡¯s a bit eccentric. But I suspect that your case will catch her fancy. If so, she¡¯ll probably take you for free, just for the challenge.¡±

    ¡°Stuck at her Second Threshold bottleneck?¡± I guess. As soon as I say the words, I start to kick myself mentally. It¡¯s impolite to pry, for one, and it¡¯s an odd tidbit for a regular crafter to know. I shouldn¡¯t draw that kind of attention to myself if it can be helped. Of course, the very fact that I¡¯ve managed to destroy my core and channels in such spectacular fashion will surely make me stand out in people¡¯s minds.

    Mender Uttara gives me a sharp look. ¡°Chances are good you¡¯d do her a service, yes. I¡¯d keep that to myself if I were you.¡±

    ¡°Noted,¡± I say meekly.

    ¡°Now, my apprentice says that he can get you a meeting with the prosthetics department tomorrow. Are you interested? It¡¯s perfectly fine if you need time to think it over.¡±

    ¡°I might make my own,¡± I say after some deliberation. ¡°Meeting with a professional team is a chance I can¡¯t pass up, however. When should I be here?¡±

    ¡°Apprentice? When should Nuri be here?¡±

    ¡°Noon bell. Two hours until the first appointment, but you don¡¯t want to risk missing it. It¡¯s a long wait after check in, but you¡¯ll probably be first after lunch.¡±

    I shake hands with Mender Uttara and his apprentice and thank them for their time. I¡¯m ready to return to the inn when I notice Lionel¡¯s hesitation. I nudge him with my elbow. ¡°Go on, see if Uttara will set you up with classes. I¡¯ll wait for you in the lobby.¡±

    Lionel squares up his shoulders and approaches the Mender to talk. I wave and whisper, ¡°good luck.¡± Leaving him to pursue his own path, I follow the apprentice¡¯s lead through five or six hallways, making more turns than I remember on the way in.

    The crowd of patients is even thicker than it was during the morning. I can¡¯t find a seat to wait for Lionel, so I wedge myself up against a pillar near the doorway, and lean my shoulder on the fluted column for support. I relax, prepared for a long wait, when once again I recognize a familiar, hateful mana signature.

    I stand up in shock, scanning the crowd to try to find my quarry. Sure enough, I see her severe face not far away. People part before her passing. What I didn¡¯t expect, however, is her uniform. I gape, staring at the crest on her robes in confusion. I blink twice, wondering if I¡¯m imagining things. Yet there can be no doubt.

    [Lady] Saphora is a Mender.

 B5 C21: Heal Thyself

    Mender Saphora is gone by the time Lionel returns from his brief meeting. He¡¯s grinning from ear to ear, so I don¡¯t want to ruin his good mood by delivering the disturbing news. I wait until we¡¯re down the steps, around the corner, and well away from the Menders before I sigh and tap Lionel on the shoulder.

    ¡°Let¡¯s reconvene. Got some news.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s good,¡± he says, peering at my face. He frowns, picking up on my somber mood, but he doesn¡¯t pry. We¡¯ve all been around too many strange happenings and secrets lately. Learning to act more circumspect is high on all of our priority lists.

    By unspoken agreement, we pick up the pace. Gilead is such an enormous city that it still takes us about an hour and a half to reach our inn, even with a slight jog. Maybe we¡¯ll relocate closer to the Menders if we can find a good rate, but from what I understand, lodging becomes more expensive the closer to the Menders campus you look for a room.

    Finding enough rooms for all of us? Almost impossible, assuming that we want to save any money. If the Menders will really take on my case for free, however, that opens up a lot of options. Of course, so does producing more masterworks, but I¡¯m not sure yet where to sell them or how to avoid awkward questions. I¡¯m trying to keep a low profile.

    As soon as we¡¯re inside, I knock on everyone¡¯s doors, ready to call a team meeting. Of course, we¡¯re the first ones back, so I end up pacing around our suite in the inn and getting out all my nervous energy while I wait for them to return.

    The rest of my team is still out running errands and scoping out places for us to continue crafting. We can set up a mobile forge any time we want, but it¡¯s not the same as having access to materials and tools. We are also less likely to push our craft to the next level without guidance from masters.

    While I¡¯m technically able to claim the title of Master, due to my ability to imbue, my skill is only above average. I¡¯ve still got a long way to go if I want to reach the absolute pinnacle of glassmaking, and I know my friends feel the same way about their own talents. None of us are content yet with our current level. Taking time off to travel the country and pursue martial power hasn¡¯t helped. We¡¯re out of practice and away from our teachers, which is a bad combination

    ¡°No one¡¯s here. Might as well nap,¡± I tell Lionel. I don¡¯t want to risk giving out any secrets while Rakesh is gone. We need him to provide us with a secure, sound-proofed environment to discuss without fear of people overhearing our discussion.

    ¡°Actually, do you mind stubbing your toe? Or poking yourself?¡± Lionel asks, laughing at the way I scrunch up my face in distaste at his odd request. ¡°I want to practice my healing Skills, but Uttara warned me in no uncertain terms that Gilead belongs to the Menders. Without their express permission, no one is allowed to dispense healing magic. Mundane treatment only.¡±

    I run my fingers through my beard as I think it over. ¡°Let me guess, their permission involves paying registration fees?¡±

    ¡°Something like that,¡± Lionel confirms. ¡°Regardless, it¡¯s still cheaper than paying fines if you¡¯re caught without a license. Those Menders don¡¯t mess around.¡±

    ¡°Noted. I¡¯ll avoid sketchy back alleys if I need someone to bind up a wound. Although, if I know how people work, then I¡¯m willing to bet that anywhere there¡¯s a restriction, there¡¯s also a thriving black market. I¡¯ll bet we could find someone to patch us up, no questions asked.¡±

    ¡°For a price,¡± Lionel points out. ¡°And if I¡¯m gonna pay money anyway, I¡¯d rather go to an established [Healer] who knows how to deal with infection or tetanus.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I ask.

    Lionel snaps his fingers and points at me. ¡°See? That¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about! The average person doesn¡¯t even know what can kill him. No offense, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°None taken. My knowledge isn¡¯t even average when it comes to medicine. I don¡¯t know anything other than ¡®magic goes in, healthy me comes out.¡¯ You¡¯re a genius compared to me, Lio. And you can quote me on that anytime it makes you feel better.¡±

    Lionel snickers. ¡°You really know how to cheer a guy up. Thanks, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Any time. But, uh, were you really serious about me getting hurt so that you can heal me? Couldn¡¯t you practice that Sounding technique, instead? Seems useful. I¡¯ll bet I can talk you through how to do it. As far as I could tell, it¡¯s built on mana manipulation principles.¡±

    Lionel sticks out his tongue. ¡°Oh, is that all? You forget that I didn¡¯t get to go to the Academy with you and Mel. Someone had to stick around the hot shop and be responsible.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for taking one for the team, bud. Listen, I can show you basic drills if you want to improve. It would probably help with your mana leak, anyway. We should have been drilling you on these all along. Sorry that I¡¯m so self-centered sometimes. I haven¡¯t been a good friend lately. I should have been thinking of ways to help you improve.¡±

    Lionel pulls out his knife and grins at me maniacally as he waves it around. ¡°I can think of the perfect way to pay me back.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re nuts,¡± I say, shaking my head. Yet I dutifully hold out my left arm. ¡°Fine. If I¡¯ve got a meeting with the prosthetics team tomorrow anyway, then I guess a little extra damage isn¡¯t a big deal. Try not to cut too deep. It¡¯s not gonna leave a scar, is it?¡±

    ¡°Wow. You have such amazing faith in my abilities,¡± Lionel says, clucking his tongue.

    I scowl. ¡°Mana manipulation is way less likely to hurt. But no. You have to practice by stabbing me. And here I am, letting you do it. Friend of the year material right there, Lio.¡±

    Lionel gives me an arch look. ¡°Less likely to hurt? Mana manipulation is what blasted out your insides in that Rift. Just sayin.¡±

    ¡°Got me there. Fine, go ahead and¡ªow!¡±

    =+=

    That night, when everyone¡¯s back at the inn, and we¡¯ve all had a chance to eat and kick back, I tell the team that I saw [Lady] Saphora in the Menders lobby. Once the initial buzz of confusion, shock, and anger dies down, I motion for everyone to return to their seats. ¡°My concern right now is that we still don¡¯t know why she was out here when we first arrived. If she¡¯s on to us, then we should probably assume we¡¯re all under surveillance.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that seem paranoid?¡± Melina asks. ¡°We don¡¯t know who she¡¯s connected to in the Menders. For all we know, she¡¯s a low level Mender, or a recent recruit.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Remember how confused I was when we first met her? All her Skills had runes related to healing. I¡¯m pretty sure she¡¯s been a [Healer] for a long time.¡±

    Rakesh raises his hand and I call on him. He often defaults to behaving as though he¡¯s still in a classroom setting , which I find both amusing and endearing. ¡°That may be true, Nuri, but it has little to no bearing on her position within the Menders. She could have recently joined them, despite practicing healing for a while. Look at Lionel for an example of that.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± I say, frowning. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of that. Timelines aren¡¯t tied to experience.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d she get here so fast?¡± Avelina asks. ¡°Did we really go through all that trouble for nothing? If I find out she just rode here in some posh carriage while we were slogging through the Barrens on foot, I¡¯m gonna be annoyed.¡±

    ¡°Remember, we were delayed in Mack-town for a long while after she fled,¡± Lionel says. He winks at me, knowing how much it annoys me that he¡¯s still trying to get us all to adopt his silly nickname for Mahkaiaraon.

    Avelina groans, dropping her head into her hands. ¡°We were stuck for ages! Halmuth made it worse, but we ran into problems every step of the way. Why didn¡¯t we just take the first caravan heading in the right general direction, and hop on a different one when we reached a traveling hub? We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble. Finding a guide to take us here directly didn¡¯t turn out so great.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Not a bad idea, Ava. We¡¯ll probably do that when it¡¯s time to go home. I didn¡¯t think of it at that time¡ªguess I was just distracted. Sorry.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all right, Nuri,¡± Avelina says, although she lifts her face out of her hands just to give me an annoyed side eye. ¡°We¡¯re all still figuring things out.¡±

    ¡°Got it. Caravan home. I¡¯ll ask around for passenger comfort Skills. We could return like kings and queens!¡±

    ¡°Now you¡¯re talking!¡± Avelina withdraws her little glass sea serpent from her coat pocket, stroking her scales as though she¡¯s a real pet. ¡°Make sure we get a silk pillow for Yuuni. She¡¯s been unhappy with our travels so far. Too much noise, not enough comfort.¡±

    I¡¯m about to point out that the little creature is only a step up from an automaton, bound to my will, not hers, when it curls around Avelina¡¯s wrist and rests its head on her palm. She rubs her thumb across the nubs of its little horns, a gentle smile on her face.

    I stare at it for a moment, taken aback. I¡¯m not controlling my [Glass Animation] Skill any longer. I don¡¯t even feel a bond, now that I think of it. Other than the gush of mana that went into the formation of the creature, it hasn¡¯t drawn any further on my reserves. Yet it¡¯s clearly reacting to Avelina. How? Did she develop a new Skill? A quick Viewing refutes that theory.

    Maybe the world is wider than I ever imagined. Not everything is easily explained by the runes I understand in my Skills. There¡¯s more to magic than I¡¯ll ever uncover.

    Lionel also has a happy smile on his face as he watches her play, and I sigh as I once again resign myself to the idea that I¡¯m going to have to make every member of the team a pet. I¡¯ll try to personalize the animals. Not everyone wants a snake. Dragon, I correct myself.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Oh, that reminds me, Ava. Do you want to try to add a fire rune later? Yuuni¡¯s a dragon, so she should be able to use flame breath.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got enough fire for the both of us,¡± Avelina replies. A small white flame dances into existence, twisting around Yuuni¡¯s head like a crown.

    ¡°How did your visit go?¡± Melina asks me. She bites her lip, looking at me pensively. ¡°Did we get you here in time for your hand?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Nope, but don¡¯t worry about it. I have a meeting with the prosthetics team tomorrow. I¡¯m a candidate for a replacement limb, not regeneration, but they¡¯re the best in the world. I should be able to use it pretty well by the time they¡¯re done.¡±

    Mikko crosses his arms. ¡°They might be good, but can they make the hand come alive? Why don¡¯t you make your own out of glass? Ava can make it strong, you can bring it to life, and the rest of us will chip in and buy a beast core to power it so that you don¡¯t have to worry about running out of mana or anything.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s too generous. I can¡¯t ask you to do that for me!¡± I protest. ¡°Let¡¯s just see what the team has to say first.¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t a request, little brother. I¡¯m telling you what to do for once. Listen to us. We¡¯re your friends and family, Nuri. Stop acting like you¡¯re all alone again. You don¡¯t have to do everything by yourself. Let us do something for you, for once.¡±

    I blink away tears at Mikko¡¯s declaration. There¡¯s a loneliness to wearing the mantle of leadership that I never expected. I¡¯m not even good at leading yet, but I¡¯ve seen how it puts me on a different trajectory¡ªnot above my team, but responsible for them. They¡¯re strong, capable people, but they¡¯ve chosen to follow my guidance. That means I have to make sure that where I lead them is the right place to go. Making the right choice is harder than I expected.

    But it doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m alone.

    I nod, slowly at first, but more vigorously as I warm to the idea. ¡°You know, I started sketching out ideas for a glass hand back in Grand Ile. I didn¡¯t have the skill with glass, or the fine control with mana, to do anything other than create a crude hand that could grip or release. Maybe I can try again. I just don¡¯t know if I can create something that will feel right.¡±

    ¡°Nuri! Enough of that,¡± Melina says, more sternly than I¡¯ve heard from her. She¡¯s glaring at me. ¡°You are a recognized Master of glass work. Trust in the skills that you¡¯ve acquired. And remember, if you make a mistake, then you can just start over. Try again. And again. Nothing prevents you from iterating and improving as you come up with new ideas in the future.¡±

    I gape at her. ¡°You¡¯re right, Mel. I¡¯m not stuck with my first attempt. You¡¯ll help me, and I can try again. I¡¯m thinking too narrowly.¡±

    ¡°Great, glad that¡¯s settled. I¡¯ve met some success in the meantime,¡± Mikko says.

    ¡°Oh? Did you find a smithy?¡±

    His eyes shine with excitement. ¡°Yep! The first two were boring. Just like home. I thought I¡¯d be comfortable with something familiar, but they didn¡¯t even consider letting me show off my abilities. They just said they were busy and waved me on.¡±

    I snort. ¡°I¡¯m getting flashbacks to looking for a glass studio in Grand Ile. No one wants to take a chance on a stranger, even if you¡¯ve got your own hammer and anvil. I can¡¯t believe you carry them around at all times.¡±

    Mikko snaps his fingers back and forth. ¡°Never know when inspiration might strike, little brother. Besides, it keeps me in shape.¡±

    ¡°Still not the little brother.¡±

    ¡°Yes you are, no matter how old you get. Now be quiet. This is my story for once!¡± Mikko says with a good-natured laugh.

    I settle back in my chair, enjoying how happy everyone seems to be today. They deserve every good thing that comes their way.

    ¡°So, just as I¡¯m starting to feel disgruntled, I start hearing this banging sound. It was too fast and regular for some people with hammers. I followed it for a few streets, amazed that the people around me didn¡¯t seem to complain about the sound, and found this warehouse. Biggest I¡¯ve ever seen, Nuri. I think it could swallow up my smithy, your glass studio, and the library at the Silaraon City Academy you¡¯re always nattering on about.¡±

    ¡°Good luck with that,¡± Melina interjects. ¡°That library isn¡¯t natural. It would probably keep getting bigger and bigger if you tried to show it up with another building. I¡¯m fairly certain that you¡¯d only wake up its competitive nature.¡±

    I nod solemnly, shivering.

    ¡°Anyway!¡± Mikko continues, unperturbed by our lack of faith, ¡°they¡¯ve got a crazy setup. Rows of automatons, like our sweet little Lunk back home, all smashing away on a moving anvil that carries hot metal out a furnace to their stations. They¡¯re each enchanted to follow a design. A ¡®program¡¯ they call it. The [Foreman] there was super nice. He told me all about how it worked and let me see the armor and gears they produce. By the end of the moving line, the piece is finished. It¡¯s not any faster than I could do, but there are dozens of them working at once. And that¡¯s just for one department!¡±

    ¡°Not sure I¡¯d call the Iron Lunk ¡®sweet¡¯ or anything, but I get your point. How would you fit in there, though? Doesn¡¯t seem like much room for a human [Blacksmith].¡±

    ¡°Not for a regular bloke! But me? I¡¯m stronger than most. And thanks to all the practice I got preparing the Iron Lunk, I¡¯m familiar with integrating enchantments, even if I can¡¯t script the spells myself. The [Foreman] was surprised to hear that I can shape mana-infused steel. Even in a big city like this, it¡¯s not a common Skill. Most of the people who can do that are already in charge of their own shops.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re just their hired muscle now? Sounds like a perfect fit,¡± I tease.

    ¡°Hey, whatever pays the bills,¡± Mikko says easily. ¡°But it¡¯s more than that. I¡¯ll get to work with their enchanting team if I prove myself. That means I could start working toward a future Class evolution if I can learn to incorporate enchantments. I¡¯m not like you, Nuri. I¡¯ll never figure out imbuements¡ªbesides, most [Blacksmiths] don¡¯t take that route.¡±

    I jump up from my seat and slap my hand on my brother¡¯s massive shoulder, catching his excitement. ¡°Ko! I¡¯m so happy for you. That¡¯s awesome.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you had a more profitable scouting trip than we did,¡± Melina says. ¡°I¡¯m more sympathetic toward your time in Grand Ile than ever before. None of the glass studios would let us even look at the hot shop. We couldn¡¯t make it past the sales desk out front. They¡¯re all afraid that we¡¯re there to steal their secrets.¡±

    I scratch my chin, considering a way of getting around this trouble. ¡°Rakesh, do you think you could facilitate communication with the Capital? If we could get in touch with Melidandri, I¡¯m sure he could direct us to a shop that¡¯s willing to work with us.¡±

    ¡°Or we could burn down the competition,¡± Avelina suggests, shooting a jet of fire across the room and narrowly missing my face.

    ¡°Let¡¯s table that idea. Save it for a last resort,¡± I say, snuffing out the fires by lowering the temperature abruptly. ¡°I¡¯m open to other suggestions, though.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Nuri. We won¡¯t let you down,¡± Avelina promises. She clutches Yuuni closer to her chest. ¡°I¡¯ve got a real plan. You¡¯ll see.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Ava. Can¡¯t wait!¡±

    ¡°Meanwhile, I¡¯ve also met with a discouraging lack of success,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°I should have known that a borderland academy wouldn¡¯t carry much prestige in a big city like Gilead, but I didn¡¯t expect to be laughed out of the building. I¡¯ve tried two universities. No luck.¡±

    ¡°No public library?¡± I ask.

    ¡°There is,¡± Rakesh says. He hesitates, and a strange emotion flickers across his face. I don¡¯t know quite how to place it, but it looks almost like pity. ¡°Not accessible to non-citizens. I¡¯m not keen on concealing knowledge like that.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a perk for local tax-payers,¡± I suggest, but the disdain that Rakesh summons into his arched brow makes me back down.

    He sniffs. ¡°I still don¡¯t like it.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you could help me find the local branch of [Inquisitors], instead. I¡¯m not ready to report in just yet, and I don¡¯t want to tip off anyone that we¡¯re associated with them, but I¡¯d like to know where to find them. You¡¯re good at sleuthing.¡±

    Rakesh straightens up at my praise. He smooths out his robes and gives me a dazzling smile. ¡°I have acquired a rather useful skill set in that regard, haven¡¯t I? Excellent suggestion, Nuri! I¡¯d be happy to assist you with that matter.¡±

    ¡°Great! Sounds like it¡¯s sorted. I¡¯ll leave it in your capable hands, Rakesh,¡± I say, nodding at the preening [Researcher]. ¡°I¡¯m going to retire to my room and work on a few designs. Get as much rest as you can, before our next inevitable adventure springs up.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that anything will go wrong,¡± Melina says, laughing demurely. ¡°After all we¡¯ve gone through, don¡¯t you think we¡¯re due for a break? The law of averages works in our favor, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°You forget: I¡¯m a natural lawbreaker,¡± I reply with a smirk. ¡°But we¡¯ll hope for the best. I appreciate the optimism.¡±

    =+=

    Buoyed up by the good attitudes and encouragement from my friends, I find myself humming a song while I set out pen and paper in my room later that night. It¡¯s a simple space. My part of the suite we¡¯re renting is nothing more than a basic desk and bare plaster walls, with a narrow bed shoved in the other corner. Everything is a dull off-white, except for the dark brown of the wooden frame for desk and bed. It might not be luxurious, but it¡¯s quiet and cozy. I especially like the window on the far wall. West-facing, it lets in the last rays of the setting sun. That makes me smile, since I get to enjoy the sun¡¯s warmth on my back while I draw.

    Sketching out a rough hand takes only a moment. I¡¯m not inventing a brand new design from nothing. A quick glance at the fingers is a stark reminder of why I elected not to pursue a glass replacement previously, however. Disproportionate and mismatched, the four fingers look almost grotesque. They¡¯re hard to draw, given my limited artistic capabilities. I don¡¯t want to give people more reason to pay attention to my hand.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± I ask myself.

    In the confines of my small room, the words I spoke aloud bounce around, unnaturally loud in the stillness. Long after the sound fades, the question remains. Relentless. Demanding an answer.

    I slide the paper away from me, push back the chair, and walk to the window so that I can watch the sunset while I think. The answer used to be simple: new Skills. Then I wanted to become an adventurer. A mage. A master of the craft. As my horizons expanded, I wanted to learn the truth of things and find the hidden mysteries behind the Rifts and Wraiths. After losing my hand and my Skills, I felt unmoored. Adrift in a sea of possibility.

    I¡¯ve fallen back into more personal pursuits since then. I want to fix my hand. I want to walk the Way of the Artisan again. I still haven¡¯t given up the hope that I can learn to repair my Skills once my core space is restored. Synthesizing a Skill is far from simple. Still, I think I have all the information and experience I need to try to recover what I¡¯ve lost, since I¡¯m not creating a new Skill from scratch.

    But is it enough to work without interruptions? Maybe I¡¯m not looking at a replacement the right way. Maybe my missing hand is an opportunity for replacing it with something greater. Should I abandon a hand shape? Unexpectedly, Scalpel¡¯s voice echoes in the back of my head, yammering on about surpassing the frailty of my flesh. Maybe a set of glass-making tools would be more useful. Or perhaps I can create some sort of focus to direct my mana and Domain. If I can find a compatible beast core, like the fire-aspected core I used for Avelina¡¯s staff, then I¡¯ll be able to wield incredible power. It¡¯s there for the grasping, right at my fingertips.

    I shake my head. That¡¯s not quite the right path for me, either. The chaotic maelstrom of my thoughts fall silent as I stand and watch the blush of orange and purple hues in the pale blue sky. As the sun slips beyond the far horizon, the remaining clouds in the sky burn crimson. It¡¯s so beautiful my breath catches in my throat, and I wonder why I¡¯m wasting time perseverating over something so simple. Why not just enjoy the beauty around me?

    I should meet with the prosthetics team before I make any final decisions. Maybe they¡¯ll have better ideas for me that I haven¡¯t considered before. Maybe they¡¯ll be completely useless. I smirk at that thought; it would be just like the rest of my life if I came all this way for nothing, only to have to come up with a more clever plan on my own.

    No, not on my own, I remind myself. My friends are with me. They¡¯ll help me each step of the way. They¡¯ve proven reliable. No matter what happens when I meet with the prosthetics team, at least I¡¯ll know what my options are.

    Then, once I have a goal firmly in mind, I¡¯ll get moving. I don¡¯t fear the challenge. With my friends to help me, there¡¯s nothing I can¡¯t overcome. That thought warms me long after the sun sets and the gentle covering of night blankets the room in darkness. For all my fears and concerns, sleep comes swiftly and peacefully.

 B5 C22: A Helping Hand

    ¡°Greetings!¡±

    A bright and overly eager voice assaults me as soon as I step through the door to the prosthetics department the next morning. The young Mender who meets me is nothing like I expected. I figured I¡¯d meet someone like Mender Uttara: stately and knowledgeable, perhaps with a touch of professional pride. Yet here I am, standing at the entrance to the dazzling Mender showroom, talking with a shaggy-haired man whose smile instantly puts me on edge.

    ¡°Early for your appointment, I see,¡± he says, nodding and setting his brown curls tossing all around his head. ¡°Love it. Would you like a new hand custom-made to fit, Sir?¡±

    Sturgi, as he introduces himself, is endlessly enthusiastic and friendly when he speaks, but beyond that I don¡¯t know what to make of him. More of a salesman than a [Healer], he never stops grinning ear to ear. Even when he speaks, his words tripping over each other in a rapid rush, he¡¯s still smiling. He hasn¡¯t taken any measurements or asked me what I need, but he¡¯s kept up a steady stream of suggestions for things I could purchase.

    ¡°Ah, of course,¡± Sturgi says, squinting at me and nodding to himself as a minor Skill goes off. I¡¯m not looking closely, but I don¡¯t recognize it as anything healing-related. ¡°Yes, you need something right away! Are you interested in seeing the base models we have on display? We have multiple options for materials if you¡¯d like to wait for a custom piece, naturally, but that takes time. Nothing is out of the question, assuming you¡¯re willing to pay. May I inquire about your budget, Sir?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t finalized my budget,¡± I admit. ¡°I¡¯m willing to go pretty high, depending on the features of the replacement. Are all your models basically in the shape of hands? Or do you ever recommend a tool instead?¡±

    Sturgi tuts at me, then returns to his perpetual smile, trying to tell me about the latest advances in prosthetics technology, and why I just have to have them.

    ¡°Usually, when you don¡¯t have a firm budget, it¡¯s because you can¡¯t afford much. No offense! Let¡¯s start with a basic hand and see how you like the look. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be dignified with a polished wooden prosthetic. What type of hardwood do you like? Walnut, maybe?¡±

    ¡°So you do recommend I stick with a hand? Are there downsides to creative options?¡± I ask, pressing Sturgi for details.

    ¡°Oh, yes! As much as it sounds amazing to have a sword welded to your arm, or some such nonsense, it¡¯s far more practical to stick with what the body already knows. You¡¯ll adapt far faster, and it will be more versatile in the long run. With a powerful enough enchantment, you¡¯ll be able to still do everything that you used to do.¡±

    ¡°Everything?¡± I say, quirking an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m a [Glassworker]. I have strict requirements for dexterity. Are you certain that I¡¯ll be able to do precise work with a basic model?¡±

    ¡°Oh dear, oh dear. That won¡¯t do at all,¡± Sturgi says, shaking his head. Through it all, his smile never slips. ¡°I understand that your line of work may not be as lucrative compared with most of our clientele. Listen, don¡¯t fret! We have a payment plan in case you can¡¯t pay the costs upfront. Don¡¯t let the number of zeros in the price tag put you off; a great many wealthy people take multiple years to pay for their limbs, so there¡¯s no shame in not paying. We wouldn¡¯t want to deprive Gilead of a talented crafter, after all!¡±

    ¡°No. Certainly not,¡± I deadpan.

    Sturgi doesn¡¯t seem to pick up on my hesitation. He whistles off-key while he bustles me over to a built-in shelf on the other side of the display room. We walk past blood-crystal arms, legs etched with palladium trim, and an incredibly intricate eye of gold set with tiny, glittering gemstones. I shudder, not wanting to think about how the Menders attach¡ªinstall?¡ªthe eyes for their patients.

    ¡°I thought I was meeting with a team to assess my best path forward. I¡¯m surprised that we¡¯ve jumped straight to dry-fitting a hand,¡± I say, trying to figure out his plan.

    ¡°Oh, sure, we call ourselves a team, but each one of us is fully qualified to find the right prosthetic to get you back to your full and fulfilling life!¡± Sturgi says, never losing his up-beat tone and obnoxious smile. ¡°We¡¯re usually busy meeting with people just like you, who are anxious to take back what life¡¯s stolen from them. If you come back for another opinion, you¡¯ll probably meet with one of my colleagues. We¡¯ll take care of everything¡±

    Surreptitiously, I take a peek at his Skills with my Viewing, which is stronger than ever after handling so much raw power back in Natan. I¡¯d feel better if I knew for sure that he was a [Healer]. There¡¯s a thin layer of obscurement over his soul, which makes sense. The Menders are known for being somewhat stingy with giving out their secrets, although they¡¯re happy to bring on new students¡ªfor a fee.

    Twisting the flow of mana, I manage to skim past the defenses at an oblique angle and take a look. None of the runes look even remotely related to healing; as I suspected, he seems to have more in common with a [Merchant]. This isn¡¯t a consultation, it¡¯s a sales opportunity.

    It seems my touch isn¡¯t as light as I hoped. Sturgi stiffens, glancing around in confusion. He shivers, blinking a few times, and suddenly seems to remember that he¡¯s supposed to be charming customers with an ever-present smile. ¡°Ah! Here we are.¡±

    His cheerfulness is back, forced though it may be. ¡°Try this hand. Each part of the finger is individually jointed, just like with a real human hand.¡± A glimmer of mana passes over his eyes as he activates a Skill. A peek shows me that it¡¯s likely related to assessment, though I¡¯m far from understanding every rune in the complex array. Maybe he¡¯s accessing its details.

    Still smiling like his life depends on it, Sturgi gives me a run down. ¡°It¡¯s enchanted for fine control. The fingers are stronger than muscle could ever hope to be, but they also give you an excellent level of tactile feedback. There¡¯s also a revolutionary new model with a sophisticated set of mana sensors, although that¡¯s stored in the back room since it¡¯s so valuable. That might be of interest to you as a [Glassworker]!¡±

    As I slide it onto my arm, and Sturgi helps me strap it in place, a dull sensation brushes my Domain. To my surprise, it¡¯s coming from the hand. I let it in, and awareness of the fingers blossoms in my mind. Whoa! Advanced technology!

    I wiggle the fingers, flexing the false hand a few times. It responds to my bidding, much like when I¡¯m using [Glass Animation] and directing one of my animal companion projects, but there¡¯s a strange bit of lag between thought and action. ¡°Huh. Comfortable, I have to admit. It¡¯s not as adroit as I¡¯d hoped, but perhaps workable with practice.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Wow!¡± Sturgi¡¯s eyes nearly pop out of his head. ¡°You picked that up so quickly. I¡¯ve never seen anyone get it on the first try before. Usually, we offer an acclimatization service to new buyers to assist with learning how to control the hand. You must be a natural!¡±

    ¡°How much does acclimatizing cost?¡±

    Either Sturgi doesn¡¯t pick up on my flat tone, or he¡¯s dealt with more cynicism than even I have. My sarcasm doesn¡¯t faze him in the slightest. He hands me a card advertising the service, and taps on the number at the bottom. ¡°We offer four installments of one hundred gold coins per session. Most people get the hang of it by then, but we bundle a fifth and sixth session for the price of only a single training if you need a little more time to practice! Paying up front for a half dozen sessions is the best option, however. For that, it¡¯s only four hundred and fifty gold¡ªa ten percent discount compared with paying individually for the longer training time.¡±

    ¡°Pass,¡± I say, returning Sturgi¡¯s smile with a sharp grin of my own. Part of me wonders if I could make money by charging people half of what the Menders do just to forge a connection to a foreign mana source. Then again, given their reputation, the Menders might have no problem making an example of me for infringing on their business. They certainly come down hard on anyone who tries to practice healing Skills without Mender affiliation.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    I undo the buckles on the hand, slide it off my arm, and give it back to Sturgi. If lessons for using the hand are that much, then I don¡¯t even want to know how many thousands they¡¯re charging for the prosthetic itself. Come to think of it, the lessons alone are enough to buy us passage back home for my entire team. The hand has to be way more than I¡¯m willing to pay.

    I decide to take a gamble, since I¡¯m not going to buy anything from this overpriced shop anyway. ¡°What about self-made limbs? Do you ever help people fit them better?¡±

    ¡°Of course! We offer consults to everyone. We¡¯d never turn someone aside; everyone deserves a chance to return to work and play.¡±

    ¡°And how much is that?¡±

    ¡°Depends on how many sessions it takes. We often have to build a custom set of pads or attachments to help make the fit more comfortable. Most off-the-shelf solutions aren¡¯t as well formed and ergonomic as our solutions. Competition undercuts our prices, but never our quality, you know.¡±

    I should have known. Bunch of cutpurses, disguised as Menders!

    ¡°Sounds like it might take a while. Would I have to leave the hand here while you work?¡± I ask, already suspicious that I know the answer.

    ¡°We offer a loaner, free of charge while we make adjustments,¡± Sturgi says brightly. Now that he¡¯s in familiar territory again, his smile looks more and more genuine. Like he¡¯s the best friend I¡¯ve ever had. He¡¯s not so bad, really. ¡°In the end, the vast majority of people prefer our work and choose to buy a pre-made hand or foot. They¡¯re just more comfortable and practical. What¡¯s a few thousand gold compared with getting your life back?¡±

    I find myself nodding along for a moment, smiling back at Sturgi until I realize that he¡¯s running a Skill to make me more amenable to his suggestions. With a flex of my will, my [Arcane Domain] snuffs out the effects of his Skill, flooding his area of influence with my own mana.

    Sturgi staggers, caught off guard. For the first time, his smile not only disappears, but he frowns at me.

    ¡°Please refrain from using Skills in the showroom. Enchantments are extremely delicate; I don¡¯t want to damage the merchandise,¡± Sturgi snaps, his voice growing cold. His hand hovers over his belt, where he¡¯s got a small metal box strapped to his waist. I suspect it¡¯s some sort of alarm that will call for help if he¡¯s in trouble.

    ¡°Trust me, any enchantment worth its asking price will hold up against what I just did,¡± I say cheerfully. ¡°But I believe I¡¯ve seen enough. Good luck with your next sale, Sturgi. Perhaps the next person through those doors will find your mind-magic more acceptable than I do.¡±

    Sturgi freezes, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. He doesn¡¯t reply, just backing up and thumbing the button at his side. Finally his fake smile stretches across his face once more. ¡°Pleasure doing business with you. Good luck finding your replacement hand.¡±

    I leave before Sturgi gives security a reason to find me, not interested in gaining a bad reputation with the Menders. If they want to give me a hard time about it later, then I¡¯ll push back on whatever story Sturgi tries to tell. I have no problem spinning the narrative in my favor, not after the stunt he pulled to try to convince me to part with my hard-won gold.

    =+=

    While I march away from the Menders campus, my mind runs through my plans. So far, I have yet to see a single shred of actual healing magic from any of the Menders, which raises far more questions than it answers. The closest I¡¯ve seen so far is the Sounding technique from Mender Uttara during my intake assessment, and even that¡¯s only a more advanced version of what I¡¯ve already seen Lionel¡¯s Aunt do back home.

    Unbidden, a wave of bitterness overtakes me. Maybe my goal of restoring my core and channels is nothing more than a false promise. Few things are as poisonous as tenderly-held hope that ends up hollow in the end.

    ¡°Enough,¡± I growl aloud to break myself out of my spiraling thoughts. My rough voice startles a mother walking nearby with her young daughter at her side.

    The elegantly-dressed woman sweeps up her young daughter, holding her close as she angles away from me in the crowd. She doesn¡¯t even spare me a single backward glance, which makes me wonder how frequent of an occurrence it is in Gilead to run into crazy people.

    Maybe only the rich and powerful can afford the mental healing the Menders supposedly offer. The rest are left to their own devices, I guess. If that¡¯s the case, then I need to redouble my efforts to sell imbued glass. I¡¯ll need an absolute fortune to help Avelina. She¡¯s still hasn¡¯t really recovered from the trauma of fighting and killing the enemy [Mage]. I¡¯ll never feel right until I make it up to her.

    Thinking of glass makes me wonder how the Linas are doing with finding a studio where we can practice. Surely we can rent studio time somewhere. I¡¯m not sure why it¡¯s so hard for a studio to make a workbench available. I¡¯ll gladly pay for access to glass and tools if I can find a glassworks that¡¯s not so uppity about preserving their ¡°valuable trade secrets.¡±

    Maybe I can sell on my own, using our mobile crafting station. I don¡¯t know if I can pull a stunt like we tried back in Mahkaiaraon when we made glass toys and trinkets in the city square to draw in a crowd. In Gilead, that would likely get us arrested and fined at minimum.

    Without a firm understanding of the pricing in Gilead, I won¡¯t know how much to charge for my pieces. Maybe before I track down a glassmaker, I should check an auction house to see what imbued pieces sell for around here. Based on the prices for prosthetics, I¡¯m assuming that there¡¯s a thriving market for magical goods. Prices are probably heavily marked up.

    ¡°Excuse me, good sir!¡± I call out, flagging down a passing gentleman with an ornate hat and a monocle that burns in my mana senses. It¡¯s clearly enchanted, so he¡¯s the best bet I have in this crowd to get the information I¡¯m looking for. ¡°Could you please direct me toward a local auction house or purveyor of fine goods?¡±

    He strides right past me, not even turning to look. When I take a step toward him, two armored [Bodyguards] seem to materialize from the crowd, intercepting me with outstretched arms. One of them puts a hand on the hilt of his sword, and I step away immediately, holding up my empty hand and smiling as calmly as I can.

    ¡°No harm meant!¡± I say, trying to project innocence. ¡°Just asking a question. I¡¯ll, uhh, I¡¯ll see if anyone else can help. Sorry to bother you.¡±

    To my surprise, the second guard chuckles. ¡°Don¡¯t mind my coworker. He¡¯s a bit twitchy with all the unrest lately.¡± He points toward a street up ahead. ¡°See the sign for that flower shop? Take a right at that intersection. Big auction house is a few streets down. Signs out front. Can¡¯t miss it, guaranteed.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, genuinely shocked that he would take time away from his guard duty to answer my question. The first [Bodyguard] took off after their client immediately, however, so perhaps they think a single guard is sufficient for this part of town. We are still fairly close to the Menders campus, after all.

    He nods in response and ghosts away through the crowd, rejoining his partner in arms as they trail the wealthy man.

    For a moment, I imagine what it must be like to have someone looking out for my every move. I could get used to a cadre of [Bodyguards] protecting me. Then I grimace. Nah, that¡¯s a terrible idea. No freedom.

    I¡¯ll take my chances on my own over the strange shackles of people always at my heels. I¡¯m far from helpless these days, given the empowering effects of my Domain. I¡¯m not interested in a group other than the friends on my team.

    True to the [Bodyguard]¡¯s word, I find the auction house a fairly short walk away. And, as promised, the signs are unmistakable, flashing with garish light that¡¯s overwhelmingly bright even in the light of day. Enchantments line every inch of the building¡¯s storefront, packed in with haphazard density that should cause interference. The fact that they¡¯re all functional speaks to the skill of the [Enchanter], and to the wealth of the auction house. That much work must have taken many weeks. Maybe even months.

    Unfortunately, due to the sheer density of the enchantments, I can¡¯t pierce through the walls to scope out the inside. That¡¯s probably intentional¡ªthey¡¯re wards against scrying as much as an advertisement of skill and wealth. If I want to get a sense of how glass sells in the great city of Gilead, then I¡¯ll need to head inside the auction house.

    I glance up, noting the position of the sun in the sky as a rough check on the time. I¡¯d hoped to get to work creating a prototype of a glass hand today, but that might not be an option if I spend my afternoon wandering around in an auction house.

    I shrug. I have as much time as I need. All my limits are self-imposed. Scouting out the glass wares for sales and getting a finger on the pulse of the local economy are worth delaying my glass hand. Besides, I don¡¯t have a solid plan yet for what I want to design, and part of me wants to put it off until I¡¯ve heard about my pending appointment with the metaphysical [Healer].

    Surely there¡¯s no harm in perusing some glass wares while I¡¯m figuring out what I want to create. I¡¯ll be better positioned for success if I can fix my core and channels first, anyway. I don¡¯t want to be constrained by the Capacity of my glass cores if I come up with an exciting design that¡¯s beyond my current abilities to create.

    Mind made up, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and head inside the auction house. Time to see what the merchants and makers of Gilead have to offer.

 B5 C23: The Orpheus House

    A roving human net of sales associates catches me before I¡¯ve taken half a dozen steps into the auction house. Once more I¡¯m accosted by a smiling assistant, although her expression doesn¡¯t look as fake as the snake oil salesman back at the Menders. The woman who intercepts me guides me with confident steps, not looking back to see if I¡¯m following her toward one of the many empty desks set up in the lobby.

    Unlike Sturgi, the young man trying to sell me on an expensive prosthetic, she¡¯s not relying on any Skills to make herself seem more trustworthy or reliable, but that only makes me more wary. I¡¯m certain she has them, which means for now her influencing Skills are hidden away. A snake in the grass?

    ¡°Welcome to the Orpheus House! What does your heart desire today?¡±

    I look down my nose at her, acting like I¡¯m the servant of a wealthy family. ¡°I¡¯m looking for a pair of matched vases. Glass work. Perhaps waist-high. Dark with golden veins if possible. Preferably with soothing properties suitable for a young lady¡¯s garden so that she can relax and set aside the cares of the world.¡±

    ¡°Obsidian, or actual glass?¡± the young woman replies, pausing briefly from writing down my requirements on a small notepad.

    ¡°Glass is fine,¡± I say, making it sound like a small concession. ¡°The imbuements are not negotiable, however.¡±

    ¡°Very well. I believe we have a few items that are close to your request, but I will most likely have to put in a request with our acquisitions department. We do not have many imbued items up for general sale at present. Most of those are earmarked for our auctions.¡±

    ¡°Naturally. This is a mercantile endeavor,¡± I reply stiffly. My tone leaves no doubt how I feel about that declaration.

    Professionalism at the Orpheus is a tier above the Menders when it comes to making a sale, however. The woman gives no indication of offense, simply nodding along. ¡°May I have an address? I¡¯ll send a message as soon as we acquire a suitable set of items.¡±

    ¡°No. I will check back periodically. My client values privacy,¡± I say, frowning as severely as I can to get the point across..

    ¡°Of course. Discretion is a guiding principle at the Orpheus¡ªno doubt why you chose us in the first place. May I interest you in any other transaction today, or will that be all?¡±

    I make a show of stroking my jaw, as though I¡¯m deep in thought. ¡°If you have a list of imbued items that I could present to my client, perhaps that would be suitable?¡±

    ¡°It would be my pleasure to provide a list! Glass items, like the vases, or do you prefer a different medium?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with glass. Do you have any on display that I could review while I¡¯m here?¡± I ask, trying to hide my excitement. I thought it would be difficult to get a comprehensive list from the auction house, but things are going my way for once. Perhaps they won¡¯t include prices, however, which will mean I still have to do some detective work. Maybe I¡¯ll ask Rakesh for help.

    ¡°Right this way, sir.¡±

    I follow after the young woman, periodically checking to see if I¡¯m under the influence of any Skills or unwanted intrusions. So far, it seems that things are as they appear at the Orpheus House, but I can never be too sure after my encounter with Sturgi. He left a bad taste in my mouth, and I¡¯m not keen on repeating the experience.

    Stupid Menders, acting like they own the city, I think as we walk. You can¡¯t just trample over people like that because you¡¯re the biggest bully in town. It¡¯s not right.

    ¡°Our glassware is on the second floor,¡± the sales associate explains, leading me up a grand marble staircase that curves around an enormous display room below.

    Rows of booths with items ranging from furniture to weaponry to books to exotic animals stretch out for at least two hundred paces in each direction. I try to keep a running tally of all the items I see, but I can¡¯t imagine how much wealth is flowing through this place on a daily basis. Their regular operational expenses would beggar Silaraon, I suspect.

    Scattered all across the display floor are tiny beacons of mana. Masterwork items blaze in my senses, almost overwhelming in its density and quality. Enchantments abound, clearly more abundant than imbuements. That means I might have a chance to sell as many pieces as I can create, since there¡¯s clearly market scarcity for the items I can make.

    Greed glitters in my heart.

    Lost in my thoughts of fame and fortune, I don¡¯t notice an encircling group of guards until it¡¯s too late. Surrounding me are well-armed and armored men, each bearing a wand. They lift the wands in unison, and a barrier in the shape of the crest of the Orpheus House springs up over us. Mana pours from the wands in a flood, empowering the small barrier until it¡¯s probably more powerful than the one over Natan, though much smaller in scope.

    Just like that, I¡¯ve been trapped.

    There¡¯s no breaking the barrier easily with my [Arcane Domain], not unless I¡¯m willing to commit to an all-out war in the middle of the auction house afterward. With so many innocent bystanders around, I make the choice to play things safe. I stand still, smiling and trying to look non-threatening.

    A thin man with silvery hair and a refined smile steps through the barrier. He nods at the young woman by my side. ¡°Thank you for bringing me the interloper. Dismissed.¡±

    She curtsies and departs, seemingly unperturbed by the developments. I track her mana signature in my Domain¡¯s passive senses. Sure enough, she returns to work at the front of the auction house without any emotional fluctuation, as though this is a common occurrence.

    ¡°Good day, young man. My name is Tener Ras. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡± Tener Ras holds out his hand in greeting. He smiles warmly when I respond to his shake, and it seems surprisingly genuine. ¡°I¡¯m with our acquisitions team. If you wanted a meeting so badly, it¡¯s generally not hard to find us.¡±

    ¡°You seem to be working with more information than I am,¡± I say after some deliberation. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that I don¡¯t know what you mean.¡±

    ¡°Come now, don¡¯t play coy. An illustrious auction house like the Orpheus has ways to detect buyers and sellers. You, sir, are not yet a buyer, but you are most certainly a seller. Shall we dispense with sophistry and get to business?¡±

    ¡°While I¡¯m surrounded? I don¡¯t intend to negotiate from a position of desperation,¡± I say as lightly as I can, trying to match Ras in tone.

    ¡°Apologies. We had to be sure that you wouldn¡¯t try anything unexpected. Damaging the wares is frowned upon by the big bosses, as I¡¯m sure you understand.¡±

    ¡°Perfectly,¡± I reply, filing away a different tidbit of information: Tener Ras is not one of the big bosses, no matter how self-assured. If I don¡¯t like the deal, I can appeal over his head.

    The guards deactivate the barrier and step away, although I notice that they don¡¯t retreat entirely. Instead, they make a point to flank us as Tener Ras guides me to an opulent office, and they take up position outside the door while we enter on our own.

    ¡°May I assume that you¡¯re a [Glass Smith]?¡± Tener Ras asks as we take our seats. He slides a tray across the desk toward me, lifting an enchanted teapot and pouring out an amber stream of tea that¡¯s perfectly steeped and held at the right temperature.

    I take a moment to study the room before responding. It¡¯s less cluttered with stuff than I¡¯d have assumed. Bookshelves filled with rare tomes line one wall, but otherwise don¡¯t dominate the space. An oil chiaroscuro painting takes up another wall. It¡¯s a masterful scene, but it¡¯s not what impresses me about the office. Everything is in its place, from the decoration to the angle of the furniture¡ªitself made from fragrant sandalwood¡ªand it works together to elevate the experience beyond any room I¡¯ve been in before, apart from visiting the Viceroy.

    ¡°Close enough. I am a Master, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking. I¡¯m impressed that your Skills picked that up without me noticing; I¡¯m usually quite sensitive to interference.¡±

    For the first time, Tenver smirks. Up until now he¡¯s been relaxed and understated, but he can¡¯t seem to help himself when gloating is on the line. ¡°Not a Skill. A curious enchantment that covers the entranceway. You won¡¯t feel it because the results are displayed in a matching room on the other side of town. If you pass the threshold of interest for a potential buyer or seller, then I receive a message.¡±

    ¡°Clever,¡± I say, impressed despite myself. If the enchantment is sophisticated enough, and the mana cost is paid elsewhere, then I¡¯ll never notice. It only has to be sensitive enough to pick up my intentions. Of course, now that I know about it, I¡¯m confident that I can come up with a way around it.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it, then,¡± Tener Ras says, leaning forward across the desk eagerly. He sips his tea and regards me with a shrewd expression. ¡°What¡¯s your counter-measure?¡±

    ¡°Ha! Nothing is free. Fitting.¡±

    He nods fractionally. ¡°We understand one another. If you¡¯re truly worth as much as the alarm indicated, then you¡¯ll come up with a novel way to nullify the enchantment. That is the price of doing business with us. Well? I¡¯m all ears.¡±

    This is it. The real test to see if the Orpheus House will buy my glass. Any hesitation or false claims, and they¡¯ll be all over me like sharks drawn to blood in the water.

    ¡°Do you want the theory first, or the demonstration?¡± I ask, holding the teacup under my nose and swirling it in slow circles while I inhale the steam. I close my eyes, savoring the aroma of the complex blend. Most high-end drinks seem to tout their purity¡ªthey¡¯re all brewed from a single tree, or harvested in a difficult-to-reach place with unique environmental properties.

    This is different, clearly combining multiple strains of tea to create a curated experience that carries with a tinge of a higher-order concept, of all things. I sense a hint of innovation, and my eyes widen as I add a new concept to my growing list. If I can learn to replicate this, then I¡¯ll be able to imbue it.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to take some of this tea with me if we strike a deal,¡± I say slowly. ¡°I¡¯m not cunning with my negotiations, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed by now. Simply tell me what you think is fair in exchange for it, and I¡¯ll ensure that it¡¯s delivered.¡±

    ¡°The tea?¡± Tener Ras says in surprise. Genuine confusion clouds his expression, and he pulls a hard packed disk of dried tea out of his desk drawer and gives it to me without a second thought. ¡°Done. Now, your suggestions?

    He doesn¡¯t know! Then how did he end up with it in his office? There¡¯s no way that it¡¯s by accident. If someone put it there, then that¡¯s an exploitable detail. Think, Nuri! Think.

    I smile. ¡°Thank you. It¡¯s pleasant.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to it. I¡¯m only interested in hearing your plan to get past the detection script embedded beneath the front door of the Orpheus.¡±

    ¡°Go in a side door instead of the front,¡± I say immediately, laughing. When I see that he¡¯s not amused, I sigh and drain the cup. The effect is subtle, but noticeable, as my thoughts flow more easily than before, eager to trace out connections I hadn¡¯t considered previously. I stare at the teapot in longing. I need more of that tea.

    I set down the cup and cough a few times to buy time as I arrange my thoughts. ¡°More seriously, there are multiple ways to get around any defenses. As for how I¡¯d counteract that enchantment? Hm. The real question is whether or not you want to tip off the people monitoring it across town. If I don¡¯t care about making some sort of scene, then simply flooding the script with a concentrated burst of mana that exceeds the density it¡¯s designed to hold should overwhelm the sensors, albeit temporarily. That will create an enormous amount of feedback, however, and may be interpreted as an attack.¡±

    I lean back, tilting my head until I¡¯m looking up at the ceiling, and ask myself how much I want to reveal. I haven¡¯t met anyone else with a Domain, although I¡¯m confident that [Viceroy] Tapirs has one, since he¡¯s the highest-ranking [Mage] in Densmore¡ªand possibly the entire world. Will Tener Ras know what I mean if I share that detail? I¡¯d prefer to keep it secret as long as possible, just in case it leads to complications.

    Tener Ras clears his throat politely. ¡°And if you want to be undetected? I¡¯m curious what kind of approach you¡¯d take for that scenario.¡±

    I sit up and sigh. ¡°I¡¯d send someone as my proxy. Now, please don¡¯t look so disgruntled. It¡¯s the safest method. You want a magical solution, but the most foolproof option is to bypass it entirely.¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Tener Ras allows, speaking slowly, but he doesn¡¯t keep the disappointment out of his voice. ¡°Smart, but safe. Not quite what we¡¯re looking for.¡±

    ¡°I suspect your boss will disagree,¡± I say, pouring myself a second cup of tea. ¡°I¡¯ll wait here while you set up the meeting.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, I believe your time is up. You¡¯re clearly talented, but too pragmatic for our requirements,¡± Tener Ras says, sighing dramatically as though it¡¯s out of his hands.

    I smile as pleasantly as I can. ¡°Unfortunate, indeed. But I¡¯m not addressing myself to you right now. Let¡¯s please drop pretenses; now that I know what to look for, I can sense the monitor in this office. It¡¯s time I speak with the person on the other end.¡±

    Before Tener Ras can reply to my bold claim, a soft chime sounds from behind his large, well-appointed desk. A pale light illuminates his face, which is rapidly draining of blood.

    ¡°Of-of course! At once, sir.¡±

    He scurries off, all decorum forgotten in his rush to follow my request. I almost feel bad, but if it gets me a meeting with the real movers and shakers behind the Orpheus, then I¡¯ll take that as a win.

    Now to get to my real sales pitch. I¡¯ll need to consider my words carefully; anyone who knows the value of higher-order concepts is not to be treated lightly. I don¡¯t want to advertise my Domain, preferring to keep it as my hidden ace, but it¡¯s even more important that I come out of this visit with a steady source of income.

    Forewarned that Gilead would be expensive, I¡¯ve been desperate to make money on the trip here. Yet the small fortune we¡¯ve heaped up is a pittance compared with the price of a single prosthetic from the Menders. There¡¯s no way that I can afford to repair my core and channels if that¡¯s what they charge for a carved hand with some clever enchantments layered on it.

    Five minutes later, Tener Ras is back, smiling once more as he ushers a middle-aged woman into the office. Her face is soft and unblemished by time, but her hair is snow-white, and her mana signature feels vast and robust in a way that is impossible to fake apart from reaching the Second Threshold. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯s the main boss behind the Orpheus House, but if not, I suspect that she¡¯s highly placed within their ranks. Perhaps a senior partner.

    ¡°My, my. You¡¯re younger than I anticipated for such a talented troublemaker!¡± she says, extending her bejeweled hand in greeting.

    I stand and take her outstretched hand, bowing over it in greeting. ¡°I must apologize for causing problems. I¡¯m far from home and rather unfamiliar with your customs. I¡¯d be happy to work through the proper channels going forward.¡±

    ¡°How modest.¡±

    I glance over at Tener Ras. ¡°Thank you for your promptness. You may take half of one percent of my commission as a bonus.¡±

    ¡°Too generous, young man!¡± his boss says, shaking her head. She languidly gestures toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re dismissed, little Ras. Go tell your uncle that your fortunes are moving up in the world, entirely by accident.¡±

    Tener Ras flushes. He bows stiffly in my direction, then much deeper toward the boss, who I notice has pointedly withheld her name. He departs, closing the door behind him, leaving me to negotiate in peace.

    The woman smiles after him as he leaves, regarding the man with the same fondness I¡¯d expect to see from a grandmother cooing over an infant. Just how advanced is she, if she¡¯s that much older than he is? I recall how [Viceroy] Tapirs looked, with his age preserved, and gulp.

    She sighs graciously. ¡°He¡¯s a good boy. A little over-eager, but his heart¡¯s in the right place.¡±

    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind that he gave me that packet of tea,¡± I say with a chuckle. ¡°I doubt he realizes just how valuable it is.¡±

    ¡°Our test would be less useful if he knew. Tenner Ras is lacking artifice, however. If he knew every secret of this place, they wouldn¡¯t be secrets for long. Still, he¡¯s a hard worker and he loves his job. Never look down on people like that. They¡¯re the glue that holds any endeavor together, young glassmaker.¡±

    ¡°Nuri,¡± I offer, although part of me is tempted to call myself Zebulun and fall back on my old hidden identity. I discard that idea almost immediately. It¡¯s fun to pretend, but I¡¯m not cut out for cloak and dagger work, despite my informal induction into the [Inquisitors].

    ¡°Well met, Nuri.¡± The woman pours her own cup of tea, likewise savoring the warmth on her tongue. She sits in Tener Ras¡¯s seat. ¡°Exquisite, isn¡¯t it? How did you gain familiarity with the concept you ingested? That¡¯s a story I¡¯d like to hear.¡±

    ¡°I learned it just now,¡± I say. Though words are an admission, they¡¯re also a test of my own to see how my new acquaintance¡ªnew boss?¡ªwill react. I¡¯m not likely to develop a good working dynamic with someone who reacts poorly to the realization that I¡¯m less valuable than she initially thought.

    Her body grows still. Only her large, silver eyes blink at me. Then she downs the cup. ¡°Intriguing. Yet you recognized it straightaway.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I say, trying not to sound too arrogant. ¡°I am not unacquainted with higher-order concepts, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re getting at. I will add this one to my arsenal shortly.¡±

    ¡°Your arsenal, implying multiple concepts?¡±

    I wince internally. Should I have given away so much? I sip at the tea and crinkle up my eyes in a half smile, deciding that I might as well appear as strong as possible. Perhaps she¡¯ll be more intrigued that way.

    ¡°My! So confident. How would you apply this to glass? I¡¯m not sure it fits with a platter or a window, quite frankly.¡±

    ¡°That manner of thinking is quite limited, if you¡¯ll pardon my boldness. Innovation is not the purview of the privileged few. Looking through a window and seeing the view beyond it with fresh eyes is equally as valid as a wine glass for an artist.¡±

    My mind strays back to the gentleman I accosted on the streets earlier. I have very little practice grinding lenses or working on optical formulae, outside of my feeble attempt at creating a microscope, but a single lens in a monocle is probably doable.

    ¡°How about a classic monocle imbued with innovation? Could be useful for a variety of roles and Classes,¡± I suggest, gauging the reaction I get.

    ¡°Hm. I imagine that will sell. But aren¡¯t you putting the cart before the horse? You have yet to prove that your wares live up to your big words. I¡¯ve heard a lot of claims, but nothing to show the substance behind them.¡±

    I reach over and grab a small, manicured tree that¡¯s in a pot at the edge of the desk. ¡°Do you mind if I displace this poor sculpted tree?¡±

    Her lips curve up in a predatorial grin. ¡°Do as you please. Little Ras might be sad, but it¡¯s the cost of doing business. We¡¯ll add it to your tab; you have expensive tastes so far.¡±

    If that¡¯s supposed to be a threat, then I¡¯m unimpressed. I¡¯m certain that I can make the Orpheus House money hand over fist. Concentrating on my work, I run [Vitrification] through the dirt, ceramic, and living wood of the tree, transforming the small pot into a solid batch of glass. Mere seconds later, thanks to my first and most reliable Skill, it¡¯s a melted ball in my hand as I shape it with my bare fingers. I wish I could leverage my Domain to crudely replicate Melina¡¯s [Object Manipulation], but I don¡¯t want to give up all of my secrets just yet.

    I split the glass into two batches, leaving half on the desk. I ensure that the heat doesn¡¯t warp the wood, layering my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to provide a cold plate for it to sit on while its internal temperature keeps it hot and malleable. I go for tried and true methods, calling back to sharpness as I create a glittering, curved knife that looks like a talon with a ring at the end of it.

    I set it aside, manually annealing it while I work on the second gather. For this glass, I choose to mold it into a circlet, simple and unadorned other than twisting the glass a dozen times before flattening it out. I create a simple framework for the mana of the world, imbuing it with cooling properties. I don¡¯t want to reveal my glass cores yet¡ªI can sell them for more, once I establish my worth¡ªand I¡¯m not interested in making shields or anything with the concept of unbreakable. Not yet. I don¡¯t want them getting into the wrong hands, and after the last several stops, I¡¯m not sure I trust many people anymore.

    Less than ten minutes later, I slide the finished pieces closer, content that they¡¯re cool enough they won¡¯t malform while she studies them. ¡°There. I¡¯d recommend you don¡¯t touch, but they¡¯re done otherwise. Do you have any kilns on site? I¡¯d rather not anneal these by hand over the next several hours while we negotiate.¡±

    ¡°I see that we¡¯ll have to update the accuracy on our enchantments,¡± the Orpheus boss says, a wry smile on her lips. ¡°Sharpness, unless I miss my mark. But the second one is not familiar to me.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Got the knife in one. As for the circlet? The wearer of this little helm will never get hot. Er, well, I¡¯d still advise against swimming in a volcano. But a stroll through the Barrens is an easy thing with this circlet, even when the sun is at its zenith.¡±

    ¡°Noted.¡± She jots down the notes in empty air in front of her, writing with a condensed mana pen. Ezio and Tem both shared that trick, but I haven¡¯t figured out the hang of it yet. It¡¯s more than mana manipulation for her, though; I noticed a Skill activating in conjunction with her writing. Maybe she upgraded to a [Merchant] from some version of [Scribe]?

    ¡°What¡¯s the range on your missives?¡± I ask, guessing the purpose of the Skill based on the brief glimmer of runes I noticed while Viewing.

    ¡°State secret,¡± she replies, her delighted smile audible in her voice. ¡°An assistant should arrive any moment to take the pieces to our kiln. How did you know we had one?¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Seems prudent to be able to produce pieces here, or perform repairs.¡±

    ¡°Where is your studio, Nuri?¡±

    I consider how much of the truth I should share, then shrug. An outfit like the Orpheus House isn¡¯t short on funds. They¡¯ll track down information on me, like it or not. Telling them who I am now could garner goodwill. A gesture of trust might pay off down the road.

    ¡°I¡¯m from the borderlands. I¡¯ve studied glass under masters all across Densmore¡ªGrand Ile, the Capital¡ªbut I don¡¯t have a studio in Gilead yet. Could you add studio time to my tab? My team is looking for space now, but we¡¯re not likely to find more accommodating facilities than what you have here. I¡¯m willing to pay extra for discretion.¡±

    A knock announces the arrival of a pair of assistants. They transfer my glass items to a small insulated box that will keep the glass at a steady temperature until they can transfer them to the kiln. Once they leave, the Orpheus boss stands up and extends her hand.

    ¡°Studio time should be easy to arrange. You may call me Ozana. Welcome to the team, Master Nuri.¡±

 B5 C24: Emptiness

    ¡°I think I figured out why there¡¯s no [Inquisitor] chapter house,¡± Rakesh says, swaggering up to me a few days later when I return from a day of glass-making at the Orpheus House.

    We¡¯re still outside on the cobblestone street, where someone might overhear us talk, so I don¡¯t react. I beckon for him to follow me to a more secure location. I lead him inside our inn and gesture around, pointing toward my ear. He winks at me and sets up his inverted [Echoes of the Songbird], not chagrined in the slightest by my long-suffering expression, and stands with his hands on his hips, just waiting for me to praise him.

    ¡°Good news. Great, even!¡±

    ¡°You will not believe what I went through for this discovery,¡± Rakesh crows. He grabs his collar and straightens his robes, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Just like Ezio, he starts to pace around the common area in the suite of rooms we¡¯ve rented.

    ¡°Not another bakery stakeout! Rakesh, my man, I don¡¯t think Gilead¡¯s pastry scene is ready for you,¡± I tease, breaking into a chuckle despite my earlier misgivings.

    Rakesh gives me a flat look. ¡°How droll.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I try. What did you uncover?¡±

    ¡°First of all, it¡¯s with great pleasure that I must announce I¡¯ve acquired access to a library. While it¡¯s a fairly small public place of learning, and not connected with an Academy, it should still serve my purposes.¡± He leans against the wall, suddenly looking drained. ¡°Oh, do we have any food? I¡¯m famished. Forgot to eat all day; I was too excited by my findings.¡±

    ¡°Well done,¡± I tell our [Researcher], guiding him toward a chair and getting leftovers out of a box enchanted to keep food cool. He pounces on the food ravenously, not even waiting for me to heat it up with my best Skill. ¡°Is that how you figured out where to go? Or, wait. You said there¡¯s no chapter house here for the [Inquisitor]?¡±

    ¡°Not at all!¡± Rakesh says around a bite of cold noodles and spicy grilled chicken. ¡°That¡¯s the strangest part. I was on my way back after looking into irregularities in succession plans in Densmore, thinking that perhaps I could untangle a web of conspiracies, similar to the attempt by that dastardly [Lady] Saphora. I¡¯m making progress on that front, I¡¯ll have you know.¡±

    I nod patiently, knowing that Rakesh takes a while to get to the point sometimes. ¡°Do you think she¡¯s part of a larger conspiracy? I¡¯ll bet you¡¯re close to cracking the code.¡±

    ¡°Quite true. I¡¯ll have it sorted within the week, I¡¯ll wager,¡± Rakesh boasts. ¡°And, yes, she¡¯s working with a group. There¡¯s no doubt in my mind. Too many oddities across the country for her to account for each one. My research Skill [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities] is working overtime, I assure you. But! That¡¯s not what I wanted to tell you.¡±

    ¡°The chapter house?¡± I prompt.

    ¡°Precisely! As I said, I was returning from the library when I discovered an anomaly. The tenement buildings and storefronts are extremely regulated in Gilead. They¡¯re built in repeatable and clear patterns. Spacing between them, occupancy levels, allowed business¡ªit¡¯s all laid out in the city statutes and bylaws.¡±

    ¡°I have no doubt you¡¯re already an expert in Gilead law,¡± I reply in a dry tone, a grin starting to form as I imagine our earnest [Researcher] reading through dusty old tomes to feed his insatiable desire for knowledge.

    ¡°Passable,¡± Rakesh says, pausing from chewing on his food to waggle his hand in front of him. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d like to try to cross wits with a [Lawyer] just yet. I¡¯d still likely lose; there¡¯s simply too much local context I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°You said ¡®likely¡¯ lose, not certainly lose. That means you¡¯re more confident than you¡¯re letting on. We¡¯ll go with calling you an expert until you prove otherwise,¡± I say, grinning even wider at Rakesh.

    I can tell he¡¯s uncomfortable with the label. It¡¯s not because he doesn¡¯t like praise, but because he thinks he hasn¡¯t earned it yet. His standards are impossibly high sometimes. When he¡¯s convinced that he has a legitimate reason to call himself an expert, I have no doubt that he will be the first to tell us. There will be no end to the references from him on that front. In anyone else, I¡¯d call it bragging. In Rakesh, it¡¯s just the sheer joy of learning and teaching.

    Rakesh waves away my flattery. ¡°Quibbles. Unimportant. The point is that I passed by an empty lot. In the middle of a busy street in Gilead!¡±

    I pull out a second chair and join Rakesh at the table, leaning my chin on my propped-up fist. ¡°An empty lot is that exciting, huh? Wow. You gotta get out more, buddy.¡±

    Rakesh shakes his head at me with his lips pressed thin. ¡°Very funny, Nuri. Make fun of the out-of-touch scholar holed up in his ivory tower. How original.¡±

    ¡°Hey, someone¡¯s gotta provide the common man¡¯s perspective. I thought you liked the chance to see things from a different angle? Ezio always claimed that talking with me helped him reframe the world in new ways, since I had such a drastically different upbringing and set of guiding principles.¡±

    ¡°Master Ezio is known for his novel methods,¡± Rakesh replies. ¡°But I will indulge you this time. The reason the empty lot seemed so strange is two-fold. First, because it should not exist. It¡¯s a waste of taxable land. No one benefits from undeveloped property in the middle of a busy district. Granted, an expansive park might be acceptable for the positive impact on the general public¡¯s mental outlook, but truly empty space is useless. Second, and more significant to you, I¡¯m sure, is that I was the only one who seemed to notice.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have noticed.¡±

    ¡°No, you probably would have,¡± Rakesh says, surprising me by disagreeing so readily. ¡°Your Domain would have swept over the emptiness and alerted you that not all is as it seems.¡±

    I sit up straighter, intrigued despite my earlier teasing. ¡°Oh! An illusion?¡±

    ¡°Possibly. I¡¯m more inclined to think it¡¯s a mental effect, rather than a trick of the light. It seemed at first that buildings occupied the space, but I never once saw anyone go in or out of the doors. Everywhere else, people went into shops, descended from apartments, or lounged in cafes. Here, they simply passed on by. That confused me enough that the second day I passed the anomaly, I stopped and stared at it, trying to figure out a solution to the mystery.¡±

    ¡°And? What did you deduce?¡±

    Rakesh sighs, frowning at me in disappointment. ¡°Has anyone told you that you lack a flair for the dramatic? Let me build up some tension first!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re worse than a street performer,¡± I grumble, but I¡¯m secretly enjoying the way our [Researcher] has developed such a fondness for telling stories.

    ¡°A low blow,¡± Rakesh protests. ¡°Now, for your sake, I¡¯ll cut down my account and give you a version with greater brevity.¡±

    ¡°Your calling card,¡± I tease.

    Rakesh tuts, then dives into his story. ¡°A man approached me as I stood opposite those strange, unused shop fronts in a row, catching my eye and making absolutely certain that I knew he was on his way to speak with me. As I turned to engage with him in conversation, his gaze seemed to slide past me, and he bumped into me shoulder-first, nearly knocking me off my feet. By the time I righted myself, he was gone, vanishing entirely from sight and mana-senses alike!¡±

    ¡°So, you got pickpocketed?¡±

    ¡°Just the opposite!¡±

    I snort in disbelief, drawn into Rakesh¡¯s story. ¡°What, he put something into your pocket? That¡¯s ridiculous.¡±

    ¡°Strange, yet true,¡± Rakesh insists. He pulls out a folded piece of paper and sets it down on the table in front of me, pointing at the odd swirls of ink in triumph.

    I squint. ¡°Squiggly lines? Interesting.¡±

    ¡°Nuri. I¡¯m disappointed,¡± Rakesh says, frowning at me again. ¡°You of all people ought to know what this is! Look more closely.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I see what you mean. His kids got into his papers and scribbled everyone,¡± I say gravely. ¡°How tragic.¡±

    Rakesh opens his mouth to refute my claim, then catches on to my teasing and rolls his eyes at me. ¡°Very funny.¡±

    ¡°You are pretty funny. Of course I know exactly what it is,¡± I reply with a smirk. ¡°But why did he give you a rune of vision?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible.¡± Rakesh sighs. ¡°I think he wants me to see what¡¯s really there, not the illusion blocking the way.¡±

    ¡°Curious theory. How do you propose to do that?¡± I ask.

    ¡°By searching out the rest of the clues. This is only the first of three, if the numbering in the lower right hand corner is accurate.¡±

    I look again, this time more closely, and see what Rakesh is talking about. There¡¯s a tiny box in the corner with a one followed by a slash and three. Either the number is a fraction, or it¡¯s an indication that the paper is one out of three. Rakesh¡¯s theory of two missing notes makes far more sense than assuming it¡¯s a fraction, I have to admit.

    I tap my pointer finger on the number box. ¡°Two more scattered around Gilead. How do you propose we find them?¡± I feel bad pressing the issue, but I¡¯m not sure how we¡¯re going to sift through an entire city for two pieces of paper. I heard a children¡¯s tale before about a boy sent on a fool¡¯s errand to find a single grain of sand in the desert. The moral of the story is to develop patience and perseverance¡ªor maybe it¡¯s that not every goal is realistic; I still don¡¯t know exactly why Ember read it to me when I was young¡ªand this seems just as hard.

    ¡°Glad you asked. I suspect that it¡¯s within our capacities to figure out, or else the man wouldn¡¯t have bothered. Besides, you haven¡¯t seen the back of the paper,¡± Rakesh says with an air of mystery.

    I squeeze the back of my neck with my right hand. I forgot how theatrical Rakesh has gotten these days. ¡°All right, I¡¯ll bite. What¡¯s on the back of the paper? And what does this have to do with your announcement about the [Inquisitors] earlier?¡±

    Rakesh waggles his eyebrows at me, flourishing his hands in a complex pattern. With a tremor, the paper lifts up from the table and flips over in the air, drifting back to the table top like a falling leaf in autumn.

    The accompanying pulse of mana makes me take a look with Viewing, and sure enough, Rakesh has earned another Skill. At this rate, he¡¯s going to have a difficult time ranking them all up to develop the required potency to push through the Second Threshold bottleneck. I suppose that¡¯s his problem.

    He winks at me, as though guessing that I¡¯m peeking into his inner world to figure out what he earned. ¡°It¡¯s [Paper and Ink: Art of the Scholar]. I know, it sounds pretentious and a bit vague, but it essentially means two things. First, I can create simple disguises and blend in by sketching out what I want in ink beforehand. I¡¯ll show you later. Second, I can manipulate paper that¡¯s nearby. I estimate the sphere of influence is about ten strides.¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have an army of birds at this rate. Maybe we should race them if I can create a flock of glass birds to match,¡± I reply, grinning.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take you up on that sometime, Nuri. Now stop stalling! Look,¡± Rakesh demands, his excitement palpable as he points to the message printed on the back of the paper.

    A simple message is stamped in place, clearly applied mechanically¡ªor through a Skill of some sort¡ªinstead of written by hand. I wonder if it¡¯s an obscuring tactic, so the writer can¡¯t be traced as easily.

    Explore the [Researcher]¡¯s haunt.

    ¡°Yep, sounds like you met an [Inquisitor]. He clearly knew who you were. So, he wants you to look in the library for more clues, right?¡±

    Rakesh nods, which makes me relieved that I guessed the library, and not an altogether different place of research, although that still doesn¡¯t narrow it down much. Libraries are rather infamous for containing an abundance of paper and words, after all.

    ¡°But why the song and dance?¡± I ask, drumming my fingers on the table top. ¡°They¡¯re usually the boldest people I know, unafraid to announce their presence anywhere they go. Can you imagine Casella pulling a move like that instead of just summoning you to a meeting?¡±

    ¡°Aha! But that¡¯s just it, Nuri,¡± Rakesh replies, his eyes aflame with the light of a grand conspiracy. ¡°Not all is well in Gilead. While technically part of Densmore, they¡¯ve been debating secession according to the information I¡¯ve uncovered. Thus, the [Inquisitors] are banned from Gilead. Who would allow spies in your midst?¡±

    With that, a final piece of the puzzle clicks into place for me. I¡¯m not an actual [Inquisitor], since I was never inducted into their order. I don¡¯t bear the infamous Class. And, to top it all off, I was recently on the run as a fugitive from an overzealous [Adjutant] with documented ties to the [Inquisitors]. Even if there are rumors that I¡¯m working with them, chances are quite low that Gilead is on the lookout for little ole me. Besides, I have two compelling and legitimate reasons to seek out the Menders between my missing hand and fractured core, so I¡¯m not likely to be turned away from the city or from the Menders.

    Well played, [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote. Well played. You¡¯ve found someone to do your dirty work in Gilead for you. I hope this is worth it for each of us in the end.

    =+=

    For the next few days, Rakesh locks himself in the small library in a desperate search for clues. Helping him keep track of the activities around our inn while he¡¯s gone is a great challenge for training [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], a Skill that constantly surprises me with its developing nuance.

    The sheer amount of information I¡¯m taking in is more than I can process with my current abilities, which often leaves me feeling like I¡¯m standing on the edge of a precipice and about to plummet. It¡¯s disorienting, making me hold onto the wall for balance at odd moments when too many people enter my Domain, or when I try to expand my range of awareness.

    Nonetheless, parsing the mana signatures and movement of people around us is good practice. My fine control creeps forward by small degrees, even though I¡¯m draining my glass cores at an alarming rate. I¡¯ve taken a few days break from the Orpheus House, leaving most of the mundane contract work to the Linas since Ozana doesn¡¯t want to flood the market with my imbued pieces.

    To help me process the information more smoothly, I try to recall what I can about how Azariah¡¯s smoke-based scrying mirror worked. While the concept is simple, the underlying runes are dizzyingly complex, and my plan to merely copy his scrying magic isn¡¯t going as well as I¡¯d hoped. I have too many unanswered questions. The runes required to display what I¡¯m sensing simply don¡¯t exist in the current iteration of my Skill. It¡¯s highly unlikely that I¡¯ll rank it up anytime soon, which is usually when modifications occur, so that means I¡¯ll have to figure out a way to learn the runes and then modify the Skill manually.

    Learning the concepts behind it shouldn¡¯t be difficult, but deciphering the runes is a far more daunting prospect. If not all of them are in our dictionary, then I¡¯ll reach a dead end. There are probably some optimizations I can make, but it¡¯s not the same as a full overhaul of the Skill. If we had a library of runes, then that would make my life infinitely easier, but it doesn¡¯t seem likely to happen anytime soon.

    Maybe Rakesh can revolutionize magic when he publishes his findings. Assuming that the [Inquisitors] allow him to publish the runes, of course. They may recognize that I¡¯ve quietly carried on Scalpel¡¯s legacy and only gave them an edited version of her research. Something tells me that they may not take kindly to widely disseminating information that they worked so hard to acquire.

    Of course, they may simply opt for redacting portions they don¡¯t want the general public to know about, and allowing Rakesh to publish a tamer, more limited version of his graduate thesis. That¡¯s my hope at any rate, though I have to be careful not to tip my hand and reveal that I learned more from Scalpel than they did. I doubt they will approve anything more substantive than that, but it would be nice if they don¡¯t take away his project entirely.

    While contemplating how to improve my runic understanding and upgrade my [Arcane Domain], I suddenly sit up and snap my fingers. I don¡¯t have to decipher the unknown runes that Azariah had. I can duplicate the ones I already have if I can compress a portion of the potential floating around me. I certainly have enough spare material to invert the activation and direction of the runes once I add the duplicates to my Skills.

    I sit down in an overstuffed chair, prop my feet up on a small stool, and get comfortable while I peer inward to review my soul space. Like a [Diver] leaping off a cliff, I plunge down into the sea of my soul.

    Submerging myself leads to instant shuddering. The void of my inner world is haunting now in its enormous emptiness. The headache-inducing complexity of the tiny, interconnected runes that make up my Skills is only visible when I will myself closer to the crystalline structures. Otherwise, the space is immense, leaving me disoriented as I search for my usual targets.

    Ever since I survived channeling the shocking power of the Oletheros core, my soul has expanded a hundredfold at the very least, and maybe more. It¡¯s difficult to measure accurately, honestly, but it¡¯s clear that my potential is far greater than I¡¯ve seen before. I¡¯ve never heard of an inner world so vast. If Scalpel tried to invade my inner sanctum now, she might not even be able to find my Skill structures anymore before giving up out of sheer boredom.

    Something about the experience is deeply unsettling, as though I¡¯m in a stranger¡¯s soul. I barely even recognize myself anymore. Even though I know I¡¯m inside my own soul, and there¡¯s no one else around, I keep glancing over my shoulder as though I¡¯m afraid someone is spying on me. Surrounded by so much emptiness, I find myself shivering. I can¡¯t shake the fear that I¡¯m adrift in a terrifying sea, unmoored from the things that make me who I am.

    Focus, Nuri, I tell myself sternly. I¡¯m here to review the functions of my [Arcane Domain], not to wrestle with existential dread.

    I drift closer to my Skills, searching for the runes related to vision, detection, movement, and displaying what I perceive. There¡¯s got to be a way to mirror them so that my team can see what I¡¯m seeing. Theoretically, I can use them to declare instead of detect¡ªI¡¯ll have to figure out the exact terminology after I get it all working. But I should be able to show my team what I¡¯m observing in the world around me.

    Identify. Duplicate. Invert.

    Those words become a guiding map, steadying my mental state and leading me onward as I finally approach the cluster of new Skills that I¡¯ve gained since that fateful day in the lesser Rift over a year ago. Locating the massive structure of my [Arcane Domain] doesn¡¯t take long once I arrive, and I immediately begin reviewing and cataloging the esoteric runic arrays.

    One by one, I find the runic arrays I¡¯m looking for, tracing the flow of mana as I activate the Skill and monitor everything in the world around me. People passing by show up as lights in my mind, triggering a specific sequence of linked runes. I don¡¯t understand the meaning of each one, but I painstakingly memorize their shape and apparent use. If I can write them down later, then I hope that Melina and Rakesh can help me decipher them.

    The longer I¡¯m inside my inner world, trying out different functions of my Domain, the more I piece together the puzzle of the runes in the Skill. Time seems to lose its meaning. Rune shapes, recursive and intricate, fill my mind. All else fades away as I investigate and theorize, until a growing headache breaks my concentration, jarring me out of soul.

    ¡°Unnhh,¡± I groan eloquently. I drag myself over to the counter and get a cup of water. I¡¯m shaky and cold, and my muscles are cramping up, which tells me that I need to eat something. The shadows through the lone window in the common room of our suite are lengthening, which is proof that I¡¯ve been submersed for far longer than I intended.

    While I help myself to a simple meal of yogurt and jerked meat, I ponder what my path forward might be to share my Domain¡¯s surveillance abilities with the team. Maybe I¡¯m thinking too narrowly, I tell myself. Maybe I can use [Glass Animation] to forge connections to each of the glass animals I¡¯m making for my teammates. Then I can pass the information along the link so that they¡¯ll get a sense of what¡¯s around us.

    ¡°Huh. That might work,¡± I mutter aloud. Mirroring whatever I see is much simpler than inventing my own illusion runes.

    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± I yell, jumping right out of my seat and knocking over my cup of water. It¡¯s almost empty, thankfully. ¡°Rakesh¡¯s new Skill is related to ink drawings that overlay him with an illusion. I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t make that connection earlier. When he¡¯s back, I¡¯ll have to pester him about taking a look. We might be able to figure this out!¡±

    =+=

    That night, the team gathers in the common room after a hearty meal, lounging in our seats and discussing the upcoming week¡¯s activities. The Linas are bubbling over with reports of progress at the Orpheus. Based on what Melina¡¯s experimenting with, there¡¯s a strong chance she might make her own imbuing breakthrough soon. I promise her that I¡¯ll join them soon, once Rakesh is free to resume his guard duty.

    Right on cue, Rakesh bustles into the inn. Our favorite [Researcher] storms up the stairs and rushes into the room. He slams the door shut behind him and deploys his favorite paper birds with a flick of his hand; they fold themselves in the air and take up residence in the corners of the room on their own, hovering in the air thanks to his [Paper and Ink] Skill. He¡¯s bouncing on his toes, fairly vibrating with excitement. Something is clearly on his mind, and he can¡¯t wait to share with us.

    I wonder what could have happened while he was at the library that could possibly be so invigorating, but that¡¯s just what [Scholars] are like, I guess. New data distribution systems are a cause for celebration. Revolutionary research is hard to define for us normal folk.

    ¡°Nuri!¡± Rakesh booms, rubbing his hands together as he paces. ¡°Remember I told you about that mystery man I bumped into last week? I finally found the other two pieces of paper in the library, tucked into books I reviewed. Like clockwork, he accosted me in the street on my return to the inn. He invited me to join him for a cup of tea at a cafe across the street from the illusion spot. I was so startled by his sudden appearance and unusual offer that I accepted without thinking.¡±

    ¡°Undone by politeness?¡±

    Rakesh smacks his hands together in a loud clap that makes Lionel jump. ¡°Precisely! My mother raised me far too well, apparently. The next thing I know, I¡¯m seated with this odd fellow and drinking a bitter tea not to my liking. It was compelling, I¡¯ll give it that; I downed three cups during our meeting, trying to puzzle out the flavor profile.¡±

    Lionel rests his chin in the palm of his hand and nods at Rakesh from across the table. ¡°I see that you really hated it.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t acknowledge Lionel¡¯s snark with any response, which only makes Lionel, Mikko, and me laugh all the harder at Rakesh, who appears as dignified as ever. He¡¯s always had an uncanny ability to ignore distractions.

    ¡°While we ate, he drew portions of a simple rune on a napkin. I recognized that it was missing pieces, so naturally I sketched out the rest of it.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± Avelina murmurs.

    ¡°Then he started doodling on other napkins in the cafe,¡± Rakesh continues, unfazed by Avelina¡¯s interruption. ¡°He shared some of the silly drawings with the kids around us, but a few he slid across the table to me. If I didn¡¯t know as much about runes as I do¡ªlargely thanks to you, Nuri¡ªthen I never would have recognized what he was doing. Don¡¯t stick your tongue out at me! I never said you had nothing valuable to add the other day.¡±

    I burst out laughing. ¡°You walked into that one, you know? No need for the perspective of the common man, hah! I¡¯ve been waiting to get you back for insinuating that I lacked refinement when we last spoke. You¡¯re welcome for the runes, though.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, you¡¯re incorrigible.¡±

    ¡°I try,¡± I say happily.

    Rakesh buries his head in his hands.

    I nudge him. ¡°Go on. What happened next? I wanna know how it all turned out.¡±

    Rakesh strides over to the counter and pours himself a drink from our communal pitcher of water. He slakes his thirst, lets out a satisfied sigh, and returns to pacing instead of taking a seat opposite me. Maybe he feels more like a true storyteller this way.

    ¡°Right. He definitely knew that I could tease out the meaning of the fragments based on the associated runes. It¡¯s quite possible that Mel, you, and I are the only ones in the city besides him who could reassemble the runes and solve the puzzle. Certainly a complicated plan. I¡¯m not sure why he didn¡¯t just give me the finished ward, instead of waiting for me to fix each part of the runes. But, when I completed stacking the sketches in the right pattern and revealed the runes, combined with the three pieces I got from him previously, the illusion fell away.¡±

    ¡°What did you see? Was it a secret stash of artifacts? Perhaps a hidden safehouse with [Inquisitors] spying on the populace?¡± Melina asks, her eyes bright. The rapid-fire stream of questions betrays her own excitement, and I can¡¯t help but smile.

    ¡°Did he take the ward right back and disassemble it?¡± I ask, considering what I would have done in that situation.

    ¡°Yes, as a matter of fact.¡±

    I hum to myself. ¡°He probably didn¡¯t want to risk it falling into the wrong hands. Smart to keep it well-hidden.¡±

    ¡°Hm, perhaps. He sent me home with half of the bifurcated runes. Enough to recreate the ward if needed. He gave away the other half. In between our conversations, he occasionally handed out doodles to passing children, as I said, which probably distracted onlookers from his true purpose. Perhaps that will scatter the pieces to the four winds.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh! Answer my sister¡¯s question. What did you see?¡± Avelina interrupts. Her arms are crossed, and she¡¯s leveling a fake glare at the [Secretarial Researcher].

    ¡°That¡¯s the beauty of it,¡± Rakesh says, an impish smile on his face. ¡°Nothing at all. It¡¯s a meeting place, but only for those who have the ward. That way, they don¡¯t leave any evidence of their presence. There¡¯s nothing there but an empty lot.¡±

 B5 C25: Debts Unpaid

    Following Rakesh¡¯s revelation about a potential war of secession, the team throws themselves into their work. Busy hands seem like the best antidote to worrying about matters above our heads, so we¡¯re all equally eager to ply our trade and stay out of trouble. I leave tracking down clues to our [Researcher] and instead focus on preparing designs for a glass hand.

    Nearly a week passes by uneventfully, which seems like a new record for us. The peace does not last; it never does, these days. Mender Uttara sends word through Lionel to let me know that he has finally arranged a meeting with the metaphysical specialist. By tomorrow tonight, I¡¯ll know whether or not my goal of restoring my inner world to proper order is achievable, or simply a far-off and impossible dream.

    When I wake the next day, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been more nervous in my entire life. I¡¯d rather brave the depths with Tem again than hear I¡¯m doomed to never restore my core.

    I take in a deep, shaky breath, chiding myself for my fatalism. Today only marks the introductory meeting with the metaphysical healing expert. I remind myself that even if I get bad news, it¡¯s not all bad. I already have a workaround. My glass pseudo cores are better than ever, and now I¡¯ve got multiple sets I can rotate through if needed. Shielding them to cut down on dangerous resonance is still on my to do list, but I can potentially get around it as I improve my [Glass Animation] Skill. I¡¯ve got a few ideas already for ways to diversify my glass animals and artificially improve my overall capacity by spreading out the cores across the various creatures.

    If I can push forward my [Arcane Domain] to the next rank, then I might be able to connect to the glass cores remotely. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s possible to use stored mana at a distance like that, although I¡¯ve seized ambient mana before with my Domain. If it works the way that I hope it will, then I¡¯ll be able to ignore the usual interference caused by multiple imbued items in close quarters and simply spread out the cores across my growing menagerie.

    As promising as the mana options are, however, I¡¯ll still be limited if I can¡¯t fix my actual core. Based on the research Rakesh has done so far, we don¡¯t think I¡¯ll have a shot at attaining the Second Threshold apart from a working internal core. My channels are part of the issue as well. I can bypass them and pour mana directly into Skills, although there¡¯s significant energy loss and pain, but the problem is the lack of a metaphysical connection to whatever governs the truth of our world. Gaining efficiency would be nice, I have to admit, but I¡¯m more concerned about the heavens not deeming me fit for advancement apart from total restoration.

    Thoughts pinging madly about in my mind, despite my efforts to calm myself, I set out marching to my meeting alone. Everyone else is happily working toward more concrete goals: Rakesh with his efforts to find out more about the [Inquisitors], Lionel apprenticing under Mender Uttara, Mikko learning how to better incorporate enchantments into his materials, and the Linas churning out high-quality glass pieces for the Orpheus House auctions. While Avelina¡¯s [Strong as Stone] isn¡¯t the same as an imbuement, it¡¯s still a highly-sought-after enhancement.

    Me? Chasing fancy and folly.

    Whenever I¡¯m alone, I have a tendency to let my mind wander down the worst possible outcomes. What if the metaphysical healer is like Scalpel, curious about the hidden secrets of the soul? If she¡¯s unafraid of whatever it takes to uncover them, then I could be in trouble. I refuse to get myself into another situation like that. I¡¯ll burn the Menders to the ground before I let them enslave me.

    ¡°Steady, Nuri. It¡¯s just a meeting,¡± I tell myself sternly. There¡¯s no reason to let my mind run wild. My imagination doesn¡¯t rule me, although it seems significantly less stable ever since my encounter with the innovation-infused tea. My thoughts are quicker than ever, which is good, but they slide and skip and slither whenever I try to take them captive. Not so good. Innovation seems to be a double-edged sword. Boon and bane, all in one.

    The Menders main campus is enormous, probably four or five times the size of the SCA, but it¡¯s not their only property in Gilead. Today, I¡¯m heading to an off-site research facility. That¡¯s already unsettling enough, but no one at the main desk had heard of it, or knew how to give me directions. I had to interrupt Lionel in the middle of practicing a Sounding so that I could ask his new teacher, Mender Uttara, how to find the place.

    It¡¯s in the opposite direction of the Orpheus House, in a district I¡¯m unfamiliar with so far. At least I get to see more of the city while I walk. Honestly, that¡¯s about the only bright side I can find in the arrangement. My nerves are frayed from worry. I feel like a glass globe poised to fall on the hard concrete floor of the hot shop and shatter into a thousand pieces.

    Glass metaphors aside, my insides feel like a bartender got creative mixing up a fresh cocktail: one part fear, one part anticipation, one part explosive anxiety, all mixed with a dash of ineffable hope that¡¯s almost painful to hold inside. If anything goes wrong, I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯ll react to the death of dreams.

    I guess I¡¯ll just get back to work. That intrusive, anticlimactic thought grounds me. I snort at the simple idea and walk faster, a slight spring in my step again. Regardless of the outcome, I¡¯ll find some closure at last. Even if there¡¯s no good news, at least I¡¯ll know. I won¡¯t give up so easily.

    Architecture has never been an enduring interest of mine, but it¡¯s hard not to notice the sweeping changes as I transition between districts. Gone are the brownstone apartments and the smattering of boutique shops. No longer do I see the bright colors of vendors on the street corners, coordinated by avenue. Frazzled and harried working-class citizens have thinned out. Even the gentry don¡¯t appear in any significant numbers; this is not a place for pleasure strolls.

    Instead, brutalist buildings herald a strange combination of industry and luxury. Blocks of real estate are missing¡ªI¡¯m not sure how else to describe it¡ªreplaced by lush and extravagant gardens with high cast iron fences surrounding them. In the far distance, I can just make out a few magnificent palaces if I squint. After a few such anomalies, I realize that the giant factories, if that¡¯s what they are, are connected with the palatial grounds.

    I have no context for this kind of pairing. Usually, people rich enough to afford this kind of incredible excess aren¡¯t involved in heavy industry. Context eludes me, but I¡¯m sure there¡¯s got to be a good explanation for the oddity.

    That¡¯s a mystery for another time, however; I¡¯ve arrived at my destination. I glance down at my map, read off the address for the third time in the last few minutes, and confirm that I have the right place. It¡¯s another one of the park-like swathes of greenery, although this has an open gate and a rusty-red brick pathway leading over to a warehouse-like building.

    Head lifted high, I march down the path. No guards accost me, so I act like I belong here in this strange environment of contradictions. My fingers are trembling with anticipation, so I grip my glass cores to keep my hand from shaking too visibly.

    Before long, I pass through the gardens, carefully cultivated to look like the wilds, and reach an unassuming door on the side of the massive concrete warehouse. No one answers my knock, so I let myself in and hope that I haven¡¯t breached some unwritten law.

    My boast to Melina comes back to me: I¡¯m a natural lawbreaker. Might as well make that work for me instead of against me. Besides, if they didn¡¯t want me to come inside, then they wouldn¡¯t have given me a map, left the gate open, or presented an unlocked door.

    As my eyes adjust to the dim interior, I rely on my Domain to get a sense of the layout of the place. To my surprise, most of the facility is underground, extending seven stories down into the bedrock. No enchantments block my probing, giving me an unobstructed view of the dozens of empty rooms.

    Where is everyone?

    Threads of bright, mana-rich crystal reach down into the earth like roots, pulling up more dense energy than I¡¯d expect. Is every city built over the scars of old Rifts? I put that thought to the side for future review, although it¡¯s an intriguing idea. Maybe that¡¯s what helped catapult the Capital and Gilead to prominence, alongside Grand Ile, Acondia, and Mellanlange¡ªall major cities in Densmore.

    Stolen story; please report.

    At last, my reconnaissance pays off. There are two mana signatures on the last floor, at the end of a long hallway with what feels like built-in checkpoints: small mana barriers that buzz against the intrusion of my Domain. They¡¯re not strong enough to worry me, however. My glass pseudo cores are full, and I¡¯m accustomed now to leveraging the concepts of an imbued framework through my Domain. I can rip any basic mana barriers to shreds with sharpness.

    Still, making my way down the stairways is unsettling. The dim lighting doesn¡¯t help any. Most of the lights are off; for some reason, only every fourth mana lamp is illuminated. Maybe it¡¯s some sort of cost- or energy-saving endeavor, but I don¡¯t love the darkness. Worse, the air itself leaves me so uncomfortable. There¡¯s a hot, stagnant oppressiveness to the area. No smell hits my nose, but my mana senses are uncomfortable. There¡¯s something slightly off about it all, in a way that reminds me a bit too much of the violence twisting the environment in the Old Keep.

    This doesn¡¯t feel as virulent, but it¡¯s still not quite right. It¡¯s not even that it feels like I¡¯m in danger. There¡¯s nothing wrong, not the way the twisted enchantments in the Rift below the Old Keep felt, but it has me on edge. Whatever I¡¯m about to encounter downstairs is unusual. I need to keep my guard up in case things go sideways.

    As expected, none of the doors at the base of the stairs are barred to me. I walk the hall with equal parts trepidation and expectation, not even wincing when I pass through the barriers. I note with some distaste that they seem keyed to keep people in, rather than out. I¡¯m still confident in my ability to punch through them, should it come down to a confrontation, but the detail sticks out to me. It¡¯s worth remembering that this is not typical Menders business.

    Or maybe it is. That dark, intrusive thought gives me pause. Rakesh is investigating the shady practices of the once-honorable institution. Maybe luring strange people into their basement lairs and collecting them like specimens is part of their business now.

    When I¡¯m a few strides away from the final doorway, I sense two mana signatures inside moving toward me. They¡¯re sedate, and I don¡¯t sense any malicious intent, so I try to tamp down the instinct to strike preemptively in case they harbor any untoward purposes.

    The door opens. A middle-aged man and woman with matching nut-brown hair and dark eyes greet me, smiling with more friendliness than I expected in a dreary place like this.

    ¡°You must be Nuri! Uttara told us that you¡¯d be coming to visit, but we didn¡¯t expect you so early,¡± the woman says. She glides forward, reaching out her arms and shocking me with a brief hug. ¡°Apologies, I would have met you at the gate. It¡¯s such a foreboding facility if you¡¯re not used to things! You must be quite brave.¡±

    ¡°Or quite desperate,¡± the man at her side murmurs, squinting at me as though he can lay bare all my secrets.

    I sense a familiar brush of another¡¯s presence against my own as he tries to View me¡ªa technique I¡¯ve never seen in anyone outside of an [Inquisitor] before. I take far more joy than I should in flexing my Domain and swatting aside his clumsy attempts.

    ¡°Rude,¡± I say to him.

    ¡°Remarkable!¡± he says, not put out in the least. ¡°How did you do that without a working core? Your insides are in tatters. Come in, come in! This is a mystery worth investigating.¡±

    The woman by his side clucks her tongue. ¡°Where are my manners? This is my brother Rashad. I¡¯m [Metaphysical Mender] Shiphrah, and I¡¯ll be your least favorite Mender right up until I¡¯m your favorite of all time.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Ominous.¡±

    ¡°Accurate,¡± Rashad puts in, still looking at me like I¡¯m a puzzle to solve. He pulls out a plush chair with navy blue upholstery and gestures for me to take a seat. ¡°Shiphrah is a genius. She loves fixing things, which is good for you. You¡¯re lucky that she¡¯s taken an interest in your case. You¡¯re doubly lucky that I¡¯m with her. I¡¯ll make sure you live through whatever she tries in her pursuit of fixing your metaphysical connections.¡±

    The sheer cheerfulness of Rashad¡¯s menacing pronouncement makes me laugh despite myself. ¡°I¡¯ve probably seen worse,¡± I say, putting on an air of bravado. I have no idea what to make of the siblings, but something about their forthrightness puts me at ease.

    ¡°Oh, but you are a treat!¡± Shiphrah says, clapping in childlike delight. ¡°I¡¯ll have to send a gift basket to Mender Uttara. I knew returning home was a good idea. Didn¡¯t I tell you, Rashad?¡±

    ¡°You did, sister. You did!¡±

    She taps the side of her nose. ¡°So I did! Rarely wrong, rarely wrong. Now, let¡¯s see what we¡¯re dealing with. Rashad, initial report?¡±

    Rashad takes a seat across from me. He folds his hands over his belly, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied hum. ¡°His Skills are more robust than they should be, but I couldn¡¯t get a good look. His core is almost utterly destroyed from what I could glimpse before he shut me out. Impressive, that.¡±

    ¡°Without a working core?¡± Shiphrah¡¯s voice takes on its first sharp edge of the day. She¡¯s been warm, almost grandmotherly, the entire time up until now. ¡°Dear me, dear me. Complicated project, if I do say so myself. That makes things difficult.¡±

    ¡°Why is that?¡± I ask. My intrigue conquers my mild annoyance that they¡¯re talking over me as though I¡¯m not present.

    ¡°The Menders could not fix your hand. Correct?¡±

    I nod in response to her question.

    ¡°They are far from infallible. But in this case, there¡¯s not much to be done apart from the relic. Only the headmistress has access to that. Know why? I mean, the lack of recourse, not the access to the rod! Silly me, silly me.¡±

    Once I¡¯m certain that Shiphrah is done rambling, I meet her gaze and give the expected answer. ¡°Inertia. The body has attained a new equilibrium. Coaxing it to remember what used to be is too difficult, apart from the Azure Rod.¡±

    ¡°Oh, such a clever young man!¡± Shiphrah says, clapping again. She acts more like a big child than a full-grown woman, which makes me wonder how she became a foremost expert in metaphysical healing. ¡°Correct, Nuri. Very good. I¡¯m afraid that the same holds true; as outside, so inside. You see?¡±

    ¡°My channels are shredded. I¡¯ve learned to circumvent them. So, I¡¯ve painted myself into a corner by finding a solution?¡±

    My voice is surprisingly calm. I already suspected something like this might be the case. Still, my heart is beating rapidly, and I can¡¯t shake the sense of sorrow that¡¯s spreading through me like poison.

    ¡°Not at all!¡± Shiphrah says, beaming. ¡°You¡¯ve simply made things tricky. And that¡¯s good for you, because I like tricky. Mender Uttara would have helped you, otherwise. Or at least, he would have tried. He¡¯d likely have failed, but that¡¯s life. I wouldn¡¯t have agreed to see you if he didn¡¯t think you were interesting.

    ¡°Too busy with your research?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Precisely! You¡¯re smart, Nuri. I like you. Oh, oh! That makes me sad. I am going to hurt you before I fix you. Do try not to take it personally,¡± Shiphrah says. Her face falls, and she looks at me with a kind of strange tenderness that I¡¯ve only seen before when parents know they have to dismantle a child¡¯s favorite toy in order to fix something inside.

    I put on my best smile, trying to appear confident. ¡°Very well. I¡¯m not afraid of pain. What do we need to do first?¡±

    ¡°Why, eat lunch! You don¡¯t expect me to work on an empty stomach, do you?¡± Shiphrah¡¯s face takes on a horrified cast. ¡°Rashad, be a dear and call for my niece. She¡¯s late again. We¡¯ll have to remind Saphora to be more punctual. I can¡¯t abide waiting for food. You know how delicate my stomach is!¡±

    I twitch at the name Saphora, then clamp down on my emotions and try not to react to it any further. What are the odds that she works for Mender Shiphrah? Surely it¡¯s someone else with the same name. Surely.

    Yet I know in my bones that it¡¯s her¡ªthe woman who kidnapped my best friend and left him with secret hurts. He occasionally falls into a sullen silence and refuses to tell anyone what happened while he was imprisoned. The thought of sharing a meal with the woman responsible makes me angry.

    I can¡¯t repay the siblings¡¯ kindness by seeking vengeance on their assistant and niece, but I¡¯m also not willing to remain silent. Yet fixing my metaphysical core and channels is my priority right now. Lionel would tell me not to be stupid if he knew that I¡¯d even considered walking out.

    It¡¯s fine to bide my time, I tell myself. I can get justice afterward. Lionel will be avenged, not to mention the citizens of Mahkaiaraon.

    Still, I can¡¯t hide the intensity of my gaze when Saphora shows up with food. She shoots a venomous glare my way, her entire body going stiff with anger. An instant later, she masters herself and melts into smiling at Shiphrah with sickening sweetness, cooing over the older Mender and presenting her with all the choice delicacies on the platter.

    Rashad gets the second go at the food, taking the best of what¡¯s left. By the time he has his fill, the remaining cold slices of meat and crusts of bread aren¡¯t particularly appetizing.

    Still, I didn¡¯t expect to eat here, so I¡¯ll take what I can get. Might as well fortify myself for whatever¡¯s to come. Eating will give me direction for my energy.

    I meet Saphora¡¯s eyes when she offers me the platter, taking spiteful glee in the way she flinches at the sight of me. I hold her gaze while I take a piece of bread. ¡°Thank you for the food. I owe you! And I always settle my debts.¡±

 B5 C26: Hope Deferred

    Saphora glares at me, a vein throbbing at her temple as we make eye contact. She gives me the coldest smile I¡¯ve ever seen, but it only lasts for a split second. Her expression softens into an affectionate gaze by the time she turns to Mender Shiphrah. She¡¯s like an emotional chameleon, blending in perfectly.

    ¡°Aunty, who¡¯s your new patient? I don¡¯t remember meeting him before,¡± Saphora says.

    ¡°This is Nuri, a fascinating young man with a shattered core and shredded channels. He has some clever method to use mana anyway. Isn¡¯t that marvelous? Simply marvelous!¡±

    ¡°Extraordinary. You always find the most interesting cases, Aunty. Can you handle this on your own, or will you require my healing services?¡± Saphora asks. ¡° I¡¯m always happy to help my family!¡±

    ¡°I believe we¡¯ll take care of everything, thank you,¡± Rashad says blandly, though his eyes narrow a fraction.

    ¡°Oh? His treatment is entirely metaphysical?¡±

    ¡°Just so,¡± Shiphrah says, patting her niece on the arm. ¡°I know you¡¯re talented, but this is not your domain. Leave the work to this little old lady.¡±

    Saphora smiles and nods, superficially pleasant, but her knuckles are white as she grips the platter and darts out of the room. In a way, that¡¯s reassuring to me. She¡¯s not working at the behest of her aunt. Probably. That means I won¡¯t have to turn against Shiphrah, too.

    Well, who knows. I hope not.

    We eat in relative silence. Every few moments, Shiphrah makes some comment about a past visit to some far-off place, to which Rashad invariably replies with a noncommittal murmur. He seems disengaged from the conversation, and every once in a while he releases a subtle working of mana, although I don¡¯t dare risk activating my own Viewing and tipping him off that I can sense everything he does and easily pierce straight past his own clumsy veil. Even Azariah was more skilled at shielding himself from view.

    Shiphrah stands up abruptly, brushing crumbs off her frock. ¡°Lovely meal! Always a good portent to start with eating together. Now, Nuri, why don¡¯t you tell us how you found yourself in such a precarious situation? Don¡¯t leave anything out!¡±

    I leave out plenty.

    Starting with the Rift, and ignoring their curiosity about how I ended up in a lesser Rift on my own in the first place, I explain how I closed the incursion by turning the powerful wild mana in the Rift¡¯s core against itself. Their eyes grow wide as I recount the way I melted my Skills in a desperate attempt to vent the power that burned off my hand and carved an enormous tunnel through the metaphysical realm, right across my chest.

    ¡°Young man, you should not be alive. Consider yourself fortunate,¡± Rashad says, looking at me with an expression that¡¯s uncomfortably close to admiration.

    ¡°I do,¡± I assure him.

    He doesn¡¯t seem convinced. If anything, his frown grows deeper. ¡°We¡¯ve seen all sorts of grotesque accidents. No one has lived long in such a state. You must understand, our window to save someone after encountering such a tragedy is quite brief. Measured in minutes most of the time, if not seconds. Despite our best ministrations and high-ranking Skills, only a small handful have survived, let alone recovered anything approaching their previous abilities.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t scare the boy, Rashad. Don¡¯t scare him! We¡¯ll have him recovered again in no time, I know it. I know it! I¡¯ve got a good feeling about this one.¡±

    Rashad¡¯s lips flatten into a thin line. He glances at his sister from the corner of his eye, clearly unimpressed by her pronouncement. ¡°You said this happened over a year ago?¡±

    I nod in confirmation.

    ¡°Yet here you are, hale and whole, apart from your hand. Earlier, you stopped me from getting a proper diagnosis. Why and how?¡±

    I take off my necklace of glass orbs, though I don¡¯t dare let go of them. ¡°After closing the Rift, mana manipulation was incredibly painful. I practiced soaking my body and soul in mana every single day, however, no matter how agonizing. I¡¯ve made a habit of this for a few years, and it seems to have helped me survive. Eventually, I made this, a sort of external reservoir of mana that I can use to empower my Skills by manually feeding the mana into the runic arrays in the Skill structures directly, bypassing my shredded channels.¡±

    Mender Shiphrah reaches for the thick necklace, but I hold it back. ¡°Apologies. I don¡¯t like to give it up. Creating this was incredibly difficult, and I¡¯d rather not part with it.¡±

    ¡°You are a crafter?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a [Glassworker],¡± I say, pride bleeding into my voice. ¡°Learning to imbue this is what catapulted me into the ranks of the Masters.¡±

    The siblings share a glance laden with meaning that I can¡¯t quite parse. Rashad runs his fingers through his hair, then lets out a heavy sigh. ¡°You¡¯re a curiosity indeed. Is there anything you can¡¯t do?¡±

    ¡°Plenty. I can¡¯t use the Skills that melted in the Rift. Expanding my Capacity, apart from creating a better pseudo-core, is out of the question. Harvesting and using mana is still painful for me in the extreme. I¡¯ve grown used to it, but I¡¯d rather not continue like this.¡±

    ¡°May I scan you again? Please don¡¯t resist this time.¡± Rashad asks. His eyes narrow, but not in antagonism; he genuinely seems confused by me. ¡°How many years since you hit the First Threshold?¡±

    ¡°You may. I won¡¯t overreact this time,¡± I say, smiling and trying not to look too smug. ¡°I hit the First Threshold last year. Why?¡±

    A familiar wave of mana and intent washes over me. I resist the temptation to lock out the Viewing, like Azariah used to do with me when I got over-eager to see what was going on in his core space. Instead, I let the Viewing take hold and scan my interior, which is when I realize that it¡¯s not a true Viewing. It feels like an upgraded version of the Menders Sounding, in fact. That¡¯s a neat trick, since it doesn¡¯t require bodily contact. I¡¯ll have to see if I can copy it so that I can teach it to Lionel later.

    ¡°Incredible. Your interior space is, well, cavernous, if you don¡¯t mind me saying so. If you weren¡¯t so young, I¡¯d suspect that you¡¯d hit the Second Threshold last year, not the First. Quite frankly, I¡¯ve never seen such wonderful mana density before in anyone still in the First Threshold. Your Skills are also far more robust than they ought to be. I don¡¯t understand what any of them do, other than one that appears to be heat-related. I¡¯ve never seen the rest of them before, and I assure you that I have seen a great deal more than most.¡±

    I¡¯d be surprised if he had come across [Vitrification], since I made it myself. Even [Sanctuary of Glass] is most likely extremely rare, since it required so much external mana, not to mention extraordinary circumstances. I bite my tongue, opting not to say anything about it. The less they know about my rare ability to artificially patch together and modify Skills with customized runic arrays, the better. They may seem kind so far, but I¡¯m not as foolish as I used to be. Plus the pair of them are related to Saphora! Still, I can¡¯t shake the surprise that he thinks my inner world is larger than it should be for my advancement.

    I scratch my chin through my thick beard, considering his words. ¡°Does that mean that I can immediately rank up to the next Threshold if you¡¯re able to fix me?¡±

    ¡°Immediately? Likely not,¡± Rashad hedges. ¡°Your Skills are a bit sparse. I¡¯d expect you to fill up your soul prior.¡±

    ¡°Oh? I know a man with only a single Skill,¡± I say, thinking of the [Mimic Mage] I met with back in Grand Ile. ¡°That hasn¡¯t held him back from the ranks.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s some debate there,¡± Shiphrah says when her brother doesn¡¯t reply right away. ¡°I have yet to see a person develop enough potency to continue advancing with only a single Skill, but that¡¯s separate from your potential. Think of it this way: imagine you go to a tavern, and the barkeep rolls out three casks for a party. That¡¯s a lot of potential! The problem is that the casks contain weak and sour wine that no one wants to drink. What a disappointment. What a dissapointment! Truly tragic, if you¡¯re an oenophile like I am. That¡¯s low potency, in this example.¡±

    ¡°Helpful way to think about it,¡± I say, grinning at the thought of someone like Shiphrah at a common tavern.

    ¡°Usually, there¡¯s a bit of variation between the casks. Some are stronger, some weaker. We work with very few hard and fast rules. But if your potency isn¡¯t high enough, then you¡¯ll not rank up, despite the size of your soul. That¡¯s wasted potential, sadly. Wasted potential.¡±

    I hum thoughtfully. ¡°Is that why people tend to bottleneck just before the Second Threshold? They have an unequal amount of Skill quality?¡±

    The siblings exchange glances again. Rashad holds up a hand and puts on a hard look. His sister slowly closes her mouth, although she pouts about it. He turns to me and offers a tight smile. ¡°Unfortunately, we¡¯ll have to stop your questions there. Research into these matters is tightly controlled. We¡¯d rather not lose our funding. Please accept our sincere apologies.¡±

    A detail clicks into place. ¡°Is that what the warehouses are all around this district? You¡¯ve each got assigned research topics?¡±

    ¡°Entirely too perceptive! Entirely,¡± Shaphirah mutters under her breath, busying herself with a cup of tea.

    ¡°The noble houses of Gilead were each charged with a research topic many generations ago,¡± Rashad says in a halting voice. ¡°Most did not succeed. Only the Menders emerged with any credibility after the first century of experiments wrapped up. Beyond that, I can¡¯t say much. But, yes, this district is the primary reason Gilead has been so dominant in Densmoran politics for so long.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s below us is secondary?¡±

    They both flinch, confirming my suspicions. We¡¯re sitting atop a secured Rift. Cleared of any monsters, it¡¯s constantly releasing mana into the environment, increasing the energy density of the city and improving mana recovery rates for the researchers.

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    ¡°Better you don¡¯t ask,¡± Rashad says stiffly, although a slight grin tugs at the corner of his lips. ¡°I can only divulge so many secrets to an outsider, you understand. Now, let¡¯s work on that core. Sister?¡±

    Shiphrah gulps down the last of the tea and smiles at me radiantly, practically quivering with excitement. She walks over to my seat and taps a small, round button on the side of the chair. Within a few seconds, the chair reclines to form a bed that¡¯s surprisingly comfortable.

    ¡°This won¡¯t take long, Nuri. Rashad will do his best to keep you in good health, just in case there are unintended consequences. Thanks to him, I haven¡¯t lost a patient yet¡ªat least not during the initial triage! He¡¯s one of the most talented mundane Menders on the continent! Wonderful, isn¡¯t it? Simply wonderful.¡±

    My panicked response is lost as she places a hand on my chest, right below my rib cage, and my world flashes white with unimaginable torment.

    =+=

    I float in a sea of luminous nothingness.

    Surrounded by points of light that wink out of existence if I try to focus on them, I drift in the ether, unmoored from time.

    Mana. The light is mana.

    The realization feels important, although I can¡¯t seem to place why. There¡¯s something in the liminal space that feels like home, that makes me want to nestle into it and sleep in endless peace.

    Danger! my mind hisses.

    I fight back against the impulse to drift away forever, steadily retaking control of my mind and soul.

    Slowly, in fits and starts, memory bleeds back into me. I blink without eyes, separated from a body. I¡¯m not here in person. This is my inner world. My soul. But if that¡¯s the case, then where are my Skills? Where are all of the runes that I¡¯ve painstakingly memorized over the last year?

    Ah. Right. Expansion.

    I cast out my consciousness, searching for anything to latch onto in the void. There¡¯s a faint current, pulling me onward. Without any other landmarks or indication of where to go or what to do, I follow the flow, although I can¡¯t tell where I¡¯m headed.

    The last thing I can clearly remember is the grandmotherly warmth on Shiphrah¡¯s face before the world exploded into the worst agony of my life.

    As I hold that thought in mind, more mana joins the light, reinforcing my awareness of myself. It¡¯s cool but not bitter cold, like taking a refreshing drink on a hot Summer¡¯s day. Dimly, I sense my body¡ªmy real body¡ªstitching itself back together. I don¡¯t know what pulled it apart, but that¡¯s a problem for another time.

    Rashad promised to keep me alive.

    Dimly, that thought worms into my consciousness. I decide to believe that his promise is trustworthy. If Mender Uttara meant me harm, or if the strange siblings wanted to hurt me, they could have done it in a thousand other ways than sending soothing mana through me. The more I think about what happened, the more my mind makes connections again.

    I relax. This is no different from Scalpel delving into my soul, although I suspect Shiphrah has better intentions. But I¡¯m not helpless anymore. I understand how to break free; now that I¡¯m cognizant of what¡¯s happening again, I can technically take control of this at any time. Although, now that I think about it, I¡¯m not inclined to interrupt what she¡¯s doing right now. I don¡¯t want to inadvertently break anything.

    Well, break things worse.

    Now that my cognizance is returning to normal, I turn my perception toward the direction in which I¡¯m traveling. For an indeterminate time, nothing changes at all. There is simply a vast and comfortable darkness, shot through with glowing stars¡ªsmall streaks of mana, flitting about like fireflies.

    Before me, after what feels like a short eternity, an infinitesimal speck appears. Flat and insignificant at first, it grows in my mind, swelling in size as I rush closer, ever closer. How long I draw near, I know not. Yet the lackluster spot continues to grow and grow and grow, until at last it¡¯s no longer small, but immense in a way that defies all logic. It fills the entire horizon, cracked and strangely subdued despite dominating my universe.

    The closer I move to the enormous expanse, the more mournful I feel. My core, which is the only thing this mangled monstrosity could be, appears inanimate and dull. It exists beyond the realm of matter, yet not solely in the realm of the metaphysical, since it must connect with my body, much like a beast core. It overlaps both realms, yet no longer interacts with either. All the connections that should exist, enlivening me, are inert and dry.

    As Shiphrah¡¯s mana touches the core, spreading out wider and wider in an attempt to encircle it completely, a deep and terrible shudder runs through the fractured core. Searing pain shoots throughout me, from everywhere all at once. Unending and unrelenting, it burns me all over again¡ªI am in the lesser Rift once more, clutching the crystalline ball of the Rift core and destroying myself from the inside out, reliving the agony and horror again and again.

    Panic shoots through me as I watch the mana slow its spread. We won¡¯t be able to cover the entire core. Unless my calculations are off, Mender Sphiphrah¡¯s mana is a fount of healing, but it¡¯s not inexhaustible. She won¡¯t be able to finish the work. And if it¡¯s not completed, where does that leave me?

    No. I refuse.

    Anger rips through me, hot and indignant. I reach out through the ether, relying on my [Arcane Domain] to navigate the void, and find my glass pseudo cores on my real body. Tapping into them gives me a rush of instant relief, and I fling my mana toward the mana emanating from Shiphrah. Buttressing up her work, I join the full force of my artificial Capacity to hers. While my current state prevents me from Viewing what she¡¯s doing with her Skills, I don¡¯t need to copy her efforts. All I need to do is encase the core, ensuring that there¡¯s an unbroken covering of mana.

    Falling back on every trick I¡¯ve learned, I deftly weave my mana into hers, stretching out the net and enveloping my core in energy. My fractured core drinks it greedily, like the parched ground in the Barrens when the storms opened overhead, but nothing changes.

    On and on the mana spools out, soaking the core in wave after wave of Shiphrah¡¯s will and intent. Her Skill drains my mana until my glass cores are dry, and still my true core takes in more energy, never satisfied and still cracked.

    At long last, the Mender runs out. Her Skill gutters like a candle with no fuel to burn.

    Everything goes black.

    What feels like eons later, I blink, falling out of the metaphysical space and back into my body. Shivering on the reclining chair, I reach up and mop away the sweat from my brow.

    I hate the complete absence of mana. I can¡¯t warm myself up by drawing in the thermal energy around me. I¡¯ve gotten used to the feeling in the past, but for years [Heat Manipulation] was my only companion. Without it, I feel almost naked.

    Exposed. Vulnerable. Alone.

    Shiphrah staggers back to her seat and falls into it with a decidedly undelicate grunt of exhaustion and frustration. She¡¯s shaking, too, utterly drained, and her cheerful disposition has evaporated like the first frost before a heat wave at harvest time.

    ¡°I have never encountered anything like that,¡± Shiphrah says at last. She lifts trembling fingers up to her head and rubs her temples. ¡°We will have to reevaluate how we approach your convalescence. Please refrain from any mana use for at least forty-eight hours. Your soul needs time to recuperate.¡±

    ¡°Very well. When I come again, I¡¯ll bring extra cores. My friends will have to carry them, since they create a cascading resonance effect if they¡¯re too close together. I will temporarily loan you a few of them so that you don¡¯t run out of mana again.¡±

    The siblings startle at my announcement. I might as well have claimed that I can open a Rift with a wave of my hand. After a moment, they seem to move on, however.

    ¡°What happened, sister?¡± Rashad asks. His voice is small. Subdued. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you drained in decades. Yet there was no backlash. I barely had to do anything other than stop the internal bleeding when Nuri started thrashing.¡±

    Wait, what?

    I swallow my fear, trying to appear composed. ¡°Thank you, Mender Rashad. I appreciate that you kept me alive. If I¡¯d tried to fix myself on my own¡ªwell, I¡¯d rather not think about it.¡±

    ¡°Nuri saved himself,¡± Shiphrah says. She shakes her head. ¡°That should be impossible. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±

    I shrug, not wanting to explain that I have more experience with soul surgery than most people on the continent. Nor do I want to get into how my Domain allowed me to reach outside of myself while still in my liminal space. Instead, I say, ¡°Well, I wasn¡¯t about to let all your hard work go to waste.¡±

    While I have them off kilter, I push for answers to the question that¡¯s been rattling around in my mind ever since lunch. ¡°Why did you get a Mender for an assistant? Wouldn¡¯t it be easier to hire a [Maid] or [Chef]?¡±

    Rashad perks up, seizing on a conversation that puts him back on more solid ground. He rolls up his sleeves and scooches forward to the edge of his seat, clearing his throat. His voice lowers conspiratorially.

    ¡°The fact of the matter is that it¡¯s exceedingly difficult to find anyone who will work with us. This part of town has a reputation in Gilead, you see. I alluded earlier to the research done here. While the details are state secrets, the public knows the general idea of the district.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re scared,¡± I surmise.

    ¡°Precisely!¡± Rashad says, leveling a finger at me. ¡°Even among the Menders, we have a hard time finding anyone willing to stay out here for long. One visit is usually enough, and then they put in a request for a transfer. Not sure I blame them. This place gives me the creeps every time I¡¯m back in town. Prefer life on the road, honestly.¡±

    ¡°Saphira doesn¡¯t seem to mind?¡±

    ¡°Saphora,¡± Shiphrah corrects absently. She¡¯s twirling a finger through her thick curls, her eyes staring at something a thousand paces away.

    ¡°Er, right. Saphora doesn¡¯t mind working out here? You said that she¡¯s been late recently, so that implies she¡¯s been working with you for a while. Do you go back a ways?¡±

    Rashad chuckles. ¡°Yes and no. Well, that¡¯s family for you. We¡¯ve been out of touch for a good number of years, since we¡¯re both busy with our various projects. She¡¯s only been with us for about two weeks. We¡¯ll keep her on, despite the occasional tardiness, since neither of us are in Gilead for very long. My understanding is that she travels all around Densmore doing charity work. Healing the poor, and that sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°Admirable,¡± I croak out.

    ¡°Quite so, quite so,¡± Shiphrah chimes in. ¡°It¡¯s a wonderful testament to her character, so I try not to be too hard on her for bringing me food a little late. As long as my peach pastries are still warm, all is forgiven.¡±

    ¡°Keeping the tastebuds happy is paramount, eh? I didn¡¯t realize that the Menders were in the business of handouts. She must have quite a high ranking if they allow her to travel and dole out healing without recompense,¡± I say wryly. I¡¯m having a hard time keeping the cynicism out of my tone, but neither sibling seems to notice.

    I ponder the strange news for a while, relieved that the likable duo doesn¡¯t seem part of Saphora¡¯s web of lies¡ªunless they¡¯re all in on it together. What will I do if they are? Accept their help and then stab them in the back?

    Morbid thoughts churn in my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling suddenly dizzy. As it passes, I¡¯m ashamed for leaping to the worst conclusions, and I vow to get to know them before I pass judgment. Since it¡¯s strange to talk with them while I¡¯m still lying down, I reach over and hit the control button to return my reclining seat to an upright position.

    ¡°Well, that was invigorating.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve done well!¡± Shiphrah chimes in, beaming at me. ¡°Apologies that I didn¡¯t hold up my end of the bargain. We¡¯ll do better next time. Better!¡±

    In the end, Rashad makes me wait another few hours for observation. He sends waves of healing mana through me three more times before conceding that I¡¯m remarkably healthy and fit for discharge. He escorts me off the property and bids me farewell once we reach the street, waving as I depart.

    I wave back.¡°See you in two days. Let¡¯s hope it¡¯s more successful this time.¡±

    He winces, and I take my leave, returning to the inn as quickly as I can. I¡¯m anxious to tell the team what I¡¯ve discovered, and more than a little terrified at the prospect of traveling on my own without the mana to run my [Arcane Domain]. What if Saphora attacks me on the way back, while I¡¯m still defenseless?

    Despite my worst fears, I make it back in one piece and flop down on the couch in our suite¡¯s common room. My mind clicks into gear as I turn over the strange events. We¡¯re likely not the only ones Saphora has targeted. Once I get Rakesh on the trail, we¡¯ll track down all her other activities, and report her to the [Inquisitors]. They¡¯ll put together a case and send a strike team to take her down.

    Assuming she doesn¡¯t strike first.

 B5 C27: Metaphysical Mysteries

    ¡°Three o¡¯clock and all¡¯s clear!¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Lio,¡± I groan, rubbing my closed eyes with my thumb and middle finger as I sit up from my spot on the couch. I slap my cheek a few times, struggling to wake up, and switch spots with Lionel to let him get some sleep.

    We¡¯ve spent the last day and night on high alert, taking turns keeping watch all around the clock. As unlikely as it is that someone will attack the inn overnight, I don¡¯t want to take any chances. Although we¡¯re fairly certain that Saphora doesn¡¯t know where our room is, there¡¯s no sense in leaving ourselves without some prior warning in case she does show up.

    ¡°Wish I could see better,¡± I murmur, squinting against the faint glare of distant mana lamps. I lean against the East-facing window frame in our suite¡¯s common lounge area, peering into the murky depths of a city that never truly sleeps. Most of the people traveling past our inn seem like they¡¯re part of the working class. They probably aren¡¯t related to the Menders, and it¡¯s not likely they pose much of a threat, but it¡¯s hard to tell since I can¡¯t use mana until I¡¯m cleared by Shiphrah.

    I can¡¯t be sure if I was followed back to the inn on the way back from visiting the odd [Metaphysical Mender]. My mana stores were utterly depleted, and I was warned against Skill use during recovery, so I couldn¡¯t track people through my Domain.

    Between Rakesh¡¯s paper birds and our nightly watch rotation, we should be able to get early warning if anyone approaches. In the meantime, I¡¯m drumming my fingers against the window sill, jumping every time I see someone so much as look up at the inn. That level of paranoia can¡¯t be healthy, I tell myself, trying to relax while simultaneously staying on guard. It¡¯s not working.

    Yuuni slithers by on a nearby rooftop. Her constant patrol brings a smile to my lips, but I¡¯m not sure how to teach the little glass sea serpent how to pick out mana signatures. It¡¯s not easy to convey more advanced commands like that, but I¡¯m confident that it can be done once I¡¯m cleared to dive back into using mana again. Avelina seems to think that the little serpent can understand her, and I¡¯m not inclined to argue now that she¡¯s somehow taken the bond away from me¡ªwhich is another mystery I¡¯m keen to solve.

    Currently, my leading theory to successfully empower Yuuni is to create a copy of what I sense in my Domain and then imprint it on the animated glass. Experimenting will need to wait for two days to go by so that I can use mana again, since I¡¯m trying to follow the advice from Mender Shiphrah. For now, I can work out the ideas behind things. My main inspiration is the tracking device for borrowed books at the SCA library.

    The only hesitation is that it required a drop of blood to verify the borrower¡¯s mana signature. So did the mana-control test, now that I think of it. I somehow doubt that Saphora will take kindly to me poking her with a hollow needle next time I see her, so I quickly discard the idea that I¡¯ll be able to harvest some blood for this project.

    As much as I¡¯d love to make her pay for what she did to Lionel, cutting her is a step too far for me. After Irving, I¡¯m not interested in dispensing rogue justice. Even with Irving, we only cleared the way for him to do what he wanted anyhow. He was chasing glory, and he got exactly what he deserved. No, going after Saphora directly is a line I don¡¯t want to cross. If all goes well, then the [Inquisitors] will handle her, assuming they enter the city in force.

    Rakesh is still working on that front. We¡¯ll see what fruit his research yields. Investigating their absence is a delicate process, since we don¡¯t want to tip off the authorities. If anyone can figure out how to crack a tough case with aplomb, it¡¯s Rakesh. I just hope he gets a lead soon. All this waiting around is getting to me.

    Despite my worries, no menacing adversary shows up during the night to bother us. We share a quiet breakfast, everyone keeping their own counsel as they eat and prepare for the day to come. Before we part ways to visit our various studios¡ªand the library¡ªI remind the team to bring our valuables with us to work. Just in case.

    Everyone readily agrees not to leave our personal effects at the inn, packing up with a practiced efficiency that makes me proud. Soon, only Mikko and I are left behind. He drags his feet, regarding me with a look that¡¯s far too close to pity for my liking. Finally, I demand that he spits out whatever¡¯s weighing on his mind.

    ¡°Tired of being cooped up?¡±

    I nod at my brother. ¡°Miserable.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, you look it,¡± he replies, smirking back at me. ¡°Hey, there¡¯s no point in sitting here all alone moping. Why don¡¯t you visit my new workshop?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not moping!¡± I protest.

    ¡°Pfft! You¡¯re totally moping, Nuri. Everyone has a job to do except for you right now. You don¡¯t know how to deal with feeling useless.¡±

    I lift my chin and level a haughty look at my brother. ¡°I know how to handle downtime. I¡¯m making plans. Persevering my strength.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, it¡¯s fine to have a bad day. You already admitted you¡¯re miserable,¡± Mikko points out, his lips lifting slightly. ¡°Come see the workshop. It¡¯s nothing like a smithy back home.¡±

    My instinct is to argue, to push back on the claim that I¡¯m having a bad day, but it¡¯s a lot easier to lie to myself than it is to lie to my brother. With a heavy sigh, I gather up my things and heft my backpack onto my shoulder. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s take a look at the future of metalsmithing.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit!¡± Mikko crows, clapping me on the back and nearly knocking me off my feet.

    I roll my shoulders, wincing at Mikko¡¯s unwitting display of overwhelming strength, and follow my brother downstairs, out of the inn, and through a maze of many streets teeming with workers, merchants, off-season sailors, and the occasional family. Half an hour later, we arrive at the warehouse, and my bad mood has completely evaporated. I realize with a start that I¡¯m excited to see what¡¯s inside. Mikko was right, as usual. I needed something to pick me back up and get my mind off my core and channels.

    The outside of the studio is strikingly bare. Slate-gray walls of hot-rolled metal sheets rise five storeys high. The monochrome exterior is broken up only by the heavily-reinforced door at the corner of the block. There¡¯s no handle or lock, but Mikko guides us over and places his hand against a chest-high panel.

    A pulse of mana is faintly visible in my mundane sight, which is all I can rely on since I¡¯m not wearing my glass pseudo cores. I sent the spare sets with the Linas, just to make sure that I didn¡¯t succumb to temptation and try tinkering with imbuing or [Glass Animation] while waiting for the forty-eight hour injunction against mana-use to pass.

    With a click and a soft hiss, the door unlocks and retracts into the wall, sliding to the side to open our path forward. Mikko grabs my arm and drags me inside, interrupting me before I can examine the mechanism in greater detail.

    ¡°Take a look next time, when you can use mana again,¡± Mikko admonishes me. He has the gall to press his lips flat and shake his head at me, as though he knows exactly what I¡¯d try if he didn¡¯t supervise my every move.

    I¡¯m a little embarrassed how easily he sees through me. But, hey, what are brothers for?

    Everywhere I look around the shop, gleaming iron and manasteel meet my gaze. Even more exotic metals I don¡¯t recognize line the back wall. I gawk despite myself, marveling at the automated processes in the advanced smithy. It feels like an actual glimpse into the future, even though I was only teasing my brother about that earlier. Watching all the odd, multi-articulated machines working together in precise synchronization is mesmerizing.

    ¡°They can produce more items than a single ever smith could, even with a ton of Skills running in concert,¡± Mikko says, gesturing toward the machines.

    I force myself to stop staring. The prospect of learning constituent runes in their base enchantments has me drooling, even though I don¡¯t know much about enchanting. Expanding my runic library is always a worthwhile endeavor.

    ¡°The boss can show you later. Look, I¡¯ve gotta get to work, but why don¡¯t I introduce you first? Might as well get you two on a first-name basis if you¡¯re going to harass him with endless questions.¡±

    I chuckle weakly, not bold enough to lie and claim that I won¡¯t have questions. The entire workshop fascinates me. Instead, I put on a smile and shake hands with Jabal, the [Automation Foreman] in charge of the workshop.

    Since I can¡¯t use mana for forty-eight hours, Mikko doesn¡¯t inform Jabal that I¡¯m a Master craftsman. Everyone loves seeing an imbuing demonstration, even if glass is different from the forging process. Regardless of the different mediums in which we work, Jabal will probably find watching me imbue instructive. I¡¯ll have to reveal that skill another time. Maybe it will be enough to convince him to accelerate the plan to teach Mikko enchantments.

    At the very least, I offer Jabal an embossed card with an enchantment that will grant him special access to the Orpheus House¡¯s acquisitions team. Ozana gave me a few to distribute at my discretion, and Mikko¡¯s enthusiasm about the workshop is more than enough endorsement for me to trust the quality of their work. Besides, I suspect the investment may be worthwhile if their innovative manufacturing methods catch on.

    Which reminds me. I should share the last of the innovation-infused tea with my team. It might be just what they need to achieve breakthroughs of their own.

    Jabal takes the card with a raised eyebrow. When he reads the name engraved on the side, his dark amber eyes light up. ¡°Too generous, young man! I¡¯ll pay you back. I swear.¡±

    ¡°You already have. My brother¡¯s the happiest I¡¯ve ever seen him,¡± I say, smiling fondly at the big lunk.

    ¡°Heartwarming,¡± the boss chuckles. ¡°Family. Good! I won¡¯t worry about the debt. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Well, I guess you could tell me more about your fabricators,¡± I reply, nodding toward the machines made of the odd metal I noticed on the back wall.

    Mikko smirks at me as Jabal and I head over to look at the fascinating machines, but I don¡¯t mind my brother¡¯s teasing. He was right; this is exactly the kind of distraction I needed to get back in the right mindset. I can learn and grow for my entire life, regardless of whether or not my core is fixed¡ªor the enemies I make along the way.

    =+=

    The next morning, I join the Linas at the Orpheus before my appointment. The glass works at the auction house is well stocked but small, with only three workbenches. The twins are the only glassblowers there for the morning shift, so we have free rein to work together and practice our craft. Without using my imbuing, I¡¯m not as valuable to the Orpheus as I would be otherwise, but I still enjoy chatting with the twins.

    I help them finish some mundane commissions, but making glass without transforming it through my mana feels less satisfying than I¡¯d hoped. My heart isn¡¯t in my work, and it shows. The pieces are fine. Fine. But not up to my standards, and the Linas notice.

    They cut short our work day and join me for my appointment, since they¡¯re each bringing a set of glass cores. We¡¯ll need the extra mana for Shiphrah, but I value my friends¡¯ company even more. I¡¯m not sure that I can handle the roiling emotions of another failure so soon on the heels of the last. Having their presence with me bolsters my confidence.

    On the way out, Ozana intercepts us. She hands me a small leather pouch. ¡°Your share for your helm. Bidding was more vigorous than hoped. We look forward to a long partnership.¡±

    ¡°I will try not to disappoint,¡± I say, bowing slightly as I take the offered money bag. It¡¯s not much yet, due to the various setup and transaction fees, but it¡¯s likely more than I pulled in for all the items I sold at Totten¡¯s auction.

    Which is only fair, since Gilead is the most overpriced place I¡¯ve ever seen in my life. I can¡¯t believe that I thought the capital was bad. Living here is one step from daylight robbery!

    I keep my thoughts to myself. No point in getting the Linas riled up about how much I¡¯m paying to cover our inn. Melina seems content to work in the studio with her sister, and Avelina is more relaxed than I¡¯ve seen in a while now that she¡¯s using flamework for sculpting instead of killing. Still, I don¡¯t miss the way she clutches Yuuni to her body at all times, or the way her eyes slide toward the corners, searching for ghosts in the shadows. I wish I knew how to help grow flowers of peace in the garden of Avelina.

    The cute little sea serpent is wrapped around her arm permanently. Thankfully, it¡¯s hard to distinguish from decorative jewelry, despite its size. I¡¯d hate to see what might happen if some enterprising [Thief] decides it¡¯s valuable and wants to steal it.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I¡¯d feel bad for Avelina in that case, since she¡¯d probably feel guilty after incinerating the would-be bandit. Burned to a crisp is a bad way to go.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s our plan if we run into that witch?¡± Avelina asks, shimmying as close to me as she can before the resonance between our glass cores gets uncomfortable.

    ¡°Act like we don¡¯t know her, unless she forces the issue. We¡¯re trying to crack this case wide open, not just get petty revenge,¡± I say.

    Avelina snickers. ¡°You¡¯ve been spending too much time talking with Rakesh, huh? He thinks he¡¯s an actual [Detective].¡±

    ¡°Oh, leave him alone, Ava,¡± Melina says. She lets out a soft laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s kind of endearing?¡±

    ¡°It was until he noticed that it was,¡± Avelina says, scowling. ¡°I liked it better when he was nervous about everything and the world was a big, scary place. He was kinda cute! Now he¡¯s all full of himself. He thinks he¡¯s debonair. ¡±

    ¡°Be nice,¡± Melina chides.

    ¡°Pfft, I¡¯m always nice!¡±

    Melina and I diplomatically don¡¯t answer.

    Nearly an hour later, we¡¯ve passed the Menders main campus, which elicits the suitable oohs and ahhs from the Linas, and are approaching the creepy research district. I explain the history as best I could, although it probably doesn¡¯t quite click before the twins see it with their own eyes. Now that I know all the noble houses worked in this area for generations, competing to elevate their little slice of magic research, the unsettling architecture and configuration makes more sense.

    Idly, I wonder if Scalpel got her start here. She was so augmented by the time I met her that I couldn¡¯t get a good read on her origin. Sure, she was deathly pale, unlike the deep bronze complexions of most citizens native to Gilead, but nothing about her was natural anymore. The dark voids of her eyes and the too-many joints in her weirdly-articulated fingers weren¡¯t the only things unnatural about her. She¡¯d enhanced her body and soul in a myriad of strange ways. I¡¯m not sure I even want to know the full extent of it.

    Open gates finally show up ahead of us, and I pick up the pace, anxious to attempt the healing Skill again with more mana at our disposal. ¡°This is it. C¡¯mon!¡±

    ¡°You sure know how to pick ¡®em,¡± Avelina mutters when we pass through the extensive, well-manicured grounds and reach the warehouse. She hesitates at the doorway, gulping at the dimly lit interior, but she follows us inside anyway.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Ava. It looks like a murder hole, but you¡¯ll like Shiphrah and Rashad. Truth be told, they kinda remind me of you two. Or maybe me and Mikko.¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re related?¡± Melina asks, amusement in her tone. ¡°Siblings aren¡¯t all that rare, Nuri. From the way you described them, they don¡¯t seem to share much with us in the way of personality or disposition.¡±

    ¡°Oh, fine, be all technical about it.¡±

    Avelina nudges her sister, smirking.

    ¡°I do think you¡¯ll like them, though,¡± I insist. ¡°They¡¯re super nice. And they¡¯ve got a ton of amazing stories about traveling around Densmore. They¡¯ve been on even more adventures than we have, I¡¯ll bet.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a bold claim,¡± Avelina mutters.

    ¡°Look at you! World traveler,¡± I tease.

    Our banter dies off when we descend the final set of stairs in the basement. Without the guidance of my Domain, it feels more ominous walking down the long hallway than it did the first time. Even the presence of my friends with me doesn¡¯t quite take away the fright factor.

    Laughter bubbles up from the room ahead of us, and I turn to smile at Avelina. ¡°See? It¡¯s not so bad. That sounds like Rashad. I¡¯ll introduce you.¡±

    Thankfully, Saphora is nowhere to be found when we enter the cozy clinic at the end of the hallway. She¡¯s clearly been there, since a plate of cold cuts and crumbs show evidence that Shiphrah has thoroughly enjoyed her peach pastries before we got there.

    ¡°Greetings, Nuri! Glad you could join us again. And you¡¯ve brought friends? Brave boy. Very brave boy,¡± Shiphrah says. She rises from her seat, her knees creaking, and bustles over with her hands outstretched toward the Linas. She warmly clasps each of their hands between hers in turn, smiling as though she¡¯s greeting long-lost bosom companions.

    ¡°Lovely to meet you! Oh, how lovely!¡±

    Rashad restrains himself to standing and bowing stiffly before returning to his book. He soon loses himself in the text, chuckling to himself at some private joke and ignoring the rest of us without compunction.

    ¡°We brought three pseudo cores,¡± I announce. ¡°Melina is well-acquainted with keeping them in good working order and assisting with swapping them out as needed. She¡¯ll assist while you¡¯re delving into my core space.¡±

    ¡°If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d think you¡¯ve got practice with this,¡± Rashad says lightly. He looks up from his book for just a split second, but there¡¯s a sharp look in his eyes that makes me think he¡¯s been looking into me.

    While the [Inquisitors] said they¡¯d expunge my accusations from the record, there¡¯s still no guarantee that they got everything. Tracking down details on Scalpel would be significantly more difficult, but still not outside of the realm of possibility.

    I purposefully keep my expression mild. ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m a man of many talents.¡±

    Rashard sets down his book. He folds his hands, crossing his legs at the ankles, and leans back in his seat. ¡°Any significant pain? You seem like you¡¯re fine, but I¡¯d like to take a look again, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°Go for it. I do feel pretty good, but I¡¯m anxious to use my Skills again. I¡¯ve avoided mana for forty-eight hours, just like you said. Not my favorite prescription ever.¡±

    Rashad focuses, and a sensation like warm, cleansing rain washes over me. Tiny aches I didn¡¯t even notice fade away, and I bounce on my toes without realizing it at first. My muscles are brimming with energy. They feel strong and elastic in a way I haven¡¯t experienced before. I wonder if this is how Mikko feels all the time. Powerful. Relaxed. Overflowing with potential. Like a lion lounging in the sun, ready to spring into action and chase down its prey.

    Concurrently to healing my physical body, Rashad performs his hybrid Sounding-Viewing technique, checking my metaphysical body as well. When he¡¯s done, he frowns, presses on his forehead with his index finger, and looks down at the floor, lost in thought.

    ¡°Nuri, don¡¯t overreact, but I¡¯d like you to slowly¡ªkey word!¡ªtry to harvest ambient mana into your core. Start small, yes? Let¡¯s not cause further problems.¡±

    Bracing myself for the acid-burn of pain in my channels, I gently open myself up to the world and draw in the smallest mote of energy I can. The raw, unrefined energy slips through my permeable membrane far more easily than I¡¯ve felt since before the Lesser Rift in Lamont¡¯s Falls, and for a moment hope soars within my heart. I pull in a little more, and the increased flow of mana is enough to leak through the cracks, making me hiss. Outside of the natural protection my metaphysical channels provide, the mana sizzles on contact with my physical body.

    I bite back a whimper of pain, but don¡¯t let go, coaxing the mana to trace the length of my channels and flow into my core. Heeding Rashad¡¯s warning, I keep it slow and steady, not rushing and ruining the small progress we¡¯ve made. Rupturing the channels by overdrawing sounds like the height of stupidity to me.

    Harvesting a little more mana lights my world on fire, but I grit my teeth and fill my pool as far as I can. Drop by drop, mana enters my core. It¡¯s agonizingly slow, but I press onward, my excitement growing. Already, the pool exceeds the amount I¡¯ve been able to hold ever since the Rift, even if it¡¯s a tiny fraction of my full Capacity.

    Fifteen tense minutes pass in silent concentration as both Rashad and Shiphrah monitor my progress. All the while, Melina takes notes, watching with an expression of awe on her face. I don¡¯t blame her; not many people ever get the chance to see a [Metaphysical Mender] at work. She¡¯ll gloat about this to Rakesh for ages¡ªin her understated way, of course.

    ¡°Enough!¡± Rashad suddenly warns, his voice so stern that I listen instantly. He nods and lets out a little laugh. ¡°Incredible. I don¡¯t want you to suffer any setbacks, but we¡¯ve gotten over the first hurdle. Your core is still responsive. I¡¯m not sure how, but it¡¯s not entirely defunct. There is extensive damage, but Shiphrah is the best in the business at repairing the arcane body.¡±

    Avelina whoops, tossing her arm around my shoulders and shaking me in her excitement at the good news. She shrieks and dances. ¡°You¡¯re finally gonna be a Glass Mage, Nuri!¡±

    ¡°Slow down, slow down!¡± Shiphrah admonishes, although she¡¯s laughing right along with the Linas. ¡°No one would run on a broken leg after splinting it, yes? The bones need to set first, and healing must run its course. Baby steps, Nuri. Baby steps! We want to avoid any danger of a relapse. Now, lie down and prepare yourself. We have a great deal of work to do.¡±

    I leap into the chair, press the button, and wave at my friends as I recline into position. I grin so hard my cheeks hurt from the strain.

    Shiphrah slides her seat next to mine. She settles in with pillows to keep her upright and places her hand on my chest. Preparations complete, she closes her eyes, activates her Skill, and plunges into my soul space to continue the healing process.

    This time, I retain full consciousness when shifting into my inner world. I watch her Skill as best as I can, still wary to deploy my Viewing. With the Linas overseeing me, however, I feel far safer. Between Melina¡¯s time bubbles and Avelina¡¯s flames, there aren¡¯t many foes under the Second Threshold who could realistically oppose them if they had to fight for me.

    Focus, Nuri, I remind myself. It¡¯s a common refrain for me. I turn my attention to what Shiphrah is doing. The complex runes in her Skill are mesmerizing. So many new and unique combinations light up my vision that I¡¯m momentarily overwhelmed. I don¡¯t know where to start to interpret and catalogue them all, so I settle for getting a sense of the big picture, instead.

    Shiphrah¡¯s mana finds my core much more quickly than it did two days ago. Now that she knows the path, it¡¯s trivial for her to connect with me. Between the higher efficiency and the artificial boost to her Capacity with the extra glass pseudo cores, I don¡¯t even need to lend her my mana or assist in the process at all. I simply watch a master at work.

    Her mana is aspected in a way I¡¯ve never seen before, able to interact with my core and channels even though they¡¯re not fully physicalized. Just like a beast core takes many years to increase in quality and condense in the real world, my core is only partially in the material realm right now. It¡¯s more dense than it was prior to the First Threshold, but I assume that all progress halted once I sundered it and shredded my channels.

    I try to remember the texture and ¡°taste¡± of her mana, for lack of a better term. Aspects are more than simply signatures. They¡¯re more complex, like adding rare spices to a lamb stew to give it savory heat and flavor. I wish I could share the moment with Ezio, since he¡¯s absolutely obsessed with recreating synthetic aspects.

    My core is swaddled in the warm, restorative glow of the healing Skill, and this time the flood of mana never abates. Thanks to the extra preparation, Mender Shiphrah is able to draw as deeply as she needs to stitch together one crack after another. She calls first on her own mana, and then supplements it with the energy contained within the glass cores. She moves a little slower once she swaps over, since she has to naturalize the unaspected mana and convert it to her own unique aspect, but the process never stops completely.

    Until it does.

    Fear seizes me. The spark of hope burning within me is doused instantly, as though she dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. With a jolt I return to my physical body, my eyes opening to see Mender Shiphrah giving me a concerned look.

    ¡°What happened? As far as I could tell, the restoration looked like it was going perfectly,¡± I say, trying and failing miserably to keep the bitterness out of my voice.¡±

    ¡°It was,¡± Shiphrah allows. She folds her hands in her lap and bites her lip, buying time as she searches for words. ¡°The problem is that we¡¯re creating an imbalance. I thought that as we restored your core, all the potential floating around in your soul¡ªfor lack of a better term¡ªmight condense and be better contained. That¡¯s not happening, however.¡±

    Melina taps her notebook, frowning. ¡°What¡¯s the problem if we continue? Isn¡¯t that a sign of strength?¡±

    ¡°Potentially, yes. No pun intended!¡± Shiphrah lets out a strained laugh. ¡°But there are two issues that we need to address. I¡¯m afraid that even with your cores, which are marvelous, by the way, simply marvelous, I won¡¯t have enough mana to complete the healing. We¡¯d have to try to do it in pieces again, which isn¡¯t ideal. It creates weak points that could break in the future. In fact, I¡¯d almost prefer to undo the work I did last time and try again once we have enough of your glass cores and mana crystals to supplement my Capacity.¡±

    I groan at the thought of rupturing my core again. ¡°I¡¯d rather not, if there¡¯s another way. But what¡¯s the second problem?¡±

    Mender Shiphrah winces. ¡°If I do complete the healing process, which isn¡¯t guaranteed given the vast size of the space we need to enclose, we permanently lock in the expanse of your soul. It¡¯s already been forcibly enlarged, and if we fix things, then it won¡¯t get any smaller.¡±

    ¡°How is that a bad thing?¡± Avelina interrupts. ¡°Most people would kill to have a bigger soul! More potential means you¡¯re more likely to continue to break through to higher Thresholds, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Well. Yes. But the problem is twofold: potency, as I alluded to last time, and a current lack of Skills to fill up the space. All the potential is diluted. Wasted, really. Wasted! It will take a lifetime to fill up a space that size. And the core will lack exterior pressure, which could lead us right back to a rupture if the current Skills continue to improve. They¡¯re vast and impressive, to hear my brother talk about them, which means that when they rank up, they¡¯re going to exert a massive amount of pressure against your core. Normally, that would be a good thing, but due to the size of your soul¡ªagain, for lack of a better term¡ªthe potential is too diffuse to keep the pressure balanced.¡±

    ¡°When were you going to mention this possibility?¡± I ask, proud of how even my voice is in my own ears. There¡¯s no hiding my trembling hand and pounding heart from Rashad, who¡¯s hunching his shoulders and looking guilty, but at least I¡¯m not embarrassing myself.

    ¡°Ah. Yes. Well, I didn¡¯t bring it up earlier, because I was so certain that we¡¯d be able to make it work! I thought that the outer limits of your interior world would shrink down as your core healed. It¡¯s like gas turning back into liquid and no longer taking up as much volume. I¡¯ve seen it before quite regularly. My mana is a tempering process of sorts. It heals by pulling the body and soul back together into alignment with their true natures. But with you. Well. I believe that we have already accomplished alignment.¡±

    I nod along as I see where she¡¯s going. ¡°After all I¡¯ve been through, this expanded soul is my true nature. So there¡¯s no change as you heal me.¡±

    ¡°Quite so.¡±

    ¡°What are my options?¡±

    ¡°Nuri, we don¡¯t have to do this right now,¡± Melina starts, her tone achingly soft. Somehow it hurts even worse to hear the terrible pity in her voice.

    I hold up my hand. ¡°No, I want to hear Mender Shiphrah¡¯s recommendations. If this is a fool¡¯s errand, then I¡¯d rather know now instead of dragging things on.¡±

    ¡°Well, erm, we could¡ª¡±

    Rashad clears his throat, interrupting his sister. ¡°As much as I¡¯d love to give you hope, I won¡¯t lie to you. Gain Skills, as many as you can. Rank them up. Come find us again in another decade, if you¡¯re still alive.¡±

    Shiphrah lets out a strangled laugh, wringing her hands. ¡°It¡¯s not hopeless! You could get someone to donate you a few Skills. That would speed up the process.¡±

    ¡°Sister! Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± Rashad snaps, his face going red with anger.

    I exchange shocked glances with the Linas, blinking in disbelief at the shocking revelation I¡¯ve just heard. ¡°Wait, wait. You wanna run that by me again? People can donate Skills?¡±

 B5 C28: Equivalent Exchange

    ¡°You told them?¡± I yell.

    Shock makes Melina recoil from my angry explosion. She hunches up her shoulders defensively, her normally pallid cheeks glowing rosy-red for a brief moment. ¡°Nuri, they¡¯re your friends.¡±

    ¡°You had no right!¡±

    ¡°Of course I told them. We¡¯re a team.¡±

    I spin away from her, my eyes squeezing shut before she can see the tears welling up. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you just leave me alone to figure things out?¡±

    When Melina replies, there¡¯s a steel core of conviction to her gentle words. ¡°Because we love you. We¡¯re adults, Nuri. We get to make our own decisions. And if we want to help you, then you can¡¯t deny us that choice.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance!¡± I snap, kicking a stool into the wall with a resounding crack. My chest is heaving, rising and falling so rapidly that I¡¯m worried I¡¯m going to pull an intercostal muscle or pass out from the strain. Still panting, I turn and stare at my friend. ¡°No. No. I won¡¯t let you cripple yourself on my behalf.¡±

    Melina throws her hands into the air, staring up at the ceiling like she¡¯s imploring the heavens to grant her patience before she strangles me. ¡°Nuri! You are so infuriating. At least have a conversation about accepting a Skill or two. Why are you being short-sighted and contrary?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not. He¡¯s being sensible,¡± Rakesh protests. He¡¯s the only one sitting down instead of pacing aggressively like the rest of the team. Lounging in a chair at the head of the extra-long communal table, our favorite [Researcher] is snacking on deep-fried, braided dough sprinkled with powdered sugar. To no one¡¯s surprise, he hadn¡¯t been able to stay away from the local bakeries.

    Melina snorts. ¡°No, he¡¯s being stubborn.¡±

    ¡°Come, now! You¡¯re talking about throwing away your future on the off-chance that it helps him advance. You know better than that, Melina,¡± Rakesh chides.

    Sparks corkscrew through the air as Avelina steps up beside her sister, throwing an arm around her twin protectively. Her anger materializes, turning the air into wavering heat before I snuff it out with a flex of my favorite Skill. ¡°You¡¯re just taking Nuri¡¯s side because you¡¯re too selfish to share, unlike my sister. I can¡¯t believe that I used to think you were nice!¡±

    Rakesh stops chewing mid-bite. He shoves his chair back from the table, rising up to his full height and wiping bits of powdered sugar off his chin and cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m nice! You¡¯ve seen me take risks for the sake of the team before. But this¡ªthis is a step too far.¡±

    Melina places a restraining hand on her sister¡¯s arm. She slides forward to stand directly between my two friends. ¡°Cut it out. We¡¯re all on the same side here.¡±

    ¡°Then how come Rakesh refuses to even consider helping Nuri?¡± Avelina demands. She takes a deep breath, about to launch into a speech, but a glare from Melina draws her up short. She breaks off, grinding her teeth.

    ¡°It¡¯s a fair question,¡± Rakesh allows. He presses his fingertips together and leans back, gathering his thoughts. ¡°Look. Transplanting Skills isn¡¯t common enough for peer-reviewed literature to exist yet. Up until now, I thought it was more hearsay than fact. We¡¯re talking about the cutting edge of metaphysical work. You¡¯ve no guarantee that it will work. [Healers] can¡¯t even reliably transplant organs, let alone Skills! Failure is a very real possibility.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯re a coward,¡± Avelina spits.

    Rakesh frowns and sighs through his nose. ¡°Avelina, I may not be as courageous or warlike as some fine members on this team, but it¡¯s not cowardly to avoid insanity. Assuming that the Skills transfer actually works, this is a one-way trip through dangerous territory. You¡¯re just as likely to hurtle off a cliff as you are to make it through to the other side in one piece. It¡¯s not a light thing to excise part of yourself and give it to someone else. Even if the poets are wrong, and Skills and mana don¡¯t make up your very soul, it¡¯s still the most important part of you.¡±

    ¡°Besides, we don¡¯t even know if Shiphrah is telling the truth,¡± I say, adding to Rakesh¡¯s argument. The attempt at bringing the debate back to a more peaceful, level-headed discourse falls flat in my own ears, though. I desperately want to move forward, even though I¡¯m horrified at the thought of something going wrong.

    I can¡¯t stop fidgeting. Jittery with adrenaline, I¡¯m overflowing with nervous energy at the thought of not only restoring my core, but also gaining new Skills. This could be my big break! But if the potential cost is tearing apart my friend¡¯s soul, is it worth it?

    Skepticism is writ large on everyone¡¯s faces. We¡¯ve all seen far too many strange and wondrous things over the last several months of traveling to doubt the claims of the eccentric [Metaphysical Mender]. I¡¯m especially convinced that my words are only a coping mechanism. I¡¯ve seen first-hand what¡¯s possible, thanks to Scalpel, and Shiphrah is no less talented for all her grandmotherly ways.

    ¡°She probably isn¡¯t misleading you,¡± Melina says, speaking in firm but measured tones. Her brow is knit together in thought, and she¡¯s speaking softly as she lays out her case.

    Shy of pleading, thankfully. I might break if she begs me to take one of her Skills.

    ¡°Nuri, think of the potential. You can¡¯t throw away your future because you¡¯re too stuck up to accept help,¡± Melina reasons.

    ¡°You think this is about pride?¡± I say, surprised at how hurt I sound. ¡°Mel, it¡¯s not like that. It¡¯s not about me at all. I¡¯m¡ªscared. Terrified, really, and not for myself. What if it¡¯s not as easy as she made it sound? What if you never recover full functionality? It¡¯s not like we can change our minds the next day and go back for a refund.¡±

    We¡¯re locked in a standoff, facing each from across the common room in our inn¡¯s shared suite. Distantly, I realize how absurd it is to scowl at each other because we¡¯re each worried for the other person¡¯s well-being, but I can¡¯t help myself. I¡¯m too upset to step back and take a breath. I refuse to allow Melina to give me her rare Skills. She¡¯s earned them and ranked them up through backbreaking work. Taking them feels profoundly wrong.

    Melina folds her hands in front of her and smiles brightly at me. ¡°At least consider [Compositional Analysis] and [Artisanal Acuity]. I believe I can get by without them now.¡±

    ¡°My sister can¡¯t have all the glory. Why don¡¯t you take my [Adjuration of the Phoenix]? I don¡¯t need it for glass, and I don¡¯t want to kill anything anymore,¡± Avelina interrupts. She grows quiet as she delivers the last line.

    Mikko slams a heavy hand down on the table, making us jump. ¡°No. I¡¯m his brother. If anyone is going to give up so much, it should be me, not Ava.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sweet,¡± Avelina says, sliding an arm around his shoulders and squeezing tight. ¡°But what is Nuri going to do with smithing Skills?¡± Her lips twitch up into a smirk. ¡°Although, [Iron Skin] might keep him from melting off his other hand, so maybe you should help the poor guy out.¡±

    Strained laughter ripples through the room. I wish the joke took the worst of the tension with it, but it¡¯s still there, just under the surface. The tension is simply more muted now. I don¡¯t know if we¡¯ll ever get back to our easy-going ways. There¡¯s too much emotion wrapped up in our arguments.

    My heart is still thudding in my chest, as though I¡¯m preparing to ride to war, but I force myself to smile. With a rough cough to clear my throat, I step up to the table and rap my knuckles on the surface. ¡°Good talk, but it¡¯s getting late! Why don¡¯t we table the discussion for another time?¡±

    This time the laughter is almost genuine.

    =+=

    The next morning, the entire team is gathered deep in the underground bunker at the ancestral home of the [Metaphysical Mender]. Despite my half-hearted objections, they each took a break from their work to be here. No researching, no studio time, no enchanting or automation.

    ¡°There¡¯s no going back, you know,¡± I say to Lionel as I pause at the bottom of the stairs. Dragging my feet has never been as literal as it is right now. Something about the tunnel in front of us takes on a more sinister cast than ever before, like I¡¯m about to walk into the maw of a devouring beast, and I¡¯m not sure that I have the strength to move forward.

    In reality, I¡¯m far more terrified for my friend than I am for myself. Yet far worse is the current of excitement that¡¯s welling up into a mighty flood at the thought of being whole again. Hand in hand with the joy is the misery of knowing it¡¯s at the expense of my friend. It should make me feel guilty, but instead I can barely restrain my desire to get it over with¡ªto once again draw the power of creation into my core without pain and suffering.

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    All the while, the old, familiar, accusing voice in the back of my mind grows louder and louder. It¡¯s not right, delighting in your own fortune. How dare you dishonor that kind of sacrifice. You should be ashamed, Nuri. You don¡¯t deserve his friendship.

    Lionel crosses his arms. He glares at me, his face hard as flint. ¡°Duh. Don¡¯t insult me. It¡¯s my choice, Nuri, just like Melina said. You can¡¯t stop me.¡±

    ¡°I . . .¡±

    Mikko pushes me from behind, gentle yet inexorable. He marches me down the hallway to meet the siblings before I can make any more half-hearted attempts at excuses. And just like that, fear and guilt both evaporate. I walk forward, open the door to the operating room, and lead my friends inside.

    Introductions take longer than I¡¯d like. Shiphrah and Rashad are nothing if not impeccable hosts, however, and I can¡¯t begrudge them the time since they¡¯re fawning over my friends and family. They seem appropriately impressed by everyone¡¯s unique Skills. The always-chatty Shiphrah even offers to introduce Lionel to some of the more tenured Menders who might be able to help his studies, which endears her to me greatly.

    We¡¯ve brought all the glass cores, just in case. After placing them strategically around the room, far enough apart to avoid a resonance cascade, I climb into the reclining bed and prepare for soul surgery.

    Watching like a hawk through my Domain, I¡¯m more impressed than ever before by Shiphrah¡¯s elegance and control as she begins the process. Painstakingly, she fills in gaps, sewing them together in a healing inverse of what Scalpel used to do. Rather than cut and rend, she restores and mends, healing just enough to create a healthy base to which the transplant will attach.

    ¡°There! We¡¯re ready to begin the transfer,¡± Shiphrah announces in satisfaction some time later. She pats my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll need to trade some of that vast potential to relieve the build up of pressure on the membrane of your soul, young man. You certainly can¡¯t condense your inner world in your condition, but your tragedy is your team¡¯s good fortune. Once we add a few Skills, we ought to be able to bring you into balance and properly heal a smaller core in a single go.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, reaching up and squeezing her hand. It seems to catch her off guard, and she blushes, fretting over me like a mother hen while she regains her composure.

    ¡°Now, who is donating today?¡±

    To my horror, everyone but Rakesh steps forward. Avelina glares at me, as though challenging me to gainsay her. My brother looks more sheepish, but no less determined. Melina has her cheeriest smile firmly fixed in place, although I can sense the stormy sea of her emotions through my Domain.

    I can¡¯t bring myself to look at Lionel. I don¡¯t feel brave enough to cry again, not in front of strangers.

    ¡°My, my. What a brave lot! How touching. How very, very touching!¡± Shiphrah beams at the team, her eyes crinkling at the corners. ¡°Right! Let¡¯s go one at a time, then, right down the list. Queue up in an orderly fashion, please.¡±

    My brother gently moves aside the others. He plants himself by my bedside and nods once. His jaw works, the powerful muscles rippling and betraying his emotion, but he doesn¡¯t flinch when Shiphrah puts a hand on his chest.

    ¡°What do you offer?¡± she intones.

    There¡¯s something about Shiphrah¡¯s solemn tone that makes this sound more like a religious rite than a medical procedure. Instinctively, I start trembling.

    ¡°[Greater Endurance],¡± Mikko replies, his voice confident. Unwavering. ¡°My brother wears himself out way too often. Besides, I¡¯ll bet he still can¡¯t keep up with me, since I¡¯m going to work twice as hard to do things the old fashioned way.¡±

    Before I can speak, either to thank my brother or protest his choice, power surges out from the diminutive [Metaphysical Mender]. Mana rolls off her in waves, enveloping both of us. Pressure I didn¡¯t even realize existed bleeds out of me, like the outgassing of a pocket of natural gas, and I groan out a sigh of relief.

    The entire time, I watch the exchange through [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], fascinated by the way raw energy flows into my brother and forcibly inflates his inner world. As the extra space develops, she simultaneously slices out the structure of his Skill in one swift movement, deftly transferring it to me. Now she wields her mana less like a sewing needle to stitch me up, and far more like a loom, weaving an entire layer to ensure the Skill stays in place.

    Mikko staggers back, grunting as though he¡¯s been stabbed, and Rashad pours healing energy into him. I know he is in good hands, but the icy grip of fear doesn¡¯t subside until he¡¯s stabilized and no longer groaning in pain.

    ¡°Next!¡± Shiphrah sings out.

    She is entirely too cheerful about this entire thing, I grumble to myself. Yet I can¡¯t help but admire her talent. Not even Scalpel was this dexterous. How many people in Densmore could do what she does? Playing the odds, there have to be two or three others, but I¡¯ve never heard of them. No wonder Rakesh is taking notes so furiously.

    As promised, Avelina offers up her [Adjuration of the Phoenix]. The name alone earns a low whistle of appreciation from Rashad. My instinct is to deny Avelina¡¯s gift¡ªit¡¯s much too valuable to part with¡ªbut when I sense her profound relief at the thought of finally removing the Skill that enabled her to burn the mercenaries, I relent. I didn¡¯t understand what a heavy load she¡¯s been carrying; I thought it was all about what she¡¯d done, but to her, it¡¯s about who she is. She¡¯s been torturing herself all this time.

    Once I come to that realization, bearing her burden is an honor, not a guilty pleasure. The complex Skill settles into my core space, brilliant and brimming with undeniable power, and I instantly feel a shift in pressure. It¡¯s not a huge difference yet, but I¡¯m coming closer to balance.

    Melina hugs her twin, who looks so much happier than I¡¯ve seen her in months that it breaks my heart, and steps forward to offer up both her [Compositional Analysis] and [Artisanal Acuity]. A greedy part of me wants her time and manipulation Skills, but I couldn¡¯t live with myself if I stole them from her. As the Skills take root in my core space and a commensurate amount of raw potential is siphoned over to Melina in exchange, I¡¯m struck by the thought that this may actually be beneficial for her in the long run.

    In a way, this frees her from tying her future to glass. She can transition into a [Mage] and focus on scholarly pursuits, which suits her better. Nothing prevents her from working with glass if the mood strikes her, regardless of her official Class. Smoke taught me that when she and I closed the lesser Rift over a year ago. Classes don¡¯t define us. They¡¯re just convenient tools.

    Shiphrah is sweating by the time the three of them are finished. She hasn¡¯t been forced to tap into the glass pseudo-cores we brought for backup, which is a good sign since the rest of the process is so mana-intensive, but the mental strain is definitely showing. She drains a cup of water, nibbles on a small wedge of cheese, and stretches out before we continue.

    Lionel steps forward for his turn to contribute his Skills to the cause. I¡¯m curious which Skill he¡¯s actually willing to part with, since he¡¯s been strangely silent through the entire debate. Secretly, I want my favorite of his Skills, the one I¡¯ve always been envious of in my heart of hearts: [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness]. I suppose I can live with [Quick Cool], though it¡¯s redundant now that I¡¯ve ranked up my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. Still, the fact that he¡¯s willing to give me anything at all is touching, so I¡¯ll try not to be too greedy about it.

    My childhood friend takes a deep breath, looks Shiphrah in the eye, and takes his time answering the question she¡¯s asked each of my friends in turn: ¡°Nuri is a genius. Did you know that? He¡¯s crazy, sure, and sometimes I think he¡¯s too hard-headed and heroic for his own good, but he¡¯s still a genius. What am I supposed to give him that¡¯s meaningful enough to make a difference? One or two Skills isn¡¯t gonna matter in the long run.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t do anything rash,¡± Rakesh says, his eyes wide. He puts down his notebook and pen, which is the first sign that something¡¯s wrong. He glances back and forth between me and the rest of our friends, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Clearly, he¡¯s guessed something that I¡¯m still trying to figure out, but I¡¯m not sure why it has him looking so shaken. Why could Lionel do to elicit that kind of reaction?

    ¡°We¡¯re missing the obvious,¡± Lionel says, looking down at me with an odd gleam in his eyes. I fully expect him to follow up with a clever quip or goofy joke like usual. Instead, he steps over to the operating bed and sits down on the edge next to me. ¡°There¡¯s one way to ensure that this procedure is a success. I hope it¡¯s enough.¡±

    ¡°Lio . . . what are you doing?¡± I whisper, a terrible suspicion mounting.

    Lionel lets out a heavy sigh. He looks at me again with a complicated expression on his face that¡¯s uncomfortably close to admiration. ¡°You¡¯re the best of us, Nuri. You know that? I¡¯m proud of what you¡¯ve become. So proud! I can¡¯t keep up, but I can make sure you keep growing. Take my original Class and all my related Skills,¡± Lionel blurts out, his hands clenching into fists as he declares his plan.

    My entire world lists sideways.

    Shiphrah gasps, collapsing back into her chair. Hands shaking, she reaches for her folding fan and snaps it open, shaking her hand back and forth to blow cool air over her flushed face.

    My throat tightens. The sheer audacity of what he¡¯s suggesting takes my breath away. Of all the things I expected, this wasn¡¯t even remotely on the list. An ache forms deep in my chest at the thought of cutting away half of Lionel¡¯s identity. The enormity of it all is too much.

    Silence settles over the room like a funeral shroud. Slack jaws and glassy eyes meet my gaze as I look around wildly, hoping someone will announce it was all a joke¡ªand wow did you fall for it, Nuri! Look at how gullible you are!

    Nothing happens. No one speaks up. Lionel meets my gaze and smiles at me proudly. For once, he¡¯s deadly serious.

    I shake my head, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity. I can¡¯t accept this. He¡¯s been my best friend since we were kids, and if I¡¯m honest, I can¡¯t deny that I¡¯d try to do the same thing for him if our situations were reversed. But tearing apart who he is? Splitting away the cheerful craftsman and leaving only the worried [Healer], forever and ever? This is too much.

    No. He can¡¯t. He can¡¯t!

    Stunned looks are the only response. No one seems to know what to say¡ªmost of all me. In the end, I settle for rolling sideways, curled up in the fetal position, and burying my face in my pillow. I weep quietly while my friends surround me and murmur comfort, their hands warm and steadying on my back.

    I want to say no, but how can I refuse without spitting in the face of his generosity? After I compose myself, I turn back over, reach up, and clasp Lionel¡¯s arm. I nod in thanks. My voice is rough and thick with emotion when I finally find words. ¡°I¡¯ll never forget this, Lio. Never. From now on, everything I make will carry you with it. You¡¯re the heart and soul of my craft.¡±

 B5 C29: Whole Again

    ¡°Touching. Truly touching!¡±

    Shiphrah¡¯s sing-song voice cuts through the bittersweet joy of the moment. I sit up, shrugging off the temptation to tap into the array of new Skills occupying my core space, and nod at the [Metaphysical Mender]. ¡°I¡¯m ready if you are.¡±

    My benefactress beams at me, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. She nudges her brother, who is still staring at Lionel with an expression of profound wonder. ¡°Rashad? What do you think about the shape of Nuri¡¯s core? I¡¯m satisfied if you are.¡±

    Rashad shakes himself out of his stupor. He peers at me, his face scrunched up with the exertion of Viewing my strange, fractured core. A tense few heartbeats pass while he considers the state of my inner world. He nods sharply. ¡°Brimming with power. Easier to take in the entire thing now that the balance is closer to expectations. Recommend proceeding.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s begin.¡±

    With those few simple words, potent emotions once again surge through me. This is it. This is the day that I recover. No more waiting, no more setbacks.

    Shiphrah settles into her seat, crossing one leg over the other to get comfortable, and places her hand on my chest. She closes her eyes. A torrent of mana erupts from her, taking my breath away with its intensity when it hits me.

    Tendrils of ethereal energy worm their way through me, body and soul, burrowing onward at a rate that I can barely track. Even within my own core, I have trouble comprehending the full scope of what¡¯s happening. Boosted by the power of my Arcane Domain, my mind finally catches up to what I¡¯m sensing: instead of healing directly, Shiphrah is fully encompassing the outer membrane of my soul¡ªif that¡¯s what it truly is¡ªwith a net of mana in order to create a latticework around it.

    Her technique is strangely akin to imbuing, which sends a spike of fear through me for a moment. If she fundamentally remakes my core, what will happen to me? Will she change me? Who will I become? But my worry passes as I realize her efforts are only to contain and compress the semi-permeable layer holding in the vast sea of potential I still possess. Despite donating over a quarter of it to my friends, with the lion¡¯s share going to Lionel, there¡¯s still an enormous empty space that will only waste energy to try to heal.

    Sure enough, my hunch proves correct as my healer activates the lattice, which shrinks in on its like a loose knot pulled tight. Ah. Not a lattice. A weave.

    The pressure around my core presses down on everything uniformly. I brace myself, expecting it to hurt, but there¡¯s a second working of mana overlaid across the first: Rashad¡¯s healing Skills, keeping my physical body from falling apart while his sister does the delicate work of fixing my core and metaphysical connections.

    Warmth floods me. I slow my breathing and relax, content to let the experts do their work. There¡¯s no use worrying about what might go wrong. I¡¯ve always been willing to bet on even the slimmest of odds. This is better than a fighting chance. I¡¯m in the hands of the foremost expert in the nation. If she can¡¯t do it, then it can¡¯t be done. So I may as well simply trust her.

    Tighter and tighter grows the weave as Shiphrah pulls for all she¡¯s worth. Her deft touch amazes me as she works, reapplying a new, slightly smaller net after each weave is as tight as it gets and pulling it into place with strong, sure guidance. She repeats the process over and over again, likely bottoming out on her own mana by the time the outer membrane refuses to condense any further. It¡¯s still vast, but I can sense the extremities all at once now, instead of feeling like I¡¯m lost in the void of boundless space.

    She withdraws her hand, pats my shoulder, and fetches the first of the glass cores we¡¯ve brought. ¡°Need a little top off, dear. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about!¡±

    I fall back into the warm dark of my inner world, drifting away in my imagination while she works to restore what I¡¯ve lost. The space around me is a womb, precious and life-giving. I am an unborn child again, suspended not in amniotic fluid, but in pure mana, awaiting my birth.

    The beautiful imagery shatters abruptly, replaced by the ugly face of fear as an all-too-familiar presence intrudes on the edges of my Domain. My head jerks to the side and my fist clenches tight.

    What is Saphora doing here?

    The approaching mana signature sends a jolt of fear through me. While the rational part of me knows that she works for her aunt and uncle, the timing seems too suspicious to be coincidental. I¡¯m about to get up and warn the team that Saphora is here when an even more frightening thought brings me up short. What if we get into a fight with Saphora over what she did to Lionel, and Shiphrah refuses to finish healing me?

    All the while, Saphora marches down the steps. She¡¯s not alone, either. Based on the feel of barely-restrained potency radiating off the others, they¡¯re highly competent, and they outnumber us. I¡¯m considering my options, wondering if I can ambush them by seizing control of all the mana remaining in the glass cores we brought and flooding the hallway with violence and sharpness, shredding them apart before they can attack.

    To my surprise, her presence stops halfway down the stairway. There¡¯s no resonating sense of violence to match my instincts. Instead of coming closer, she leads her team laterally, into one of the rooms above us. They take up residence several floors up from the operating room.

    Fears aside, Saphora stops there. After a panicked few moments of inaction, wondering what her play might be, I shove the distraction away. I¡¯ll have to deal with her later. For now, it¡¯s time to finally heal up. I can¡¯t risk failure because of fear, or the possibility that an enemy might try to attack. If it comes to it, then my team will have to ward her off. They¡¯re still powerful, even after donating Skills to me.

    Mind made up, I return my attention to the mana knitting my insides together. I¡¯m barely conscious of my physical body, but at some point, I¡¯m vaguely aware of hot, salty tears coursing down my face. It¡¯s the second¡ªthird?¡ªtime today that I¡¯ve cried, which seems like an embarrassing new record.

    A strong hand slips into mine, squeezing in comfort. Someone else grips my opposite shoulder, and soft murmurs of encouragement surround me like a warm blanket. I take a deep breath and let go of the fear and suspicion and shame of the past. I¡¯ve placed myself in their hands, quite literally. Now it¡¯s time to trust them to do their jobs.

    The process lasts another hour. Shiphrah pauses only briefly to swap glass cores twice. With all the extra mana available, she doesn¡¯t have to be content with half-measures. She goes over my channels in exacting detail, completely dedicated to not only healing my channels, but strengthening and reinforcing them as she goes. Thanks to her diligence, not a single hairline crack is untouched. It¡¯s neither quick nor pleasant, but after all the pain I¡¯ve endured over the last few years, I¡¯m willing to take any measure of torment in order to restore my arcane body.

    The metaphysical mending is thorough and intense, sweeping over me again and again, each time filling in a little more and supplying what¡¯s lacking. Strengthening me by degrees, the process repeats in what feels like an endless loop.

    Endless, yet inevitable. No one can stop me from recovering. Once my channels feel more robust, I tentatively draw in a small amount of mana from the world around me, exulting at the lack of pain. It¡¯s easier than ever before to harvest the mana while we¡¯re so close to the scarred-over Rift below the research base, but I force myself to go slowly. The last thing I want to do is rupture my core again while Shiphrah is only halfway through the process.

    Yet with every pass, I sense how much stronger the inner lining of my core has become. To my shock, it feels enormous¡ªa cavernous expanse that far exceeds my memory of the small and limited mana pool that I used to own. I suspect the reason it takes Shiphrah so long to finish restoring my core is that my Capacity has vaulted forward to an absurd degree, likely thanks to channeling an entire Rift and then draining an Iridium-rank beast core while in Natan.

    Even siphoning off a huge amount of potential isn¡¯t enough to use up all the remaining energy in my inner world. With a flex of my will, I sweep [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil] over my team, checking if I can gauge their latent potential. I¡¯ve never tried doing this before, since I usually rely on some manner of Viewing to see their Skills, not the amorphous energy surrounding their crystallized core space. Comparing the amount of unconverted potential leaves me blown away by just how much larger my inner world has grown.

    Lionel has the most potential now, thanks to my repayment for his princely gift. Even so, I estimate that I still have four to five times as much as him after compressing the outer membrane of my inner world to better match my core. The pressure coming off my friend feels strong, as though he¡¯s firmly into the middle realms of the First Threshold. If that¡¯s the case, then where am I?

    The thought pings about in my mind, growing with urgency. Excitement builds as I consider the implications. Could I make a push for the Second Threshold soon? The sudden desire is too strong, too tantalizing for me to consider for long, and I shove the thought unceremoniously from my mind. I won¡¯t let myself get my hopes up until the job is done. No use getting greedy.

    As Shiphrah moves on from repairing the lining of my soul space to the core itself, weaving new and stronger layers into the walls, I increase my rate of absorption. What was once a trickle turns into a raging river, and then an overwhelming flood. Still my core is not sated. More and more mana gushes into me, gloriously pain-free, and my mana pool drinks it all in without complaint. I¡¯m not even a quarter of the way filled up by the time that Shiphrah finishes her work.

    And it¡¯s truly finished. My core and channels gleam in my sight, fully restored. Not one crack or crevice remains. The entire interconnected system is pristine, shining like stained glass with the sunlight pouring through the windows. Images of polished chrome at my brother¡¯s workshop when he gets fancy at the forge come to mind; everything is bright and clean and built for strength. I can¡¯t look away, but I don¡¯t want to leave my friends in the dark any longer.

    Triumphant, I rise up out of my soul space, although it takes all my willpower to break away from my inner world now that it¡¯s repaired. I let out a shout of victory, making trails of hot and cold dance around the room without needing my glass pseudo cores to power the Skill. My [Greater Heat Manipulation] is running off my internal mana again, powered by my core itself for the first time in well over a year.

    I leap up from the bed, despite Rashad¡¯s shout of caution, and pump my fist into the air. ¡°I¡¯m back! I¡¯m back!¡±

    Avelina pulls me into a hug, squeezing so hard that I can barely breath, but I don¡¯t care. All I can think is that I¡¯m not a cripple. I don¡¯t even care about my hand anymore. I can animate glass if I need a replacement hand. And who knows? Maybe Lionel will grow strong enough to heal me someday.

    While my friends whoop and holler, celebrating with me, I keep harvesting mana. My restored core keeps filling, pushing far past any Capacity I¡¯ve ever dreamed possible. I barely notice the mana costs to activate my Skills. Switching over to my [Arcane Domain] barely changes things; I have more mana than I truly know what to do with right now.

    So I keep drawing in more and more mana, marveling at how smoothly I can harvest the world¡¯s energy. It¡¯s effortless in a way that I¡¯ve never experienced, spiraling into my new, expanded channels as though it belongs. Yet no matter how quickly I pull mana in, my core still doesn¡¯t fill up. I¡¯ve yet to hit the halfway mark, although it¡¯s getting close.

    All the while, I submit to being poked and prodded by Rashad and Shiphrah, who are as stunned as I am. In fact, they look even more shocked, as though what just happened breaks all the known rules. And, come to think of it, maybe it does. People don¡¯t usually heal from an injury to their internal world like this, at least not without severe drawbacks.

    They definitely aren¡¯t supposed to increase capabilities or Capacity. But the truth is right in front of them, undeniable and in their faces.

    ¡°How much mana do you have?¡± Rashad breaths out in awe.

    His excitement is mirrored by Rakesh and Melina, who are writing notes and whispering back and forth with an urgency I¡¯ve rarely seen before. My scholarly friends are going to have a field day with my recovery. I suppose I shouldn¡¯t begrudge them; documenting everything that¡¯s happened could propel Rakesh¡¯s career forward, pushing him into the national consciousness.

    ¡°How?¡± Rashad demands, though it doesn¡¯t seem that he expects me to know the answer. ¡°Boy, if you aren¡¯t in the Second Threshold, I¡¯ll eat my hat.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have a hat,¡± Avelina points out helpfully. She tilts her head, looking at Rashad as though she¡¯s imagining him with a hat on, and nods. ¡°I¡¯ll bet it¡¯s a good look on you.¡±

    Melina stops writing notes. She flips her pen over and taps the back of it on the paper, deep in thought. When she lifts her chin, she speaks with absolute certainty. ¡°You can¡¯t have secretly advanced, Nuri. We would have noticed the surge of power. The Second Threshold is not like the First. Remember when you broke through back home? Everyone noticed. We all ran over to see what was happening. The Second? From what Rakesh¡¯s been researching, not only is the Second Threshold significantly more intense than the First, but it¡¯s also a qualitative difference to your mana, not simply a matter of quantity.¡±

    ¡°Correct on all accounts,¡± Shiphrah says. She pats Melina and Rakesh on the shoulders, a favorite move from her. ¡°You and your friend sound unusually well informed. What¡¯s happening here is certainly not normal! Not normal at all. The mana density I encountered within your friend¡¯s core space was not what I expected. If he hasn¡¯t broken through yet, then he¡¯s right on the cusp.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Shiphrah¡¯s words echo in my mind, catching me off guard. I¡¯d dreamed of advancing, but it was an idle thought. A far off hope. Or so I thought.

    ¡°Am I really on the cusp?¡± I ask, dubious. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t that require another decade or so of work? There¡¯s got to be some mistake.¡±

    ¡°I have no idea how it¡¯s possible,¡± Shiphrah admits. ¡°The sheer amount of mana that you would have had to wield to advance your Skills¡ªit boggles the mind that you would have been able to do that at your age even with a healthy core. Without one? Impossible. Impossible!¡±

    ¡°Nuri. The beast core,¡± Melina says. She bites her lip, her eyes darting side to side while she considers the possibilities. If I know her, she¡¯s running rough calculations, though with more accuracy than I can apart from pen and paper. ¡°I think you¡¯ve probably compressed untold years of mana use into the last few months, given all the, ah, adventures we¡¯ve had.¡±

    ¡°The problem is still potency,¡± Shiphrah interjects. ¡°You¡¯re unbalanced. You need to rank up the rest of your many new Skills if you want to advance. And that is no easy task given their size and complexity. From what Rashad says, the base level strength of your Skills is unprecedented. ¡®Dizzying¡¯ was the word he kept repeating yesterday when we were game-planning for this session, and that¡¯s before you stuffed yourself full of other Skills like a glutton. I hope you don¡¯t expect that this will be a common occurrence.¡±

    I nod, considering her words, and slip back into my chair. ¡°I certainly do not. I¡¯ll never receive a gift this precious again.¡± I break off, my throat tightening up as I shoot a grateful look toward Lionel, who¡¯s sprawled in a cozy chair in the corner and grinning at me smugly.

    ¡°Sound advice about ranking up. I think I know exactly which Skill to focus on once I¡¯ve filled my core. But I¡¯m still not at maximum Capacity yet, even with the mana density down here. I want to push forward a little longer before I begin experimenting.¡±

    ¡°Careful, Nuri,¡± Mikko cautions.

    Shiphrah shrugs helplessly. ¡°He¡¯s good to go. Against all my better judgment, I have to admit that he¡¯s in better metaphysical shape than most of us will ever be. I¡¯ve outdone myself. Truly outdone myself!¡±

    She beams at all of us, not the least bit abashed by her bragging. I can¡¯t exactly hold it against her; she¡¯s pulled off an unprecedented act¡ªa miracle, quite honestly. She should be proud of herself.

    I glance around the room, ignoring the squeak of the seat beneath me, casting my gaze at the plain, unadorned walls and the cluttered desk. I ignore the papers; Rakesh would never forgive me if I turned them all into glass. Instead, my attention settles on a haphazard stack of plates, some still crusted over with yesterday¡¯s peach pastries. Apparently, Saphora¡¯s slacking in her cleanup duties.

    Someone¡¯s gotta take care of that.

    I bound across the room in a single leap, pick up the dishes, absently noting that one of the plates has a chip in it, and flex my mana. My mana. Not borrowed from an external glass reservoir. Not pressed into service by leveraging my Domain against the ambient mana of the world around me. No, this mana is all mine, harvested and naturalized in my own core.

    [Vitrification] transmutes the stack.

    Ignoring Shiphrah¡¯s cries of surprise and mild outrage¡ªperhaps she was more attached to the plates than I realized, despite their chipped and faded appearance¡ªI marshal the might of my Domain, pouring as much mana into it as I desire. The Skill responds more eagerly than I¡¯ve felt before. Falling back on my memory of Lady Evershed¡¯s telekinesis Skill, I crudely replicate Melina¡¯s [Object Manipulation] by changing my Domain¡¯s grip on reality.

    My mana reserves dip about a few percent, as near as I can tell. A laugh burbles up from deep within my chest. Using my Domain this way only once used to take the majority of the mana bound up within my original glass pseudo cores. Even after creating the upgraded cores, I still couldn¡¯t change the effects of gravity at will. I¡¯d drain myself dry within a few tries, which limited my ability to empower my punches or anchor myself against blows with my Domain.

    Now? The world seems to sing around me as I effortlessly float over the glass remains of the dinner plates. [Greater Heat Manipulation] works its magic, making the glass soft and pliable in my hand. I consider for a moment whether or not I want to manually work the glass into the animal I have in mind. Why not experiment a bit?

    I step back, using only my [Arcane Domain] to both uphold and reshape the glass to my liking. All the while. my [Greater Heat Manipulation] keeps the gather at the right temperature. I push myself beyond limits I never even realized I¡¯d imposed on myself, exploring what happens when I gradually heat up only one part of the glass while cooling another. With this kind of finer heat manipulation, I have greater control than ever before.

    Inspired by Rakesh¡¯s paper companions, I create a bird. Effortlessly, my mana and intent work in concert, shaping wings and beak and fluffy underbelly all at the same time. As soon as my mind conceives of an idea, my will makes it reality. I don¡¯t craft a songbird, however. That¡¯s our [Secretarial Researcher]¡¯s department. Instead, a falcon emerges. The fastest of all birds, a true prince among creatures, capable of diving more quickly than anything else can move. Mundane as it is, it¡¯s still incredibly swift. Few mana-awakened monsters can match its capabilities until the higher tiers.

    More and more mana rushes out of me as I inflate the glass, turning it with my Domain. I draw out delicate feathers one by one. I copy the feather structure I see in my mind, tiny lines and veins, and push myself to get each individual feather right. Freed from the constraint of cumbersome tools, I don¡¯t need to rely on a general pattern that approximates the right look from a distance. I call on my memories of my old Skill, the sacrificed [Architect of Unseen Worlds], to more closely examine what I¡¯m doing and to correct each imperfection. It¡¯s less like making something and more like impressing my imagination on the world around me.

    Caught up in the excitement of what I¡¯m doing, I barely realize until after it¡¯s done that I¡¯ve leaned on my emerging understanding of innovation while I work. I¡¯m still not confident that I can imbue the higher-order concept into a piece just yet, since I¡¯ve only imbibed a few cups of the precious tea, but my comprehension is improving by leaps and bounds. I¡¯m getting a sense of how I can incorporate it in the future.

    Letting my mind wander down desultory paths, I continue to create. Trusting that I¡¯ll arrive at the right place as long as I¡¯m under the half-light of inspiration cast by my emergency perception of innovation, I pull the falcon closer. My senses sweep over it, and I fix stray details I don¡¯t like. The bird¡¯s beak becomes more hooked, suitable for tearing flesh. The talons shrink slightly, trading size for razor sharpness.

    To my shock, I succeed in imbuing only that section of the sculpture materializing in front of me. That gives me new ideas, and I push onward, adding unbreakable to the entire creature. It doesn¡¯t overlay the talons¡ªI still can¡¯t seem to get dual-layers of imbuing to take at once; it¡¯s fundamentally changing the nature of the creation, after all, and I don¡¯t have the knack for it like my mentor in the capital city¡ªbut the rest of the animal is more than it was before. Transformed by the imbuement.

    As my sculpture takes its final shape, I activate [Glass Animation], my newest and least developed Skill. Overloading it with as much mana as I can push into the structure, I forge the deepest connection with the falcon that I can, filling it with my memories of watchfulness and my deep distrust for Saphora.

    I¡¯m not sure if it will work. Perhaps the falcon will simply move when commanded, like my first attempt at an animated creature. Or maybe it will exhibit slight self-awareness, like Yuuni, able to coil around a person and become an armband until redeployed.

    But if I¡¯m right, then this new animal will be keyed into Saphora¡¯s mana signature, able to keep watching as long as it¡¯s got mana to power its search.

    My eyes widen and I suck in a sharp breath. ¡°Mel! How much is left in the last set of your glass cores? We didn¡¯t use it all, right?¡±

    ¡°Maybe half,¡± Melina answers. She grins, catching on right away, and levitates the string of cores, which looks almost like an enormous pearl necklace, over toward the falcon.

    ¡°Thanks!¡± I say, practically vibrating with excitement. I latch onto the cores with a flourish of my Domain, marveling that I still have mana for this costly maneuver left despite not starting with a full core. I twist the string into a series of small loops, just large enough to create a crown for my falcon. Merging the glass takes little effort, since the top of the bird is still hot.

    I float it all over toward Melina. ¡°Could you anneal this for me? I¡¯d like to take him home with us today.¡±

    A heavy sigh fills the room. I turn to see Shiphrah sink back into her seat. Melancholy seems to make the lines etched into her face a little deeper and more shadowed than they were moments earlier. ¡°Those were my grandmother¡¯s dishes.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Sorry. [Vitrification] is a one-way trip,¡± I say with a half-shrug. My face flushes. ¡°Got caught up in the excitement. I¡¯ll be happy to make you new ones, even if they¡¯re not as, uh, emotionally valuable. If you¡¯d like, I can imbue the next set so that they always keep your food warm!¡±

    ¡°Youth. How hasty. How hasty,¡± Shiphrah says simply. She goes back to shaking her head slowly. Her fingers pick at a stray stitch in the upholstery on her chair, and she doesn¡¯t say anything further even when her brother asks her a question.

    ¡°I really am sorry,¡± I say to Rashad, feeling my face heat up. ¡°I just got carried away, and I thought the dishes were a more acceptable target than your research notes.¡±

    ¡°Our . . . notes?¡± Rashad echoes, a faint question unspoken in his words. He glances at the desk, walks over to the dog-eared stack, and thumbs through the papers. A moment later, he palms his forehead, joining his sister in sighing dramatically.

    ¡°These are just lists of where Shiphrah wants to eat next. She likes trying out a different restaurant each evening. Losing these would have been more acceptable.¡±

    ¡°They would not!¡± Shiphrah shoots back, finally getting up from her slumped spot. She bustles over to the desk and swipes up the papers, depositing them into a satchel at her side.

    ¡°Still, I am terribly sorry,¡± I say, trying to dispel the awkwardness in the air. ¡°Could I make a little companion for you in addition to the dishes? I know I can¡¯t truly make it up to you, but I¡¯m not sure how else to show my sincerity.¡±

    ¡°Your glass creatures can move on their own!¡± Rashad exclaims, walking closer to the falcon and peering at the way it¡¯s turning its head and taking in the room. Its talons flex open in the air, closing over nothing like it¡¯s trying to perch on a branch.

    I nod and walk over to show off what the falcon can do, making it flap its wings and open its beak in a silent scream. ¡°Yes. I can also add a few imbuements, or use a few simple runes to create a ward. Fire is my speciality, thanks to Ava¡¯s influence, not to mention her donated Skill, but I¡¯m sure we can find another if that¡¯s more suitable. I really do feel terrible about this.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Rashad says. ¡°You¡¯ve walked past our family¡¯s summer house and grounds on your way here. We probably have a dozen more sets just like that inside the house. Somewhere. I don¡¯t exactly keep track, since we¡¯re only here a few months out of the year.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take a cat,¡± Shiphrah says. Her voice sounds more vibrant again. She skips up to the desk, her movements lively once more. ¡°Yes, a cat! With a tail that sticks up in the air. Oh! And curls twice in cute little ringlets. No shedding fur, no annoying little hairballs to clean up, no risk of a hidden litter of kittens. The perfect pet!¡±

    I chuckle at the shift in her attitude. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to oblige, but I¡¯ll need material to transform into glass. I can¡¯t summon any on command anymore.¡±

    Rashad scoffs. ¡°Anymore? Ah, right. You said that you destroyed your previous Skills. It boggles the mind. Who are you, young man? I¡¯ve never seen anyone wield glass the way you do. I guess you¡¯re a natural rulebreaker, though, eh? Intriguing!¡±

    His sister flutters a hand in his direction. ¡°Rashad, stop pestering poor Nuri! Bring him down to the basement and let him pick a rock.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a basement? I thought we were on the lowest level,¡± Avelina says. Her eyes dart around, and she twists her finger into Yuuni¡¯s coils. ¡°Mind if I stay here? I¡¯m tired of dark places, to be honest.¡±

    ¡°No more live Rifts. I promise, Ava. Uh, you wanna come, Mikko? If I¡¯m right, there used to be a Rift below us. I could use the company.¡±

    Rashad and Shiphrah exchange glances again. Meaning crackles between them, even if I can decipher it. The siblings both seem uncomfortable, but I don¡¯t want to assume anything. At last, Shiphrah clicks her tongue. ¡°Rashad, just take him. There¡¯s no sense hiding secrets from a perceptive young man like that.¡±

    Rakesh and Melina want to join us for notes. Naturally. Avelina and Lionel are content to sit this one out. The four of us make our way through a side door, following Rashad. He leads us down a rickety staircase that clearly sees little maintenance, if the flecks of rust are any indication, and into a cramped cave. The stairway creaks ominously under our boots as we descend, but it holds until we reach the bedrock in the basement.

    Sweeping the basement region with my Domain reveals that it¡¯s not much larger than it seems. There¡¯s a strange, swirling scar on the ground that reminds me vaguely of a runic array, but I can¡¯t parse the meaning. It must be an ancient technique to seal over a Rift, but it¡¯s unlike any I¡¯ve seen before. The mana density is even higher than it was upstairs, which helps me refill my core more quickly.

    ¡°Mind if I stay down here for a few hours? Regeneration is easier than it will be outside, and I¡¯ll have plentiful material to transmute if I need more glass. I¡¯ll bring up the animated cat once Mel is done with the annealing process. Oh, and ask your sister if she prefers a smaller companion, or if a full, life-size cat is acceptable.¡±

    Rashad lets out a dry little laugh. He shakes his head in defeat. ¡°Knowing Shiphrah, the larger the better. She was obsessed with adopting a leopard on our last trip. I barely talked her out of it, and that was only because our guide got bitten by one on our last day.¡±

    Rashad laces his fingers together over his belly, his eyes darting around nervously. ¡°Your animals don¡¯t bite, do they?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, but I don¡¯t offer refunds. If they develop bad habits, that¡¯s all on you,¡± I say with a cheeky grin.

    ¡°Wonderful. Shiphrah spoils every pet she¡¯s ever had. Well, you have my thanks. Seeing my sister so happy is a rare prospect these days. You¡¯ve been wonderful for her.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the least I can do. She¡¯s done so much for me,¡± I say, feeling awkward at the praise. I¡¯m the one who received priceless treatment.

    ¡°We¡¯d like you to come back, if you¡¯re willing,¡± Rashad says. ¡°If we can understand how you kept your arcane body from deteriorating, then we might be able to help other people in the future. It¡¯s a rare predicament, but an even rarer solution. You might be the key to success!¡±

    ¡°Of course! I¡¯ll do anything I can to help. But if I may ask, how did Shiphrah even develop Skills like this if it doesn¡¯t usually work?¡±

    Rashad shrugs. ¡°Same as any other [Healer]. Just because some wounds require more than a simple [Healing Touch] to cure doesn¡¯t mean that the Skill is useless¡ªor that the injuries are incurable. Preserving life is always worth the effort, even if the patient never regains full use of Skills.¡±

    I stroke my beard, considering his words. ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯m still amazed that she gained enough understanding of healing and the way the metaphysical world works to successfully earn a related Skill. That¡¯s a story I¡¯d like to hear, if she¡¯s willing to share.¡±

    Rashad hesitates. ¡°I¡¯ll see what we can arrange, Nuri. She¡¯s a little strange about telling that to strangers. It¡¯s, well, it¡¯s deeply personal.¡±

    ¡°Another time then. Let me get started on that cat,¡± I say, not wanting to push. I owe the two of them more than I can ever repay; I have no desire to sour that relationship, even if they¡¯re related to that snake, Saphora.

    The reminder of who¡¯s waiting above us brings me up cold. In my excitement over using my Skills in unfettered creation, I¡¯d nearly forgotten the threat. I smile weakly at Rashad, who seems to sense my hesitation. He ascends the derelict stairway, leaving us alone in the dark.

    I thread heat through several stones in the walls around us, melting them down until they glow like lava. In the ominous, flickering light, I get to work on the cat. I only give the creative process a portion of my attention, however. Far more pressing is the need to come up with a plan for how I¡¯m going to handle Saphora¡ªwithout putting my team in danger.

    They¡¯ve sacrificed so much on my behalf. It¡¯s only fair that I take a turn and shoulder the load for them. After all, I¡¯m now the strongest on the team. And with great strength comes even greater responsibility. I won¡¯t let her hurt them anymore.

 B5 C30: A Talent for Violence

    Violence sings a siren song.

    With a flex of will, I silence it.

    Struggling to contain my seething emotions at the thought of the ambush several storeys above us, I remain seated on the rocky floor and keep working on the glass cat for the [Metaphysical Mender] who fixed my core. I¡¯m sorely tempted to set aside the animated animal and run upstairs to deliver a beat down, venting my fury on Saphora and her minions. Resisting takes far more effort than it should, which makes me wonder if I¡¯m under some sort of compulsion or mental attack.

    My mind is racing, flying through possibilities while I consider how to get my team home in one piece. I blink several times in rapid succession and force myself to focus on my work instead. I promised Shiphrah an animated cat, and I intend to deliver on my promise. Besides, there¡¯s something about glass that centers me. Makes me feel normal.

    I¡¯ve missed that lately. Normality. Whatever that is. Then again, I¡¯ve never been one to slow down and think. I fly into danger as if I¡¯m desperate to make my life count for something. The irony is that I¡¯m far more likely to die young, with my life¡¯s work unfinished, if I keep putting myself in such terrible positions.

    Yet it¡¯s time to do it once more. I can¡¯t ignore the threat Saphora poses. As much as I wish I could teleport my friends to the inn and face her down solo, life doesn¡¯t work like that.

    On the plus side, the repetitive work gives me time to think. I nudge Mikko when a plan crystalizes at last. ¡°Trouble brewing upstairs. I know you won¡¯t go back without me, but could you get everyone ready to go to the inn? Be ready for a fight.¡±

    ¡°What are we up against?¡± Mikko asks.

    I scowl. ¡°[Lady] Saphora is back. And she brought company. I¡¯m hoping she¡¯s just here for me, but I don¡¯t want to risk putting you in harm¡¯s way.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Mikko says, grimacing. ¡°There¡¯s no way I¡¯m leaving without you. But I¡¯ll see if I can convince the others to slip away. Give me a little bit to think up an excuse.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. Let me finish this cat on my own? I wanna talk with the siblings alone and then I¡¯ll join you. Never got a chance to properly say thank you.¡±

    He gives me a sad look, but he doesn¡¯t say anything. From the way his eyes narrow, I know he¡¯s suspicious of me planning something without him. Thankfully, he settles for a nod after a long, meaningful stare. He whistles with false cheer and heads back up the stairs, herding the others along in front of him.

    Merciful heavens be praised, I think in relief when I sense the team getting ready above me. I don¡¯t know what I did to deserve such an amazing brother, or what he said to Rakesh to get him to withdraw so abruptly¡ªthat man is committed to his research¡ªbut I owe Mikko.

    ¡°Ugh, forgot about the cat¡¯s whiskers!¡± I yelp, turning my attention back to the glass in time to see the glass dribbling down the cat¡¯s face. ¡°Rookie mistake, Nuri.¡±

    The former whiskers drip into tiny molten globs on the ground, leaving funny streaks on the cat¡¯s otherwise ferocious little face. I haven¡¯t stalled out in the middle of making something like that in ages. It¡¯s a sign of just how agitated I am that I¡¯ve forgotten the most basic truth: movement is everything.

    Once I calm my frayed nerves, I use [Vitrification] on another rock to give myself more material to work with while I fix the poor cat¡¯s whiskers. I levitate over the new glass batch I made, using the absolute authority afforded by the unfettered use of my [Arcane Domain]. I wonder if I would have gained much of anything by taking Melina¡¯s [Object Manipulation].

    Maybe I can help her develop a Domain of her own if we practice levitation while she controls time. Might be worth exploring later.

    Previously, if I¡¯d wanted to counteract gravity by controlling the world around me with my Domain, I would burn through all my mana and run dry after several heartbeats. I¡¯m reminded of the time I punched the White-Banded Stoat when we encountered our first attack in the Barrens. It took fully half my mana to send the beast flying. Now, with my freshly upgraded core and seemingly-endless Capacity, I barely notice the cost. Without the practice when I copied Lady Evershed¡¯s grand Skill [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride], I doubt I could do it so easily, but it¡¯s a handy upgrade.

    Come to think of it, Lady Evershed was probably also working with a nascent Domain. If she ever gets past her current bottleneck and pushes into the Second Threshold, she¡¯ll likely develop her own sphere of control. She certainly has the fine mana manipulation and influence for it, but I don¡¯t know what triggers the Skill. Maybe we can visit her after this is all done.

    One more thing to add to the list.

    Reminiscing how far I¡¯ve come, I indulge in a wry smile and reshape the cat¡¯s face to look like a miniature version of the Shadow Jaguars that I fought off with Ember¡¯s help a few years ago. After the body of the glass cat for Shiphrah is complete, I lean against the cold, rough-hewn granite wall, sitting cross-legged and considering my next steps. I tentatively reach for one of my newest abilities, the extraordinarily rare Skill gifted from Avelina. [Adjuration of the Phoenix] might be themed after a mythical creature, but I¡¯m fairly certain it will synergize well with [Glass Animation].

    Even though I¡¯m making a cat, not a phoenix, the Skill should improve the intensity of my mana if I draw on the link¡ªand, far more important, it should also draw on the higher-order concept of rebirth if I¡¯m right. Avelina only used it for fire, but as I grew more practiced with my Domain and more aware of what happened when she activated the Skill, I realized that she was touching on axiomatic truths without even realizing what she was doing.

    The alien contour of the Skill structure feels cold to the touch, despite only activating it within my inner world. There¡¯s no physical connection, only mana activation, but ¡°cold¡± feels like the appropriate word anyway. As I pour an extra portion of mana into [Adjuration of the Phoenix], however, it explodes with overwhelming heat and potent concepts of life, not rebirth like I¡¯d suspected.

    Almost giddy with the sensation of wielding such a powerful new Skill, I fuse the effects with [Glass Animation], watching closely through my Domain as the power surges into the glass creature and gives rise to a lifelike feline. My mind can¡¯t follow all the dizzying twists and turns of mana, but I try to memorize as much as possible so that I can describe it to Rakesh later. We¡¯ve got to continue adding to our runic dictionary, after all.

    The Skill completes, swirling and settling down in the center of the glass cat. I shout and leap to my feet, pumping my fist in victory.

    Flicking its twisty tail in response, the cat quirks its head at me. It seems to smile, then jumps all the way up from the floor onto my shoulder in a single bound. The cat digs in a few times with its claws, like a [Baker] kneading dough, and nestles up against my cheek. Satisfaction fairly radiates off the cat. It rests a paw on top of my head while it licks its sleek black glass body with a dainty pink tongue. If not for the faint light shining and refracting through its translucent body, I would have sworn it¡¯s actually alive.

    ¡°Whoa! Color is new.¡± I can¡¯t help but exclaim over the look of the small jaguar, even though its behavior is stranger than anything else. I didn¡¯t set out to change its appearance, but something about [Glass Animation] reacted strongly to the flow of energy through [Adjuration]. I¡¯m not sure I followed what happened through the entire procedure; I¡¯ll have to repeat it a few more times while explaining the runes to Rakesh and Melina so that they can document the unusual interaction.

    I close my eyes, taking a deep breath while I draw in ambient mana, meditating and measuring the flow of energy into my core. Harvesting mana feels far faster and more effortless than I ever dreamed possible; I¡¯m not just healed, I¡¯m enhanced. I wait for another few minutes, ensuring that I¡¯m mostly topped off, and walk upstairs to deliver the cat to a delighted Shiphrah.

    ¡°Rashad! Look! It¡¯s stalking the falcon,¡± Shiphrah coos, clapping her hands together and bouncing in place on the tips of her toes.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe how real it looks,¡± Rashad says, staring at the cat. His eyes widen when the small jaguar pounces at the falcon, knocking it from the air and brandishing its needle-like claws. He lurches forward to shield his sister¡¯s face with his arms, turning his head a moment before impact.

    Instead of shattering against the hard tiles and spraying sharp glass everywhere, the falcon simply bounces. I pin down the cat with my Domain and separate the two creatures before they scratch each other, glaring at them sternly. I¡¯m not sure if they have any self-repair ability, though I have a hunch that feeding them mana will restore them to their original, pristine condition. I¡¯d rather not test that theory just yet if I don¡¯t have to, though.

    ¡°It¡¯s so cute!¡± Avelina exclaims. She rushes over to where the cat¡¯s squirming on the floor, held in place by my Domain, and kneels down to pet the cat. Yuuni unwinds from her forearm, where it¡¯s taken to coiling up like a thick glass bracer, and nuzzles up against the cat.

    ¡°They¡¯re based on glass, but they¡¯re resilient like flesh. I¡¯m not sure I even know quite why,¡± I explain to the flabbergasted siblings. ¡°I know there¡¯s no way that I can repay you for your kindness, but I hope you enjoy your new friend. Please accept the cat as a token of my endless appreciation.¡±

    ¡°Oh, we do. We do!¡± Shiphrah replies, beaming at me. She nudges Avelina out of the way and scoops up the sleek glass feline, whisking it to her sitting chair. It doesn¡¯t resist when she gathers it into her lap. She strokes its head and scritches behind its ears, lost in the novelty of having her own awakened glass companion.

    I run my fingers through my beard and sigh. No more stalling. Time to confront the mercenaries assembled above. I clear my throat, giving Mikko a look. He nods and rounds up the team, who follows him outside to wait for me, leaving me on my own with Shiphrah and Rashad.

    Once the door closes, I bow to the siblings. ¡°I know you¡¯ve already done so much for me already, but if I may¡ªcould I ask for one more favor?¡±

    Rashad raises an eyebrow. ¡°Speak, friend. The worst we can say is no.¡±

    ¡°Please look after Lionel. He¡¯s given up so much for me, and I don¡¯t know how else to repay my debt. He needs someone to train him. I strongly suspect that he¡¯ll remain in Gilead with the Menders when we return home. I¡¯d feel better if I know someone¡¯s checking in on him.¡±

    ¡°We can arrange something! Our darling niece is well respected within the ranks. I¡¯m sure that if I mention to Saphora what a nice boy Lionel is, she¡¯ll be happy to look in on him,¡± Shiphrah says, smiling absently while she pats the cats on the head.

    I manage not to flinch at Saphora¡¯s name. ¡°Thank you. Both of you. I owe you everything.¡±

    Rashad rubs the back of his neck. He raises his eyebrows, a faint blush creeping up his cheek. ¡°Think nothing of it. We were happy to help. Now, hurry along. Your friends will want to talk with you, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    I gesture for my falcon, which flits ahead of me, and bow again before I take my leave and stalk down the long, dim hallway. Inspired by Rakesh¡¯s paper birds, I send my new falcon ahead to scout for me, trying to manually recreate the runes I recall Azariah using to scry. I don¡¯t have the actual runes in my repository, so the images I get back from the bird are less detailed than what I can already see in my Domain, but it¡¯s a start.

    Eventually, I hope I can mirror what the falcon sees, displaying the view for my team through their own glass companions. I¡¯ve got a long way to go to catch up to Azariah¡¯s utility, but I haven¡¯t forgotten my goal of matching his smoke¡¯s versatility one day but with my glass instead.

    The team seems to pick up on my tense mood when I rejoin them. Mercifully, no one speaks. We march onward, Mikko side by side with me in the front. With bated breath, I track the ambushers through my expanded [Arcane Domain]. My heart hammers in my chest when we draw even with the floor where Saphora lies in wait. I strain my perception, ready to seize the ambient mana and deliver blades of sharpness against my enemies from afar if the attack. Cutting through my fear is my wonder; I marvel at how easily the mana responds to my command now that my core is restored.

    My nerves are as taut as over-tightened violin strings, ready to snap at the first screeching note. It¡¯s almost a relief when Saphora emerges from her hiding spot in a wide hallway, intercepting us on a broad landing right between two different sets of stairways. At least I don¡¯t have to wait for the showdown any longer.

    Lionel recoils. He slides behind Mikko, who¡¯s holding his glass hammer and taking a defense stance. His voice shakes when he speaks. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°What! Can a [Lady] not visit her own castle?¡± Saphora mocks. ¡°Or did you forget that I own these grounds? My Aunt and Uncle travel even more than I do, which makes me the proprietress.¡±

    Marshaling my courage, I stride closer to the hallway where Saphora is waiting for us, flanked by her small army. ¡°What¡¯s your game, Saphora? I¡¯m not in the mood to play.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re hardly in a position to make demands,¡± Saphora says. ¡°But I am a magnanimous ruler. I¡¯ll give you a chance to play along before my friends get impatient.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have any friends,¡± Lionel hisses, apparently gathering his courage. ¡°You¡¯re a monster.¡±

    Saphora manages to look simultaneously sad and amused. ¡°And here I thought I could count you among their number! I almost told you that I was here to check in on an old friend, but we haven¡¯t known each other that long. Not yet.¡±

    ¡°Not ever,¡± Lionel spits out.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard good reports from Mender Uttara about you,¡± Saphora continues on in an intentionally blithe tone. ¡°We¡¯re going to get along great, since we¡¯ll be working together in such cozy quarters!¡±

    Lionel steps forward, his eyes smoldering. He works his jaw, staring down Saphora. ¡°I¡¯ll never work with you. You¡¯re not a [Healer] at heart. You just enjoy holding power over people.¡±

    ¡°I do! I really do. See? You already know me so well,¡± Saphora purrs. Her smile disappears, and she jerks her head toward us. The double-wide doors to the hallway behind her fling open, revealing the ranks of her reinforcements.

    Viewing is easier than ever. With the extra mana empowering the trick of perspective, I¡¯m able to scan the group and read their Classes for the first time. Just over a dozen of the fighters are [Huscarls], probably in the employ of Saphora¡¯s house. They share the same gray uniform, axes, and armor. The rest are a more eclectic smattering of [Mercenaries], [Soldiers], a [Mage], and a hidden figure who¡¯s managed to obfuscate his Class. I¡¯ll have to keep an eye out for that one.

    ¡°We¡¯re not looking for a fight,¡± Lionel says. He edges toward the stairway on the other side of the landing, but a pair of burly [Huscarls] cut him off. They stand shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the stairs, blocking the way to the surface.

    ¡°Good. You won¡¯t find one. You¡¯re outnumbered and underpowered; struggle, and we¡¯ll squash you like bugs,¡± Saphora declares, her confidence clear in both posture and tone. ¡°Now come here. We¡¯ll part ways, your friends will keep their mouths shut if they know what¡¯s good for them, and everyone goes home happy. Simple and straightforward.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t have him,¡± Avelina says, drawing her glass wand. Her eyes narrow as fire swirls all around her.

    Ava, no! Not again.

    Mana flows out from me in waves, overloading the mana lamps and hiding our team. The darkness swallows us whole. Undeterred, I march forward, relying on my Domain to guide me toward our enemies.

    ¡°I expected something more compelling. Let¡¯s skip the pleasantries and speak a language you¡¯re more well-versed in,¡± I reply, flooding my Domain with even more mana and increasing the pressure on her group. A handful of the fighters stumble and drop to their knees.

    ¡°You have such a talent for violence,¡± Saphora remarks sarcastically. She stands tall, appearing completely unaffected, though I don¡¯t think she can see in the dark. She gestures toward a woman in flowing robes behind her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t burn him too badly,¡± she says in an airy voice. ¡°I still want to talk with him about a mutually beneficial arrangement.¡±

    The woman steps out in front of the group. She¡¯s the [Mage] I noticed earlier. Based on her Skill structures, I¡¯m confident that she¡¯s aligned with light and fire. Light blooms, harsh and blinding, confirming what I gleaned from Viewing her. The former doesn¡¯t scare me much, and I doubt her fire can get through the shielding afforded by my [Greater Heat Manipulation].

    Seconds later, I curse under my breath as the light grows stronger and stronger. The [Mercenaries] all put on pitch-black goggles, but I still see a few wincing under the harsh assault. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull my thick hood up over my head, further cutting off the growing light. Vision is unnecessary for what¡¯s coming next, anyway.

    The light grows in brilliance, shining straight through my hood and shut eyes. I cover my face with the crook of my left arm, pressing my arm tight against my eyes, and still see stars despite the cloth and flesh blocking the way. The dazzling radiance is painful even through my layers of defense. I clench my jaw and endure the pain in silence.

    When the light fades, flames take its place. Instinctively, I move to snuff out the [Mage]¡¯s casting, but I stay my hand. I smile in wolfish anticipation at turning her own power against her.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Heat billows out, intense enough to warp metal, and I direct my glass falcon to fly far enough away to avoid melting in the furious onslaught. The rest of my attention is devoted to using every bit of mastery over thermal energy I¡¯ve developed over the years, drawing in the scorching heat to create a zone of cold around my team as the fire builds and builds.

    The [Mage] breaks off at last, panting from the exertion of manifesting so much fire for so long. She reaches for a wand at her side, likely to bolster her next cast, but I¡¯m faster.

    ¡°Ill advised,¡± I snarl. With a contemptuous snort, I redirect the gathered heat back at the [Mage], engulfing her in a cone of pure agony.

    Her garish light cuts out, plunging us into darkness once more. I watch through my Domain as Saphora frantically tries to heal the damage reflected on the [Mage], who¡¯s writhing on the floor and screaming in pain.

    To my surprise, I find myself pitying her. Chances are good Saphora simply hired her for a job, and she¡¯s not involved in any nefarious plot against my friends or country. As my conscience pricks me, I draw away the excess heat energy, leaving her in a temperate sphere that will soothe her body. The diminishing damage allows Saphora to finish healing her at last.

    More mana than I¡¯ve ever used before, save for channeling outside sources, empowers my Domain to keep track of the armed [Huscarls] running forward. Each one activates a hand-held mana torch, illuminating the hallway to more normal levels. Their goggles are off again. They fan out to surround me, moving with precision that shows their training, and I make a show of drawing back in fear when they brandish their weapons at me.

    ¡°All right, all right! I give up,¡± I whine, lifting my hand in the air and trying to appear terrified. ¡°What are you going to do to me?¡±

    In reality, I¡¯m shocked at how little I feel threatened by all of their posturing. With the overwhelming amount of mana in my core¡ªmy healed core!¡ªI¡¯m certain my Domain can crush them all into the floor before a single enemy gets close enough to hit us.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, glassmaker,¡± Saphora calls out. ¡°You can¡¯t escape. Tell your friend to come along quietly.¡±

    ¡°What¡ªwhat are you going to do to me?¡± I ask, licking my lips.

    She scoffs. ¡°Why would I care about you?¡±

    I squint in the dim light of the sparse mana lamps. ¡°You tell me. You¡¯re the one who targeted me and hired thugs to catch me. Abyss take me, but that¡¯s an odd way to show you don¡¯t care.¡±

    Saphora shakes her head. ¡°Ah, ah, ah! I don¡¯t care about you. I know you¡¯re the ringleader, but as I said, your friend is of great interest to me. He knows some particular secrets that I want to make sure stay secrets. If you breathe so much as a word of what you¡¯ve learned¡ªwell, let¡¯s just say you¡¯ll be the only one still breathing. If you want him to train with the Menders in peace, then you better bite your tongue and send him with us. Else I¡¯ll activate every reverse healing Skill that I embedded in him.¡±

    I snort. ¡°All these theatrics just to ask me to be quiet? Nah. I don¡¯t buy it. Why bring all this muscle with you if you¡¯re interested in quiet blackmail?¡±

    ¡°In case you keep trying to play the hero,¡± Saphora says. She leers at me. ¡°Go on. Make things fun. I¡¯m begging you.¡±

    I take a step forward before I even think about it, flexing my hand and dreaming about punching her in the face. The feeling of power is more intoxicating than I expected. An angry, arrogant part of me doesn¡¯t even want to try to get her to tell me her plan. I would rather obliterate them all than get her to monologue. I grind my teeth, take a deep breath, and force that voice to be silent.

    Something is playing on my emotions. Once again, I feel the resonance of violence deep in my soul. I need to get it under control before I do something I regret. I have no desire to repay the siblings¡¯ kindness by leaving corpses in their research facilities. I take a breath, fighting off the rising feeling. Maybe it¡¯s the sheer amount of mana coursing through me. Strengthening me. Changing me.

    Belatedly, I remember that I now have [Lesser Resistance: Mental Strain] from Lionel. Feeding a touch of mana into the Skill brings almost immediate relief, along with a bit of embarrassment that I didn¡¯t recall earlier that I received the Skill. I force myself to breathe deeply and count to ten before I reply to the deranged [Lady].

    ¡°What do you want?¡± I ask more calmly. ¡°You must have a plan if you haven¡¯t tried to kill us yet, not seriously. Perhaps we can help each other.¡±

    She frowns, her face shrouded in harsh shadows cast by her house guard¡¯s mana torches. ¡°Kill you? I¡¯m not going to leave such crude evidence. My poor Aunt and Uncle would be very embarrassed that they healed such a ne¡¯er-do-well! I would have to spend double my time here consoling them over their undoubtedly terrible judgment.¡±

    I blink. That¡¯s not the response I expected.

    Saphora lifts her chin. ¡°No, I need you to deliver a message for me.¡±

    I glance over my shoulder at Melina, but she shrugs, apparently just as surprised as I am. I turn back toward our nemesis, more intrigued than I want to admit. ¡°To whom?¡±

    ¡°Tell your handlers that Gilead will soon be free,¡± Saphora says, stalking forward. Her eyes are cold and hard. ¡°No more taxes from the capital. Densmore grows fat by preying on cities far from Modilaraon. The Menders are tired of the imperial thumb. We are a sovereign state. We reject the [King]¡¯s rule. Leave us alone or suffer the consequences. We have inroads all over your country; we will not simply roll over if war breaks out.¡±

    Rakesh snaps his fingers as details click in place. ¡°That¡¯s why you were trying to take over from the [Lord] of Mahkaiaraon. ¡°You¡¯re building political power and wealth.¡±

    ¡°Just so,¡± Saphora confirms.

    ¡°How many Rifts did you target?¡±

    She grimaces. ¡°You¡¯re too perceptive, [Researcher]. No wonder the [Inquisitors] hired a craftsman to do their dirty work. Friends like you are smart enough to figure things out. I barely believed it at first that he was in their employ, but your [Healer] friend wasn¡¯t lying. What¡¯s his name¡ªLeonard? Leo? No, don¡¯t tell me. I don¡¯t care.¡±

    My fist clenches. ¡°What did you do to Lionel?¡±

    ¡°Ah! Little Lio. That¡¯s right. Sweet boy. And I already told you that I planted a Skill within him that reverses healing if I desire. That persuaded him to talk,¡± Saphora replies with a ghastly smile, as though they had a pleasant chat. ¡°I can assure you that I¡¯ll keep a close eye on him while he¡¯s in my city. As long as you hold up your end of the bargain, no harm shall befall him.¡±

    Her threats stoke the ember of anger in my chest. Her words ignite the coals. Rage roars to life and sweeps through me like a burning inferno. I growl at her. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about touching him. I¡¯ll never trust you after the way you tortured my best friend.¡±

    ¡°Then we are at an impasse,¡± Saphora snaps, growing cold once more. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that I can¡¯t risk you reporting on our activities.¡±

    ¡°Which is it? A fight or a message? You¡¯re sending confusing signals,¡± I say.

    ¡°Keep up that attitude, and a note pinned to your charred corpse will do the trick just as well,¡± Saphora snarls at me.

    ¡°You know, I was gonna wait for this showdown until I¡¯d tracked down all the members of your conspiracy,¡± I say as I gather my mana, circulating it around me and preparing to fight. ¡°I wanted to bring you all to justice. Now? I don¡¯t care about a mission. This is personal.¡±

    I blast out my Domain, driving them all to their knees. Mana dances in the air, visible as silver and emerald threads of power. The full force of my presence presses down on all of them in an instant, surprising me with how potent the suppression field has become.

    Out of the twenty-plus people in the ambush, only half a dozen are able to resist falling to the floor: Saphora and five of the [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries] to my right. I pivot to my left, staring down the lone straggler who¡¯s fighting to stay upright under the relentless assault of my Domain.

    Viewing takes barely a thought. The [Mercenary]¡¯s Skills show a mixture of strength-enhancement, toughness, and endurance runes, which I now recognize thanks to the gift of Mikko¡¯s [Greater Endurance]. Given his physical prowess, he¡¯ll probably live through anything short of beheading. I seize a small portion of the mana in the air around him, connecting to the concept of sharpness and slicing into his skin.

    He¡¯ll survive, I tell myself harshly. He falls to his knees, screaming in agony. He drops his mace, which clatters onto the tile next to him, clutching at his neck as he bleeds. [Vitrification] turns the weapon into a rod of glass, and a pulse of [Greater Heat Manipulation] turns it molten in an instant. Pouring more mana into my Domain, I force the rod to wrap around his hands, melting flesh and burning a new set of manacles into place.

    My new Skill [Quick Cool] anneals it right away, and just for good measure I imbue unbreakable concepts into the crude glass handcuffs. The [Mercenary] won¡¯t soon break free, even with his strength Skills.

    ¡°Better heal him before he bleeds out!¡± I call to Saphora. ¡°Or do you care so little for your allies?¡±

    ¡°Kill them!¡± Saphora shrieks, her face twisting into a snarl of anger at my taunting. To her credit, she struggles toward the injured man, pushing back against the oppressive weight of my Domain. When she crouches down next to him and puts a hand on his neck, staunching the bleeding, I breathe a sigh of relief and lessen the pressure a bit. I don¡¯t actually want the death of strangers on my conscience.

    While I¡¯m momentarily distracted watching the tense healing take place, the five fighters to my right charge on some unknown signal. Although I can¡¯t see them with my eyes, since I¡¯ve turned to keep the snake Saphora in front of me, I can track them perfectly through my Domain. I snap my fingers, flash-freezing the hall and turning the tiles so cold that they slip and crash to the floor.

    The stolen heat wells up in me. I vent it back toward them, eliciting roars of pain. As I prepare a follow up attack, the man whose Class I can¡¯t read pulls out a small, pre-cranked crossbow and snaps off a shot.

    Instead of firing at me, the single bolt hovers in the air for a moment, then splits into a dozen bolts as a high-ranking Skill activates. Shock ripples through me. Physicalizing mana is no easy feat. The arrowheads glisten in the mana-torch light, humming faintly as they resonate with sharpness. Another pulse of mana signals a second Skill initialization, launching the deadly projectiles straight at me faster than I can follow with my eyes.

    My own mana surges in response, condensing in front of me at the speed of thought. Inspiration strikes me, borrowed from my brief time with Master Melidandri. I call on the mana in air in front of me, imbuing it with unbreakable.

    The instant the mana hardens, all dozen deadly bolts explode against the invisible shield. The air is too ephemeral to hold such an elevated axiom, however, and the two concepts cancel each other out, shattering the hasty working. A shockwave shoves me back, which coincidentally saves me from the follow-up sneak attack: a throwing dagger that whistles past my throat with only inches to spare.

    His eyes widen in distressed disbelief. ¡°Impossible! H-how? You should be dead twice over.¡±

    I tug on the ambient energy even harder, dropping the temperature sharply. None of the rest of my ambushers have ranged Skills or offense-oriented magic, as far as I can tell from a quick Viewing. I¡¯m not in any great danger at the moment.

    Anger mounting, I release a blast of my gathered heat straight at the man¡¯s crossbow, which bursts into flames. He drops it with a yelp and takes off running, out of tricks and more interested in preserving his own life than winning the fight.

    Lionel¡¯s scream of agony distracts me from vengeance. I rush over to my best friend¡¯s side, letting the attacker go. Veins stand out all over Lionel, pulsing black. One bursts, oozing unnatural sludge instead of blood. His body thrashes side to side, caught in what I can only describe as death throes.

    Whatever treacherous sorcery Saphora cast on Lionel, it¡¯s terrifyingly effective. He¡¯s growing gray and shrunken in front of my eyes as his vitality drains away. I tremble, caught in my own inadequacy as I realize there¡¯s nothing I can do for my friend.

    Melina pushes me aside and casts [In the Blink of an Eye], surrounding Lionel with a bubble. His suffering seems to stop, momentarily, at least from the outside. His decay freezes in place. ¡°I can¡¯t hold him forever! We need to get to the Menders if he¡¯s going to live.¡±

    ¡°Mikko! Get them out of here!¡± I roar.

    Mikko charges for the [Huscarls] on the stairs. His hammer twirls too quickly for them to follow, sending them sprawling unconscious. My brother slams his hammer into its leather loop, throws Melina over his shoulders, and scoops up Lionel. He races up the steps.

    No one else moves to stop my friends; their attention is focused on me as I burn with mana. The team rushes after him, ascending the stairs. I watch them through my Domain, praying that they¡¯ll make it to the Menders in time to save Lionel¡¯s life.

    Spending mana like water, I leverage the full weight of my Domain, dragging the weapons out of the remaining [Mercenaries]¡¯ hands. Exulting in the power of my unleashed [Arcane Domain], I draw the assorted weapons closer. So many quick casts of my Domain in such rapid succession is exhausting, but [Greater Endurance] proves its worth, keeping me on my feet despite the strain.

    ¡°Thank you, brother,¡± I murmur, grateful for him a hundred times over. I heave out a ragged groan of relief as my Domain confirms that they exited the building. They¡¯re out of immediate danger, although I¡¯m heartsick over Lionel¡¯s precarious condition.

    As for me, I charge into the fray, my vision tinged crimson as I finally give in to the crooning call of violence. Saphora should have cornered me before her Aunt Shiphrah restored my core. I shove down the burning temptation to kill them all, but wrath is inevitable.

    Each time I activate my Domain like this to levitate objects within my sphere of influence, the mana costs seem to multiply. I¡¯m draining through my prodigious reserves faster than I ever thought possible, given my now-enormous Capacity, but I¡¯m able to hold up. The cost is worth it for the terror radiating off the would-be ambushers.

    Once I pull assorted weapons within about twenty feet, I stretch [Vitrification] to its uttermost and bridge the gap to the weapons. Even though I can¡¯t physically touch them yet, the Skill responds eagerly. I transmute all of the swords and axes into glass. My home-made Skill is tough to wield at a distance, but I¡¯ve got mana to burn, so I overcharge it and push it past its limits.

    [Greater Heat Manipulation] also sings at my impulse, melting the glass until all the transformed weapons are glowing from within. I crush them together with another application of my Domain, forming a huge ball of molten glass.

    A savage grin stretches across my face as I flex my power, relying on the runes I¡¯ve learned and the Skills I¡¯ve acquired. I¡¯m just getting started. I invoke two of the Skills I¡¯m most excited to have inherited from Lionel, speaking aloud to savor their names on my tongue while I work. ¡°[A Perfect Prototype]. [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness].¡±

    The glass beast I have in mind to create has a chance to be the best one yet. The glass from the transmuted weapons I confiscated flows into shape at the impulse of my will. For good measure, I try to draw on [Adjuration of the Phoenix], but nothing happens. The link that leads out of my core to some mysterious, distant patron¡ªpresumably an actual phoenix¡ªis inert. The mighty Skill might take days or even a full week to recharge from the feel of it. I¡¯ll have to confirm with Avelina later, after I¡¯ve subdued the [Soldiers] and [Huscarls] in front of me.

    I switch plans on the fly, drawing on [Glass Animation] and [Artisanal Acuity] instead of Adjuration to create a glass version of the mythical Phoenix. Infusing the glass phoenix with as much mana as I can spare causes it to glow with fiery red flames. Even if the eponymous Skill won¡¯t activate, the pressure rolling off the creature is shocking compared with the glass golems I¡¯ve created before.

    The phoenix opens its vicious, hooked beak and screeches in silent fury before darting toward the approaching [Soldiers].

    ¡°[Mage]!¡± one of them screams, turning and running away as fast as he can after the ranged fighter who left earlier.

    I smile sharply at the title. Despite insisting to Azariah that I¡¯m not a [Mage], I¡¯ve stepped onto the path. I¡¯m no longer resistant to the concept. I¡¯m more than a simple [Glassworker], after all.

    One of the other [Soldiers] turns and follows, leaving only a pair of fighters still standing as they struggle against the force of my Domain¡ªother than Saphora, who¡¯s still busy trying to keep the cut-up [Mercenary] from bleeding out.

    Liquid fire trails from the glass phoenix¡¯s wingbeats, sizzling and burning wherever the white-hot fire hits the tiles. Shrieks follow in its wake, driving back the remaining attackers and sowing mayhem in their midst. Disbelief rolls off them like a flood, mixed with dread so profound it¡¯s almost overwhelming through the emotional link of my Domain.

    ¡°Surrender and live!¡± I boom out.

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him! It¡¯s just a trick,¡± Saphora screams, but her shaky voice betrays her. Her resolve is ebbing away like the sea leaving the beach¡¯s embrace at low tide.

    Growling, I stalk toward Saphora, who¡¯s trembling on the tiles and barely able to lift her head under the force of my rage made manifest. The sheer amount of mana in the air is electric, causing sparks to fly and writhe like lightning. I¡¯ve never seen so much mana outside of a Rift before; it¡¯s curdling the air with its raw power.

    ¡°Dare to threaten my friend again, and I¡¯ll turn you into glass,¡± I growl. ¡°You¡¯ve seen what I can do to transmute metal and stone. Imagine that¡¯s your leg, or your hand. I¡¯ll change you into a glass statute, one agonizing inch at a time.¡±

    She whimpers, crawling backward away from me, but the weight of my Domain is too much for her to escape. I lean down and grip her collar with my right hand, lifting her up until we¡¯re staring face to face.

    ¡°Swear that you¡¯ll leave Lionel alone. Swear!¡±

    ¡°Please. Mercy,¡± Saphora begs.

    ¡°Swear!¡±

    ¡°Please. I, I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Swear!¡± I growl, ¡°or I¡¯ll shatter each section of glass. You can¡¯t heal glass, can you? That¡¯s the funny thing about the magic you wield. It seems so powerful, shaping human flesh.¡± I laugh bitterly. ¡°You know how to deal with someone who can undo any damage? Transform the body into something else. I¡¯ll vitrify your bones and crush them one by one if you so much as lay a finger on Lionel.¡±

    ¡°Mercy,¡± Saphora sobs, the words barely audible. She¡¯s fighting just to open her mouth and squeak out the words. Her cheek muscles are shaking from the strain of speaking.

    ¡°Out of respect for your aunt, I¡¯ll leave you alive.¡± I glare at her, flaring my mana and letting her feel the oppressive power contained within me.

    Her eyes roll in her skull, but I slap her back awake. The rest of her fighting force isn¡¯t so lucky; the entire squadron is unconscious, overwhelmed by the might of a true Domain.

    I pull her upright. ¡°Tell me who you work with.¡±

    ¡°I . . . I can¡¯t! I¡¯m oathbound not to reveal¡ª¡±

    ¡°Names. Now,¡± I grow, releasing my Domain so that she can actually speak. ¡°Or I will destroy you so utterly that not even the Headmistress herself can heal you.¡±

    Collapsing to the floor, Saphora weeps. She shivers uncontrollably, all of her pride and confidence stripped away. As her sniveling grows quiet, she lifts her head and looks at me bitterly. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, but you have to get me away from here. They won¡¯t let me live if I sell the others out.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you live if you don¡¯t,¡± I snap. ¡°But out of respect for Shiphrah, I will ensure that the three of you are safe when the storm falls on Gilead.¡±

    It¡¯s a baldfaced lie, but I don¡¯t care. Let her think whatever she wants as long as I get my answers. I have no idea if I have enough pull with the [Inquisitors] to grant her immunity. But I don¡¯t intend to find out; after what she did to Lionel, I swear to myself that she won¡¯t get out of Gilead alive. I should kill her right here and now, but the thought of her Aunt and Uncle finding her body stops me short. They don¡¯t deserve that kind of trauma.

    Saphora gives me names. She speaks in dull tones, staring down the hallway at nothing. I expect her to try to fight her way free, or to use her insidious reverse healing Skills on me, but she doesn¡¯t seem to have the will to struggle anymore¡ªwhich is good, since I¡¯m almost completely drained of mana.

    I write down all the names, dutifully checking spelling and ensuring that I have all the information I¡¯ll need for Rakesh to connect the dots. We¡¯ll bring down the entire cabal, tearing out the rot from within.

    And once it¡¯s over, I¡¯ll track her down and finish the job. I call over my glass falcon to get a sample of her blood. Its sharp talons are more than up to the task. I imprint on the bird the importance of always following her, no matter where she goes in the city, and it bobs its head in acknowledgement.

    Meanwhile, my new phoenix circles, too proud to land on my arm, but still brimming with fire. To my shock, a faint mental connection opens from the creature. It assures me that if I¡¯m in danger, it will protect me, since it¡¯s strong and I¡¯m weak.

    I snap my notebook shut once Saphora is out of names. I¡¯ve gotten as much information from her as I can. I snarl at her and stalk away, leaving her wrung out and terrified.

    Breathing heavily, I stagger up the stairs and into the lush gardens back on the street level. After the heart-pounding fight in the darkness, emerging into the daylight and hearing the sound of songbirds feels almost wrong.

    I find a towering tree and sit under its majestic branches, leaning back against the trunk as I enjoy a warm breeze on my skin. I¡¯m completely drained, physically and emotionally and magically, and I need time to recover from the fight. My head is spinning, dealing with the pounding onset of a mana-deprivation migraine. Wielding my Domain like that took more out of me than I anticipated.

    I close my eyes and put my head in my hand, trying to steady myself so I¡¯m ready to walk again. I¡¯ll head to the Menders campus soon and reunite with my friends.

    ¡°At least the worst is over,¡± I murmur, finally letting myself relax after the fight. I slouch against the tree, chuckling weakly.

    Something shifts in my core.

    My muscles go rigid, and I groan. I spoke too soon. Power surges through me, more than what I drew on during the fight, but it¡¯s not my own mana. Panic grips me. Before I figure out what¡¯s going on, I find myself spiraling, falling inward.

    And then, nothing but darkness.

 B5 C31: The Glass Mage

    The world inverts, pulling me within the velvety black nightscape of my soul. Everything around me fades away as my awareness closes down to a pinprick of existence¡ªand then expands as everything I¡¯ve ever thought of before in my entire life fills my consciousness. My heartbeat slows, stutters, stops; everything pauses as time itself seems to freeze.

    Bright starbursts of light explode in the darkness, tearing open the inky sky and merging with my spinning memories. Raw energy swirls in through the open portals, powerful enough to make me shudder. The strange, pale light grows in intensity, glowing as it engulfs my entire being. My soul is alight, blinding bright.

    Mana inundates me, although I¡¯m not harvesting it into my core. It¡¯s not naturalized to me, either. There¡¯s something strangely primal about the energy that feels different from the ambient mana around me. It¡¯s more akin to the energy in a Rift, but far denser.

    ¡°The womb of creation,¡± I murmur, recalling something Tem told me years ago before we entered the Greater Rift outside Silaraon.

    With his words ringing in my mind, the strange experience finally makes sense. The only time I can remember something remotely similar is when I first gained my [Assistant Glassworker] Class, though that was less intense by a few orders of magnitude.

    My inner sight gains clarity. With a working of willpower, I direct my metaphysical gaze toward the incomprehensibly complex structure of my Class structure.

    [Glassworker]

    Surprise ripples through me. The name hasn¡¯t changed. The runic arrays are static. It¡¯s stable, showing no sign of evolving or upgrading. Have I jumped to an incorrect conclusion about what¡¯s happening?

    Energy continues rushing into me, stronger than before yet somehow not tearing me apart from the inside out. This time, the flow of power swirls through the nebulous cloud of my memories that spools out around me, carrying them along like driftwood caught in a whirlpool.

    Images of working in the studio flash through my mind. Close on its heels are countless moments compressed into one¡ªthe many arduous hours that I poured into earning [Manasight]. A smile forms on my formless being within my soul.

    One after another, memories flicker by more quickly than I can follow: meditating on sharpness on the road, learning to fold concepts into ambient mana when I sliced apart the Crimson Crabs, forcing my Skills past their maximum in the Lesser Rift with Smoke, wielding Lady Evershed¡¯s borrowed Skill [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride], learning how runes work with Scalpel, unlocking the poetic mysteries of imbuing with Master Melidandri, transcending my limitations and earning a Domain, grappling with the potency of violence and walking away the victor, contesting the Oletheros with my [Arcane Domain], learning how to animate my sculpted animals, raising the massive [Sanctuary of Glass] in Natan, encountering new concepts in the Orpheus House, and assisting Shiphrah with restoring my core and channels.

    Finally, the spiraling galaxy of memory slows, settling on the most recent events in my life. Playing through my mind in perfect clarity, as though captured by an [Image Mage] or via an enchanted artifact that can record both sight and sound, I watch the fight between me and Saphora from a bird¡¯s-eye view. It¡¯s not a memory, strictly speaking. Whatever I¡¯m viewing is accurate, faithfully capturing the recent battle in pristine detail.

    Why am I seeing this?

    In answer, the world¡¯s energy swirls, faster and faster, and finally spins into a vortex deep within. A profound, sonorous chime rings all around, making my bones rattle as it reverberates through me, body and soul.

    I suck in a sharp breath as I realize what¡¯s happening. Falling further inward, I seek to confirm my suspicion, trembling in anticipation at what I¡¯ll find.

    At last, all the power I¡¯ve pursued over the last few years has borne fruit. I¡¯ve done it. I¡¯ve finally transformed my Class. I rush closer, flying on invisible wings of intent, eager to see what I¡¯ve become. Yet to my surprise, [Glassworker] is unchanged.

    Instead, a new banner unfurls.

    [Mage]

    A bitter pang shoots through me. Aside from the practical drawbacks of ranking up two Classes at once, a more unsettling thought takes root. Is this really how I see myself? Despite all the mystery around how Classes and Skills work, most people agree that they require intent and self-revelation: no matter how much I might wish to be an [Actuary] or [Matador] or [Juggler], I¡¯ll never gain the Class because I have no real world connection or personal conviction that they suit me.

    But is this really me?

    Is that how I see myself?

    No wonder I witnessed all the times I used magic without relying only on my glass-related Skills, or at least not exclusively. I was reliving core memories that shaped who I am. For all my protest that I¡¯m not a [Mage], there¡¯s no denying it now. Emblazoned in the depths of my soul is the truth of the world.

    I let out a weak laugh. Azariah is going to make so much fun of me when he finds out that I really am a [Mage] now.

    It¡¯s hard to argue with the heavens, but something about it doesn¡¯t quite sit right with me. I¡¯m not sure I truly consider myself a [Mage]. I research runes. I manipulate mana in creative ways. I seek out and use higher-order concepts.

    The fact remains, however, that I¡¯m a [Glassworker]. That hasn¡¯t been taken away from me. I¡¯m proud of the Class. But I don¡¯t want to limp along, torn between two options for the rest of my life, always wondering which to prioritize.

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    Why not both? a voice whispers in the back of my mind. Quiet at first, but growing stronger. There isn¡¯t a rule that I have to feed one and starve the other. I¡¯ve never been one to settle for the simple answer. I¡¯ve never walked the well-trod path. I¡¯ve never been content with the current state of things. My tendency is to push and prod, to uncover secrets and chase glory.

    More than that, I¡¯m determined to keep my friends alive. I pursue power for the sake of serving and protecting, not for dominating and destroying. If becoming a Mage in truth is the way to safeguard my friends and family, then I¡¯ll gladly trade the rest of my crafting career to accomplish my dream.

    Another chime rings out in my soul space, subdued compared with the deep, realty-shaking tolling of bells when my new Class settled into my core. I perk up. Of course! With the advent of a new Class, there¡¯s also an inaugural Class Skill. I can¡¯t deny my eagerness to see what I¡¯ve received this time, despite recently gorging myself on my friends¡¯ Skills.

    Directing my disembodied avatar to the other side of my core, I move around the enormous new Skill structure that coalesces within me. After the last revelation of my second Class, I¡¯m more wary than I would be otherwise, although I¡¯m still quivering with excitement.

    [Legacy of the Scalpel]

    With a gasp, I return to my senses as though swimming up to the surface from a great depth. My gut clenches. I whip my head around, looking for intruders. What happened? How? Is this some sort of cruel joke? [Lady] Saphora¡¯s revenge?

    Yet I¡¯m all alone in the garden. Gentle warmth radiates from the sun. It¡¯s a calm, beautiful day, in contrast to the turmoil raging in my heart.

    I force myself to breathe until I¡¯m feeling less frantic. I run through my options, trying to keep track of the positive and negative. On the plus side, my Domain is sharper. The world around me is far clearer, as though I¡¯d been peering through warped and dirty glass previously, and now have clear views through clean windows. Additionally, my understanding of my Skills seems to have advanced; I intuitively have a stronger sense of what their runes mean, where their limits are, and how to surpass those limits with work. Best of all, the mana in my core is more responsive than ever before.

    Downsides? My fist clenches. I¡¯ve memorialized my most hated captor. Her twisted legacy is now etched into my soul in truth. Am I destined to walk her path? Is she simply a vision of my future self?

    ¡°I refuse,¡± I growl.

    Without considering the consequences, I fling myself back into the depths of my soul. I blink open my metaphysical eyes, staring at the provocatively-named Skill in front of me. No more wavering. No more hesitating. I¡¯m the master of my own life. Nothing can change that. Not this strange Skill, nor my memories of the abuse suffered at her hand. I¡¯ve torn apart Skills and rebuilt them before. I can do it again if this one holds an insidious trap.

    Bracing myself for what¡¯s to come, I pour mana into the Skill. It hums to life, initializing with a blaze of gorgeous, creamy light that flows through every color all at once. It seems to move through the entire wavelength simultaneously. On a hunch, I activate [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], which confirms that the new Skill is thrumming with light in both lower and higher frequencies than I can even see with my normal senses. The light intensifies as I pour more mana into the Skill.

    Nothing else happens.

    I release the Skill, more confused than ever. Shouldn¡¯t that have done something? Surely it¡¯s not just a reminder of the worst moment of my life. That can¡¯t be right.

    Part of me wants to burn it down, melting all the crystalized mana into slag and using it as fuel to rebuild my other Skills. Bearing her name bothers me more than I want to admit. I want nothing to do with her. We¡¯re nothing alike, I protest.

    Yet I can¡¯t deny that I learned an immense amount from her. My entire comprehension of runes is due to apprenticing with her. While her methods were barbaric, her analytic abilities were exceptional. My past is immutable, but my future is still unwritten. I don¡¯t have to follow her example. I can forge my own way forward.

    Slow down and think, Nuri, I admonish myself sternly. It¡¯s called a ¡°Legacy,¡± whatever that means. With a start, I wonder if it¡¯s similar to an Inheritance, which gives the inheritor the Skills of the previous owner while retaining their ranks. I doubt I¡¯d inherit any of Scalpel¡¯s fleshwarping Skills, but I have carried on her research. Maybe [Legacy of the Scalpel] relates to runes or a method of Skill enhancement.

    The more I think about it, the more that seems likely. Nothing happened previously because I had no target in mind. There was nothing to analyze, edit, or upgrade.

    Certainly floods me. Before the primordial mana of the heaven¡¯s imprimatur ebbs away, I reactivate [Legacy of the Scalpel]. I have work to do.

    Instead of upgrading the new Skills I received from my team, I turn my attention toward my distinct Classes. I flare my mana, forcing as much power into the Skill as I can, and grasp the structures of the two Classes. As I hoped, the Legacy Skill immediately highlights overlapping elements in the Classes, such as the way mana manipulation works to control [Greater Heat Manipulation].

    I¡¯m a glassblower, an artisan, a crafter. I¡¯m also a runic researcher and manipulator of mana. There is no reason to bifurcate my identity. Drawing on my experience with creating [Vitrification], I force the two Classes toward each other.

    Removing runes and slicing away arrays that are redundant feels effortless. Empowered by the Legacy of the soul surgeon¡ªI never did learn her Class, although I think it was more arcane than simply [Fleshwarper] or something¡ªI catch a vision for combining the Classes. Instead of wasting time ranking up two separate Classes, I will grow in strength by embracing both halves of my identity.

    Joy lends me wings. I move faster and faster, melting down and rearranging the elements of the two Classes so that I can merge them into one. Amazingly, it feels like glass-making. Combining them is like a hot join in the studio. Never before have the constituent runes felt so malleable, so eager to follow my commands.

    No. My invitations.

    Master Melidandri¡¯s imbuing showed me a different path to power. A more excellent way.

    The irony of using Scalpel¡¯s powerful tools in service of Melidandri¡¯s gentle leading isn¡¯t lost on me. Guiding the mana is no longer a challenge or struggle, but a collaboration. More, a celebration!

    An entire world opens up to me as all the pieces finally slide into place. Where two Classes once existed, a single gleaming edifice now stands, proud and triumphant. I memorize every sharp angle and gentle curve, reading the unfurled banner with exultation.

    I return to my body, surfacing from my soul, and leap to my feet. A laugh bubbles up from within me, pure and full of joy. For far too long, I¡¯ve been at the mercy of those stronger than I am. But for once we finally have a fighting chance. I¡¯ll keep my friends safe, come what may.

    After all, I¡¯m no longer a weak and na?ve [Glassworker]. I¡¯ve become something stronger. Greater. The culmination of all my setbacks, lucky encounters, and hard work over the years. Now?

    I am a [Glass Mage].

    End Book Five

 Book Six Chapter One

    Triumphant after my clash with [Lady] Saphora and my successful Class evolution, I return to my senses with an intense sense of satisfaction. The scent of flowers wafts through the air, far sweeter and more potent than I recall. Birdsong is rife with meaning. Even the warmth of the sun is more nourishing to my soul and less harsh and hot than it was before my new Class.

    Mana flows around me, instantly responsive to my lightest touch. I¡¯m connected to the raw energy of the world like never before. I¡¯ve grown again, and this time the achievement feels uniquely mine. I have Shiphrah to thank for restoring my core and channels. Becoming a [Glass Mage], potentially the first one ever? I did that all on my own. The thought makes me want to shout in celebration.

    I spring up to my feet and pump my fist in the air, dancing in a circle and laughing. I can¡¯t wait to tell everyone about my achievement. Rakesh will want to write down every single detail. My brother¡¯s going to flip. And wait until I tell Lionel¡ª

    The memory of Saphora¡¯s reverse healing slams into me like a sledgehammer. Lionel! No! Her sinister inversion of healing Skills is killing my best friend. Clouds of worry overshadow the bright sun of my joy. Fear spikes through me at the thought of Lionel rotting apart from the inside out, necrotic energies wreaking havoc throughout his body.

    I set off sprinting through the city, throwing caution to the wind. No longer caring about drawing undue attention¡ªSaphora¡¯s allies won¡¯t move against me, not after her beatdown¡ªI run at top speed. Lionel¡¯s cries of agony echo in my mind, giving me wings.

    Faster! a frantic voice screams.

    My team is too far ahead of me for me to sense their mana signatures. Though they¡¯re no longer visible in my Domain, a faint trace of their presence lingers. That¡¯s new. My eyes widen as the implication hits me. It¡¯s as though I¡¯m following the aroma of baking bread to find an oven. Before I folded [Mage] into my Class, I lacked the senses to follow mana this precisely, but something new has awoken within me. I latch onto the trail and run harder, flooding my legs with extra mana to empower my muscles.

    Thanks to the Skill my brother gave me, [Greater Endurance], and the veritable ocean of mana surging within and refilling my depleted core after my Class upgrade, I¡¯ve never felt stronger or more alive. The teeming vitality is intoxicating.

    Yet all the strength in the world is meaningless to me if I can¡¯t protect my friends. I¡¯ve never cared about power for power¡¯s sake. I just wanted to explore the world and take care of the people who matter to me.

    Panic wells up in my chest. If Lionel dies because of me, then I¡¯ll never forgive myself. He¡¯s a big part of the reason we came to Gilead in the first place. He¡¯s supposed to learn how to improve as a [Healer], not get caught up in political wrangling.

    I blast through a market square, nearly toppling a table laden with wares. A [Merchant] waves frantically, trying to flag me down. His face contorts into a mask of fear and rage, and he shouts something unintelligible. The words are whisked away, but through my Domain I pick up on his irritation.

    ¡°Mender emergency!¡± I bellow as I dash right past him and continue running, moving as quickly as a horse at full gallop¡ªno, even faster, based on the way the faces of passersby blur and distort in my vision.

    Even with the raging river of mana empowering my limbs and the [Greater Endurance] Skill holding fatigue at bay, I know that I can¡¯t keep this speed up indefinitely. Pushing my body past its limits is still extremely difficult, and the soreness is already turning into a dull, orange-red ache in my legs and chest. Running like this is bound to have consequences.

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    That¡¯s not enough to stop me. Reason has long since flown out the window. If anything, I dig in and run all the harder. What¡¯s the point of having so much mana to burn if I can¡¯t use it to save my friend?

    Even as that determined thought occurs to me, a new and more insidious idea intrudes. What exactly am I going to do to save Lionel? I¡¯m not a [Healer]. There¡¯s nothing my presence can do that the Menders can¡¯t. Right?

    Distracted by that discouraging thought, I almost collide with a young kid crossing the street. I dig my feet into the ground and modulate the mana flow to my muscles, slowing myself down. I leap to the side just in time to avoid him, though he screams in terror as I pass by so closely that we¡¯re almost touching.

    Momentum carries me forward despite my redirection. I skid around a corner, careening off the side of a building and grunting in pain as the impact knocks the wind out of me.

    My vision flashes white, but I cycle mana and reinforce my body and central systems, copying what I¡¯ve seen Mikko do when he empowers himself with [Strength of the Forge Gods]. It¡¯s just enough to keep me from passing out.

    Now that I can see again, I keep running toward the Menders, though now I¡¯m moving at a fast jog instead of such a reckless pace. My breathing normalizes after I slow down. The world stops spinning around me. Still, I pump more mana through my healed channels and into my muscles and nerves, this time to calm myself instead of strengthening sinew and bone and muscle. I marvel at how easily the mana responds to my urging. How did I ever accomplish anything with magic before this?

    Ten minutes later, the Mender¡¯s massive, sprawling complex finally comes into view. The sight reinvigorates me, and I pick up the pace again, sprinting until I reach the intake area that I visited with Lionel previously.

    At last, I can sense my friends again. They¡¯re just up ahead! Confusion hits me as I consider their situation. They got here before me, but instead they¡¯re barely inside the door. Why are they just milling around? Why isn¡¯t Lionel in a treatment room already, surrounded by Menders?

    Teeming multitudes of hurting people block my entrance into the building, and I skid to a halt, hesitant to force my way inside. Despite my worry for my friend, I¡¯m not so hard-hearted or selfish that I¡¯ll trample over others also seeking healing. I squint at the entrance, looking for a way to bypass the crowds.

    There!

    A second-storey window on my right is open, providing air for a small potted plant on the window sill. I once again empower myself with mana, running forward a few steps and flinging myself upward toward the opening.

    I¡¯m not strong enough to leap the entire way up, but my hand catches hold of the lip of the window. My feet scrabble against the side of the stone building for a moment before my toe catches on a projection. I heave myself up and into a patient¡¯s room.

    The middle-aged man in the bed nearby startles, spitting out whatever he was drinking as I burst into his room.

    ¡°Sorry! No time to replace your analgesic!¡± I call over my shoulder, barreling through the door and glancing around wildly for the stairs. I have to get down there. I have to fix whatever went wrong.

    I don¡¯t see any stairs, so I run to the end of the hallway, hoping that I¡¯ll come across a way down. Sure enough, a narrow staircase gives access to the first floor. My feet follow the steps before I¡¯ve even processed what I¡¯m seeing, and I dash down to the lower levels with my heart pounding in fear.

    I arrive to the last thing I expected: a refusal of treatment. The quiet, intense words from a matronly Mender filter toward me, carried along by the help of my Domain.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but the decision is final.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not too far gone! The stasis is working,¡± Melina protests through gritted teeth. ¡°I can hold him a bit longer.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re nearly dead on your feet, love,¡± the Mender replies, her voice soft with concern but still maintaining professional distance. ¡°Once your mana runs out¡ªI¡¯m sorry. There¡¯s nothing we can do.¡±

    My head spins. I reel back at the realization that they¡¯ve been stuck here, wasting time as Melina pours everything she has into her temporal Skill, when they could have been working to undo the damage [Lady] Saphora inflicted. Of all the things I imagined going wrong, Lionel being denied admittance because he¡¯s a lost cause never entered my mind.

    No help. No hope.

    I clench my fist and stride forward, parting the crowds with an overbearing pulse of my Domain. Storms of mana roar around me like a whirlwind as my fury and desperation manifest. I won¡¯t let it end like this. I refuse.

 Book Six Chapter Two

    Reaching out with my Domain, I try to sense Lionel¡¯s condition, wishing that I knew how to perform a Sounding. The Viewing technique that I learned from the [Inquisitors] isn¡¯t enough to give me accurate feedback about his health. From what I can make out of his system, though, the technique shows that his core is under assault, as if he¡¯s trying to heal himself but his Skills won¡¯t activate.

    ¡°Heal him!¡± I shout.

    The Mender shakes her head, an odd grimace pulling her lips back in a strained smile. ¡°We can¡¯t do that. Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have other patients to see. Please stop causing a scene, or I¡¯ll have to ask you to leave.¡±

    ¡°Explain to me why you won¡¯t heal him. He¡¯s a [Healer]! He¡¯s working with Mender Uttara in fact. He took the Class because he wants to keep people alive.¡± My voice is rising, but I¡¯m too angry to hold back any longer. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be the most prestigious group of [Healers] in all of Densmore¡ªmaybe in all the world. What good is your institution if you can¡¯t fix him?¡±

    ¡°We tried!¡± the Mender yelps, flinching back from the oppressive weight of my Domain. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. It won¡¯t work! I¡¯m sorry, but he¡¯s as good as dead already.¡±

    Anger burns deep within me like a red-hot coal at her refusal. I push people aside as I surge forward, my mana growing so thick that it¡¯s visible around me like boiling water. Waves of energy pour off me, making people shudder.

    Everyone in the vestibule whirls around to see what¡¯s causing such a commotion. The Mender¡¯s eyes widen in shock at the sight of multihued mana swirling all around me. She takes a sharp breath and shuffles back half a step, then seems to find her courage and stands up straight.

    ¡°Security!¡± she yells, her voice shockingly loud as it cuts through the suppression of my mana-empowered [Arcane Domain] and echoes through the white tile hallways of the Menders facility. ¡°Hostile intruder in the healing intake. Help!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hostile, but I will be if you don¡¯t start treating my friend right now,¡± I growl, my mana infusing my words with a menacing undertone.

    ¡°Stop! You don¡¯t understand,¡± the Mender pleads. She¡¯s shivering, backing up as I draw closer. She reaches for a Skill, but it fails as I flood her with disruptive mana. The blood drains from her face, and she shrinks away from me. ¡°It will only make things worse. Please! You have to believe me!¡±

    ¡°Try again!¡± I roar.

    ¡°I . . . I can¡¯t! It will kill him faster.¡±

    A trio of [Guards] appear in my senses, charging down the hallway toward us. I ignore them and stride over to the Mender. ¡°Prove it.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, she¡¯s telling the truth,¡± Avelina says, interposing herself between us. She¡¯s shaking even though I haven¡¯t targeted her with my Skill. ¡°I¡¯m just as angry as you are, but please¡ªdon¡¯t do anything that you¡¯ll regret.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe a word any Mender speaks,¡± I spit out. ¡°They¡¯re snakes and liars.¡±

    Mikko sets Lionel and Melina down on the floor. He steps up next to Avelina and places his hand on her shoulder. ¡°They tried, Nuri. It only accelerates the rot.¡±

    ¡°How do you know they¡¯re using healing Skills on him?¡± I demand. ¡°I¡¯m the only one who can see what she¡¯s actually doing. Bring more Menders. Call for Uttara. Prove to me that they¡¯re trying their best to heal Lio.¡±

    My words seem to get through to my friends at last. The two of them turn back to the frightened Mender, suddenly radiating suspicion.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get Mender Uttara,¡± Avelina says. ¡°I met him when Mel and I brought in a delivery from the studio. Mikko, don¡¯t let Nuri kill anyone. He¡¯ll never recover from the guilt.¡±

    I¡¯m about to argue that I¡¯m not liable to kill anyone when the [Guards] finally arrive.

    ¡°Halt, intruder!¡± the nearest of the [Guards] yells. He unsheathes a rod of smooth metal about as big as a short sword. Electric energy crackles along its length, stopping just before the handle thanks to what looks like an enchanted cross guard. The jagged white lines remind me of a tiny lightning storm discharging all around the weapon.

    I fend off the leader of the [Guards] with a flex of will. All three of them stagger, falling to their knees as my Domain crashes over them, though they¡¯re otherwise unhurt.

    ¡°I mean no harm. But my friend needs care. Now. Show me what you¡¯ve tried, and don¡¯t let your friends interfere. ¡± I glare at the Mender and glance back at the [Guards] with a pointed look, letting more of my mana seep into my [Arcane Domain] and pressing them down to the floor. They seem to get the message, freezing in place and not trying anything aggressive while I speak with the Mender.

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    ¡°It¡¯s like your big friend already said,¡± she gasps out when I reduce the pressure from my Domain. ¡°The healing only accelerates the damage done to him; whatever insidious malady is affecting him, it feeds on mana. The more we try to help, the worse he gets. We couldn¡¯t keep trying or else we¡¯d kill him on the spot. Only this young lady¡¯s stasis Skill is keeping him alive. And even she can only delay his inevitable death. I wish there was better news. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t accept that,¡± I say, shaking my head. Yet there¡¯s no denying the sincerity rolling off the Mender in front of me. She¡¯s terrified, but she truly believes she¡¯s telling the truth. There¡¯s no hint of duplicity or malice in her trembling spirit.

    ¡°Can¡¯t . . . hold on . . .¡± Melina whispers.

    My attention snaps over to her, and I scan her reflexively, noting the hairline fractures breaking out on her Skill structure. She¡¯s pushing the Skill harder than she should, trying to keep our friend alive. Unfortunately, she¡¯s drained dry.

    Her Skill flickers out.

    Blood seeps from Lionel¡¯s eyes.

    Rot tinges his wounds black.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lio. I¡¯m sorry! I can¡¯t do any more,¡± Melina says, her voice cracking in guilt halfway through her words. She sweeps her long, white hair out of her face and wipes away the sweat that¡¯s pouring down her forehead and mingling with her tears.

    ¡°Mana draughts!¡± I bellow at the [Guards]. ¡°Bring her as many as you have on hand. I¡¯ll pay double for them¡ªtriple!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re restricted,¡± the lead [Guard] replies stiffly, forcing himself up to his feet. ¡°I¡¯d like to help, but I don¡¯t have the authority to release them to you.¡±

    I narrow my eyes, sweeping over him with an intrusive application of [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], but he seems to be telling the truth. I don¡¯t sense any hints of violence wafting off him any longer, only a strange mix of pity and deep-seated terror.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Mender Uttara? Lionel is his student. He won¡¯t let Lio die. He¡¯ll help even if no one else can. He has to help. We need to find him. Go! Run! You need to get him and get mana draughts and help keep my friend alive,¡± I beg, all too aware that I¡¯m babbling.

    I don¡¯t care. Lionel needs me.

    The lead [Guard] swallows hard. His eyes shift toward the Mender almost imperceptibly, as though he¡¯s checking for permission to leave her alone with me.

    She jerks her chin up and tries to smile in what I suspect is supposed to be a reassuring manner. ¡°Go. He¡¯s just trying to help his friend. I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯ll be all right.¡±

    I squeeze my temples with my thumb and middle finger, trying to stop the wild pounding of blood that¡¯s making it hard for me to think straight. I look up at Rakesh, the smartest man that I know other than Ezio. ¡°Any ideas? There¡¯s gotta be something we can do. We can¡¯t just let him die on the floor like this!¡±

    ¡°We already drained the rest of the cores,¡± Rakesh says, speaking slowly. He bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

    I pace back and forth in the hallway next to Lionel, staring at the blood pooling under his body. Each time I look at his face, he¡¯s more withered and corpse-like than before. We need to figure things out. We need a miracle.

    Rakesh snaps his fingers, drawing everyone¡¯s attention. His dark eyes glitter. ¡°Connect to her with your Domain. Try to activate her Skill directly with your own mana.¡±

    I instantly put his idea into action, threading energy into the runes of her Skill that control time in the local area. Nothing happens. I try again, pouring more mana into the attempt. It¡¯s like slamming face-first into a wall. I may have learned how to bypass the shroud that hides most people¡¯s core spaces, but that doesn¡¯t mean that I can overcome someone¡¯s inherent resistance to foreign mana on a whim.

    I marshal up my power, ready to blast through the barrier, when I catch sight of the pain on Melina¡¯s face. I step back as though slapped, suddenly all too aware of how close I came to following in Scalpel¡¯s footsteps. I may carry on her legacy of runic research, but I¡¯ll never forgive myself if I use her tainted methods.

    Breathing deeply, I shut my eyes and force my anger down. Clear mind. Steady heart. ¡°Mel, will you let me take over?¡±

    She works her jaw, but no words come out. I can sense her frustration, her sadness, her fear. For once, despite her eloquence, she can¡¯t seem to find a way to communicate the mess of thoughts churning inside her.

    I kneel down at her side, my fury fading away. I take her hand in my own and squeeze, smiling as gently as I can. ¡°New plan. Instead of forcing my way in, I¡¯m going to try to give you mana. Will you work with me? Like imbuing, but directly into your core instead of glass.¡±

    ¡°Sounds dangerous,¡± she says, hesitating.

    ¡°Do you trust me?¡± I whisper.

    She squeezes my hand. ¡°I trust you, Nuri. And we¡¯re running out of time. If you think this has a chance to work, it¡¯s worth trying. Anything to keep Lionel alive.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Let me share my strength.¡±

    Melina opens her soul. It glows pearlescent in my sight. I pull my Domain back as tightly as I can, condensing and strengthening it, and connect with Melina.

    Trying an untested method on my friend is incredibly dangerous. If things go wrong, and I burn her out or destroy her Skills with the potency of the mana I unleash¡ªI shake my head and refuse to think further along those lines. We¡¯re running out of time. If I don¡¯t act now, then Lionel dies. I can¡¯t let the fear of the unknown stop me now. No time for hesitation.

    I activate [Legacy of the Scalpel].

 Book Six Chapter Three

    It¡¯s not gonna hold.

    That guilty, accusing thought had wormed its way through my conscience, drawing the full weight of my attention a few minutes ago. When I¡¯d knelt down and spoken with Melina, I¡¯d barely paid any mind to my words. My inward conversation had dominated my consciousness. And my private conversation sounded very, very different from the words I spoke aloud.

    I¡¯d tried to give off the impression of competence. Control. I¡¯d said, ¡°Mel, will you let me take over?¡±

    My own words haunt me as I think back over them. The hubris! I don¡¯t actually know how to share mana like this. I¡¯ve rebuilt my own Skills from the shattered remains of my runes, but I don¡¯t know if I can do the same thing for Melina. If I had gone with my first instinct and simply flooded extra mana into my friend, her rare time-dilation Skill would have warped under the strain. Just like mine in the Lesser Rift. I shudder at that thought.

    While I¡¯d offered Melina outward assurances, I was frantically running through scenarios to actually accomplish my boast of welcoming mana into her depleted pool. I knew I couldn¡¯t share as much mana as I drained from that Rift core, even with the depths of my new reserves, but it was still too risky to try sharing. Given the raw, ragged state of her core from her harsh, prolonged overstrain, and the spider web of miniscule cracks forming on her Skill itself, it would only take a single slip to cause her serious damage.

    Nervous energy had turned my stomach sour. I¡¯d tried over and over again to shove the fear and discomfort away and focus on what needed to be done.

    What¡¯s the path forward, Nuri? I¡¯d demanded of myself. C¡¯mon! Think like Azariah. Find a way. One step at a time.

    ¡°Do you trust me?¡± I¡¯d whispered aloud. She¡¯d squeezed my hand and said yes, which rocked me to the core. She was putting her life in my hands. Like a fool, I¡¯d marched onward as soon as she¡¯d given her permission. Inside my own head, I was screaming in incoherent fear. I was grasping at every possible answer I could think up, no matter how absurd, running through frantic calculations while trying to maintain a calm and confident demeanor for her sake. But I couldn¡¯t shake my dread. What if I messed up?

    Then, in a moment of brilliance inspired by the tea of innovation I¡¯d been drinking, I¡¯d tried cutting straight through the distractions with an imagined blade of mental sharpness.

    What if I¡¯m wrong?

    What if Lionel still dies?

    What if I ruin Melina¡¯s future, too?

    Doubts died. I¡¯d pushed forward immediately, seeking a solution with unparalleled clarity. I never knew that I could cut thoughts into pieces, but I shelved the idea. First things first. I¡¯d have time to explore higher-order concepts later, but only if we all survived this. In a flash, my thoughts had organized themselves like never before:

    Goal: save Lionel

    Problem: healing accelerates decay.

    Solution: stasis while Menders research.

    Problem: Melina is out of mana

    Solution: share mana with Melina.

    Problem: Skill will break from overload.

    Solution: buttress the Skill.

    Goal: strengthen Melina¡¯s Skill.

    Problem: Can¡¯t do that directly.

    Solution: Use [Legacy of the Scalpel] to add reinforcing runes.

    Problem: Not all the runes are in the dictionary Rakesh and Melina are helping out together.

    Solution: Borrow key runic arrays from [Greater Endurance] and [Sanctuary of Glass]

    Problem: braces may lack structural integrity

    Solution: try to imbue with Unbreakable.

    I¡¯d nodded as a path opened up to me. The gesture was for me as much as it was to reassure her. I¡¯d muttered some vague, inspirational line about sharing my strength. A way forward finally crystalized in front of me as I worked through the scary implications. The only safe way for me to share power¡ªif I could even do it at all¡ªwas to fix the precarious state of her Skill structure, and that meant relying on the [Legacy of the Scalpel].

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    I¡¯d swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the lump in my throat. I¡¯ve been on the wrong side of channeling too much power before, and it wasn¡¯t pretty. But a quick glance at Lionel¡¯s pained expression and twisted muscles overcame my reservations about the plan.

    Modifying Skills is your forte, Nuri, I¡¯d reminded myself. I¡¯m not a [Metaphysical Mender] like Shiphrah, but I¡¯m good with glass. And runes and magic aren¡¯t that different, apparently. They can be melted down and reforged. My greatest fear was that I didn¡¯t have enough time to experiment and figure out the best method. The only option that made sense to me was to add runic arrays alongside her Skill to reinforce it, not to add new functionality or to try to rebuild it from the ground up.

    My thoughts and emotions quiet. Past and present converge as I activate my newest and most unnerving Skill: the [Legacy of the Scalpel].

    =+=

    I delve into Melina¡¯s core, surging past her lowered barriers. She trusts me, and that¡¯s an honor   that I mean to repay a hundredfold. I dart forward with a pulse of willpower, flying alongside the incredible fractals of her Skill structure. Catching sight of it with a Viewing technique, even one as advanced as what I wield with the power of my [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], doesn¡¯t compare to direct access. The structure is absolutely stunning in person.

    Cutting a few specialized runes from my own Skills, I gather up the raw material I¡¯ll need to strengthen [In the Blink of an Eye] and transfer them into her core space. I¡¯ll have to patch up my own Skills later to restore full functionality to my Skills.

    Good thing I¡¯ve got plenty of practice with metaphysical damage, I tell myself, chuckling darkly at my strange sense of humor.

    Drawing on years of practice preparing a batch of glass, I copy the techniques of my art. Instead of free-forming a molten gather into a new glass creation, I hastily arrange the runes I selected into an array. Resilience, enhanced potency, reduced strain¡ªthe pieces come together as I sequence out the runes and slot them into place. Once I¡¯m done aligning the runes by their meaning, I infuse mana into the entire section to ensure it¡¯s sturdy enough for the task.

    It doesn¡¯t have to be pretty, I remind myself. Still, a part of me mourns to see the stark contrast between the swooping artistry of her Skill and the geometric, brutal lines of my brace. It just has to handle the throughput so that the mana doesn¡¯t destroy her. I¡¯m certain it will do the trick. I just wish it weren¡¯t so ugly.

    I surface back in the real world, gasping momentarily like a fish outside of water. When my vision stops spinning, I squeeze Melina¡¯s hand again. ¡°Ready?¡±

    ¡°And waiting!¡± she replies through clenched teeth.

    Without further delay, I unleash a torrent of my mana into the world around me and paint an alluring picture of home, of deep belonging. I welcome the mana of the world to move into a new residence. Initializing the mysterious invitation of imbuing, I aim for Melina¡¯s core instead of a glass work in progress.

    For a moment that seems to stretch into eternity, my pulse pounding in my temples, the mana doesn¡¯t respond. It¡¯s sluggish. Resistant.

    Then I sense a new invitation, this time from Melina. It¡¯s soft and weak, wavering on the brink of collapse, but heartfelt and honest. There¡¯s a warmth and sincerity that¡¯s enough to bring a hint of tears to my eyes¡ªnot from grief or panic or anger this time, but because I feel at peace all of a sudden.

    With our combined invitation, the mana of the world heeds our call. No, Melina¡¯s call.

    ¡°You just imbued!¡± I shout. Much needed laughter bubbles up within me, breaking the tension, as I smile proudly at my friend. ¡°You¡¯re a Master now, Mel.¡±

    With steady guidance, Melina completes the imbuing process. My congratulatory shout doesn¡¯t break her concentration. She draws on the ambient mana to power the working, which settles into place with a click. Abruptly, she tugs on the abundant reserves in my own core. I¡¯m still connected to her, my own natural mana-barrier lowered for the delve, and the energy rushes into Melina¡¯s core and fills her pool.

    She reactivates [In the Blink of an Eye], and to my intense satisfaction, it holds. Nothing cracks, nothing falls apart. I cackle in exhausted triumph.

    Excitement building, Melina pours more mana into the Skill, trying to keep pace with the ocean of power surging into her like an incoming tide crashing against the shore. I know that her Capacity can¡¯t keep up with the donation of power, but she surprises me with deft twists of mana as she modifies the Skill¡¯s abilities.

    In awe, I watch her work. Manipulating magic beyond the scope of the base Skill is difficult. Rakesh once likened it to trying to wave your hands in the air to create wind that moves soap bubbles in a pattern without popping them. I shouldn¡¯t be surprised. Melina¡¯s mana control has always been monstrous.

    Twisting the strands of mana and activating runes in a new order, she doubles the rate of time dilation¡ªand then doubles it again. Twice more she increases the difficulty before she starts shaking from the strain, and I¡¯m relieved to see that the mana costs scale exponentially.

    Before long, she¡¯s almost running on empty, outpacing the rate of mana that I can loan her. I have more to give, but I can¡¯t transfer it to her any faster. I need more throughput.

    I push my mana sight to work harder, looking closer with the mapping and vision functions of my [Arcane Domain] to see if I can spot inefficiencies or opportunities for improvement. Zooming down toward the flow of mana, I observe more than just the transfer process. Maybe studying the way it moves will give me insight into how to improve the speed and capacity.

    There¡¯s something sinuous about the energy. Wave-like, hypnotic, it crests and crashes as it flows. There¡¯s a cyclical nature to its movement that I can¡¯t quite parse. Something about it feels important. I¡¯ll have to ask Rakesh later.

    For now, Melina seems to arrive at the same conclusion that I just did. She eases back on the time dilation ratio of her Skill until the input and output of the mana flow achieve a rough equilibrium. The rate of Lionel¡¯s deterioration is no longer visible, buying us much-needed time to investigate a cure.

    I heave a sigh of relief and sink back against the wall, slumping in exhaustion as the last half a dozen hours catch up with me all at once. Between restoring my core, gaining all the new Skills, fighting off [Lady] Saphora, sprinting to the Menders campus, and architecting a new way to artificially rank up Skills and share mana, I¡¯m utterly spent.

    Lionel is safe for a little while longer. My friends will figure out how to save him. I can rest now; my work is done. I close my eyes, letting my bone-deep weariness take over. I¡¯ve done as much as I can. The team will take over from here. I trust them, no matter what. If there¡¯s a way to help Lionel, they¡¯ll find it. I know they will.

 Book Six Chapter Four

    ¡°Make way! Mender emergency!¡± an urgent voice bellows, startling me out of my brief nap.

    Drowsiness slows my reactions, but I look up eagerly when I recognize the approaching mana signature. I struggle to my feet, craning my neck to watch as Mender Uttara runs down the hall toward us, puffing from the exertion.

    ¡°Mender Uttara! You came.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope I¡¯m not too late,¡± he murmurs darkly. He falls to his knees next to Lionel, careful to stay just outside of the time bubble. I¡¯m grateful for his caution; the more people or objects that Melina has to exert control over, the faster her Skill runs dry. Exhaustion is already creeping in from the corners, ready to sink its bony claws into her. The last thing she needs right now is to bear an even greater burden.

    Mender Uttara performs a thorough Sounding, and this time I¡¯m able to observe each nuance of the technique with far greater fidelity. Whatever happened to my mana senses when I Classed into [Mage] seems to have catapulted my abilities forward. Thankfully, I retained the boost to my Skills despite merging my Classes together.

    Sighing, Mender Uttara rocks back on his heels and stands up. He laces his fingers together, hands behind his back, and turns to the Mender who performed initial triage. ¡°Status report? I have my theories, but I¡¯d like to hear what you¡¯ve tried already.¡±

    The frightened woman¡¯s heartbeat has finally settled back down. She regards Mender Uttara with significantly more deference than she paid me, and gathers herself to deliver a more detailed explanation of why the usual healing Skills aren¡¯t working.

    To his credit, Mender Uttara never injects his own opinions, although he occasionally asks clarifying questions during a pause in the flow of words. He jots down the answers in his little notebook, studiously collecting information before he turns back to Lionel.

    ¡°Bring me salve and bandages.¡±

    ¡°Sir? He¡¯s not going to make it.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll try anyway. That¡¯s what we do,¡± Mender Uttara replies with quiet dignity.

    The other Mender jerks her head up and down. ¡°I suppose that we could stem the bleeding with more mundane means.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± Mender Uttara says, patting her arm. ¡°Conventional medicine should help us stabilize my apprentice and take some of the pressure off this remarkable young lady. Now there¡¯s a Skill worthy of our hallowed halls!¡±

    ¡°At once, Mender Uttara.¡± She rushes off in search of the bandages, relief clear in her posture.

    Mender Uttara turns his attention to Melina, smiling in warm approval. ¡°I¡¯ve heard so much about your team. You must be one of the Linas. Glad to finally meet you in person. Clever application of that time-dilation Skill.¡±

    ¡°Pleased to meet you as well. Trying my best,¡± Melina mutters. She¡¯s swaying on her feet, her eyes drooping closed.

    ¡°Let me help relieve your burden.¡± Mender Uttara helps ease her to a sitting position on the floor, leaning against the wall. He sends a pulse of refreshing magic through Melina, adding strength to her weary body, then straightens and sketches a half-bow toward her.

    ¡°Thank you for the healing,¡± Melina replies, dipping her head in response to the bow. ¡°You honor me.¡±

    ¡°Remarkable control. I¡¯d be happy to hire you for future work, once our young friend pulls through. Now, where is that Mender?¡±

    Rakesh clears his throat. ¡°Mender Uttara, thank you for coming. Lionel has spoken highly of you while recounting stories of his brief time here.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m happy to help. But you have me at a disadvantage, young man. Which one of Lionel¡¯s friends might you be?¡± Mender Uttara asks, though there¡¯s a wariness underneath the amiable words.

    ¡°I am Rakesh, a [Secretarial Researcher] from the Silaraon City Academy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope I¡¯m not overstepping my bounds, but would a potion result in the same deleterious effects as healing Skills? I¡¯m given to understand that they work in an altogether different manner. Perhaps that would bypass the issue at hand?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s . . . possible,¡± Mender Uttara allows, although his posture shifts at the suggestion. He hunches slightly, looking defensive. ¡°But the cost is prohibitive. Beyond what I can afford, to be perfectly honest.¡±

    ¡°Nothing is too high when compared with Lionel¡¯s life. I¡¯ll pay for it, no matter the price,¡± I vow.

    Mender Uttara holds up his hands. ¡°Commendable, but I¡¯d recommend against pledging your gold. We don¡¯t know if it will actually work.¡±

    ¡°What have we got to lose?¡± I ask quietly. ¡°Delay too long, and you might as well dig the grave with your own two hands.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple. Miracle potions, high-grade mana draughts¡ªthey¡¯re all restricted in use here.¡±

    ¡°That makes no sense! Aren¡¯t you [Healers]?¡± Avelina demands. She¡¯s kept silent up till now, but as her anger burns hot, words spill forth from her mouth. ¡°Sounds to me like you¡¯re just in it for the money. Highest bidder goes home happy, while everyone else suffers and dies!¡±

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Her righteous indignation ignites the air around her, causing everyone to shuffle back a step. She smothers the flames after a moment, looking chagrined, but her point remains.

    ¡°The opposite, actually,¡± Mender Uttara replies patiently. He lets out a long-suffering sigh and regards Avelina with something approaching fondness. ¡°I appreciate your sense of justice, young lady. You would have gotten along well with our Founders. They came up with the rule that requires board oversight and approval of rare resources as a way of ensuring that only the patients who need them most receive emergency care. Otherwise, you¡¯d be right: the wealthiest would simply pay for better care, edging out the poor among us.¡±

    ¡°Peh! Pretty words for a man who just left the patient in his circuit and ran across campus to see his apprentice.¡±

    Another man in Mender uniform stalks down the hallway, flanked by a pair of heavily armed guards wearing the sigils of the Mender¡¯s security force. The two radiate the oppressive power of lifelong fighters who have attained the Second Threshold. If things get ugly, I¡¯m not confident in my ability to take them.

    The new arrival is taller than Uttara by a head. His forceful gait speaks of a man accustomed to power, and the glitter of a thick golden chain set with rubies the size of my thumbnail, which peeks out from beneath his neatly-trimmed, graying beard, all but confirms his lofty status.

    ¡°Greetings, young man. I am [Chancellor] Talagrand.¡± He sniffs, taking in Lionel¡¯s sorry state, and heaves a dramatic sigh. ¡°Well. Caring for your friend is admirable.¡±

    ¡°But?¡± I prompt, crossing my arms.

    ¡°Harassing my staff and terrifying fellow patients is utterly inexcusable,¡± the [Chancellor] follows up. He looks down his nose at me, silent for far longer than is strictly polite. ¡°You are no longer granted access to our hallowed institution. Please comport yourself with dignity and allow my men to escort you off the campus.¡±

    I snort. ¡°You expect me to trust you after refusing my friend medical care?¡±

    ¡°You know why we refused,¡± Talagrand snaps.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Might have killed him faster. I get it. Calling for security as soon as I show up didn¡¯t help matters, though,¡± I reply, keeping my voice mild.

    Mender Uttara subtly shifts his position, sideling up next to me. He places a restraining hand on my shoulder. ¡°Nuri, I advise that you let us take it from here.¡±

    ¡°Swear that you¡¯ll help him.¡±

    ¡°Naturally!¡± Mender Uttara replies, drawing back with a hand to his chest. He looks horribly affonted. ¡°I take my vows as a Mender seriously. I will do my best to restore Lionel to good health. Regardless of how you feel about my coworkers, I¡¯d like to believe that I¡¯ve earned a measure of trust.¡±

    With some effort, I reign in the temptation to give in to the demand for violence. It¡¯s been a low-level buzz in the back of my head since I regained my full metaphysical system. The easy flow of mana seems to translate to greater resonance with every concept at my disposal. Before today, I would have said that¡¯s an unequivocally good thing, but I¡¯d never really grappled with the stronger influence of the violence that¡¯s lurked in my soul since our encounter in the Old Keep.

    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to help ,¡± I say stiffly.

    ¡°And you have. Leave it there.¡±

    I regard Mender Uttara cooly. ¡°If you¡¯re really taking care of him, then I¡¯ll go quietly. If not, then we¡¯ll have a problem.¡±

    ¡°Young man, I don¡¯t believe you grasp the trouble you¡¯re already in,¡± Talagrand says. ¡°For the sake of my distinguished colleague, Mender Uttara, I¡¯ll overlook your first infraction. Don¡¯t push your luck.¡±

    I almost roll my eyes before I catch myself. No need to provoke them further. But still. Threats from a First Threshold administrator don¡¯t phase me after meeting [Viceroy] Tapirs, or [General] Tychicus. I¡¯m too tired to make trouble, anyway. Facing down the two brutes with Talagrand isn¡¯t an option. I¡¯d survive, but the fallout might hurt Lionel.

    The realization brings me up short. Just a few short months ago, I would have quailed in fear if I¡¯d had to fight [Spear Commander] Nicanor. He could have beaten me without breaking a sweat. Yet with my upgraded Class, the weight of my full-force [Arcane Domain], my growing understanding of runes, and the esoteric power of higher-order concepts, I¡¯m probably a match for him as long as I can keep my distance.

    I hold Talagrand¡¯s gaze, letting my Domain seep out until he grows uncomfortable and looks away. Petty of me, but I¡¯m annoyed. At last, I crack a smile. ¡°As long as Lio¡¯s all right. I expect a good report when my friends return.¡±

    ¡°And we expect payment for service rendered. While the esteemed Mender Uttara is technically correct that emergencies supercede all other considerations, we are still a business, not a charity. I presume that this won¡¯t be a problem, since you¡¯ve already promised to pay for anything that will help your friend?¡±

    Talagrand smiles, revealing even teeth. There¡¯s something unsettling about the practiced ease of his expression¡ªand the way his eyes are dead, not reflecting a single hint of warmth or kindness.

    ¡°I¡¯ll pay,¡± I insist. Stubbornness drives me as much as a sense of honor; I won¡¯t give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

    ¡°Talk with Ozana,¡± Melina interrupts. She lifts her weary head, meeting my gaze, and for a moment her lively spirit shines through. ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll help you work out a solution.¡±

    ¡°Good advice. I¡¯ll go directly.¡±

    [Chancellor] Talagrand¡¯s smile widens. ¡°Please do. My associates here will ensure that you reach your destination safely.¡±

    Right on cue, the armored [Guards] advance toward me. I let my Domain leak out again, eliciting grunts and forcing them to work harder, like leaning into a strong wind. Cautious now that they¡¯re bearing up under the weight of my Domain, they approach to either side of me and glare menacingly. Their hands tighten on the hilts of their weapons.

    Based on the intensity of the glow in my mana sight, the weapons are heavily enchanted and far superior to the standard version wielded by the other [Guards]. I¡¯d rather not experience first hand just how shocking the dense inscriptions are; even with all my new Skills and my new Class upgrade, I¡¯m not immune to a lightning strike.

    I march down the hallway under my own power, holding on to a shred of my dignity. With one last glance over my shoulder, I breathe out a prayer that my best friend will be all right. He¡¯s in good hands, I tell myself, choosing to trust Mender Uttara¡¯s skill and intentions. He¡¯s been the most truthful and friendly of the Menders from the beginning.

    ¡°Thank you for the honor guard,¡± I say lightly as the two fearsome fighters escort me off the premises, but they don¡¯t laugh at my joke.

    The [Guards] grunt and shuffle backward, eyeing me with suspicion the entire way. I can¡¯t blame them. [Mages] are infamous for fighting dirty. Who wants to trust a living weapon who can kill from a great distance? A moment later, they disappear inside, no doubt returning to their posts by the side of the imperious [Chancellor].

    I stride off, heading toward the Orpheus House with my head held high. My brief time as a [Mage] is over for the day. Now it¡¯s time for me to help my friend by earning money the only way I know how: by making something marvelous out of glass.

    Despite Lionel¡¯s grave condition, a flutter of excitement makes my heart beat faster. It¡¯s been far too long since I¡¯ve been in the studio. A homecoming is on the horizon.

 Book Six Chapter Five

    The walk over to the Orpheus House gives me much-needed time to settle my churning emotions. The breeze on my face helps clear my mind. I smile despite the state in which I left Lionel, enjoying the capricious wind as it plays with my curls, blowing them into my eyes and obstructing my vision.

    That reminds me. I need a haircut.

    Thankfully, I don¡¯t need my eyesight to walk through the press of bodies in the crowds. I can rely on my Domain to guide me unerringly in the direction I want to go. Like all my Skills, it¡¯s far more responsive and instinctive than ever before. I never realized just how much of a cheat it is to become a [Mage]. Instead of fighting hard to use magic, now the entire world leaps to obey my every whim. In a way, it feels like the only limit to my power is my own imagination.

    A merry whistle escapes my lips before I even realize what I¡¯m doing. There¡¯s something about the sunny day, the lively calls of laborers and merchants back and forth, and the low-level thrum of a city filled to bursting with activity that makes it impossible for me to dwell on all of the potential trouble we face. Life¡¯s too short to spend every waking moment wracked by doubt and fears, although I pray that Mender Uttara, Melina, and Rakesh can brainstorm a way to heal my friend.

    As always, walking through the unique districts of Gilead makes me feel like a kid just discovering art. Everywhere I look, a riot of distinctive colors make each block or region of the city stand out. I still haven¡¯t figured out the building code. The districts follow a specific logic to their color assignment, but I¡¯m not sure what it is. Is there a restriction on the colors a specific type of industry can use for its area? I¡¯ll have to ask Rakesh. He¡¯ll know for sure.

    Thinking of Rakesh fills me with hope. Even though he¡¯s not a [Healer], and his beloved runic dictionary isn¡¯t complete, he¡¯s the most meticulous person I know; he¡¯ll find a clever way to come up with a solution. Not even the distinguished [Scholar] Ezio is as good at finding parallels and overlooked details. If there¡¯s a way to heal Lionel, then Rakesh will find it. If he can¡¯t help, then it simply wasn¡¯t meant to be. That¡¯s how much faith I have in my friend the [Researcher].

    The corner of my lips curls up in a wry smile. He probably would lecture me that my faith is misplaced, and that all he does is read, think, and connect the details until a picture emerges. I don¡¯t think he realizes how important it is to ask the right questions and to properly explore the consequences of ideas.

    By the time I arrive at the Orpheus, I¡¯m confident that there¡¯s nothing to fear. My friends will pull through. All I have to do is earn money, and that¡¯s easy for a Master glassworker.

    Although it¡¯s not my forte, I manage to make small talk with the assistant at the door who ushers me inside, ensuring that I¡¯m as polite and personable as possible. I tip the young man for guiding me to the glass studio, giving him more coins than strictly necessary, and he beams in response. While I came here to seek out the help of my friends in high places, it¡¯s never wasted time to cultivate friends in low places, too.

    Even if he never repays me, I¡¯d like to think that kindness is always worth the effort. Why should I act surly and stressed toward him just because I¡¯m worried about Lionel? The assistant isn¡¯t to blame.

    Alone after the young man departs, I sink into a chair in the corner of the hot shop with a grateful sigh, enjoying the warmth radiating off the main crucible. In a way, this feels like coming home, even though I haven¡¯t put in much work with glass lately.

    Caught up in my thoughts, I barely notice when Ozana joins me in the studio. Only the blazing bonfire of her mana signature in my Domain tips me off. She¡¯s working hard to mask her presence, and I highly doubt I¡¯d see her with my old [Manasight] when she¡¯s invisible like this. Nothing hides from my [Arcane Domain], however.

    Especially now that it¡¯s empowered, I muse. The [Mage] Class is totally unfair¡ªnot that I¡¯m complaining!

    I nod toward where she¡¯s standing, even though I can¡¯t see her at all. ¡°Good day to you, Ozana.¡±

    She drops her cloaking Skill, emerging into the light with a faint smirk. Her [Stealth] Skill is impressive, surpassing Mbukhe¡¯s by a fair amount. Not for the first time, I wonder just how and why she developed such Skills in her line of work.

    ¡°You¡¯ve grown. I¡¯m not sure you would have noticed me a few days ago. I take it your appointment went well?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe I told you about that,¡± I say with a spike of suspicion. My mana swirls at the ready, just in case she¡¯s somehow tied to [Lady] Saphora¡¯s desperate delusions of breaking faith with Densmore and ruling over the masses of Gilead.

    She regards me with a disappointed gaze. ¡°It¡¯s my business to know what happens in this city, Nuri. Particularly when it has to do with one of my favorite business partners.¡±

    ¡°You mean valuable investment.¡±

    ¡°That too!¡± Ozana replies with a musical laugh. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re doing well. Now, what brings you to the Orpheus unannounced? I¡¯m glad you came¡ªyou¡¯re always welcome here at any time¡ªbut I must apologize that I did not meet you at the door.¡±

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    ¡°Why else would I visit a business partner? I find myself in need of funds.¡±

    ¡°How boring. You could have just sent a missive,¡± Ozana says, waving her hand like it¡¯s the easiest thing in the world to supply me with money. Perhaps it is for her.

    I stand up and face her, hoping to impress upon her the gravity of the situation. ¡°I need more than our agreed-upon advance. Requesting that via a letter seemed inappropriate.¡±

    Ozana holds out her hands toward the furnaces, enjoying the heat they emit even with their doors closed. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to increase the rate of your sales. The imbued items are still going for more than our predictions account for, so the market hasn¡¯t hit saturation yet.¡±

    I frown, stroking my beard while I think it over. I shake my head. ¡°That will take too long. I hate to sound so demanding, but I need money now. A lot of money.¡±

    ¡°Sounds exciting!¡± Ozana says lightly. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose it has to do with our security alarms going off at the Menders campus, does it?¡±

    ¡°Truly, your information network is formidable,¡± I reply sarcastically, crossing my arms and returning her unconcerned stare with an icy glare.

    ¡°Oh, no, that¡¯s not a good example of spying,¡± Ozana replies. ¡°We sold them the alarms. Of course we help them monitor the system. Not keeping tabs on the biggest spender in town would be foolish!¡±

    ¡°So you freely admit that you¡¯re tracking me and watching them. Not exactly a bedrock of trust upon which to build a working relationship,¡± I point out.

    ¡°Master Nuri! When have we ever given you reason to doubt our good intentions? You wound me,¡± Ozana says.

    On a whim, I invite a tiny portion of the mana around us to imbue with unbreakable. There¡¯s no glassware target, so I infuse it into the swirling energy of my Domain as I continue speaking. It dissipates quickly, but not before I finish delivering my ultimatum.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for these games. I won¡¯t negotiate, Ozana. I¡¯ll make a masterwork of glass. Today. Right here in the studio. In exchange, you¡¯ll give me whatever I ask for. You might not earn as much as you want for it, but I¡¯m not in the mood to quibble over profit margins.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Found a backbone?¡± Ozana says. Her tone loses some of its playful quality, but she doesn¡¯t seem terribly offended or angry. If anything, the mask of the socialite has been set aside, and now she¡¯s ready to discuss in earnest as a businesswoman.

    ¡°I need enough to cover the costs of a miracle potion. Perhaps two. And as many of the highest-grade mana draughts you have. I¡¯ll buy directly from you if they¡¯re available, but I¡¯ll bet that the Menders have exclusivity clauses in their contracts. Some things are too important to make available to the general public.¡±

    ¡°Correct. We have the mana draughts on hand, however. I can send you away with a case of nine packed in a square box, if it¡¯s that urgent.¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± I say, and my voice finally cracks under the strain of the emotion I¡¯m carrying. I know it¡¯s a bad idea to display weakness when negotiating, but it can¡¯t be helped. Lionel needs me, and this is the only way I have left to fight for him.

    ¡°In that case, I¡¯ll make arrangements with our [Treasurer]. The funds will be waiting for you when you¡¯re finished with the masterwork. I will draft up a contract while you work. If it makes you feel better, you can send for any [Lawyer] or [Broker] of your choosing to review it first.¡±

    ¡°You know that I don¡¯t have time for that,¡± I say, my face twisting into a grimace. ¡°I¡¯m at your mercy.¡±

    Ozana frowns at me, looking genuinely shaken for the very first time since I¡¯ve met her. ¡°Master Nuri, never tell anyone that again. Others will take advantage of you. I know, because I¡¯m tempted to take advantage of you.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be the first time. It hasn¡¯t ended well for any of them,¡± I reply darkly. My anger seeps out into my [Arcane Domain], mingling with my [Greater Heat Manipulation], and Ozana takes a step back, a sheen of sweat breaking out across her face.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t burn down my workshop,¡± Ozana asks. She clasps her hands together. ¡°I can tell something is bothering you. If it¡¯s related to the Menders, and you need to purchase a miracle potion¡ªwell, I won¡¯t pry. You¡¯ll have the money, and you have my word that I¡¯ll be fair to you with the repayment plan. I¡¯ll not risk losing your work because of greed.¡±

    Somehow, I believe her. After Azariah, Totten, and the [Mayor] in Loch LaMara, I¡¯m wary of people taking advantage of me. Ozana operates in more distinguished circles, however, and she¡¯s well aware of how much money I can earn her in the long run. Taking advantage of me now would be incredibly short-sighted.

    I move over to the wall and examine the blowpipes, testing their weight until I find one that suits me. They have an excellent selection, so it doesn¡¯t take me very long to pick one up and head over to the crucible. An image of what I¡¯ll make is forming in my head, and I can¡¯t deny that I¡¯m looking forward to working with my favored medium again.

    ¡°Very well. I accept your terms. Now get out and leave me to my work.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to seeing the finished result. Your pieces have been excellent so far, but I¡¯m curious to see how a masterwork compares. You best not let me down, Master Nuri.¡±

    I grin at Ozana, too caught up in my excitement to care about our verbal sparring. ¡°I¡¯ll craft a table that¡¯s unlike anything you¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    She grins back at me, and just like that, our icy standoff thaws. ¡°Show me what you can do. I look forward to a long and profitable partnership.¡±

    I open the heavy, enchanted door to the crucible and stir the batch of glass within with the end of the metal pipe. The semi-liquid glass swirls like thick, glowing honey. I¡¯ve missed the feel of the slight resistance as I stir and the shimmer of superheated air in front of my eyes.

    I tuck one end of the pipe under my arm to brace against the weight, and lift up a gather of glass. With a satisfied smile on my face, I carry the glass to the nearest workbench and begin to spin the metal blow pipe.

    ¡°Trust me, once you see this table, you won¡¯t want to sell it. In fact, I¡¯ll wager that you buy it and have it carried up to your office directly.¡±

    Ozana claps in approval. ¡°That¡¯s my kind of confidence! I¡¯ll take that bet. Impress me, and I¡¯ll waive your debt for the miracle potion.¡±

    My smile broadens. With a prize like that hanging in the balance, I get to work in earnest.

 Book Six Chapter Six

    I know exactly what I¡¯m going to make for Ozana: a table that represents the duality of Gilead¡¯s vast refinement and simultaneous disconnect from its roots. Capturing my first impressions of a city in glass seems to be a theme for me. Back in Grand Ile, I created lampstands that reminded me of the fusion of the wildness of the surroundings and the orderly and impressive built environment.

    Gilead, by contrast, is as much a monument to humanity as it is a city. Brimming with potential and energy, it¡¯s also heavily regulated and packed with towering edifices. The city is a truly urban environment with little in the way of greenery or gardens other than the ostentatious grounds in the research district. Even so, that¡¯s more of a show of wealth and power than a true nod to nature.

    Who doesn¡¯t like a few shrubs or flowers to brighten up heavy stone, gleaming metal, and glittering glass? As the mental image of the table I have in mind solidifies, I hum softly to myself and I let my imagination run wild. Each leg of the table will be the trunk of an ancient tree. Their canopies will intertwine to form the top of the table, which I¡¯ll encase in smooth, transparent glass. Maybe I¡¯ll build a little ecosystem visible inside, complete with colorful tree frogs, furry creatures, and a bird¡¯s nest with speckled eggs.

    Oh! Perhaps I can use [Glass Animation] to gift the birds movement? If the table¡¯s user feeds a drop of mana into the tableau, the mother bird could take flight. With enough energy provided, maybe the eggs could hatch. Instead of just perching on the nest, she will dart down into the shadows below the trees to find a worm to feed her new little brood.

    Instinctively, I reach for my Domain to hold the glass in place, prepared to impress my will on the shape of the glass. I¡¯ll create an entire forest of delicate trees and a flock of flying birds to inhabit the forest!

    Yet something holds me back.

    The thought of the Menders scurrying around with terrified expressions, unsure of how to help Lionel just because their healing magic failed, grips me in its thrall. What if they knew how to help and heal with mundane means? Perhaps Lionel wouldn¡¯t be in such dire straits.

    The memory of using traditional glassblowing techniques with Lady Evershed, when I no longer had access to my Skills, filters through the haze of inspiration. I¡¯ll make as much of this piece by hand as I can.

    Committed to my course of action now, I roll the blowpipe back and forth on the marver, blowing into the end to keep the glass inflating. I groan, wishing I had a mouthpiece and hose. I don¡¯t like sharing pipes with other glassworkers.

    Once the ball of glass is large enough, I tip the blow pipe down toward the floor, letting the globe stretch and elongate. The shape changes as I spin. Gravity transforms the ball into a cylindrical tube that will become the trunk of one of the trees. I¡¯ll need four major pillars. This will be the first, which means that I have to get the template right. Even if I fall back on my Skills to speed up the process¡ªLionel doesn¡¯t have time for me to hand-craft a masterpiece over many hours, let alone days¡ªthe first one should be done right.

    Satisfied at last with the general size and shape of the glass, I move it to the top of the workbench marver for more detailed work. I pick up a small pair of jacks, closer to tweezers than the standard tongs, and use them to work a few pinches of glass free. They¡¯ll become branches and boughs on the trunk.

    I lean forward, focusing on my work, and a lock of hair slips free from my worn-out blue headband. The hair falls into my face, covering up my eyes. I scrunch up my nose and blow away the offending hair with a puff of air, but it falls back a moment later.

    Glancing around, I wonder if Avelina keeps any scissors nearby for her lampwork. I¡¯m desperate enough that I¡¯m willing to risk the uneven appearance of cutting my own hair. I don¡¯t have all day to search for the scissors, but I¡¯m not going to get much done if I keep stopping to clear my unruly hair out of my eyes.

    Then a crazy idea hits me. Why not think like a [Mage]? Even though I just lectured myself about the value of hard work and doing things in a way that anyone can learn, it¡¯s hard to deny that I¡¯m pressed for time. I should train myself to use magic when needed, not to rely on it like a crutch. It¡¯s so incredibly useful, though.

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    Ha! How far you¡¯ve come.

    I chuckle sheepishly. My current attitude toward magic is a far cry from my early days, back when I was horrified that I¡¯d catch the mana plague. Those were simpler times. I¡¯ll never go back, though; I¡¯ve seen too much, sacrificed too much, to ever be content as an [Assistant Glass Worker] anymore.

    But as a [Glass Mage]?

    I marshal my Domain, cataloging every single hair on my head with nothing more than a thought. Astonished at how easily I sense the world around me, I set down the glass and close my eyes, breathing deeply and savoring the moment.

    Sharpness turns the air around me into a whirlwind of razors. I bring the concept to bear against my hair, guiding the energy as close to my scalp as I dare without drawing blood. All of my hair falls away, shaved off in a single pulse of will.

    Unwilling to lose my beard, which reminds me of my father, I nonetheless trim the edges and shape it so that I look more dignified and less like a wild man who just dragged himself out of the wilderness a few days ago.

    Although, come to think of it, that¡¯s exactly what I am. After all our time clearing the Old Keep, pathfinding our way across the Barrens, and witnessing miracles under the inland sea, I must have resembled a shaggy-headed beast more than a man. It¡¯s a wonder that Shiphrah and Rashad agreed to help me at all, given how unkempt I looked.

    ¡°Glass is growing cold,¡± I mutter to myself, annoyed that I¡¯ve lost focus. I¡¯m getting rusty from so much time away from the studio. What would Ember say if she saw me now? Powerful new Class or no, she¡¯d probably tear into me for getting distracted. Without my [Greater Heat Manipulation], [Vitrification], and [Arcane Domain], I¡¯d be wasting glass.

    Yet it¡¯s trivial to pull a new batch of glass from the crucible, levitating it over with nothing more than my Domain and an advanced understanding of runes. I activate [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness] along with [Artisanal Acuity], and fashion the entire interconnected forest before the Skills expire.

    Glass trees take shape. Intricately-detailed flowers so small that a dozen could fit on my fingertip bloom underneath the trees, out of sight to all but the most observant of people. Maybe a young child will crawl underneath the table and see the minuscule garden.

    That brings a smile to my face as I continue to work on the table, creating a thriving ecosystem. Bushes and branches of various glass colors come together, jewel-like and elegant. The trees¡¯ canopies grow together, twisting and twining to form the support structures for the top of the table.

    While my Skills aren¡¯t in their best condition, since I excised a few key runes to build the support structure for Melina¡¯s temporal ability [In the Blink of an Eye], they still work together in concert more smoothly than ever before. The [Mage] half of my [Glass Mage] identity supports the glass work, pushing me to greater and greater heights.

    Soon the vibrant trees and menagerie of creatures are complete. I encase the top of the table in glass, leaving the scene frozen in time.

    Just like Lionel.

    I swallow hard, my satisfied smile fading away the imagine of my friend wasting away. I have to hurry. I can¡¯t stay here in the hot shop forever, playing with glass while he dies.

    The fire of determination blazes in my chest. I work more quickly, finishing up the fine details of the score of animals, calling on [Glass Animation] to lend them a semblance of life. As a finishing touch, I plead with the energy of the world to accept a vision of curiosity and endless creativity.

    The mana surges forward, practically vibrating with eagerness as it dances to my tune. I imbue the entire intricate table with innovation, one of my newest higher-order concepts thanks to the tea I got from Ozana. Whoever works at this table will enjoy a rush of clear thoughts and sudden epiphanies.

    I pull on a rope in the corner of the room that rings a bell in the upper offices. Ozana will be here soon to collect the piece and move it to the kiln. In the meantime, I¡¯m annealing it with an application of my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. I can¡¯t wait to see the look on her face when I tell her what the table is capable of doing for her.

    I¡¯m absolutely certain that she¡¯ll want the table for herself. It¡¯s the finest thing I¡¯ve ever made, and the flying birds pantomiming feeding their young once ¡°awakened¡± by a donation of mana is a stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. No matter how much it will cost her to give me the miracle potion in exchange for the table, I know she¡¯ll cave. I¡¯ve never seen a table half so fine in all my life, unless Coco counts as a table.

    The most exciting thing to me, though, is that I still haven¡¯t peaked. This masterwork is only the beginning. Brighter days are ahead. I have an entire lifetime of creativity in front of me, and I can¡¯t wait to create the glorious future of my dreams.

 Book Six Chapter Seven

    ¡°What am I supposed to do with a tree?¡±

    ¡°Oh, no. You¡¯re not getting out of this one,¡± I say, my face twisting into a grimace. ¡°This is the best work I¡¯ve ever produced. Don¡¯t downplay it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve mastered the tea I gave you. The concept radiates off it,¡± Ozana says. She nods curtly. ¡°Good. We can use a few items imbued with innovation for our higher-end auctions.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re stalling,¡± I point out.

    Ozana frowns, leaning closer to the table. Her shoulders hunch. She taps a fingernail on the top of the glass. ¡°Are those cedars? Red-barked wild strawberry? Lime trees? What¡¯s going on with the black irises down at the base of the trees! You know none of these are native to our city, young man.¡±

    An incredulous snort of laughter escapes before I can restrain myself. Then again, I¡¯ve never been good at showing decorum. ¡°Wow. I didn¡¯t realize you were such an expert on flora.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my business to become an expert on anything that I can sell,¡± Ozana says primly.

    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna sell this. You¡¯re well aware of this table¡¯s value,¡± I reply, straightening out my tunic and trying to appear dignified.

    She scowls. ¡°Unfortunately.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow, shocked at her petulant display. ¡°You¡¯ve never been a sore loser. The potion must be more expensive than I expected.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a sore loser.¡±

    ¡°Hah. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen such candor from you before. You were happy enough to take my bet earlier. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re backing out now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not. But this monstrosity doesn¡¯t match the rest of my office at all. Now I¡¯ll have to redecorate! Again!¡± Ozana grumbles.

    I smirk. ¡°So you do want it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m annoyed, not foolish,¡± Ozana shoots back. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear me? I just refreshed my style last month. So inconsiderate, Master Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Make Tener Ras fix it,¡± I suggest. ¡°He has a good sense of flair.¡±

    ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll see it done.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. Not to be crass, but can we move on to my payment? I¡¯m in a rush today.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. Your mana draughts are packed up and ready to go. I also took the liberty of creating a bank note while you worked. I¡¯m not sending you off through the city with a sack of gold the size of your torso. You couldn¡¯t even carry it, anyway.¡±

    ¡°I have my ways,¡± I say mysteriously.

    Ozana gives me a flat look. ¡°Not discreetly. The banknote will slip into your billfold, and it¡¯s woven through with minute enchantments to divert attention away from you. Otherwise, every puffed-up [Thief] and [Swindler] in the city would follow you like a bloodhound on the trail of particularly tempting prey.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, bowing.

    Ozana smiles thinly. ¡°Protecting my own investments, as you mentioned earlier. On that score, I¡¯d send an honor guard with you, but I suspect you want to keep a low profile. Do try to stay out of trouble.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not my forte,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Oh, I know. We¡¯ve looked into you, Master Nuri. You¡¯re a complicated man¡ªand unlike any crafter I¡¯ve ever encountered. Enemies seem to pop up like weeds in your wake.¡±

    ¡°Not my fault people try to take advantage of me,¡± I growl, suddenly annoyed at the turn the discussion is taking. ¡°Don¡¯t poke around in my past.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just good business,¡± Ozana says, dismissing my concerns with a wave of her hand. ¡°But if it makes you feel any better, we¡¯re honoring your trade embargo against Halmuth. That¡¯s not cheap, I might add. We¡¯re operating at a loss by cutting off that trade route. I hope this gamble pays off. I¡¯ll look bad to the other partners if you waste my investment.¡±

    I stare past Ozana, studying a spot on the wall while I try to process the revelation. Part of me recognizes that it¡¯s a subtle threat¡ªshe can dig up dirt easily, and use it against me at any time¡ªbut I¡¯m surprised that she¡¯d be willing to cut into her bottom line for my sake. I¡¯m more touched by the gesture than I expected.

    ¡°You still haven¡¯t seen the best part of the table,¡± I say, dragging her attention back to the glass masterwork. ¡°Feed it some mana. Go on.¡±

    ¡°Look at you, changing the subject! We¡¯re an auction house. Goods and services are only part of our repertoire. What¡¯s more valuable than information, after all?¡±

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    ¡°I always run into spies,¡± I grumble.

    ¡°At least we¡¯re honest about it, unlike your [Inquisitor] friends,¡± Ozana says, a little too smugly. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look so worried, Master Nuri. It¡¯s not attractive, especially not after you¡¯ve burned off all your hair with that hot glass.¡°

    ¡°I didn¡¯t burn myself. I gave myself a haircut because it was getting in my eyes,¡± I protest, focusing on the safer half of her statement. I stuff down my panic at her revelation. It was inevitable that someone would uncover my link to the [Inquisitors], but I don¡¯t want to talk about it. At least Ozana doesn¡¯t seem antagonistic, so we won¡¯t have to fight.

    Not yet, at least.

    ¡°Aw, my version is more fun!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that banknote now,¡± I say stiffly.

    Ozana¡¯s lips curl into a lazy smile. She gives me a knowing look. ¡°What about showing me the rest of your table design? I thought you said you had something special prepared.¡±

    ¡°I do. But I¡¯m short on time.¡±

    ¡°Surely a demonstration is warranted? You¡¯re the one who offered in the first place!¡± she reminds me.

    When I frown, she holds up her hands and laughs. ¡°Fine. No more posturing. I¡¯ll indulge you and add a little mana to the table. Then I suppose I¡¯ll give you the banknote, but only if the show lives up to expectations.¡±

    I cross my arms and don¡¯t answer, waiting for her to get on with testing out the effects of my [Glass Animation]. As far as I know, she hasn¡¯t seen this Skill in action yet, so I¡¯m hoping it¡¯s a pleasant surprise when the birds underneath the clear surface of the tabletop spread their wings and take flight.

    A small trickle of Ozana¡¯s mana disappears into the table. Nothing happens. She quirks a quizzical eyebrow. ¡°Hungry beast, huh?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a masterwork, not a toy,¡± I retort.

    She shrugs one shoulder. To her credit, she doesn¡¯t quip or argue. Instead, she forms a connection to the glass table and opens up her channels, feeding considerably more mana into the forest and birds than I expected. Finally, she reaches a tipping point.

    The diminutive birds burst into action. Their wings flash in the light of a non-existent sun, sparkling in the warm glow of mana. Ozana gasps in delight as the eggs crack open and tiny bird heads emerge from within. The chicks turn toward her, their small beaks open as they plead for food.

    ¡°Do the little ones think I¡¯m their mother now?¡± Ozana asks, a note of wry amusement in her voice. Without waiting for a response, she walks in a slow circle around the table to see if they follow her. Sure enough, the newly-hatched birds latch on to her direction, craning their necks and keeping pace as she glides on silent feet in an orbit around the glass forest.

    She tilts her head, staring down at them with brows furrowed. A complicated mix of consternation and wonder flits across her face. She sighs and offers another trickle of mana, and the birds gulp it down like it¡¯s made of grubs or worms.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the actual mother bird?¡± I mutter to myself, joining Ozana by the table and squinting into the dense, vibrant forest.

    ¡°I¡¯m confused. Shouldn¡¯t you know since you created it? Aren¡¯t you the Master of this particular masterwork?¡±

    Ozana¡¯s lightly-mocking tone puts me back in familiar territory. I¡¯ve always dealt well with doubters and critics.I draw myself up to my full height and regard her with a stern gaze. ¡°I am more than a puppet master. I¡¯ve given life to my creations. Treat them well.¡±

    Before she can respond, I thrust out my open palm and wait for the promised banknote. She absently slips it out of an inner pocket and hands it over, still peering down at the baby birds and cooing.

    I leave her to explore the unexpected wonder of magical glass creatures imprinting on her and march toward the door. Guided by my Domain, I locate the assistant who¡¯s prepared my box of mana draughts. The wooden box is well-made but unassuming, without any lacquer or engravings, likely so it doesn¡¯t draw attention.

    I take the precious cargo, tucking it under my arm, and head back to the Menders Campus. I¡¯m not happy about how long I was away from my friends, but at least I accomplished my immediate goals. I¡¯ll make a triumphant return with both the mana and the promise of paying for a miracle potion¡ªassuming Lionel is approved for an emergency dose.

    Now I can only pray that it will work. Failing that, I¡¯m pinning my hopes on Rakesh and Melina. The two bookworms are probably driving Mender Uttara crazy with their constant barrage of questions. If an answer exists, then they¡¯ll find it. That¡¯s what I have to tell myself.

    I purposefully avoid considering what happens if they fail. I¡¯m not ready to lose any of my friends.

    Unlike my earlier visit, a Mender is waiting for me when I arrive. The polite and insincere smile on her face is my first hint that something is wrong, but I force myself to smile and greet her like a civilized person.

    My gut clenches when she begins a sentence with ¡°my apologies,¡± fearing that the worst has happened to Lionel, but I relax as I realize she¡¯s simply telling me that security is not willing to allow me back into the building.

    Annoying as the news is, I don¡¯t want to make a scene. I¡¯ve already secured help for Lionel in the form of his Mender teacher, which is the only reason I caused a commotion in the first place. At the very least, the Mender is accommodating. She gives me an update on Lionel¡¯s status and doesn¡¯t prevaricate or withhold information.

    Only a single mana draught was approved, yet Melina has kept up her Skill far longer than anyone expected. Otherwise, there¡¯s no change or progress. Mender Uttara is still looking into options.

    ¡°The prognosis seems grim,¡± I say, as calmly as I can so that the Mender won¡¯t be tempted to call for the [Guards]. I¡¯m seething inwardly, but I know it¡¯s not her fault, and I¡¯d rather not gain a reputation as a violent and unreasonable man.

    Again she flashes a brilliant, apologetic smile. ¡°Would you like me to check to see if the potion has been approved?¡±

    ¡°No need,¡± I reply, questing out with my Domain and verifying that Lionel has been moved to a room. He¡¯s resting in a bed nearby, with Melina at his side. I let a hint of my power seep out around me and give her a vicious smile. ¡°Trust me. I¡¯ll be able to tell.¡±

    She shivers involuntarily and shuffles back half a step before her professional demeanor kicks in. The illusion is shattered, however. She¡¯s afraid of me, no matter how quickly she recovers her equilibrium. I know I shouldn¡¯t bully the weak, but I¡¯m properly worked up after all the craziness of the day.

    ¡°Please take these to my friends. Melina needs them right away,¡± I say, handing her the box of mana draughts. ¡°I¡¯ll be right here in case someone needs me.¡±

    ¡°Of course, sir [Mage],¡± she replies, clutching the box with both hands. ¡°I¡¯ll deliver them right away.¡±

    ¡°See that you do.¡±

    She turns and flees with a muted yelp, scurrying like a mouse running from a hawk. It¡¯s unsettling to see her fear, but also cathartic after what the Menders have put us through. If they don¡¯t find a cure, then I¡¯ll burn this whole place to the ground.

 Book Six Chapter Eight

    Half a dozen [Guards] march out of the Menders main building shortly after I sent in the mana draughts for Melina. They take up stations outside, three on either side of the door. From the tense way they grip their weapons and the constant angry glances they cast my way, it¡¯s obvious that they find their current posting terrifying.

    I don¡¯t get what the big deal is. All I wanted is for the Menders to help Lionel. Why are the [Guards] acting like I threatened to flay the skin off their bodies and dance in a circle cackling with laughter, or roast and eat their children while they watch? Unfair. I didn¡¯t do anything to warrant this kind of antagonistic response. It¡¯s insulting, really.

    Avelina emerges from the doorway, right between the [Guards]. She jerks back as she makes eye contact with me. Instead of coming over, she speaks to the [Guards], too quietly for me to hear.

    Through my Domain I sense that she¡¯s radiating calm. I still can¡¯t make out the words, but it¡¯s clear that she is offering what feels like reassurance. As though she¡¯s taking their side.

    Against me.

    My fingers curl into a tight fist at my side. Fury blazes in my chest. How dare she! After all we¡¯ve been through, she¡¯s going to turn against me? Heat gathers around me, blistering and raw, until the very air ignites.

    She pushes back with her own fire magic, sending me a look that¡¯s so heartbroken  that it cuts through my haze of indignation and fear.

    I drop my Domain, forcing myself to take long, deep breaths as I regain control. As I struggle to calm down, Avelina approaches with slow, measured steps. Her shadow stretches long and blue in the deepening gloom of twilight.

    She stops a few paces in front of me. Her lips are pressed together in a tight line. She takes one look at my face and sucks in a sharp breath. ¡°When did you last sleep, Nuri?¡±

    ¡°Last night. Same as you.¡±

    ¡°Looks more like it¡¯s been a week.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡± I grumble.

    She shuffles in place, then steps closer to me and reaches out a tentative hand. She grips my shoulder, and I tense up at her touch before reminding myself that she¡¯s one of my oldest and closest friends. I don¡¯t have to treat her like an enemy.

    ¡°Nuri, you¡¯ve been through a lifetime of stress today. Your core restoration, the fight against that hideous woman, helping Mel so she could keep using her Skill, whatever deal you hammered out at the Orpheus¡ª¡±

    I scoff, cutting her off and brushing her hand away. ¡°C¡¯mon, Ava. You make it sound way worse than it is.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even understand how you''re still on your feet. Something dark is burning you up inside,¡± Avelina says softly. Her eyes shine with terrible pity.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be dramatic,¡± I snap.

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    Avelina reaches out and takes my hand, ignoring my protests. She turns and walks toward a bench, tugging on my hand and pulling me along with her. For a split second I resist before allowing her to guide me. She sits down and pats the seat next to hear, and after another awkward moment of hesitation, I join her on the bench.

    Distantly, I sense the horror of the [Guards] assigned to watch us. They seem poised to intervene¡ªresigned to their fate.

    She lets go of me and folds her hands in her lap. ¡°Listen to yourself, Nuri. Is this how you normally talk to your friends?¡±

    ¡°Look, it¡¯s been a trying day,¡± I start to say, suddenly unable to meet her eye. I know she¡¯s right. ¡°I¡¯m worried about Lio.¡±

    ¡°We all are. But we¡¯re not threatening death and violence at every turn.¡± Her voice grows soft and wistful. ¡°You don¡¯t want to go down that path. Trust me, Nuri. I¡¯ve been there. It¡¯s a terribly lonely place.¡±

    My jaw clenches. I tremble with pent-up emotions. They¡¯re all jumbled up and confusing, a harsh cacophony of contradictory voices. I want to yell that she¡¯s got it all wrong, that I¡¯m doing my best to take care of things the only way I know how, but the growing urge to lash out just makes her point. A heavy knot of guilt ties itself in my stomach, making me feel sick suddenly. I bite my tongue and keep silent, bleeding anger and feeling strangely hollow in return.

    ¡°You¡¯re scaring people. See those [Guards] behind us? They¡¯re convinced that you¡¯re going to burn down the entire place. That¡¯s my role, not yours! Or, it was. I don¡¯t want to be like that anymore. You probably don¡¯t want to be that way, either.¡±

    ¡°Demanding that they take care of Lionel is enough to scare them? Isn¡¯t that their job?¡± I demand.

    ¡°Maybe. But do you really want to pick up the reputation of a short temper and dangerous explosions now that I¡¯ve finally learned how to put it down?¡± Avelina asks, turning to look up at me again. Her eyes are luminous with unshed tears, glimmering in the lamp light.

    More than anything, that cuts me to the core. After all I¡¯ve put Avelina through, after asking her to use her beloved fire magic to kill and then watching as it wrecked her, why would I set myself on the warpath? Have I learned nothing over the last few years?

    ¡°You¡¯re . . . right . . . that¡¯s not who I want to be,¡± I whisper, my words halting as I search for answers. I slump against the backrest of the bench, abruptly feeling utterly exhausted. Maybe I do need sleep.

    ¡°Trust me when I say that a life filled with regrets is a burden that will crush you. Lay it down, Nuri. You¡¯ve worked so hard to take care of us. Let us take care of you.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t afford to rest yet,¡± I protest weakly. I don¡¯t resist when she prods me to stand up, however.

    ¡°Go to the inn. Sleep. That¡¯s an order, Boss. Come back as the kind and patient Nuri we all know and love. I don¡¯t want to hear the Menders talk about banning you from the entire city anymore,¡± Avelina says.

    ¡°That¡¯s extreme,¡± I complain.

    Avelina scowls at me, reminding me of her old self for the first time tonight.  ¡°Hmph. Keep up this attitude, and I¡¯ll be first in line to kick you out.¡±

    I crack a reluctant smile at her grumpy friendship, then sober up almost immediately. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go. What if something happens with Lionel?¡±

    Avelina crosses her arms. A little bit of her old fire has come back to the surface, replacing the quiet vulnerability she displayed moments ago. ¡°Go sleep, or I¡¯ll chase you off.¡±

    I throw her a mock salute. ¡°I hear you. Loud and clear. I¡¯ll go get some rest.¡±

    ¡°You better,¡± she mumbles, glaring at me. ¡°When you return, make sure you apologize to everyone for scaring them half to death. They don¡¯t have anything to do with what [Lady] Saphora did. It¡¯s mean to treat them like that.¡±

    I nod, chagrined, and wave toward the [Guards] while trying to project a sense of contrition. ¡°I will. Promise.¡±

    Just then, I yawn so hard that my eyes tear up and my jaw cracks. ¡°Right. Sleep first. And Ava? Thank you. For everything. You¡¯re the best.¡±

 Book Six Chapter Nine

    Exhaustion crashed over me like a wave when I finally made it back to the inn and crawled into bed. Deep and dreamless slumber overtook me. By the time I woke, the sun was already well past its zenith, meaning I¡¯d likely slept fifteen or sixteen hours. I can¡¯t remember the last time I passed out that hard.

    I rub the sleep out of my eyes, groaning at the prospect of untangling myself from the covers and getting up. I still feel worn out and run down, like a windup clockwork toy that needs to be spun up again before it will move.

    My thoughts drift back to my conversation with Avelina last night. Did I really get angry with her just because she was trying to be nice to the [Guards] outside the Menders facility? I¡¯ve always been hotheaded, but never toward my friends. Everything I¡¯ve done has been for their benefit.

    Or is that all a lie?

    I put off the accusing thought and drag myself out of bed. Morning ablutions¡ªwell, afternoon ablutions, now¡ªshock me awake and leave me feeling more like myself. Toweling off, I run through my plans for the day: I need to calm the rage inside, figure out why the influence of violence has persisted so strongly despite not meditating on the concept or imbuing with it, and determine how I can help Lionel. It¡¯s the most important thing on the list, but I leave it last since it¡¯s what I have least direct control over.

    But first, food. I retrieve a crust of hard bread and a small wedge of finely-aged, yellowed cheese from the enchanted coldbox and fill up a glass with cold water from the pitcher. Clarity of mind slowly returns to me while I eat and drink. Hydration is crucial after pushing myself so hard yesterday and then not drinking any water during so many hours of intense sleep.

    Taking up position in the middle of the common area, I go through a series of stretches and light exercises, limbering up my body and regulating my breathing. Twenty minutes of slow movements and careful meditation leaves me mentally refreshed and more stable.

    Everything aches, though. I feel like I wrestled a giant bear for hours yesterday. My tortured muscles and swollen joints haven¡¯t hurt like this in ages. A nasty, pounding headache accompanies the physical pain.

    Worst of all is the discomfort of the soul. I have no other way to put it; something deep inside me hurts on a metaphysical level, like I¡¯ve been torn apart, scraped raw, and stitched back together in the wrong order. Something feels desperately off.

    Falling inward takes no more than a thought. I float in the magnificent void of inky black and golden power, the vastness punctuated by the silver superstructures of all my new Skills. A river of mana flows in an endless loop, prescribing an infinity symbol around the fractals of the runic arrays.

    Close examination doesn¡¯t reveal anything amiss. Even the small incisions I¡¯d made to repurpose some of my spare runes into a brace for Melina¡¯s Skill [In the Blink of an Eye] are healing over. The absences have been replaced by the sea of potential in my soul, which has been converted into the crystalline substance of Skills thanks to an overabundance of mana hastening the recovery process.

    Even so, I drift over to my [Arcane Domain], regarding it with deep suspicion. I earned the Skill within the Rift that had been corrupted by the high-level enchantment feeding a sense of violence into the environment. It¡¯s no coincidence that ever since I¡¯ve struggled with anger and a tendency to lash out at the slightest provocation.

    No blaming outside influences, Nuri, I tell myself sternly. That particular character flaw was already present long before Mahkaiaraon. Yet it¡¯s undeniable that my ability to manage my emotions hasn¡¯t improved, although I feel more mature in most areas. Even more alarming is the way that my resonance with my concepts have amplified since attaining the [Mage] Class. Whatever¡¯s afflicting me is only growing stronger. Pretending like it doesn¡¯t exist is only going to come back to bite me.

    If there¡¯s a connection between my Class and my concepts, and it seems impossible to argue that point, then it stands to reason that I should find evidence of it inwardly. My Class and my Skills are all represented in runes, which are essentially containers for primal truths of the world. Why would concepts be any different?

    Yet as the minutes stretch on, my search proves fruitless. Neither my upgraded Class edifice nor my gleaming Skill structures reveal any hints. There¡¯s nothing there.

    With a groan, I realize that I¡¯m going about things the wrong way. Hunting for an idea is doomed to fail. Concepts are too ephemeral and flexible to coalesce into a fixed, inert pattern. If I want to find the way that I interact with the exalted realities of the heavens, then likely I need to invoke them first. I can¡¯t follow a trail that doesn¡¯t exist.

    In my precarious state, I don¡¯t dare call on violence or even sharpness. I simply don¡¯t trust myself right now. It¡¯s humbling to come face to face with my failures, but I believe Avelina when she says that I¡¯ve crossed a line and need to reevaluate. She¡¯s changed a lot over the last year. Her insight into struggling with the worst impulses of our natures¡ªlargely driven by me forcing her into using her gift of flames in a terrible way¡ªgives her the credibility to speak up.

    I¡¯d be a fool not to listen.

    Innovation seems safe enough. It might even help me find the connections I¡¯m seeking. So, after a moment to steady myself and ensure that I¡¯m calm, I go through the same procedure I¡¯d follow to imbue, although I don¡¯t have a target.

    The hum of power fills me, lighting up all around me. Whenever I¡¯ve grappled with runes or concepts in my soul, it¡¯s always been in service of fixing things. Usually, I¡¯m in a rush, with a tight time limit and filled with desperation. I¡¯ve never really just watched the flow of energy as I called upon the axiomatic principles of the universe.

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    Golden lines of mana stretch out in every direction, leading away from the nexus of my consciousness. Resonance builds up, firmly established as I guide my will and intent toward the concept I seek. Choosing at random, I follow one of the glowing lines, eager to see where it will take me.

    To my surprise, my senses don¡¯t grow closer to the towering monuments of my Class or Skills. Instead, I move in the other direction. Zipping along is exhilarating as I chase down one of the unsolved mysteries of magic.

    My inner sight reaches the boundary of my soul, the semi-permeable barrier of my inner world, but the golden lines continue outward beyond me. I skim along the face of the expanse, searching for answers. Try as I might, I can¡¯t pierce the veil.

    Wait. That¡¯s the second half of my Domain¡¯s name. That can¡¯t be a coincidence! With growing excitement, I activate my strangest and potentially most powerful Skill, [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], focusing on the ability to look beyond the obvious. This time, as I meditate on innovation and examine the golden, glimmering lines again, I truly look.

    Light and meaning explode in my mind. No, in my soul. Or perhaps neither of those is quite right. I don¡¯t quite understand what I¡¯m looking at or how I¡¯m perceiving it.

    Minuscule runes make up the shifting, effervescent connections, but they¡¯re not like any of the runes I¡¯ve come to know. Less like tethers and more like beams of light, the shimmering connections are wavelike and ever-shifting, and their meaning seems to form, dissolve, and re-form in an eternal dance.

    No wonder some imbuing attempts work out better than others. If I don¡¯t have a firm sense of what I¡¯m doing, or if I¡¯m hesitant and mis-time the working of will and magic, then the imbuing lacks power. The more time I spend building up rapport with the concept, the more I¡¯ll harmonize with the truth it exemplifies.

    Excitement over my discovery is tempered by the realization that I still have to wrestle with the effects of violence. What if it overwhelms me? What if my new and enhanced view of the true meaning of the concept is too much for my feeble mind and it warps me forever? What if I become everything I¡¯ve hated and fought against?

    Then I¡¯ll just have to trust that my friends will wake me up. Avelina can get through. Or my brother will bonk me over the head and knock some sense back into me.

    Chuckling to myself at the thought of Mikko smacking me around while telling me it¡¯s for my own good, I drop my connection to innovation and instead seize upon violence.

    Instantly, the golden lines disappear. They¡¯re replaced by pulsing, waist-thick, blood-red ropes that look more like oversized arteries than anything else. Something virulent and opaque swirls deep inside them. Despite examining them through the power of my [Arcane Domain], I can¡¯t make out the meaning of the strange, jagged symbols.

    I release the connection, but the bloody bindings don¡¯t fade. The feeling of wrongness and hostility lingers, weaving into the fabric of my inner world. That doesn¡¯t seem right; all the other higher-order concepts I¡¯ve ever meditated on evaporated back into the ether, for lack of a better term, once I was done concentrating on them. They¡¯re slick and amorphous, and grasping them is akin to trying to pick up a slippery bar of wet soap; squeeze too hard, and it shoots right out of my hand.

    Violence remains, however. I can¡¯t help but feel like it¡¯s laying in wait for me, ready to ambush me as soon as I drop my guard. It¡¯s ridiculous, assigning sentience to an idea, but it¡¯s deeply unsettling the way the mottled gray and black flecks within the pulsing arteries restrict the flow and seem to build up resentment.

    I force myself to look more closely, but nothing useful reveals itself to me. If only I could decipher the runes and repurpose it for my own ends. Unfortunately, my Domain isn¡¯t giving me the precise feedback that I hoped it would. All the same, I¡¯m certain that the concept is tainted, somehow. I should avoid it until I can fix things.

    Or I could cut it out.

    Giving up an entire concept hurts more than I thought, even if all I¡¯ve done is consider the possibility. But the more I mull it over, the more it makes sense. Sometimes, a surgeon must remove a malignant growth, I think with a sudden flash of insight. I suspect it¡¯s an after-echo of the innovation I channeled earlier.

    I can always reforge the connection in the future if I need to, but something tells me that nothing good has ever come from the corrupted concept. Defending my friends is noble, and sometimes a fight is the only option left to me, but that¡¯s a far cry from reveling in the twisted destruction that violence seems to demand. It¡¯s driving a wedge between me and my friends, and now my ability to help Lionel or even visit him in the healing ward is in serious doubt.

    Action is the burden of a leader. Now that the path forward is clear, hesitation is nothing but weakness. I owe my friends. Responsibility requires that I put the team above myself. So what if my personal power suffers in the short term? I¡¯ve never planned to become a tyrant, just to explore the world, uncover mysteries, and create masterpieces.

    Mind made up, I call upon the concept again. At the same time, I flood [Legacy of the Scalpel] with mana, over-charging it and pushing the Skil past its baseline use of runic pruning and combining. Instead of cutting away a rune, I seize hold of violence itself and excise the entire rotten concept from my inner being, relying on the Scalpel portion of the Skill to perform surgery of the soul.

    Searing agony rips through me. The bloody cords fight and thrash like serpents, but they are helpless before the might of a [Mage] with a specialized Skill and long experience cutting away the metaphysical. I writhe in anguish, reliving the torture of when Scalpel experimented on my Skills back when we first met.

    Temptation gnaws at me. It hurts too much. Giving up my understanding of a concept is too steep a cost. Maybe I should give up, reconsider, find another way.

    Yet I swore to do anything to protect my friends. That means keeping them safe from threats without¡ªand within. Whatever it takes. That was my vow. Even if I¡¯m the enemy.

    My will is implacable. Despite the pain, I press onward and complete my righteous task, burning out the pestilence from within. I scream within the confines of my inner world at the unimaginable torment, but I refuse to give in. Pain is nothing compared to protecting my friends from the consequences of my failures. I surge forward and bring the Scalpel to bear, purging the evil from within my midst once and for all.

 Book Six Chapter Ten

    With a gasp, I come back to myself. I¡¯m lying on the cold tile floor of the suite¡¯s shared common room. I blink, take a few deep breaths, and finally sit up. Despite my fears, no metaphysical aches or pains assault me.

    In fact, now that I¡¯ve finished the bizarre purge, the soul-searing pain of my impromptu surgery has disappeared entirely. I stretch gingerly, but aside from a few cramps from passing out in an odd position, I¡¯m fine. I expected to feel far worse. Weaker. Incomplete somehow, after cutting out a portion of my power. Yet I feel better than I have in ages. My emotions in particular are more like a calm lake and less like a raging maelstrom.

    Just how badly did the corrupted form of violence influence me? Wonder and shame vie for first place in my heart as I consider my actions. Without the wakeup call from Avelina, I might not have realized what I¡¯d been struggling against lately. The difference between now and then is immense. No longer is every waking moment a fight to stay calm and composed.

    I stand up and fetch a glass of water for my parched throat. All the work in my inner world took a lot out of me, but it was worth it to rid myself of the corruption. I never knew that a concept could be twisted like that. Perhaps I should have spent more time studying the strange effects of the Rift back in the Old Keep.

    I place the glass back on the counter, absently noting the lack of consistency in the craftsmanship. It¡¯s been a long time since I made something as simple as a cup. I turn it around in my hand, observing the uneven thickness of the glass. Maybe I¡¯ll replace the inn¡¯s set with something nicer. A quick stop by the Orpheus House studio should do the trick.

    A genuine smile stretches across my face at the thought of returning to the hot shop. I¡¯ve got time. I don¡¯t know how to fix Lionel, and my friends are keeping him company. Meanwhile, I¡¯ve run full tilt for so long that I barely know what to do with myself when not crashing headlong from one impossible task to the next. A moment to catch my breath now that I have a brief break in the chaos is probably healthy.

    Twenty minutes later, I¡¯ve eaten, changed into clean clothes, and stretched out the last of the knots in my muscles from collapsing on the floor and sleeping in an awkward position. I jog all the way to the Orpheus, excited to get to work. Making something simple¡ªnot another masterwork table¡ªwill help ground me.

    When I show up on the block where the massive, densely-enchanted Orpheus House dominates the cityscape, a group of wealthy employees from the Orpheus greet me. They look like they¡¯ve been waiting there a while, keeping watch for my return. As soon as I come into view, they run over with strained faces, decorum thrown to the wind, and mob me in the middle of the street.

    ¡°Honored Master Nuri! Please accept our hospitality,¡± a corpulent man begs. He wipes a trail of sweat off his forehead with a pocket handkerchief, all the while regarding me with his deep-set hazel eyes shining with undisguised avarice. His crimson waistcoat is embroidered in gold, and the clasps across the front are all encrusted with gaudy gems.

    ¡°Ozana sent you?¡± I ask.

    The rotund man exchanges a nearly-imperceptible look with his colleague, who clenches his jaw and glances away without speaking. Without the significant boost to my senses afforded by my Domain, I probably wouldn¡¯t have noticed the byplay.

    He clears his throat and pastes on a charming smile. ¡°Not precisely, but we share mutual interests. My friends and I work hand-in-hand with her department. We¡¯d like to commission you to make furniture for the Orpheus.¡±

    As annoying as their politicking is, I don¡¯t lash out. Instead, I consider the implications of their words, and settle for a half-smile. ¡°For the Orpheus? Or for you personally?¡±

    ¡°Both, ideally,¡± he responds.

    ¡°I appreciate your honesty,¡± I say, enjoying the ability to talk without the constant urge to lash out. ¡°Go on. I¡¯m listening.¡±

    His smile widens. Mana expands from him in a soft bubble. Fascinated by the unusual runic activations I see while Viewing his Skill in action, I let the energy wash over me like a wave of happy thoughts and warm memories. Instantly, I feel predisposed to listen more closely to his sales pitch.

    ¡°We¡¯ll offer you half again as much as Ozana paid you previously if you bring your work to us first. A fair price. You¡¯ll not find a better deal for your wares!¡±

    ¡°I imagine not,¡± I say wryly.

    ¡°Laitu,¡± he introduces himself, placing a broad palm on his chest and inclining his entire rotund torso. Sunlight flashes off his jewelry as he moves.

    I squint against the reflected light. ¡°Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I¡¯m Nuri, as you know. Glass-maker and monster-slayer.¡±

    Laitu¡¯s eyes nearly bulge out of his head at my unexpected introduction. His silk pocket handkerchief makes a return as pats his face again to deal with the deluge. ¡°Please, allow me to provide you with a tour of our offices before we return to your workshop. We¡¯d love to strike up a working partnership.¡±

    Out of habit, I bite my tongue before I respond with a scathing remark. To my great relief, however, there¡¯s no surge of anger. Still, I¡¯m particularly pleased with my restraint when I don¡¯t shatter the gentle compulsion of his salesmanship Skill by crushing it with my Domain. Instead, I nod and smile.

    ¡°Tea is acceptable before I begin my work,¡± I answer after a brief delay, and he breaks out into a toothy grin once more.

    Let him make an offer. If Ozana values my work, then she¡¯ll counter it. In the meantime, I¡¯ll play coy until Rakesh can sit down with all parties involved and properly negotiate a contract. It occurs to me that if I¡¯d followed that policy all along, then I wouldn¡¯t have gotten myself into so many messes. He¡¯ll ensure that the contract is heavily in my favor and no one takes advantage of me.

    ¡°Right this way, Master Nuri!¡± Laitu announces happily. He beckons for me to follow, and I allow him and his cadre to carry me along to an entrance on the side of the Orpheus.

    Unlike the front entrance, the side door is barely warded apart from security measures. It¡¯s still an intimidating cluster of engravings, but otherwise lacks the arrays for detecting any persons of interest like those embedded in the polished marble floors of the main entrance. I¡¯m not sure if I should be flattered to bypass the scrutiny of the main entrance, or disappointed to miss out on the pomp and ceremony of the extravagant welcome I receive as an honored guest.

    As soon as we pass through the invisible barrier, which elicits a slight shiver like the cool touch of an evening breeze in late spring, the ostentatious decorations of the grand building all but disappear. Utilitarian lines and sensible stairways replace the gaudy facade that wraps around the outside of the Orpheus, though the space is still massive. Dozens of people bustle back and forth, all intent on their tasks.

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    The message is clear. Those who enter through this door are here to work. Leave the theatrics to less important people. Here is the beating heart of the Orpheus!

    A wry smile carves itself across my lips as I march up multiple flights of stairs. By slow degrees, I allow myself to relax despite how much I dislike getting caught up in the machinations of various factions. Still, I¡¯ll play along as graciously as I can while Laitu tries to pull one over on Ozana. For now, I vow to enjoy the experience instead of storming ahead and leaving only wreckage behind.

    Look at me! Practically civilized.

    Doorways blur together as we pass by. Unassuming and unadorned, they clearly spell out a story. Laitu occupies a less-prominent position than the one Ozana enjoys. His crew must perform valuable work if they¡¯re able to match her prize money, however. I shouldn¡¯t assume that the relative lack of outward opulence means more than it does. His personal uniform is certainly costly.

    Moments later, we arrive at our destination, and a pair of [Doormen] provide entry to the work spaces on the fifth floor. Inside, I find a surprisingly spacious office, though it¡¯s broken up into sets of interconnected desks. They lack the elegance that Tener Ras managed to achieve in a smaller, less ostentatious space. Everywhere I look, bric-a-brac and paintings meet my gaze.

    Mismatched artwork clutters the walls, and an eclectic collection of trinkets on the side tables kills off any hope of cohesive interior design. A large mahogany desk juts out halfway into the room. Without being told, I immediately assume it¡¯s Laitu¡¯s seat of honor.

    Thankfully, the tea that Laitu¡¯s lackeys serve me is exceptional. I murmur my thanks for the offered cup, watching in fascination as it shifts between green and red colors every half a minute. Carrying an earthy complexion without tasting like a mixture of mud and burnt tree bark, the tea is genuinely delicious, if unsettling to look at for too long. No mysterious concepts swirl in its depths, to my profound regret. Nonetheless, the cup is pleasantly warm against my hand, and my disposition improves even further while I¡¯m drinking.

    After a moment of quiet indulgence to savor the flavors, I set the cup down with a slight clink and let out a satisfied sigh. Then, before Laitu hurts himself by smiling too hard, I begin with my opening salvo.

    ¡°I understand that the Orpheus supplies the Menders with their alarm systems. I¡¯d like to take a look at how it operates.¡±

    To my amazement, Laitu¡¯s heavy sweat intensifies even further. He mops his gleaming brow and then makes a show of folding his hands across his prodigious belly. ¡°Ah, the alarm system! I don¡¯t have access, myself, but I know those who do. Please, make yourself at home while I gather assistance.¡±

    ¡°A man of action. I can appreciate that,¡± I say, smirking at the way he preens at the faint praise before rushing off to find someone¡ªanyone! Oh, please help! his body language seems to scream¡ªwho can answer my questions about the alarm.

    I wonder how the alarms operate. Based on the way Laitu responded, and the hints that Ozana dropped, it¡¯s more complicated than a simple monitoring system. What sets the alarms apart? I¡¯m hoping it¡¯s more like Azariah¡¯s scrying abilities. If it¡¯s interesting enough, and I get an up-close look, then maybe I¡¯ll be able to find a way to duplicate the underlying runes and add the function to a custom-made glass creature.

    General-purpose golems seem difficult, but assigning each of the fanciful glass beasts a particular task to carry out is well within the scope of [Glass Animation]. Given enough time and material, I¡¯ll soon have a tool for every task. My armies will be unstoppable.

    I desperately need to figure out the scrying trick Azariah used. Neat bit of magic, that. He may have been gruff and overly interested in helping himself at our expense, but he¡¯s clever. No denying he¡¯s gifted.

    To pass the time waiting for Laitu¡¯s return, I daydream about the endless hordes of glass spies that I¡¯ll command in the future. If I can crack the code for scrying, then they can share images of anything they see. I could eventually sell the entire menagerie to the [Inquisitors] if the proof of concept works out. I¡¯ll keep the best for my own purposes, though.

    Footsteps patter outside the office, bringing me back to the present. I glance up, curious about the sudden commotion, and a rush of many feet echoes down the hall to join the first pair. Abruptly, they all fall silent. Through my Domain, I recognize Ozana approaching. The other mana signatures in the crowd part before her.

    Sure enough, the wood-paneled office door slides open soundlessly several heartbeats later. Amber light from the hallway spills into the room, framing the sharp silhouette of Ozana. She meets my gaze and raises an eyebrow in question.

    I pick up the tea cup in front of me and take a long sip, enduring her withering glare with more than a little mirth at how disgruntled she appears. ¡°Have no fear. Your tea is better, though it loses on taste.¡±

    She breaks into a faint smile. Some of the tension goes out of her shoulders. ¡°That was hardly my worry. My brewing is unmatched by any in the Orpheus.¡±

    ¡°Really? His tea is more flavorful. It¡¯s lacking other qualities, however. Such as good company.¡±

    ¡°Charmer!¡± she accuses.

    I grin, enjoying banter that doesn¡¯t trigger a misplaced sense of aggression. Without the corrupted influence of the concept of violence, I no longer have to fight to maintain control. ¡°You know, he¡¯s using a sales Skill on me. You never have. Where¡¯s your dedication to compete? I ought to feel insulted at your lack of effort.¡±

    Ozana crosses the room. She slips into the seat behind the large office desk, kicks her feet up¡ªscattering a pile of papers as she crosses her ankles¡ªand laughs. ¡°I don¡¯t need cheap tricks to convince you.¡±

    ¡°Just banknotes?¡±

    She scowls. ¡°Tell him no.¡±

    I take another sip of the tea, which is back to a deep red color now, draining the cup. Ah, too bad it¡¯s gone. ¡°I¡¯m not making another table, if that¡¯s your concern. I¡¯m only keeping an open line of communication. But I wasn¡¯t lying. His tea truly tastes superior.¡±

    ¡°Fine, I concede! He needs to take every win he can get,¡± Ozana grumbles.

    ¡°Sounds like you''re jealous.¡±

    She brushes more papers off the desk, swinging her feet back to the ground so she can stand up and pace. ¡°Lucky for you, I am jealous! I told you before that I always take care of my investments, which means you¡¯ll get what you want. Laitu doesn¡¯t know anything about alarm systems. Unlike me. I¡¯m friends with the [Image Mage] who helped create them.¡±

    I grin. I¡¯d hoped that my hunch was correct. ¡°So you do have a recorded image!¡±

    ¡°Of course. It¡¯s not for sale, and you can¡¯t make a copy, but if you accompanied me on a tour while I happened to watch the recorded scrying? Well, no one will stop us.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Ozana. I won¡¯t forget your generosity. You¡¯re a true friend,¡± I say, laying on the flattery a bit thick.

    ¡°The best of friends. And don¡¯t you forget it,¡± Ozana says. ¡°Hoping to check in on your sick friend since you got kicked out of the Menders?¡±

    ¡°No. I trust that he¡¯ll be all right. My friends will take excellent care of him. I want to see what I looked like before they called security.¡±

    Ozana¡¯s nose scrunches up. She tilts her head as she looks at me. ¡°Whatever for?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve had something of an epiphany,¡± I say hesitantly. When she frowns, I smile politely and refuse to back down. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll have to leave it at that. Indulge me?¡±

    ¡°Very well, but it won¡¯t come cheap.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°Of course not. But I¡¯m not here to make any masterworks today. I wanted to make a set of cups for the inn. That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°Come now, Master Nuri. Surely you can do better than that,¡± Ozana says, shaking her head side to side in a show of mock dismay.

    I cross my arms. ¡°Show me what I want as a gesture of goodwill. I¡¯ll make sure that any future contract we sign will be beneficial to you.¡±

    Ozana laughs like the tinkling of tiny bells and calls over her shoulder, ¡°Little Laitu, come in!¡± She winks at me. ¡°See how easy it is to reel in this fish. He¡¯s out of his depth.¡±

    I get the sense that she¡¯s teasing Laitu about finding himself out of his depth, not me for giving in too quickly, but I can never be entirely sure how to parse her declarations. It¡¯s all right. I don¡¯t have to win every battle anymore. As long as I get to see how the scrying magic works for their alarm system, I¡¯m happy.

 Book Six Chapter Eleven

    ¡°Highly irregular, Mistress Ozana! I repeat, this is highly irregular,¡± Laitu complains on the way to the scrying department. His silken handkerchief is working overtime to keep up with the shining river of sweat pouring down his forehead, and his face appears vaguely green.

    It¡¯s mesmerizing, in a gross way.

    ¡°Irregular that I¡¯m offering you a job? I agree, Laitu. I never thought I¡¯d see the day we¡¯d willingly work together!¡± Ozana replies lightly.

    Laitu moans. He looks briefly like he bit into something sour before he composes himself and continues onward with dignity. He consoles himself by muttering under his breath, far too quietly for Ozana to hear, ¡°Who said anything about willingly?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll donate an imbued glass piece for your trouble,¡± I tell the portly schemer, which is enough to brighten his mood even if it earns me a glare of irritation from Ozana. She keeps it well controlled, but after my Class upgrade, my [Arcane Domain] is harder than ever to fool. My sphere of perception is unmatched these days.

    ¡°I suppose I will go along, just this one time,¡± Laitu grumbles. ¡°What a disgraceful breach of protocol! We could be drawn up on charges of insubordination! The very nerve of this brazen plan. My virtuous heart is in shambles.¡±

    ¡°I can see you¡¯re a man of conviction,¡± I drawl, earning another eye roll from Ozana. The insincere words still seem to make Laitu stand up a bit straighter. He clears his throat and finally puts away his signature handkerchief as we come to a stop just before a wide intersection in the meandering maze of hallways.

    Laitu turns toward us, straightens his waistcoat, and sighs dramatically. ¡°The sacrifices I make for this beautiful building! Do not forget my efforts, my friends.¡±

    With one last moment of melodrama, he dutifully waddles on ahead to perform his part. Tracking him through my Domain grows a little fuzzy as he passes through the security wards around the scrying alarm room, but the mana signatures within are still comprehensible. A few moments later, I confirm that he¡¯s led the staffers out of the room and away from our targeted position. For all of his strange mannerisms and overly ostentatious appearance, he¡¯s a talented sweet-talker. That must be why the Orpheus keeps him around.

    ¡°All right, we¡¯re clear,¡± I say.

    ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± Ozana whispers.

    I stride around the corner, chuckling at her hesitation. It¡¯s endearing. ¡°Sometimes I forget you¡¯re not on my team.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure whether to be flattered at your inclusion or offended by your exclusion,¡± Ozana quips. ¡°What would change if I were a teammate?¡±

    I turn and give her a serious look. ¡°You¡¯d take my word for it if I said no one¡¯s around. I likely have the most well-developed mana senses of anyone in Gilead.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t scoff immediately at my boast, which means the gears are turning in her mind. Like a clockwork machine, she¡¯s processing the new information and revising her opinion of me accordingly. For the better, I imagine. I hope giving away that information doesn¡¯t backfire, but at this point she knows more about me than most. She¡¯ll figure it out eventually, anyway. As [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote once told me, it¡¯s better to bargain with secrets while they still have value, rather than wait until they¡¯re public knowledge and become worthless.

    ¡°Use that tidbit well,¡± I say. She smiles demurely, but I can sense how pleased she is that I¡¯ve caught on to her role. I¡¯ve suspected for a while that the Orpheus House trades in secrets more than goods, so this is my way of exchanging currency for the favor she¡¯s providing. I hope we¡¯re even now, but I doubt she¡¯ll accept something so simple.

    ¡°I look forward to putting your mana senses to the test,¡± Ozana finally replies. A slight, mysterious smile curves her lips up. ¡°Come, let¡¯s take advantage of our time in the scrying room while we can. Laitu might spew forth a veritable fountain of words, but even he¡¯s bound to run dry at some point.¡±

    We pick up the pace, nearly jogging down the long hall until we reach our destination. A reinforced metal door with stern warnings printed in large, bold letters fills the entire wall at the end of the hallway, barring our way.

    Ozana twists a bracelet on her wrist, and the lock disengages with a soft click. Now we simply have to pull open the enormous door to gain entrance. The door is almost comically large, especially considering that it¡¯s currently unlocked. Useless security.

    I pull my Domain close, willing it into inaction as I follow close on Ozana¡¯s heels. As it turns out, that¡¯s a good call. Pressure pushes back on me, buzzing against my Domain when I slip inside. The mana barrier isn¡¯t quite as strong as the one outside Halmuth, but it¡¯s impressive for a single room. I definitely wouldn¡¯t want to set off the alarms by contesting the barrier with my own [Arcane Domain]. Nor would I want to answer the inevitable uncomfortable questions when I come out ahead in the war of wills.

    I shake my head ruefully. Ozana could probably find all sorts of unsavory uses for that particular skill.

    Focusing on what¡¯s to come, I press through the uncomfortable sensation and close the door behind us. Now that I¡¯m through the barrier, I can expand my Domain again as long as I¡¯m gentle. It¡¯s an odd sensation to let my presence seep past the wards, but it doesn¡¯t trip any of the wards. My perception isn¡¯t as precise as it would be otherwise. Still, it¡¯s a workable solution. I¡¯ll be able to give us early warning if anyone approaches.

    ¡°Ready?¡± Ozana asks me.

    When I nod, she lifts up her hands, her fingers playing across the control wards in deft strokes, like a [Conductor] in front of a symphony. Seconds later, a detailed image flickers to life on the massive burnished mirror that hangs on the wall in front of us. The scene displays an eerie, moving replica of the Menders campus. Clouds scroll by far faster than possible in real life, replaced by the shroud of night and the twinkle of the starry vault. Sunlight burns away the pre-dawn gloom in an instant. Shadows flit about, appearing and disappearing as the days and nights fly by. It takes me a while to notice that the streaks of browns and beiges are faces of patients streaming into the Menders, blending together due to the speed of the playback.

    Abruptly, a bright white light flashes across the mirror, as blinding as a lightning strike. I gape at the mirror, which freezes in place and reveals a disorganized tableau of crowds outside the Menders main healing building. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end when I realize a burst of familiar mana just hit my Domain. Is that my mana signature?

    ¡°Ah, there we go,¡± Ozana announces. She reverses the direction of the images, going back to just before the potent nova of energy, and nudges a controller to return the recorded scrying to real time. ¡°You just about broke the embedded sensors on the opposite building when you ran in to see if your friend was all right.¡±

    It¡¯s not hard to pick myself out of the press of people, even though the figures are tiny on the wall-mounted mirror. I stare at the storm of mana swirling around the miniature version of me. I¡¯m surrounded by a visible cyclone of my anger made manifest. It pulses with eye-searing power, cycling between blood-red and mottled gray-black in a way that¡¯s eerily reminiscent of the strands of violence that I just excised from my soul.

    ¡°No wonder people were flinching away from me,¡± I mutter, deeply disconcerted by the images I¡¯m watching.

    ¡°You want to see when you go inside the building?¡± Ozana asks quietly. She seems uncharacteristically solemn. ¡°We don¡¯t scry inside patient rooms, for obvious privacy reasons, but we have the lobby and hallway covered.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re acting like I¡¯m not going to like what I see,¡± I reply. My right hand clenches and unclenches, not because I¡¯m gearing up for a fight, but because I feel like I¡¯m going to explode from the conflicted feelings of shame and anger. I could have seriously injured someone with the discharge of mana alone, based on its intensity.

    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± Ozana says frankly.

    I nod jerkily, taking a moment to compose myself. ¡°Thanks for the honesty. But I need to know. I can¡¯t hide from the truth forever.¡±

    Ozana shrugs. ¡°Your friend was in danger. I can¡¯t fault you for caring. I¡¯d use whatever was at my disposal, too.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t seem to like it when I threatened you in the hot shop,¡± I point out.

    She chuckles. ¡°Certainly not,¡±

    ¡°What would have happened if I¡¯d pushed the matter? Would you have protected your investment? Or cut ties?¡±

    ¡°Not sure,¡± Ozana admits.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope you never have to find out,¡± I murmur, more sure than ever that cutting out my connection to the higher-order concept was the right call.

    ¡°You seem different,¡± Ozana remarks. ¡°Sorted out your inner demons?¡±

    I shuffle in place, considering how much I want to tell her about what I did. ¡°Let¡¯s hope. Show me the next image.¡±

    ¡°As you command, Master Nuri!¡± Ozana says, smirking at me when my discomfort at her treatment is plain on my face. ¡°Listen. Try not to take it too hard. You¡¯re a good sort. I can feel it in my bones.¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    I grunt non-committedly, bracing myself for what I¡¯m about to witness. Whatever shows up, it can¡¯t be much worse than how I looked outside the Menders building. Can it?

    Ozana twists a dial, and the image reverses. She waits a moment, then nods and lets it play forward again. Lionel¡¯s huddled form takes up a portion of the scrying mirror. Menders of all different specializations¡ªbased on the insignias on their uniforms¡ªbustle around him. Wisps of mana visible to the naked eye cover him as they try to help, but each time, it only accelerates the damage he takes from [Lady] Saphora¡¯s dreadful reversed healing Skill.

    Eventually, the rush of people slows, and only a single Mender remains. She bites her lip, patting his forehead with a damp cloth while conversing with Melina. I can¡¯t hear what they were discussing, since the scrying system doesn¡¯t seem to pick up sound, but it¡¯s clear that the woman wasn¡¯t giving up easily.

    The image flashes white again before blacking out entirely. It comes back a few seconds later, and the Mender backs away from Lionel, her eyes wide in terror. Down the hall from her, a blurred image shows up in the scrying image, distorted by a thundercloud of mana that prevents the enchanted scrying spell from properly functioning. Rage twists the man¡¯s features, making the visage almost unrecognizable. He looks like an avenging wraith from beyond the Rifts.

    With a sinking feeling in my gut, I realize it¡¯s me. I¡¯m the scary monster, like an avatar of death incarnate. No wonder the Mender called for security. I don¡¯t know how she managed to even answer my questions; everyone else in the hall is quailing in fear, fleeing before the [Mage] turns violent.

    ¡°I¡¯m . . . not usually like that,¡± I breathe out, suddenly consumed by a desire to explain myself to Ozana. There¡¯s something about the ¡°I mean, not anymore. I, well, I¡¯m¡ªbetter now.¡±

    ¡°I believe you, Master Nuri. I wouldn¡¯t have met with you if I didn¡¯t think that. But I am intrigued to know how a Master craftsman gains such an incredible advanced battle fury. You¡¯re no stranger to violence.¡±

    I flinch at her words. She couldn¡¯t have known about my connection to violence. Could she? Is she intentionally provoking me to fish for more information? I put aside the paranoid thoughts and steel myself. I straighten, looking her in the eyes, and offer a sad smile.

    ¡°You¡¯re correct. Violence has been a constant companion for the last few years. I¡¯ve had to do things I¡¯m not proud of just to survive. But I¡¯ve turned over a new leaf.¡±

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s entitled to a fresh start,¡± Ozana says, holding my gaze with an expression that¡¯s surprisingly tender. She looks almost grandmotherly at that moment. ¡°Learning from our mistakes is one of the greatest things about being human. Don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not only humans who know how to learn and grow,¡± I muse, thinking back to my time undersea with the Yathawn. ¡°But I hear what you¡¯re saying. I appreciate the encouragement.¡±

    Ozana¡¯s eyes crinkle as she smiles. She fiddles with the knobs, and the scene changes abruptly, moving away from my horrifying anger to show an ornate door outside the Menders main building. Tall gates tipped with spikes tell a tale of more intense security than at the front entrance, which immediately piques my interest.

    The gates swing halfway open, just wide enough to admit a carriage. It¡¯s plain and rather unremarkable, to the point where my eyes keep sliding away from it. I shake my head, squinting at the effects of an enchantment so powerful that it warps the scrying and affects me through the image replay. Whoever¡¯s inside the carriage must be someone significant to warrant this kind of costly transportation.

    When the carriage door opens, an honor guard disembarks first, taking up positions on either side of the folding stairs. Heavily armed and armored, they¡¯re menacing even through the scrying spell, radiating a sense of solidity and strength. I wouldn¡¯t want to tangle with them if I didn¡¯t have to; they¡¯re a clear cut above the other [Guards] at the Menders.

    Once the area is secured, one of the [Guards] knocks on the side of the door. A veiled figure emerges from within the carriage, lifting up the hem of her skirts as she glides down the folding stairs with dainty steps. Her clothing is immaculate, all white with gold embroidery, and shines like the sun in contrast to the dull, muted black of the carriage¡¯s drab appearance.

    Three high-ranking Menders, decked out in the emblems of their order, rush out of the large ornamental door that I first noticed when Ozana changed up the image on the burnished mirror. One of them opens the door ahead of the veiled figure. The other two sink down on their knees, reaching out and taking the newcomer¡¯s hands between their own and pressing their lips to the heavy rings on her hands.

    They all disappear inside the building shortly thereafter, accompanied by one of the big [Guards] in full plate. The remaining [Guard] continues to scan the courtyard, though the scrying cuts out a minute later when Ozana swipes the controls and the image disappears. Now only a bronze mirror hangs in front of me. If not for the practice I¡¯ve gained through constant analysis via my [Arcane Domain], I¡¯d have no idea that I was looking at anything special. It doesn¡¯t even seem enchanted at first glance.

    ¡°Who was that?¡± I ask, confused at what I just saw. That had nothing to do with my freak out and stand-off with Mender security.

    Ozana waves me off, sighing dramatically. ¡°Oops! That¡¯s not you. Someone just arrived at the Menders campus. I got distracted and took a peek. Silly me! Alas, client confidentiality forbids me from saying anything further.¡±

    ¡°We both know that you¡¯re too skilled with that system for any accidents,¡± I mutter.

    My powerful patron shakes her head sharply, cutting me off. ¡°You know I can¡¯t tell you. Now, how about we take a look at the runes powering the alarms and scrying systems? Your friend the [Researcher] seems interested in this sort of innovative, cutting-edge enchantments and applied spellwork. Maybe you could sell him on signing on here to work for us?¡±

    ¡°You picked an excellent bribe to distract me,¡± I say, not sure if it¡¯s a compliment or a complaint. She¡¯s entirely too perceptive. ¡°Lead on. Let¡¯s see what the best and brightest of Gilead have to offer in the way of runic arrays. They¡¯re something of a speciality for my team, so I¡¯m curious to see how your runic engineers measure up.¡±

    ¡°Is that a Class you¡¯re familiar with? How exciting! I¡¯ve never met someone with with such an exotic skillset. Are you sure you¡¯ll understand the inner workings?¡± Ozana teases. ¡°Maybe we should wait until your teammate can join us. I wouldn¡¯t want your exclusive look to go to waste, after all. It¡¯s not often that we let someone see our proprietary secrets.¡±

    From anyone else, I¡¯d find the attempt at digging into my secrets insulting. Maybe even downright hostile. Yet something tells me that Ozana means it when she promises that we¡¯re working together toward a common goal. She profits when I¡¯m happy. If that means bending the rules a bit for me, so be it. I have to admit, I don¡¯t hate being on the receiving end of this kind of blatant favoritism for once.

    ¡°I¡¯ll manage,¡± I say dryly.

    ¡°So talented,¡± Ozana says, her eyes sparkling. I can almost hear the sound of gold coins clinking together in her imagination as she looks at me. ¡°Side room. Through this door.¡±

    I¡¯m still turning over her words from earlier and considering why she¡¯d show me the obviously wealthy woman and her retinue of well-equipped [Guards]. My eyes widen as a new thought occurs to me. The only person treated like such royalty among the Menders is likely to be the [Headmistress] herself. I clamp my mouth shut, not speaking aloud just in case the Orpheus House has scrying wards in their alarm room¡ªI would, if I designed the place¡ªand instead I bow stiffly in thanks.

    ¡°I will remember this.¡±

    A brilliant smile flashes across Ozana¡¯s face. When she speaks, her voice is as playful as ever. ¡°What, my clumsy fingers? That¡¯s no way to treat your elders. How unflattering!¡±

    ¡°Shameless old woman,¡± I mutter, but she only grins and leads me to another locked door. This one is heavier than the other, reinforced with manasteel bands and covered in nasty looking enchantments that probably carry enough force to kill me with a blast of lightning if I try to force my way inside.

    Ozana smoothly spins the bracelet on her wrist, and the door unlatches. Once again, I find myself following Ozana through a door that¡¯s supposed to be locked. The warnings on this are even more ominous sounding than on the entrance to the main alarm and scrying room, which tips me off that I¡¯ll probably see something immensely valuable. I¡¯m hoping that my time investigating another way to scry will help fill in the missing details of how Azariah displayed images in his smoke. I wish I¡¯d been able to get a closer look back then.

    On the other side of the door, I¡¯m amazed to find that the room is only about two or three paces across, and about as many long. The walls and floor are bare, bereft of any furniture or decoration. Only a large, square table that takes up most of the space is present. It¡¯s brimming over with enchantments and control wards, most far too small and intricate to make out, and I see at once why it¡¯s supposed to be under constant lock and key.

    Immediately, I activate the analysis portion of [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], scanning the arrays to get a sense of the constituent runes that make up the spells. While the [Enchanters] in charge of configuring the scrying weren¡¯t runic experts, like the name of the made-up Class I mentioned to Ozana, they¡¯d clearly used an excellent template to imprint the Skills of a scrying expert. Perhaps some noble house¡¯s spymaster?

    Greed rises to the surface, and I memorize as many of the runes as I can. I don¡¯t dare write them down, in case I¡¯m ever searched or questioned. Memory will have to do for now. In the future, I can share with Rakesh and he can break them down and standardize them for his graduation thesis. When he publishes a runic dictionary someday, he¡¯ll be famous throughout all of Densmore¡ªand beyond.

    I snort softly. Someday far in the future, after we make good use of all the valuable runes for ourselves. We¡¯ll have to obfuscate our tracks so that when people accuse us of stealing secrets from them, we¡¯ll point out that they don¡¯t have any real evidence. Or maybe we can just become powerful enough that no one will bother us. If we¡¯re all well into the Second Threshold, then even major institutions like the Menders or the Orpheus House will have to think twice about challenging our findings in court. It¡¯s an uncomfortably pragmatic thought, but I can¡¯t deny that might often makes right.

    ¡°Ah, Laitu is coming back. We should probably vacate the premises,¡± I inform Ozana, thankful for a distraction from troubling thoughts.

    Ozana sighs. ¡°Shame. You¡¯ve barely had a chance to compare how your masterwork stacks up against this one.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll live. It¡¯s been an instructive visit, as always,¡± I say, all too aware of how deeply I¡¯m indebting myself to her. I don¡¯t want to always skirt the rules, especially not if someone else is aware of it. I¡¯m in the process of stealing runes from the Orpheus, at the invitation of one of their founding partners. If that¡¯s not leverage, then I don¡¯t know what is.

    To my great relief, Ozana doesn¡¯t argue with me any further. She seems to trust my claim that I can sense mana signatures, even at a distance, and leads the way out of the two rooms. Instead of returning to Laitu¡¯s fifth-floor offices, we head down to the front doors, where Ozana makes a show of thanking me for lending my glass-making talents to their showroom. Her voice carries so that everyone can hear.

    She waxes eloquent about how much prestige I¡¯ll bring to the Orpheus thanks to my masterworks¡ªwhich causes more than a few heads to turn our way. I smile and nod at each of the people who mark me out, but inwardly I¡¯m groaning.

    Sneaky saleswoman!

    As we approach the exit, I thank Ozana profusely for her kindness, and promise loudly that I¡¯ll be back soon to create another imbued masterpiece for their most discerning customers, which sets off another wave of excited whispers. That seems to satisfy her, and she sees me off with a wave and a wink.

    I chuckle at her showy tactics as I depart the Orpheus and begin the trek toward the Menders. A flash of white in the corner of my vision catches my attention, and I grin as I realize that it¡¯s a paper bird. I motion it closer, and Rakesh¡¯s little creation flits over to land in my palm. I lean in and whisper that I¡¯m coming to visit soon, and that I have a plan.

    Who knows if others are eavesdropping, so I don¡¯t use the communication Skill to tell Rakesh what I¡¯ve uncovered. Even so, hope makes my heart beat faster. If Lionel is going to survive, then he needs a miracle. Thankfully, one may have just shown up.

    Now we need to find a way to earn an audience with the [Headmistress] and request that she uses the fabled Azure Rod to work wonders. If its healing magic can¡¯t restore my best friend to full health again, then nothing can.

    There¡¯s just one problem. Why is she hiding the fact she¡¯s back in town?

 Book Six Chapter Twelve

    Halfway to the Menders campus, I smack myself in the forehead when I realize that I skipped the hot shop. Groaning softly in chagrin, I continue on my way. Making a new set of glasses for the inn will have to wait for another day. The news of the [Headmistress]¡¯s return to Gilead takes precedence over my pet projects.

    Lost in thought, I barely take in my surroundings. The hour-long trip goes by in a flash, although it¡¯s frustrating that the inn, the Orpheus House, and the Menders campus are all so far apart. Maybe we should get new lodgings right in between them?

    C¡¯mon, Nuri. Focus, I tell myself. That will have to wait for another day.

    The first hint that I¡¯ve arrived at my destination comes in the form of a familiar mana signature moving back and forth at the edge of my Domain. I crack a smile. Rakesh is waiting for me, and from the quick, cyclical path of his energy, he¡¯s pacing. That probably means something is bothering him.

    I pick up the pace, jogging until I¡¯ve got a visual on the gangly [Researcher]. Just as I thought, he¡¯s pacing in circles while surrounded by a flock of folded paper birds. Easily two dozen of them flutter around him, making him look like he¡¯s caught in his own personal blizzard.

    With a precise activation of will and intent, I send out a gentle pulse of power through my Domain to catch his attention. He brightens immediately, waving in greeting as he turns and picks me out of the crowd.

    Thankfully, I don¡¯t set off any alarms while using my Domain this time; it would be embarrassing if I triggered another set of panic responses from the Orpheus alarm system. Ozana would never let me hear the end of it.

    Despite Rakesh¡¯s gesticulations urging me closer, I shuffle to a stop at a respectful distance from the Menders. Craning my neck for a better view, I look up at the row of tall buildings across the street from the Menders to try to pinpoint the scrying enchantments that feed into the alarm system. My natural eyes can¡¯t seem to pick out any anomalies, so I tentatively extend my [Arcane Domain], letting its sensitive field sweep the area.

    Gotcha! Well hidden.

    Whoever installed the system did an exceptional job. Overkill, really. They¡¯ve warded the entire system to fend off prying eyes, and based on the difficulty I¡¯ve had finding the sensor even though I knew where to look, not many people in the city are likely to possess the extraordinary mana sensitivity required to locate it. It wasn¡¯t arrogance at play when I told Ozana that my mana senses were likely unrivaled in Gilead. I haven¡¯t met anyone else with a Domain here, and there¡¯s not much of an [Inquisitor] presence based on Rakesh¡¯s intel report.

    Now that I¡¯ve located the sensors, I know my limits. I drift a few steps closer, but take care to stay just out of the scrying sightlines, wary about the two guardians I spotted in the scene that Ozana ¡°accidentally¡± showed me at the end of my visit. I have no desire to tangle with multiple Second Threshold fighters¡ªand there¡¯s zero doubt in my mind that the [Headmistress] employs the toughest bodyguards in town. Lionel needs help. If I antagonize the leader of the entire Menders order on her own grounds, I can¡¯t imagine it will end well for any of us.

    I frown. Part of me wonders what Ozana¡¯s game is. Why give away such valuable information for free? She¡¯s been generous to me, and my instincts tell me that I can trust her contracts due to the mutually-beneficial outcomes, but she¡¯s not exactly running a charity. That tells me that she either wants to hold this over my head as a bargaining chip, or that she has some kind of ulterior motive that I¡¯m playing right into by running back to the Menders campus. Neither proposition makes me particularly happy.

    As astute as ever, Rakesh seems to pick up on the idea that I¡¯m hesitant to approach the building. He hurries over to greet me in person, trailing his paper birds in a row behind him like little ducklings following their mother. I snicker at the mental image, but I keep the thought to myself and settle for a wave.

    ¡°Nuri! Glad to see you¡¯re looking better.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. I needed to sleep,¡± I reply. While I¡¯m eager to share what I¡¯ve learned about the possibility of a corrupted concept, I don¡¯t want to talk about it out in the open. It¡¯s too dangerous to discuss in public.

    He gives me a funny look, but thankfully doesn¡¯t indulge his ever-burning curiosity. I know it¡¯s difficult for him to hold back. ¡°Yes. Well, it may be too little, too late. The Menders are still talking about not offending the terrifying combat [Mage] in case he¡¯s out for blood. The security team wants you arrested, by the way. I told them that they wouldn¡¯t be the first to toss you in jail, but not to worry: you¡¯re more or less harmless. Mostly. They didn¡¯t seem to appreciate the humor.¡±

    I smack his shoulder. ¡°Hey! You¡¯re making my job difficult!¡±

    ¡°Nuri, you do that all by yourself.¡±

    ¡°Since when did you get so snarky?¡± I ask, laughing despite myself. Rakesh is usually more reserved in his communication, but it¡¯s not the first time he¡¯s caught me off guard with an excellent line. When he unleashes a zinger, it¡¯s almost impossible to come up with a good comeback.

    ¡°Long days and too much stress will do that to you,¡± he replies gravely, although a mote of amusement still lights up his eyes. ¡°Thankfully, I¡¯m a bit less stressed after you came through with an entire box of mana draughts. Your dedication to the cause seemed to sway the Mender decision makers, since they approved the miracle potion as well. I was going to notify you, but I sent out a bird too late. Lionel¡¯s not cured, but he¡¯s stable. As long as no one casts healing magic on him, he¡¯s out of danger.¡±

    I heave a shaky sigh as the knot in my chest loosens a bit, and manage to muster up a tight smile. ¡°Is he conscious?¡±

    ¡°In and out. Lucid moments are rare.¡± Rakesh hesitates for a tense moment. He clicks his tongue. ¡°They won¡¯t let you back in, Nuri. I can arrange for paired songbirds if you¡¯d like to speak with Lionel the next time he¡¯s awake.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Rakesh,¡± I say quietly, and he seems relieved that I don¡¯t push the issue. I guess I haven¡¯t been the most reliable friend lately if they¡¯re worried about my outbursts when they deliver bad news.

    I try to break up the tension by grinning at Rakesh. ¡°My dedication convinced them, huh? Sure the extravagant banknote didn¡¯t do that?¡±

    ¡°They are an ancient and venerable institution, Nuri! How dare you accuse them of mere mercantilism. Profiteering off other¡¯s suffering is a despicable charge,¡± Rakesh says, his voice dripping with mockery.

    ¡°I see you¡¯re susceptible to mind magic,¡± I reply in an equally sarcastic voice. ¡°They¡¯ve gotten to you.¡±

    ¡°It may also have been the fear of retribution,¡± Rakesh says, dropping the teasing tone. ¡°Mender security is under the impression that you¡¯re a combat [Mage] who¡¯s achieved the Second Threshold. I may have contributed to them laboring under that delusion.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re entirely too sneaky,¡± I murmur. ¡°Remind me never to get on your bad side.¡±

    He raises a delicate eyebrow and regards me with a haughty countenance. ¡°Implying you were ever on my good side?¡±

    When I laugh, he nods in approval. ¡°Good. Ava said you¡¯d had a wake-up call, but I was unconvinced. You seem more like your old self again. Truly, you put on a terrifying display.¡±

    I lean in closer. A rush of excitement makes the words come out in a rushed jumble as I whisper what I discovered about my strange compulsions due to the influence of an unusual form of violence. I¡¯m about to keep going when I glance back up at the scrying sensors and growl in frustration. ¡°Can¡¯t say more here. I¡¯ll tell you later.¡±

    Rakesh dutifully scribbles down every word, his mana pen blurring faster than I¡¯ve ever seen. He flips the paper over and sketches a hasty rune. Silence.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    I nod. We¡¯re on the same page there. We won¡¯t discuss this further, not until he can invert his [Echoes of the Songbird] Skill and we¡¯re certain that no one is eavesdropping. Something I said seems to have shaken him to the core, and I don¡¯t think it¡¯s just my revelation that I was afflicted by a twisted version of violence. No, I¡¯ve seen that look on him before. Whatever inspired his imagination and prompted him to tell me to quiet down, I¡¯ll bet it¡¯s big. Earth-shattering. Paradigm-destroying.

    Then I chuckle weakly as realization dawns. Or maybe I¡¯m just a loudmouth.

    =+=

    Suitably inspired by my promise of new information, Rakesh manages to convince everyone to return to the inn. We haven¡¯t had a team meeting in a while, so it will be good to get on the same page with everyone. Predictably, the Linas refused at first; they didn¡¯t want to leave Lionel alone in case he woke up. Melina eventually caved when I pointed out how much better I feel after a break, and her twin sister followed her lead once Mender Uttara vowed to stay in Lionel¡¯s room day and night and ensure that he came to no harm.

    Walking together with the team feels right. I¡¯ve missed this. More at peace than I¡¯ve felt in months, I enjoy the sights and sounds of the sprawling, bustling city preparing for twilight. Marketplaces don¡¯t close at nightfall in Gilead. If anything, they pick up the pace as the night market begins. It reminds me a bit of Halmuth, although this city is easily a few dozen times larger.

    Our return takes less time than usual. I slow down at the end of the walk, eyes closed, and luxuriate in the sense of inner quiet. Ahead, I sense my friends entering the building. They drag themselves up the stairs, no doubt eager for a proper night¡¯s sleep.

    My friends seem guarded and weary, but otherwise in good spirits. All things considered, they¡¯re hanging on pretty well. Mana coils through my muscles and propels me forward at break-neck speed so that I¡¯m not left entirely behind. A short sprint brings me to the entryway of our temporary home, and I jog up the steps to join the team mere seconds after they slump into their seats, bursting into the room with a gust of wind thanks to the speed of my movement.

    My sudden appearance in the doorway stirs up shouts of fear that quickly transform into excitement. Rakesh and Melina are particularly intrigued, no doubt owing to their more advanced mana perception skills. Or, perhaps, because I told Rakesh that I had important news to share. I wonder briefly if they sense a much higher amount of pressure radiating off me thanks to my new Class.

    ¡°Nuri! When did you get so fast?¡± my brother asks, clutching a hand to his chest as though he¡¯s recovering from a near-fatal scare. ¡°One second you were gone, and then¡ªpoof! Here you are!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t sound so surprised. You know I regained my mana,¡± I say, downplaying how quickly I moved. It¡¯s fun to mess with my brother.

    ¡°Yeah, but that was ghostly!¡±

    I grin impishly. ¡°A lot has changed. I guess I haven¡¯t had a chance to catch up, huh?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got stories to tell. My notebook is ready,¡± Rakesh says, peering at me as though he¡¯s examining an interesting new specimen in the laboratory. ¡°Let me set up my birds first. Then I want to hear everything.¡±

    From anyone else, I¡¯d find the insistence on digging into my secrets insulting or even scary. Since it¡¯s Rakesh, and not Scalpel or someone else equally deranged, I simply shake with silent laughter and fail to hide a smile. ¡°You better get your pen and paper for this one. If these strange events didn¡¯t happen to me directly, I don¡¯t think I would have believed them.¡±

    A few quick hand shapes later, Rakesh¡¯s birds flutter to each corner of the room. I watch in fascination as mana weaves between them, setting up an ethereal barrier to keep the sound in and prying eyes out. I wonder if it works against scrying, too. I doubt it, based on the runes that comprise the Skill, but it¡¯s worth considering an upgrade for Rakesh if I can improve with rune editing.

    I take a quick sip of water and then stride to the center of the room, facing my team as they make themselves comfortable on the couches and seats. ¡°I have two pieces of big news to share. First, though¡ªand far less important¡ªI upgraded my Class.¡±

    ¡°You what!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s less important?¡±

    ¡°Told you. Pay up!¡±

    Rakesh, Melina, and Mikko all erupt at once, talking over each other. The two more scholarly members of my team are practically vibrating with curiosity. My brother smirks, a smug look on his face as he holds out his hand toward Avelina. She rolls her eyes and flips a coin toward him.

    I bow slightly. ¡°I¡¯m a [Glass Mage] now. Guess Azariah saw it coming, since he always called me a [Mage]. Anyway! That hardly matters at the moment,¡± I say as casually as I can. I can¡¯t help but grin as my friends shout in disbelief and excitement, with Rakesh half rising out of his seat. He¡¯s so worked up that he drops his pen, letting the condensed mana dissipate into nothingness.

    ¡°Second, I figured out what was causing me to act so erratic lately,¡± I say.

    ¡°Lately?¡± Mikko echoes, sticking out his tongue in payback.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Get your jollies in. I discovered that it was my connection to violence. Remember the creepy enchantments in the Rift at the Old Keep? Well, the corruption I felt back then somehow spread to the concept I absorbed. I had to excise it completely to be rid of the compulsion.¡±

    ¡°Alone? That doesn¡¯t seem wise,¡± Melina says, her brow furrowing. ¡°What if you¡¯d damaged your core again in the process? You need to be more careful, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you,¡± Avelina cuts in. She slips out of her chair and comes over to give me a rib-crushing hug. ¡°I¡¯ve missed my friend.¡±

    ¡°Can you still fight?¡± Mikko asks. His harsh question interrupts the moment I¡¯m having with Avelina; she returns to his side. He¡¯s leaning back in the chair, arms crossed, and seems far less impressed by my decision than the others. ¡°What if violence is why you were able to overcome [Lady] Saphora? We¡¯re not out of danger yet.¡±

    I swallow hard. ¡°I¡¯ve considered that. I may need to meditate on the meaning of violence, but I¡¯m worried that my understanding of the concept has been forever shaped by the tainted version. I can¡¯t make that part of my identity again. I can¡¯t. It almost destroyed me, Mikko.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± he says softly, letting out a heavy sigh. ¡°It was selfish of me to ask. I¡¯m just¡ªscared.¡±

    His admission brings me up short. My brother¡¯s one of the most stalwart people I know. If the situation with the Menders and Lionel is getting to him, then it¡¯s no wonder that I¡¯ve been so on edge.

    ¡°I think so. I¡¯m stronger than ever. And I haven¡¯t fully tested the limits of my golems. [Glass Animation] should be far more powerful now that I¡¯ve incorporated elements of the [Mage] class into [Glassworker]. I¡¯m confident that my decentralized fighting style will be hard to counter.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. Forgive me for asking,¡± Mikko says, slumping a bit. He looks haggard after pushing so hard for so long. I don¡¯t blame him.

    Avelina wraps her arms around him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He melts toward her, seeming to take comfort from her support.

    ¡°We¡¯re in this together,¡± I remind him. ¡°It was a good question.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out,¡± Rakesh says with far more confidence than I feel. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear of your ultimate victory over the tainted barbs in your soul, but I¡¯m mostly curious how they corrupted the concept in the first place¡ªand whether or not we can follow in their footsteps.¡±

    ¡°Uhh . . . that doesn¡¯t seem wise,¡± I say hesitantly, staring at Rakesh with unease. ¡°I just got rid of one corrupted concept. Why would I want to ruin others?¡±

    His face grows grim. ¡°I¡¯m not talking about you, Nuri. I¡¯m considering if we can use it against future enemies that would otherwise be more powerful than we are. Imagine if we twist their own higher-order concepts against them?¡±

    ¡°You want to weaponize intent? Yes! We could turn their power against them,¡± I say as I realize the potential. ¡°Look into that. Who knows what your research might uncover.¡±

    ¡°A worthy challenge,¡± Rakesh replies, a hint of a smile on his lips. ¡°Melina, I shall require your assistance, if you have time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d have insisted on helping if you didn¡¯t ask,¡± Melina replies with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She slides her own sheet of paper next to the [Researcher]¡¯s, and they prepare to go over notes together.

    ¡°Focus, everyone!¡± I call out, interrupting them before they got too tied up in their scholarly arts. Those two could get lost in a book in the middle of a battlefield.

    ¡°Oh, right. You cited three items on the agenda. I suppose this discovery will have to wait,¡± Rakesh says, disappointment obvious in his tone.

    ¡°The third bit of information is by far the most urgent,¡± I shoot back. ¡°Thanks to our patron at the Orpheus, I¡¯ve learned that the [Headmistress] of the Menders just got back in town. She¡¯s by far our best bet to help Lionel. We need to come up with a way to gain an audience with her.¡±

    Melina groans, putting her face in her hands and resting her elbows on the table.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Mel?¡± I ask.

    ¡°She¡¯s almost impossible to pin down, Nuri!¡± Melina all but wails. ¡°Meetings with her are scheduled out a couple years in advance from what I¡¯ve heard. There¡¯s no guarantee that Lionel lives that long, even if we do make it onto the wait list.¡±

    That sets off a ripple of intense whispers and pointed looks, and I wait a moment for the susurrus to die down before I continue speaking, a plan forming in my mind. ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right, Mel. We can¡¯t afford to take that risk. And that¡¯s precisely why we¡¯re going to cheat.¡±

 Book Six Chapter Thirteen

    The worst part about making dramatic statements is that I have to follow up with something suitably clever. I¡¯m not sure my plan to cheat qualifies as smart, let alone clever. All the same, my teammates trust me. It¡¯s a lot of pressure, but I¡¯m going to do my best to live up to their expectations.

    The next morning, after breakfast, I drum my fingers on the table, considering all the facets of the plan I just outlined to them. Maybe I should check that everyone has a clear understanding of what¡¯s going on. ¡°Mikko, you sure that you can get your boss on board? I¡¯m worried that¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. I got it, Nuri.¡±

    I puff out my cheeks, then let out the air in a slow, steady stream. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m kinda worked up. You¡¯ll do great.¡±

    ¡°My part is also accounted for. Thrice over,¡± Rakesh assures me, an arch to his eyebrow that not so subtly conveys his amusement.

    ¡°Linas?¡± I ask.

    ¡°All set,¡± Avelina says, smirking.

    Melina settles for a more dignified nod. She leans forward, reaching across the table to place a comforting hand on my forearm. ¡°This will work. It¡¯s a good idea. We know what to do, so trust us.¡±

    With one last gentle squeeze, she releases my arm and returns to her upright posture, once more prim and proper. Even so, her vote of confidence means a lot.

    I slap my hand down on the table in excitement. Conviction lends volume to my words, and I practically shout, ¡°All right. Let¡¯s go!¡±

    At my over-eager prompting, we each depart for our various jobs and responsibilities: Mikko returns to the automated metalworking shop, the Linas resume their posts at Lionel¡¯s side, and Rakesh is practically a permanent fixture in the library while he¡¯s researching whatever esoteric knowledge he¡¯s interested in lately, along with looking into an assortment of Gilead¡¯s bylaws at my request. As for me, I get back to glass-making at the Orpheus.

    The next few days pass by in a blur as we prepare to put my multi-part plan into action. Once I explained what I had in mind, they were all in. I just hope I don¡¯t let them down.

    I spend most of my prep time at the Orpheus. In the mornings, I create imbued pieces for sale. We need more funds. In the afternoons I¡¯m free to explore my own projects. Lately, that means more specialized golems based on the scrying sensors. And in the evenings, I meet with Ozana and work out the details of the scrying system, or at least the parts she knows about. My questions are getting more and more pointed about how the runes work, operational practices, and who repairs the system when it breaks down. It¡¯s hard not to tell her everything, but I don¡¯t want to implicate her, or to give her too much leverage over us if things go sideways.

    The less she knows about my audacious con, the better. I can¡¯t lie to myself, though; she is too smart not to figure it out. Unfortunately, it¡¯s not going to be terribly difficult for her to put the pieces together. When the alarms start coming in, she will instantly have a primary suspect: me.

    Returning to our inn late at night a few days after our initial brainstorming session, I¡¯m struck again by how much time I waste just walking around in Gilead. It¡¯s a sprawling metropolis, far bigger than we realized when we first booked the current inn, and spending more than two hours a day commuting to and from work isn¡¯t remotely unusual from what the workers at the Orpheus tell me. Still, it grates on me that I¡¯m so inefficient with my time. All I can do is think while I walk, and I¡¯d rather talk with my team and hear their ideas than come up with my own scatterbrained schemes.

    Gratitude and relief wells up within me when I sense my team inside the inn through my Domain. Thanks to another late night strategy session, the rest of the team beat me back to the inn, but they¡¯re still waiting for me.

    I run up the stairs and wave to my friends, happy to be back at our temporary home base. ¡°Everyone doing all right?¡±

    ¡°Hi, Nuri. Holding on,¡± Avelina says.

    ¡°Better than that. Lionel shows slight signs of improvement,¡± Melina reports, glowing as she goes over the magical health readings that the Menders update each day on Lionel¡¯s patient charts. ¡°They don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll wake up anytime soon, but he¡¯s more or less stabilized thanks to the miracle potion. His body is slowly healing on its own.¡±

    ¡°So we have time to get on the waitlist after all?¡± Mikko asks. He leans forward, resting his muscular forearms on the edge of the table. His weight makes the table creak, but it holds.

    Rakesh hums thoughtfully. ¡°Perhaps, but I strongly recommend that you don¡¯t leave things up to chance. Nuri¡¯s idea is sound. For once.¡±

    ¡°Good to see you, too, Rakesh. You¡¯ve really taken up Lionel¡¯s role as the prankster in his absence,¡± I say with a faint smile. His humor has gotten more acerbic lately, but he¡¯s doing a great job walking a fine line between being insulting and keeping our spirits up. He probably has it all calculated in his notebook. That¡¯s the kind of fine science he excels at.

    On a whim, I decide to ask him about my latest pet peeve. ¡°Hey, how much time do you spend traveling to the library each day?¡±

    Rakesh glances at the ceiling while he counts. ¡°At least seventy-three minutes, and that¡¯s on a good day. Once, I was jostling for position with [Merchant] carts and took a full two hours to arrive. Depending on how many pedestrians clog up the roads, it¡¯s usually around an hour and a half. I¡¯ve taken to leaving at odd hours to beat the rush.¡±

    I stroke my beard as I consider our options. ¡°Hmm, about what I thought. I¡¯d like to propose that we look into moving our location. We¡¯re wasting way too much time traveling to and from our various activities. Plus, I¡¯m worried that the timing will be tough if we¡¯re spread so far across the city when we enact our plan. Rakesh¡¯s birds can only cover so much territory.¡±

    ¡°Good luck finding something we can afford,¡± Melina interjects, scowling. ¡°Remember why we picked this place? We can actually pay for it. The prices are outrageous further into the city. We have no shot at anything in the Menders district.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but that was before we had a buyer for my imbued glass,¡± I say. ¡°Surely we¡¯ve got more disposable income now.¡±

    Avelina shrugs. Predictably, she champions her sister¡¯s perspective. ¡°So? Who wants to waste money? Walking is good for you. Keeps you slim.¡±

    ¡°Counterpoint: we¡¯re rich,¡± I say.

    Mikko snickers, but a glance from Avelina shuts him up. He blushes, looking sheepish. Traitor! I accuse him cheerfully in my mind. I¡¯m happy for him, despite the teasing.

    ¡°Connected suites at a more centrally-located inn will still be painfully expensive. As our treasurer, I can¡¯t recommend that in good conscience,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°We¡¯re not so wealthy that we can afford to waste money.¡±

    Melina chews her lip, deep in thought. She finally sits up straight and folds her hands in her lap. ¡°I suppose we could ramp up glass production at the Orpheus. I¡¯m right on the cusp of imbuing. With some extra effort, I can probably break through soon. The corresponding uptick in proceeds might be enough to pay for better lodging.¡±

    ¡°If you bring me a batch of glass, then I can do some flamework in the Menders room while I¡¯m watching over Lionel,¡± Avelina suggests, but there¡¯s a note of uncertainty in her voice. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s an all right way to pass my time. You don¡¯t think that would be a problem, do you? I don¡¯t want to ignore him.¡±

    ¡°Nah, Lionel would probably be embarrassed to find out he¡¯s taking you away from your work. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be happy to know you¡¯re making things. He¡¯s always liked your flameworking pieces,¡± I say gently.

    ¡°Thanks, Nuri,¡± Avelina says. Her eyes shine with the shimmer of unshed tears, though unlike when I scared her at the Menders campus, this time they¡¯re because she¡¯s happy.

    A companionable silence descends on the small common room between our bedrooms. I close my eyes, enjoying my friends¡¯ nearness. I almost don¡¯t want to speak up and interrupt the good times and warm glow in my heart, but I know we have a lot to do. ¡°Well, now that we have a plan for lodging, let¡¯s turn our attention to our big project. How are preparations coming along?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re ready at the glass studio,¡± Melina says immediately, speaking up for the twins. The firm conviction in her tone leaves no room for argument or doubt, and Avelina nods along next to her.

    ¡°Yep,¡± Mikko agrees.

    I wait for him to elaborate, but he just shrugs his big shoulders. I guess that¡¯s as good as I¡¯m going to get.

    ¡°Ah, I suppose that I¡¯m as prepared for this caper as I¡¯ll ever be,¡± Rakesh says with a sigh of resignation. He also shrugs when I fix him with a serious stare, but doesn¡¯t say anything further. It must be a conspiracy to tease me with silence.

    ¡°All right. Let¡¯s get some rest,¡± I say, happy enough to shut up and turn in for the night. No point in dragging out a meeting if we¡¯re all on the same page.

    ¡°Oh! I just had an idea for how to solve our housing dilemma,¡± Rakesh says, bouncing to his feet. Apparently, he¡¯s willing and ready to extend the meeting for as long as humanly possible.

    Who does that? There¡¯s something not right in his head. No one likes meetings. No one!

    I suppress a groan, remind myself that I¡¯m trying to become a better leader, and give him an encouraging smile. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it! I¡¯m glad we¡¯re all contributing. I get too lost in my own head when it¡¯s just me.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not taking full advantage of your unique abilities, Nuri. Why bother to pay for a room when we can make our own for free?¡± Rakesh says.

    ¡°Uhh, none of us are [Builders],¡± I say, confused where this is going. Maybe I should have insisted that we all get some sleep, because I¡¯m not following his meaning.

    He looks at me smugly. ¡°Have you forgotten about your [Sanctuary of Glass] already?¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± I lie.

    ¡°Ha! You absolutely did. Remarkable. Anyway, I think I know just the spot for your next [Sanctuary],¡± Rakesh declares, revealing his proposal.

    I tug at my beard while I think, although I¡¯m more intrigued than I let on. ¡°Let me guess, this is connected to our surveillance plans?¡±

    ¡°Naturally. Ezio always taught me to accomplish as many goals as possible with each action I take,¡± Rakesh replies. ¡°It¡¯s simply more efficient.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± Mikko parrots in a falsetto voice, making Rakesh chuckle. He mimes wiping away a tear. ¡°Ah, our little [Researcher], all grown up. I¡¯m so proud of you! You¡¯ve come a long way.¡±

    ¡°From you, I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s a compliment,¡± Rakesh ripostes. ¡°All you¡¯ve succeeded in doing is convincing me that I should reevaluate my life.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s late. Let¡¯s stay on task,¡± I say.

    ¡°Very well. Tonight or tomorrow?¡±

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    I splutter for a moment, caught off guard. ¡°Wait, what?¡± Then it dawns on me and I do let out a groan after all. ¡°Oh. You want to go now. Where is this place, anyway? I hope you know what you¡¯re doing, Rakesh.¡±

    ¡°Better now than in the morning. We all have work to do tomorrow,¡± Rakesh replies in a matter of fact tone. ¡°This way, friends.¡±

    Rakesh pulls a slate-gray cloak over his black scholar robes and strides out the door. His long legs propel him down the hallway of the inn and out of sight before we all file into the hallway, but I track him effortlessly in my Domain. Without any mana restrictions, I can see much farther than ever before, and categorizing mana signatures feels trivial.

    Picking up the pace, I guide the team and soon catch up with Rakesh, although when we reach him, I¡¯m shocked to discover that I have trouble laying eyes on him. My gaze slides away, just like it used to with Mbukhe when his stealth Skill was activated. Still, thanks to my [Arcane Domain], we¡¯re able to follow him as he weaves through the packed streets of Gilead.

    We follow him across town, although some of my friends give me an odd look, since they can¡¯t seem to see him. I can see him, but only if I stare long and hard at the spot my Domain informs me that Rakesh occupies. Even then, I have to circulate my mana throughout my eyes and mind while I look. There¡¯s some kind of powerful mind magic at play to avert my eyes, but I don¡¯t see any new Skills when I View Rakesh¡¯s core space.

    Of course! It¡¯s his new cloak, I realize all at once. At first I assumed he wanted to be more stylish, but it seems obvious in retrospect. His growing connection with the [Inquisitors] must be paying off if they¡¯re loaning him powerful artifacts. I¡¯d love to get a closer look at the enchantments sewn into it. They must have been done by a high-level [Enchanter], since they¡¯re so small and subtle that I didn¡¯t even notice any interference in my Domain when Rakesh showed up with the cloak a few days earlier. I need to do a better job. My expanded senses are our first line of defense, after all.

    I¡¯ve been distracted, to be fair, but that could also get us in trouble. I need to keep sharp, especially for what¡¯s to come. Focusing on his new cloak is good practice.

    Our odd little procession finally reaches our destination about forty-five minutes later. My respect for the [Inquisitors] goes up another notch as I realize where we ended up after our walk through the night. We¡¯re only several streets over from the Menders campus. Following the faint trail left by Rakesh¡¯s mana signature, I pull aside a hanging board on a fence and duck into an abandoned lot with nothing but dirt and scraps of rusted metal tangled in a heap. If not for the practice of following Rakesh, I never would have noticed the gentle compulsion making me look away from the fence.

    How they found an empty lot in the middle of prime real estate is beyond me, but there¡¯s no arguing with facts. Professionalism at its finest, I guess. They¡¯ve clearly worked hard to both infiltrate Gilead and keep a low profile. Whenever things with [Lady] Saphora¡¯s shadowy cabal come to a head, we¡¯ll probably have more allies than I first realized. I hope.

    Rakesh materializes from thin air, making Mikko jump and let out an undignified squeal. Our [Researcher] is visible to our sight again after deactivating his cloak, and he indulges in a self-satisfied smirk at the reaction he garnered. ¡°I¡¯m not sure whether to be impressed that you can still track me, or disappointed that an artifact isn¡¯t more powerful. I thought I¡¯d lose you for sure in the press of the crowd.¡±

    ¡°I almost did,¡± I admit. ¡°That was impressive! You¡¯ll have to let me study the enchantment later. Maybe I can learn how to duplicate the spell impression.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Rakesh hedges.

    ¡°Let the man keep his secrets,¡± Avelina says with a laugh. ¡°You¡¯re just envious that you aren¡¯t the special one for once.¡±

    My face heats up before I draw away the warm rush of blood with a deft application of my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. I cough into my fist and try to change the subject, although I¡¯m embarrassed to admit Avelina hit the mark. ¡°So, this is where we¡¯re gonna set up camp?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you sure we can stay here, Rakesh?¡± Mikko asks, frowning as he glances around the abandoned lot. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly well developed, but I don¡¯t want to interfere with whoever owns the place. They won¡¯t be happy to discover vagrants have moved in.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think that will be a problem,¡± Rakesh says, waggling his eyebrows in what¡¯s probably supposed to be a mysterious manner.

    Avelina rolls her eyes. ¡°Of course. More of your undercover work.¡±

    ¡°Naturally. We¡¯ve found our [Inquisitor] contacts. Nuri will take it from here,¡± Rakesh says, a haughty timbre to his voice.

    ¡°I will?¡± I deadpan.

    ¡°You¡¯d better!¡± Rakesh says, scowling. ¡°I¡¯m already behind writing my treatise. As much as I enjoy occasional subterfuge, I have work to do. My academic career won¡¯t make itself.¡±

    I shrug one shoulder. ¡°Yeah, tell them I¡¯m ready to make contact. I doubt they¡¯re unaware of the connections we¡¯ve uncovered so far with [Lady] Saphora and her ilk. That¡¯s why they sent us to the Old Keep first, I¡¯ll wager. We still have to infiltrate the Menders, but we¡¯re getting close to making our move.¡±

    Melina smiles at our scholarly friend. ¡°This is perfect, Rakesh. Close to the Menders. Hidden. The [Inquisitors] picked a good spot. And best of all, it¡¯s free! We won¡¯t find a better spot, as far as I can tell.¡±

    ¡°Well said,¡± I chime in, nodding in approval. Melina echoed exactly what I was thinking. She¡¯s always been good at clearly articulating things. I work more on hunches than pure logic, so it¡¯s good to have her around.

    ¡°No more stalling. Build us a [Sanctuary]!¡± Rakesh says, gesturing around the empty lot grandly.

    I shuffle in place, trying to figure out the best approach to the problem. ¡°Uhh, I haven¡¯t raised a [Sanctuary of Glass] on my own. I never had the mana for it. Last time, I had to drain the entire Oletheros core. I definitely don¡¯t have that much inherent Capacity, even after my big upgrades.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna do great,¡± Mikko says, bumping me shoulder to shoulder. He can always tell when I¡¯m worried or feeling uncomfortable.

    ¡°Yeah, and we don¡¯t need a massive castle. The last one was immense. This is just for a few of us to stay temporarily,¡± Avelina reminds me.

    ¡°Right. Right! I can do this,¡± I say, working up my courage to try. The task feels daunting now that I¡¯m not borrowing power. What if I¡¯m not good enough on my own? There¡¯s only one way to find out.

    ¡°Go Nuri. I believe in you,¡± Rakesh says in a flat, sardonic tone. He pumps his fist in the air in the most lazy manner I¡¯ve ever seen from him, which earns a round of laughter and a grin from me. It was almost certainly a calculated move, since I feel better already. He¡¯s good at that.

    Raising a building using [Sanctuary of Glass] will take almost my entire mana pool, but I don¡¯t have anything else to do tonight. I can afford to spend all my energy and regenerate as I sleep. Worst case scenario, if I fail, we can fall back to the inn.

    Taking a deep breath, I block out all my distractions and doubts. I connect to the strange, recursive runic arrays that make up the enormous, intricate Skill, feeding it mana until I¡¯m about to pass out. I flare my [Greater Endurance] and [Lesser Resistance: Mental Strain], grateful for the borrowed Skills, and fend off the growing tinges of black spots at the edges of my vision.

    With one last surge of mana, I empty my entire pool, draining myself completely. A spike of pain pounds through my skull, but I push onward in grim satisfaction as the Skill initializes at last. It¡¯s incredibly mana-hungry, but I can do it. Barely.

    Guided by my intent and imagination, the potent mana merges with the ground in a burst of power that reminds me of [Vitrification], transmuting the dirt and debris into glass. Walls grow up from the ground right in front of my eyes, rising vertically to a bit under three times my height before curving in toward one another and melding into a smooth, curved dome.

    I collapse on my rear, panting as I take in the [Sanctuary] I¡¯ve created. It¡¯s certainly not a large structure. Barely larger than my small cabin at home, I reckon. Nevertheless, it looks like it will be roomy enough for us all to squeeze inside.

    ¡°Unnh,¡± I groan unintelligibly, my head resting against my hand. I swallow a few times and force moisture back into my mouth and tongue before I find my voice again. ¡°If [Sanctuary of Glass] ever ranks up, I can¡¯t imagine how much mana draw it will require. That was intense.¡±

    ¡°Better than sleeping in tents,¡± Rakesh quips with a wink, proving once and for all that bad company corrupts. He¡¯s more like Lionel than ever these days. Even as I groan at the pun, the thought makes me smile.

    I can¡¯t wait for the team to get back together again. If all goes to plan, then it shouldn¡¯t be long now. Soon, I tell myself hopefully. Soon.

    ¡°Hey, Nuri, I have a theory that I want you to try out if you¡¯re willing,¡± Melina says. When I nod, she continues, ¡°Try combining your Skills to create a doorway that can open on its own. [Glass Animation] can do so much more than give animals an ability to move, unless I¡¯m on the wrong track. You could key it to our mana signatures so we¡¯re always able to get inside, but a stranger will be locked out.¡±

    ¡°Oh, wow. That¡¯s a great idea, Mel. I gotta harvest mana first. I¡¯m out,¡± I say, glancing up and giving her a weary smile.

    ¡°Completely?¡± she says in surprise. ¡°Even with the massive amounts you have now?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Dry as a bone.¡±

    ¡°Whoa. Well, it can wait.¡±

    My forehead sinks back down, dropping into my palm. Through force of will, I shake off the feelings of drowsiness and stand up. ¡°Glad to hear that. [Sanctuary of Glass] is absolutely ridiculous. Without my restored core, I¡¯d never be able to use it at all.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to test your Capacity again when we¡¯re back at the SCA,¡± Rakesh suggests with far too much cheer. ¡°I¡¯ll bet you¡¯re past the First Threshold metrics. We¡¯ll almost definitely have to score you on the Second since you¡¯ll exceed the expected total.¡±

    I make a face. ¡°Pass. The mana control test is no fun at all. I can¡¯t believe you want to inflict it on me again, but you¡¯ve never once offered to our friends. What about Lionel and Ava? Shouldn¡¯t they get a chance to try it?¡±

    ¡°No thanks,¡± Avelina pipes up. ¡°Mel told me all about it when the two of you took it at the SCA. I don¡¯t need numbers to know I¡¯m awesome.¡±

    Mikko leans over and high-fives her. ¡°Numbers are for [Scholars]. We¡¯re busy doing way more important stuff.¡±

    ¡°Important stuff! How far would you have gotten without me?¡± Rakesh sputters, choking on his words in his outrage. ¡°Oh, how quickly you forget!¡±

    ¡°Fine. You do important stuff, too,¡± Mikko concedes, holding up his hands in surrender. ¡°I should say boring instead. No one can argue that.¡±

    ¡°I can argue!¡± Rakesh protests.

    ¡°Think you¡¯re alone there,¡± I say, only for Melina to shuffle over and stand next to him, crossing her arms and giving me an arch look. The two of them look so indignant that I can¡¯t help but chuckle.

    ¡°All right, well, you¡¯re a little touched in the head. We get it. But the rest of us are way less interested in numbers.¡±

    Mikko pats my back. ¡°You¡¯ve worked hard today. Let¡¯s go get some rest. We can argue about numbers in the morning.

    ¡°Thanks, Mikko,¡± I mumble, my voice suddenly thick with gratitude and exhaustion in equal measures. I beckon for the team to join me in exploring our new home. I walk over to my glass Sanctuary, sliding a gleaming glass door out of the way so that the rest of them can follow me inside.

    ¡°Melina¡¯s right. That would be awesome if it opened on its own,¡± I say, nodding toward my thoughtful friend. She has the good graces to accept the peace offering as the apology it is for poking fun of her obsession with numbers.

    Unlike my original Sanctuary, which had no doors, rooms, or windows, this iteration most resembles a cottage. It¡¯s completely bare inside, since I forgot to manifest any furniture, but it¡¯s dry, clean, and warm. Best of all, it¡¯s virtually impenetrable with the door closed. I doubt anyone under at least a high-Gold ranking, whether man or beast, could break down the door.

    Admittedly, that¡¯s less impressive than what I created with the Oltheros core powering the Skill, which held up the weight of the inland sea, but it¡¯s still an incredibly strong structure. For our needs, it ought to be more than sufficient.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s a bit empty, but we can fix things up. Linas, you¡¯ve got a loft upstairs. I didn¡¯t make a full second level, but there should be room for sleeping mats and a privacy curtain. The rest of us are downstairs. I ran out of mana before I could create any plumbing, so we¡¯ll need to rely on the public baths. Sorry!¡±

    Melina runs her hands across the wall. ¡°So smooth. It¡¯s perfect in composition, according to my Skill. No variation. I can¡¯t identify what it is, however. It¡¯s not borosilicate or soda-lime. I¡¯m getting some sort of metallic element, but I can¡¯t identify it exactly. I¡¯m genuinely astonished, Nuri! We didn¡¯t get a chance to examine the massive pillar you made in Natan, but I wish we had. This doesn¡¯t feel like anything I¡¯ve ever analyzed. I wonder if we¡¯d be able to harvest some of it and use it for the glass armor project.¡±

    I rap on it with my knuckles, enjoying the satisfying thunk. ¡°That¡¯s an excellent idea, Mel. If you¡¯re able to cut any free, go for it. I don¡¯t know whether you¡¯ll be able to carve off any sheets thin enough to work. I¡¯m not even certain if I can melt this glass down with my [Greater Heat Manipulation], or if it will simply evaporate and return to pure mana.¡±

    ¡°One more thing to add to my research list,¡± Melina replies happily. ¡°Rakesh, do you still have space in your treatise for this discussion?¡±

    ¡°Of course! There¡¯s no page limit. Ezio may edit it down for clarity, but I¡¯d rather include a detail than skip over something truly revolutionary. There¡¯s no record I can find of anything quite like this Skill. Even [Glass Animation] has precedence. Look at the famed Lion of Densmore, for example. But [Sanctuary of Glass] is new. It seems to borrow from the [Eternal Forge] that Nuri had before¡ªa much-sought-after creator Skill¡ªbut it creates a ready-made structure out of an unidentified glass type. Of course I¡¯ll include it in my report!¡±

    Hearing Rakesh put it that way makes me simultaneously proud of [Sanctuary of Glass], and simultaneously saddened about the loss of my old Skill. I don¡¯t mind losing it as much as I do the Artisan line, however. If there¡¯s any Skill I want to one day regain, it¡¯s [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds].

    Focus on the positive, I remind myself. I can turn anything into glass with [Vitrification]. I can summon a shelter that will likely only grow in time as I gain strength and rank it up. Perhaps in the Second Threshold someday, I¡¯ll be able to create an entire palace without relying on an enormous beast core. Visions of the grandeur in my future dance in my mind, bringing a smile to my face and washing away the temporary melancholy.

    Mobbed by my friends and hearing their congratulations, it¡¯s much easier to put aside any lingering sense of sadness. Onward, Nuri, I tell myself in encouragement. Forget what¡¯s behind. Press on to what¡¯s to come.

 Book Six Chapter Fourteen

    Living in the [Sanctuary] I¡¯ve raised is liberating. I¡¯m pleased to see it slowly become less like an austere art installation of opaque, pearlescent glass sculptures, and more like an actual home. Mikko brought back a few colorful woven rugs, then took an evening off from our schemes to craft pipes and install a tub in the back room. Rakesh produced a mountain of fresh fruit from who knows where. Melina painted murals using [In the Blink of an Eye], finishing the project in a single afternoon. Avelina pitched in with inscribing the fire enchantment she¡¯s been learning at the Orpheus, ensuring that we have a working stove and that the tub is heated.

    Soaking in the hot water is incredibly luxurious. I told her that she¡¯s my favorite member of the team now, but she just laughed and smacked my arm, lecturing me on the dangers of such blatant lying. The uninhibited chorus of laughter that followed from my friends was exactly the kind of lighthearted camaraderie that I need to continue recovering from the insidious effects of the corrupted violence that twisted me up inside.

    I feel healthy. Whole again. Which means it¡¯s time to act like a psychopath.

    I¡¯ve been putting off this part of the plan out of fear that it will lead to a relapse. I don¡¯t want to regress and find myself entangled in terrible mood swings again. But Avelina tells me that I¡¯m ready, and I believe her.

    It¡¯s go time.

    In preparation, Rakesh is a whirlwind of reading and writing. Every time I stumble home from another late-night session of studying scrying runes with Ozana, I find him hunched over the makeshift table in the kitchen. He dragged in some of the discarded pallets scattered around the lot, stacking them up about waist-height. A plank overtop of them gives him a solid writing surface, though it¡¯s far from uniform.

    On my way into my corner of the glass house well past sunset, I pause beside the table, watching in amazement as Rakesh writes faster than the eye can follow. Only the elegant script of words flowing across the page give evidence that he¡¯s actually writing, and not simply waving his hand back and forth for show.

    I let out a low whistle. ¡°You know, I expected you to write a few brief letters, not to personally bankroll the ink industry in Gilead.¡±

    The writing scratches to a halt. Rakesh squints up at me from his hastily-assembled seat of an old, splintering wooden crate padded with his wadded-up cloak on top. ¡°Thoroughness is important, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°So is avoiding suspicion. This doesn¡¯t look like an anonymous tip. The watch will  know it¡¯s a setup.¡±

    ¡°It will work,¡± Rakesh insists. ¡°Trust the plan¡ªor at least my new and improved version of your plan.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± I say mildly, holding up my hand before he launches into another lecture. ¡°The overflow of ink is truly impressive, at any rate.¡±

    He sniffs grandly and resumes his duties. I shake my head, torn between admiration and befuddlement, and shuffle over to my bedroll to catch up on some much-needed sleep. I¡¯m up in the wee hours of the morning, but Rakesh is up first, nodding in acknowledgement as I depart for my work in the Orpheus hot shop. Thus the cycle continues over the next few days.

    Three days of reports later, I admit defeat. No matter how early I rise, I¡¯m greeted by the same pre-dawn ritual: Rakesh sending off multiple anonymous reports to the city watch, borne aloft on the wings of the folded paper components of his Skill [Echoes of the Songbird].

    He never tells me exactly what the messages say. It¡¯s probably for the best. Every once in a while, I catch him chuckling darkly to himself as he pens a particularly nasty missive. As he goes, he checks off the list of runic repair shops he¡¯s targeting, meticulously clearing the way for the next stage in our mad escapade.

    I hope it really works.

    I pause at the warded fence that obfuscates our location, and turn back to chat with my scholarly friend. ¡°So you¡¯ve actually become a legal expert, huh?¡±

    He grunts, scowling at the reminder that I was right a few weeks earlier when I told him it was only a matter of time. When I laugh, he sighs wearily, giving me a cold look before he thaws out and chuckles along softly in embarrassment.

    ¡°I suppose I have, Nuri.¡±

    My grin widens until my cheeks hurt. ¡°Never any doubt. You¡¯re way smarter than any [Lawyer] or [Judge]. Proud of you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he mumbles, blushing.

    My favorite part of this con is that Rakesh doesn¡¯t protest anymore when I tell him that he¡¯s skilled in the law of the land. He¡¯s downplaying it, but not arguing against me, which means he¡¯s probably memorized the entire code of Gilead law by now, and probably even dug up old, deprecated variations of the major bylaws.

    I watch in silence for a moment as his growing flock of birds flit off to the courthouses non-stop with every violation imaginable. At this rate, he¡¯s going to become an honorary officer of the [Inquisitors] for his underhanded deeds. I imagine Xharrote will watch his career with great interest. He loves this kind of cloak and dagger work.

    ¡°Lotta birds, though. You sure they aren¡¯t gonna trace them back to us?¡± I ask him for the third or fourth time. He doesn¡¯t like my doubt, but it¡¯s hard not to worry as I watch the first rays of dawn dance along the creamy off-white papers, lighting them up in glorious color. I can¡¯t help but chew on my lip while I consider the potential security risks.

    ¡°It¡¯s a valid concern,¡± Rakesh begins gravely, which makes me nervous. Then he winks at me, and I realize that he¡¯s already solved the problem and is just taking the opportunity to get me back for teasing him about becoming an honorary lawyer.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    ¡°You figured out the diversionary wards?¡± I ask in a rush, excitement making my voice come out in a squeak.

    ¡°Who do you think I am? Of course I did,¡± he replies, crossing his arms and posing like a [Hero] in the sunlight. ¡°But just to be safe, I¡¯m sending them on circuitous routes. I also never let the birds return. I release my mana connection after they deliver the notes. Our location should remain secret.¡±

    ¡°Good thinking! I¡¯m glad you¡¯re on our side, buddy. I¡¯d hate to try to track down people  who can hide like that.¡±

    He puffs up his chest with pride at my praise. ¡°I tested them on passersby numerous times, using blank papers just in case they were intercepted. With the wards, people overlook the papers. Their gazes slide right by.¡±

    ¡°Incredible. Teach me?¡±

    It¡¯s quickly becoming obvious that despite my head start in the runic arts, Rakesh has surpassed me as a master of the language. For some reason, that¡¯s exciting to me. I expected the day to come, given Rakesh¡¯s incredible proclivity for learning new information, but I always thought it would be a bittersweet development. Like I¡¯d lost to a competitor. Instead, it¡¯s a relief to have such a dedicated teacher.

    He withdraws a few sheets of folded paper from his breast pocket and extends them to me. ¡°A step ahead of you. I¡¯ve written the pertinent runes down for you. Flood this with mana, and it should give you a temporary version. I expect you¡¯ll need them for today¡¯s shenanigans.¡±

    I bow before taking the gift. ¡°You¡¯re the best, Rakesh. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Go on. Busy day,¡± he says, done preening. Now that I¡¯ve moved on to flattery, he¡¯s not comfortable talking up himself anymore.

    It¡¯s becoming one of my favorite tactics to use when he starts bragging. He enjoys when we recognize his genius, but if we pour it on too thick, he gets flustered.

    I pocket the paper and wave goodbye, making my way to the Orpheus. I study the runes in between breaks in the hot shop. When my lunch break finally arrives, I scan over them one last time, impressing them on my memory, and take my leave, heading for the riskiest step of our crazy scheme.

    =+=

    ¡°Let me see my friend!!¡±

    My roar echoes across the Mender campus, making people slap their hands over their ears at the skull-splitting volume. ¡°I¡¯m done asking nicely. Let me in or face my wrath!¡±

    ¡°Please! I know you¡¯re concerned, but he¡¯s stable now. Turn away peacefully, Sir [Mage]. We don¡¯t have any new information for you at this time!¡± a young Mender pleads with me. Her dusky complexion is ashen with fear as she faces down my scowl. Her legs tremble against the pressure of my Domain, but she doesn¡¯t back down.

    That courage must be why they picked her. She can¡¯t be old enough to be a full-fledged Mender yet. An intern of some sort, perhaps? I¡¯m impressed by her backbone, but I force myself to stick to the script and act like an enraged and unreasonable menace to society.

    ¡°Cowards!¡± I bellow, stomping closer and finally making her scurry away from me as she gives in to her terror. I take a deep breath and infuse mana into my words, letting them boom for everyone to hear.

    ¡°Bah! What a disgrace! I heard that the Menders were once a hallowed institution. Yet here they are, sending an intern not even in the First Threshold yet to meet me. Me! I will not stand for this indignity!¡±

    My belligerent, mana-empowered shout reverberates along the packed streets, sending pedestrians stumbling as the might of my Domain unfurls with murderous intent. I march back and forth just on the edges of the Menders campus, in plain view of the scrying system, as I continue to loudly demand entrance to the medical facility.

    Inwardly, I feel sick. This kind of unstable anger is exactly why I got rid of violence. Yet I have to sell the ruse before we can move on to the next step. This is only phase one of three.

    ¡°You know why you¡¯re Menders? Because you¡¯re not fit to be called real [Healers]!¡± I jeer at the top of my lungs. ¡°Only a bunch of cowards and charlatans try to keep a concerned man in the dark while his best friend dies.¡±

    By now, the massive public square is almost empty. People are fleeing as fast as they can in every direction, scrambling to escape before things escalate. In truth, I¡¯m equally nervous about the fallout; I don¡¯t want anyone to get hurt if an actual fight breaks out in front of the main Mender building. I¡¯m here to lean into my reputation, not to harm anyone.

    Thankfully, I don¡¯t have to posture and shout for long. At the edge of my range, I sense two new mana signatures moving toward me. Unlike the tiny candles that represent most people around us, these two are raging firestorms. Intensity that undeniably marks them as Second Threshold mana signatures.

    With a whispered prayer of relief, I activate phase three of my plan: running away as fast as I can.

    Mana blazes through me like liquid fire, burning as I force enormous amounts of power into my muscles and strengthen my legs to propel me along. I don¡¯t want to outpace the guards too soon, but I also can¡¯t get caught in a fight. It¡¯s a delicate balance to maintain while sprinting more quickly than I¡¯ve ever run before.

    Through my expanded mana senses, I check the scrying sensors. I have to make sure phase two isn¡¯t a total disaster. Before I¡¯m out of range of the alarm system, I send out another huge pulse of my Domain, targeting the system with concentrated bursts of power.

    I grin when they go dark in the mana sight of my [Arcane Domain]. Right on schedule.

    My pursuers are almost upon me, catching up more rapidly than I accounted for. Shatter it all! They must have some high-ranking movement Skills!

    I put on a burst of speed and fling myself to the side, narrowly avoiding a blow from a staff that would have split my head open like a melon. I marshal my Skills, freezing the ground beneath them while hitting them with the weight of my Domain, and the two cry out in surprise as they faceplant on the cobblestones.

    I sprint down the street, taking advantage of their momentary delay, and leap around a corner. As soon as I¡¯m out of view, I activate the paper Rakesh gave me and dart through a door to a nearby book shop. I retract my Domain as much as I can, holding it within my core so that my mana signature is suppressed. I calmly and quietly slip behind a bookshelf and sit down at a small table in a reading nook, hiding my face behind a book.

    Time for phase four.

    I surreptitiously activate the paired communication paper Rakesh loaned me, signaling the Linas to release my secret weapon: a handful of glass golems all attuned to my mana. The signatures they release aren¡¯t quite the real thing, but it¡¯s close enough that I¡¯m counting on the [Headmistress]¡¯s bodyguards taking the bait. By the time they wear themselves out chasing ghosts through all of Gilead, I¡¯ll be in position and ready to go.

    I grin despite the nerves that make my hand tremble on the book I¡¯m holding. For far too long we¡¯ve been taking things as they come. Now it¡¯s our turn to dictate the game we¡¯re playing. And I¡¯m just warming up.

 Book Six Chapter Fifteen

    Keeping my mana signature cloaked is difficult, thanks to the thrumming power of my Domain that begs to be unleashed. I¡¯ve always skirted around the idea that mana might have some low level of sentience, and my suspicion has only grown along with my strength. It was much easier to pull in my Domain before I incorporated [Mage] into my Class. Although my overall control has improved, the power of my Domain has increased by what feels like threefold or more.

    In anticipation of today¡¯s operation, I picked up a brooch from the Orpheus that helps to conceal my presence. Initially, I wanted to get a more powerful artifact, but I was worried that it would be an obvious tip-off for Ozana.

    Not that she¡¯s blind, I think to myself. She probably knows exactly what I¡¯m up to today. In that case, I probably should have gone all out and treated myself to a premium purchase. No point wasting time with half measures.

    A tense quarter of an hour crawls by as I wait for the all clear. The chances of the guards looping back and finding me by accident are low, but I don¡¯t want to take any unnecessary risks. Our mission is tenuous enough as it is. We¡¯re too close to our goal to jeopardize things now by being impatient. When the message finally comes, I heave a ragged breath, releasing the ropes of tension that have been tying themselves into a knot in my stomach.

    I purchase the story book I¡¯d been reading so that I don¡¯t seem like a freeloader¡ªplus, it has legends about the [Heroes] of Densmore that I haven¡¯t read yet¡ªand exit the shop with my head down. Time for the real work to begin. I backtrack, then hurry down a side street, heading for a noodle shop to meet up with Mikko and his crew on their lunch break.

    All around me, members of the city watch are milling about, entering shops and flagging down passing [Merchants] and patrons for awkward discussions. They keep checking papers with sketches, trying to find a match. Many of them look even more confused than the [Traders] and [Street Vendors] they¡¯re accosting, which speaks to the efficiency of Rakesh¡¯s modifications to my initial plan. He¡¯s got half the city chasing shadows.

    Slipping through the crowd is a challenge without the bludgeon of my Domain clearing a pathway for me; I didn¡¯t realize how much I¡¯ve come to rely on it to subconsciously shift people out of my way. I press forward, darting into gaps in the traffic and dodging carts. With how slow I¡¯m forced to go, I start to worry that I won¡¯t make it to Jabal¡¯s automated workshop in time. With all the workshops in the area tied up, I¡¯m counting on them receiving a frantic call for help.

    Thankfully, Mikko and the other workers are still present at the noodle shop by the time I arrive, although I¡¯m behind schedule. I burst into the packed restaurant in a rush, wincing as the heavy door slams against the wall with a loud, dull thud. The sudden noise interrupts my brother just as he¡¯s about to shove a huge bunch of noodles into his mouth.

    He startles when I snatch away the spoon and slide the mostly-empty bowl across the table toward me.

    ¡°You rascal!¡±

    ¡°Staying a step ahead is hard work. Need to keep my strength up,¡± I say, grinning around a mouthful of wide noodles and curried broth.

    ¡°Likely story,¡± he grouses.

    I swallow another bite, barely even chewing the buttery, flavorful noodles, and shake my head. ¡°Don¡¯t have much time. I imagine Jabal has gotten a notice by now.¡±

    He leans in, lowering his voice. ¡°I saw that all the other shops on our block got visited by the guards. Looks like the plan is working. Rakesh is a genius.¡±

    ¡°Hey! That was my plan.¡±

    ¡°But he made it work,¡± Mikko points out, overriding my protests. His smirk at my irritation makes it clear that this is payback for stealing his noodles.

    Only fair, I concede internally. Not that I¡¯ll give him the satisfaction of saying that aloud.

    Once again the door bangs open, drawing attention to the young delivery boy wearing the uniform of Jabal¡¯s workshop. ¡°Mikko! There you are. Boss wants ya back. Ten minutes ago would be late already.¡±

    I slurp up the last of the noodles, set my spoon down next to the glass bowl, and pick up the entire bowl with one hand. I drink all the rest of the light golden broth, setting it down with an authoritative clunk and splashing droplets all over the table. A grin snakes across my face at the news. ¡°How fortuitous.¡±

    Mikko returns my sly grin. ¡°Better get moving. Boss doesn¡¯t like stragglers.¡±

    We jog back to the workshop, where Mikko hands me a jacket and trousers in matching color. I struggle into the uniform as quickly as I can while Jabal explains the situation to the rest of the workers.

    ¡°We got a work order from the Orpheus House. They need a crew for emergency repairs on behalf of the Menders. Load up all the portable automatons. We leave in five.¡±

    I waggle my eyebrows at my brother. ¡°All according to plan.¡±

    ¡°Went just as you predicted for once,¡± Mikko says, giving me an exaggerated side-eye. ¡°You¡¯re really growing up.¡±

    I snort. ¡°You don¡¯t have to sound so surprised. I¡¯m full of good ideas!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but this one is impressively efficient. Rakesh took care of the details so that it worked exactly like you imagined. I¡¯m still a little amazed that we got picked. Our enchantments aren¡¯t even that rare. We¡¯re just faster at pumping out goods than everyone else. That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re also the only shop available. Ah, the hazards of running afoul of the law,¡± I say with a wink.

    ¡°Jabal keeps pinching himself. He barely believes that it¡¯s real.¡± Mikko lowers his voice. ¡°I don¡¯t have the heart to tell him you masterminded it. Look how happy he is!¡±

    ¡°Happy bosses mean extra money.¡± I rub my thumb and fingers together. ¡°He¡¯ll have you working overtime maintaining the machines after this.¡±

    Mikko shrugs his powerful shoulders. ¡°Fine by me, as long as it helps Lio. Hey, you sure you can help with the repair? I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll stick out from the rest of the workers from the shop since you¡¯re missing a hand.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I got this. No one else on your team can fix the scrying systems as quickly as I can, or re-activate the alarm connection to the Orpheus. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll do the fiddly bits at the end to bring the system back up.¡±

    ¡°About all you¡¯re good for,¡± Mikko replies, snickering softly as he packs up tools into a huge bag and slings it over his back. ¡°Face it. You¡¯re not much of a helping hand. Good thing we only need a few more bags. I suppose if you wear one on your back and carry the other in your hand, you might do. Better than paying a [Porter] at least.¡±

    I wrinkle my nose. ¡°Physical labor? No thanks! You¡¯ll have to cover for me. You¡¯re the main pack mule, after all.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s family for?¡± he mutters.

    ¡°Wise words, brother,¡± I say. ¡°Although, it is a shame I can¡¯t carry it all by myself with my Domain. Wouldn¡¯t that be a sight to see?¡±

    He nods sagely. ¡°You¡¯d definitely give it all away. The bodyguards would come back to give you a whooping. A real shame I¡¯ll have to miss that.¡±

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    I roll my eyes and follow him to the front of the workshop. Someone straps a heavy pack to my back. We¡¯re surrounded by massive wooden crates, bulging canvas bags, and several thin packages so long that they required multiple people just to carry them without bowing in the middle. Everywhere I check with a sweep of my Domain, enchantments glitter in my mind¡¯s eye.

    ¡°This is worth a fortune, Mikko,¡± I murmur, sidling up to my brother. ¡°They must have emptied the warehouse for this expedition.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised at how much we keep in reserve around here. From what I¡¯ve heard, this collection is only about half of the available goods, although the quality of the enchantments is definitely on the higher end.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s ¡¯we¡¯ now?¡± I tease him.

    He grunts and doesn¡¯t reply, but the way his eyes slide away from meeting mine makes me think that he¡¯s grown more attached to the work in Gilead than he¡¯s let on. Tearing him away from the chance to learn enchantments and automation from Jabal feels cruel. Not bringing him back home to Mom and Dad feels even worse. I promised them that I¡¯d keep my brother safe.

    ¡°Try not to look out of place,¡± he finally replies, hoisting another bag on his shoulders to balance out the load on the other side. He¡¯s lugging more than anyone else in the smithy; even if they all work with metal, most of them are maintaining machines or inscribing enchantments. None of them have earned the raw strength that Mikko boasts.

    With all the workers bustling around, I¡¯m able to hide in the middle of the pack. I keep my head down and remember to draw my Domain back in so that I can stay low profile if possible. It¡¯s harder than ever to pull the sphere of influence into my core; the [Arcane Domain] struggles to blast out in every direction.

    We set off at a steady pace, but it¡¯s a measured, workman-like march with a goal fixed firmly in mind. No one wants to wear down and hold up the entire line, so we don¡¯t race ahead or push too quickly. We¡¯re moving with steady purpose.

    Navigating through Gilead is becoming less confusing the longer we work in the city. It¡¯s still not the easiest place to get my bearings, but I¡¯m more comfortable here than I ever thought possible after my first few days in the enormous city. It helps that we¡¯re heading toward a district that I¡¯ve come to know well. All the extra people on the road make things complicated, but Jabal is good at clearing space ahead of us, bellowing over the din with a command Skill.

    Before much longer, the massive Menders facility emerges up ahead, standing over the rest of the city skyline in an imposing display of wealth and power. As always, the sight of the towering buildings and square, muscular lines makes my stomach clench with both fear and longing: worry for my friend and the desperate dream that one day I¡¯ll fix my hand.

    I¡¯d hoped to receive better news here, but there¡¯s no use dwelling on the past. I still have more to learn during my stay here. And besides, Lionel comes first.

    A detachment of a dozen [Guards] meet us on the outskirts of the Menders campus and surround the goods. They¡¯re tense, on edge, but none of them seem to recognize me. I can tell they¡¯re in a rush, because they only scan the tools and goods with a few perfunctory Skills, then wave us through. Bypassing the usual security checkpoints thanks to our escorts, we march into the very heart of the inner sanctum.

    I¡¯ve visited the Menders campus plenty of times. In front, it¡¯s all dazzling architecture and impressive decoration. Deeper in, however, the rows of buildings are squat. Functional. The tall, immaculate facades disappear, since there¡¯s no one to impress in the storage areas. It reminds me of the way the Orpheus splits up the flashy presentation areas that they present to the public and the storage and office areas that only their internal workers are privy to; in Gilead, appearances matter.

    ¡°All right, lads, to the work,¡± Jabal says gruffly, interrupting my musings. The workers scatter, each with a gauge or minor artifact to take initial measurements.

    Without a clear fit on the team, I sit back at first to observe. Everyone seems to have a role to play. Even my big lunkhead of a brother is busy setting up a portable workbench and enchanted forge, ready in case any physical repairs are required. I watch in keen interest as the guards guide Jabal to the nearest scrying enchantment, where he deploys a small, spider-like automaton made of manasteel that reminds me of my little glass golems.

    The inscriptions on the small manasteel construct are simple but effective, though I can¡¯t sense them as clearly as I¡¯d like since I¡¯m trying to restrain my Domain. The little creature scans the alarm system for half a minute, whirrs, and emits a few low chirps. When the [Automation Foreman] Jabal approaches the spider to review, it projects a diagnostic code across the back of its shiny metal body.

    ¡°Traces got overloaded. Gotta redraw them,¡± Jabal announces. ¡°I¡¯ll need a few minutes to set up. They¡¯re more complicated than what I¡¯m used to working with, so let¡¯s hope it doesn¡¯t explode.¡±

    Mikko steps forward, dragging me by the elbow, and brings me to Jabal. ¡°Boss, keep it quiet, since he¡¯s not supposed to be here, but my brother can help us. He¡¯s got an incredible understanding of runic arrays.¡±

    Jabal gives me a long, level stare. ¡°The Orpheus said all the usual repair teams are occupied. Funny that the man who got us the contract just happens to be available. I¡¯m not asking what¡¯s going on, but swear it¡¯s not gonna come back on my shop.¡±

    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t,¡± I say brightly, trying not to sound like I¡¯m dodging the question. He¡¯s not exactly prying, but it isn¡¯t a simple answer. I have to remind myself that he¡¯s responsible for the men and women on his crew. I¡¯m not going to put them at risk if I can help it.

    He lets out a quiet, resigned sigh. ¡°Fine. But be quick about it. Don¡¯t make me regret letting you tag along.¡±

    I grin. ¡°Not a chance.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s always a chance with you,¡± Mikko admits, looking around uneasily. ¡°You have a talent for trouble.¡±

    I elbow him in the ribs.

    Jabal huffs and moves on to the next alarm in the adjacent hallway, leaving me to work in peace, other than dealing with my brother.

    I keep my Domain tight so that I¡¯ll remain undetected, but I reach out to the embedded scrying device in the wall and envelop it with my senses. The delicate traces where I blew out the system aren¡¯t too badly damaged. After studying runes for so long, they don¡¯t seem terribly complex, either. I apply the pressure of my Domain, forcibly bending the fragile metal threads back into place and spelling out the intended runes.

    In a few places, the thin pieces of metal touch but don¡¯t stay together well; they¡¯re bent irreparably and will require replacing. I frown, considering if I should pull out the alarm system and make Mikko fix the metal. Perhaps he can shape them if I melt them down so they¡¯re more malleable?

    I snap my fingers as a new thought occurs to me. I can hold them in place and use a subtle application of [Vitrification] to fuse just the very outer layer together, preventing the rune from unraveling. If I imbue a tiny bit of unbreakable, then the infinitesimal bond will be strong enough to maintain its integrity.

    At first, I take hold of too much of the metal, transmuting an entire section into glass and killing the rune. Unwilling to tear the sensor out of the wall and ask Mikko to replace the thin, fine lines of precious metal, I try a new technique: reversing [Vitrification].

    A wave of embarrassment washes over me. I¡¯ve never truly practiced inverting the Skill, even though Ezio taught me about the idea of meta magic years ago. In my own little team, Melina and Rakesh are experts at manipulating their mana in unorthodox ways, and they love teaching people. So why have I been so singularly focused on other pursuits? I could have¡ªno, should have¡ªasked them for help ages ago.

    I shrug off the self-recrimination and get to work. Mana flows effortlessly now that I¡¯ve been restored. Energy plays across the runes of my self-made Skill, like a [Musician] strumming the strings of a harp or lyre, in a precise order. I seek to undo the effects of the transformation, but nothing happens. The non-standard structure of glass resists reordering.

    Instead of giving up, I turn the problem over in my mind, trying to see the details with a fresh perspective. Maybe I¡¯m approaching it the wrong way by thinking in such absolutes as all glass or all metal. Crystal goblets contain a measure of metal in the glass, for example. Besides, all the metal has to do is conduct mana for the runes to work; there¡¯s no law of the cosmos that says glass can¡¯t also handle mana. My imbued works are proof of that.

    Undeterred by my initial failure, I try again. This time, I lean on the properties of change inherent to [Vitrification]¡¯s constituent runes. Transmuting is too powerful. I simply want to nudge the material to become more receptive to mana. Little by little, I adjust the glass composition to my liking, stopping after small updates to test how freely mana flows through the course.

    A bright flare in my manasight finally announces that I¡¯ve gotten it right. Mana circulates through the full inscription again, powering on the scrying sensor.

    Heady with success, I jog to the next embedded sensor, accompanied all the while by a [Guard] who scowls at me. I suppose I look suspicious, since I¡¯m not physically interacting with any of the broken sensors. Mikko helps me by calling Jabal over to confirm that my method is effective, which seems to placate the paranoid [Guard].

    My updates work like a charm now that I have a better understanding of how to pull the blown pieces of the circuitry together, and I accelerate my repair work. Theoretically, I could fix all of them at once, but not without expanding my [Arcane Domain] and giving away my identity.

    Nonetheless, I¡¯m able to repair a handful of sensors in the time that Jabal¡¯s constructs finally get a single one working again, earning me a clap on the back and a grunt of approval. Now that I¡¯ve proved my worth, the [Guard] is more willing to let me have free rein of the place, putting my skills to use wherever they¡¯re most needed.

    Which, naturally, means fixing the scrying sensors in the [Headmistress]¡¯s chambers.

 Book Six Chapter Sixteen

    The [Guard] makes a grumpy face when Jabal joins us for the trip to the heart of the Menders campus, but he doesn¡¯t object to the [Automation Foreman]¡¯s presence other than a few ugly words grumbled under his breath. He leads us down an austere stone hallway, which terminates in an arched doorway that¡¯s heavily enchanted and reinforced with bands of manasteel. He lifts up his right hand, fiddling with a control bangle, and opens the door with a whir of gears and a subtle glow of mana.

    The door shimmers as it opens, like a portal leading to a vista of stunning color. Stepping into the courtyard beyond feels like entering a new world. The lush fuschia and vermillion flower beds and decorative shapes of leaping gazelles and soaring falcons etched onto the massive gates stand in sharp contrast to the plain stone of the interior halls in the campus.

    Instantly, I recognize my surroundings from the scrying image that Ozana ¡°accidentally¡± let me see. I¡¯m definitely heading toward the [Headmistress]¡¯s chambers.

    Exactly as I hoped.

    As much as I¡¯d like to sightsee and take in the beauty of the floral arrangements, we don¡¯t dawdle. A quick march across the paved walkways that wind through the gardens brings us to another locked door covered in inscriptions. This time, a second [Guard] is required for entry; she confers with our escort for a moment, gesturing and whispering in low, terse tones, before confirming his identity and granting us access. She thumbs in a command on her own control bracelet, and the two work in conjunction to open the way.

    Once inside, we¡¯re rushed through a tangle of passages that make me slightly dizzy. It reminds me of the strange, recursive space in a Labyrinth, which makes me narrow my eyes in suspicion. The sensation is like nothing else I¡¯ve encountered. It¡¯s too memorable for me to mistake it for something else, though I haven¡¯t encountered it outside of a Rift before.

    I suppose it makes sense. Gilead rose to power on the back of the Greater Rifts below the ground. It¡¯s a time-honored tradition among the great cities of Densmore. Replicating the effects of a Labyrinth this well is new to me, though. I shouldn¡¯t underestimate the leader of the Menders, or at least not her organization.

    When we emerge from the other end of our disorienting journey, we find ourselves in a large, rectangular room with a raised dais at the far end.

    ¡°Looks more like a throne room than a storeroom,¡± Jabal whispers to me. His eyes are wide, and he¡¯s craning his head to look around like a peasant on his first visit to the capital city.

    I nod once in agreement. I¡¯m about to tell him to stop looking so painfully out of place, but the [Guards] are gawking just as much as he is, so I refrain from bothering him. I try to look just as impressed as everyone else, all while keeping my head down and my Domain clamped down to prevent mana leakage that would give away my distinctive signature.

    A presence sweeps over us a moment later, so vast and fathomless that I instinctively want to kneel. I go to shrug off the influence with a flex of my Domain, but catch myself at the last second. They would notice me instantly if I did that. I gulp, realizing my near-mistake, and go down to one knee.

    On either side of me, the [Guards] and the [Automation Foreman], Jabal, are kneeling with their heads inclined toward the newcomer striding across the stage at the back of the room. I breathe a sigh of relief from my spot on the ground. If I didn¡¯t join them, then I¡¯d certainly stand out in a bad way.

    While the others are no doubt staring at the [Headmistress] of the Menders, my eyes are locked onto the glass artifact she carries in her hands: the Azure Rod. Thanks to the dense network of infinitesimal inscriptions that cover the entire surface of the rod, the relic empowers all healing magic channeled through it.

    Never before have I been so greedy to peer deeply into the secrets of past Masters of the craft. I desperately wish that Melina and Rakesh were with me, both to slow down time and to accurately record the information we¡¯re seeing. Without them, I have only a few moments to try to memorize the dizzying array of runes¡ªmany of which I¡¯ve never seen before. Legend has it that it¡¯s capable of elevating even an average [Healer]¡¯s Skills into the realm of miracles.

    Whether that¡¯s true or not, hushed reverence seems appropriate. I hold no love for the Menders, but I¡¯m overwhelmed and grateful for the opportunity to meet the saintly leader of the order. She¡¯s serene and beautiful, elegant and graceful¡ª

    I bite the inside of my lip, fending off the charm that makes me view her so favorably. I can¡¯t fully break the mental compulsion without revealing my Domain, but now that I realize she is influencing my emotions, I can be on guard. My natural skepticism and trust issues will take care of the rest.

    Vague words buzz around me. Pleasant sounds. The clink of coins. Chuckles and soft expressions of wonder from the [Guards]. All of it passes over me like waves crashing against the shore, but I pay it little mind. I don¡¯t have any time to waste. Committing the intricate runes to memory is paramount.

    Moments later, Jabal completes his introductions. He takes me by the arm, guiding me away from the throne far sooner than I¡¯d like, though not before I drop a tiny, folded paper bird by the doorway to assist with surveilling the throne room. I¡¯m not done peeling back the layers of mystery surrounding the Mender order. Something strange is going on.

    Mentally, I send my thanks to Rakesh for loaning me more of his communication papers. I hope my hastily-scribbled message on his paper bird makes it to the [Headmistress].

    While we walk, my mind fixates on the glass masterwork I just saw. To think that another practitioner of the craft attained such lofty heights! When I was younger, I envied other Masters. Now, I find their work profoundly inspiring. It¡¯s proof that one day I, too, can ascend the peaks of glass making and proudly stand beside the greats as a peer.

    My fingers twitch at the thought. I¡¯m anxious to get back to the hot shop and work on my own projects. My task here isn¡¯t done, however. I can¡¯t blow my cover. Not yet.

    Setting aside my visions of grandeur, I follow Jabal to the next set of sensors to repair. It comes as no surprise that we¡¯re not lingering in what I¡¯ve dubbed the throne room, as I imagine the [Headmistress] fancies it. Her receiving chambers are impressive, but they also represent the seat of her power. I¡¯m not ready to challenge her here, despite her bodyguards¡¯ continued absence. I can¡¯t believe they¡¯re still chasing my golems.

    Unease slithers in my gut. What if they found one of them and connected it to me? It¡¯s not particularly hard to forge a link between the angry [Mage] yelling at the gates and the glassmaker taking the Orpheus by storm. Let¡¯s be honest. My disguise is tenuous at best.

    My attention snaps back to the present, but not fully. My thoughts still linger in the room we just left, even though the next overloaded sensor is right in front of me and the [Guards] are looking at me expectantly. I get to work repairing it, flying through the procedure. I barely need to spare it any thought now, going through the motions almost automatically while I focus on my connection with the incredibly tiny paired paper bird that¡¯s affixed to my ear and made to look like a daith piercing.

    Anyone examining it closely will see that it¡¯s not truly an earring, but I doubt that the bird will draw much attention. The sound coming from it is barely audible to me despite the proximity to my ear, so I¡¯d be shocked if the [Guards] can hear it.

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    Just then, the two powerful bodyguards return. They dash through the hallways, blazing to my inner eye even though I¡¯m keeping my Domain strictly in check. Their mana signatures are simply too potent to conceal¡ªnot that they¡¯re opting for a stealthy approach.

    I focus, picking out the words of their angry report to the [Headmistress]. Vanity drives me, perhaps, but I want to know what they¡¯re saying about me.

    ¡°Threat assessment, Fazzalaro?¡±

    ¡°Nothing more than a hot-head,¡± the bodyguard named Fazzalaro growls. His voice is harsher, lower-pitched than the other bodyguard, who speaks over him at the same time.

    ¡°Coward. Not likely a danger. Worried for his friend. Commendable.¡± The timber of the second voice is resonant and melodious. Each brief word is delivered with precise and pleasant articulation, a quality that I¡¯ve always associated with highly-trained nobles, but he doesn¡¯t seem able to use full sentences. I wonder how he ended up guarding someone for a living.

    ¡°You admire him, Talagrand?¡± the [Headmistress] asks. Her voice comes out with a hitch, as though exerting herself to speak two sentences in a row is a heavy burden.

    ¡°No. Unstable. Trampling the rules. Unwelcome,¡± Talagrand answers.

    A soft, wistful sigh brushes across my ear, making me shiver. There¡¯s so much pent-up regret in the simple sound. ¡°Intriguing case. Perhaps I should intervene?¡±

    My breath catches in my throat. Hope wells up in me like a fountain of water bursting forth from the deep¡ªonly to fall apart a moment later.

    ¡°My lady, I must protest!¡± Fazzalaro says. The outrage fairly crackles in his voice like a jagged bolt of lightning. ¡°Your flesh and blood is far too precious to spend on a young man who associates with such an upstart cad. Look at you! You¡¯re on the verge of collapse.¡±

    By now the [Headmistress] is nearly out of breath. Her words come out in a squeak. ¡°I¡¯m quite certain you¡¯re glad that I didn¡¯t judge you for your company when you were young.¡±

    ¡°Be that as it may, we can¡¯t reward such posturing! Did you know that he broke into the building and threatened the staff? No bargaining. No negotiation with terrorists.¡±

    ¡°I see. Thank you for the additional context.¡± The [Headmistress] breaks off in a fit of wet coughs. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re right. I¡¯ve still yet to recover from my last enhanced healing.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t keep exerting yourself like this! Sit, sit,¡± Fazzalaro says. His frustration bleeds through each word, although he seems genuinely concerned for her. ¡°Ungrateful wretches have no idea what you sacrifice on their behalf. They don¡¯t deserve you.¡±

    ¡°Enough,¡± the [Headmistress] reprimands, still coughing.

    ¡°My lady. Rest. Please. Agree with my brother in arms,¡± Talagrand interjects. ¡°Cancel auction. Too soon. Recuperate longer.¡±

    ¡°And how will I pay our healers without that income? What should I tell their families if they go hungry? I won¡¯t sit here in luxury and comfort while they starve,¡± the [Headmistress] responds, anger lending her a burst of strength.

    Fazzalaro huffs. ¡°What good are a few extra miracles this month if you die young? It¡¯s getting worse each time. You can¡¯t deny that.¡±

    An uncomfortable silence stretches on. I don¡¯t realize that I¡¯ve been holding my breath until the [Guard] elbows me and asks if I¡¯m done yet. When I nod absently, he guides me to the next scrying sensor. I go through the motions to fix it, but I¡¯m far more invested in the fascinating conversation back in the throne room.

    ¡°Your concern is admirable, but misplaced. The other Menders will restore me, and I will resume my duties. People need help.¡±

    ¡°Need the money,¡± Talagrand adds.

    ¡°Confound the money!¡± Fazzalaro huffs. ¡°She¡¯s half-dead, we¡¯re in the middle of a nasty power struggle, and all the Gilead elite care about is whether or not we¡¯ll put up another healing slot for auction.¡±

    ¡°They need me,¡± the [Headmistress] says gently.

    ¡°They think of you as their own walking miracle. Such entitlement.¡± Fazzalaro spits out the words with cold fury.

    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Truth too difficult,¡± Talagrand says. ¡°Patience. Stick to plan.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Truth,¡± Fazzalaro echoes bitterly. ¡°You think that would make a difference? We both know it wouldn¡¯t. That¡¯s the worst part of it, to me. They could see our beloved Lady bleeding on the floor, trading blood for blood, and not blink an eye. They¡¯d just demand more and more¡ªlike leeches. Give, give!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t hear it,¡± the [Headmistress] breathes out. Her tired voice is hauntingly fragile, like spun spider silk in a storm, but there¡¯s a note of iron underneath the pain. ¡°Don¡¯t demean the people we¡¯re here to save. Now, please help me to my chambers. I¡¯m feeling faint.¡±

    Conversation complete, they withdraw from the public room. I wait until I can no longer hear the echo of their footsteps. Now that the coast is clear, I need to get rid of the note that I left behind. Winning over the [Headmistress] was a fool¡¯s errand.

    Disappointment, guilt, and anger well up within me. It would be easier to simply hate the Menders for their underhanded tactics, but the [Headmistress] is clearly suffering. She¡¯s both a perpetrator of their schemes and a victim herself¡ªand I don¡¯t know how I feel about that.

    My resolve firms. Regardless of her personal struggles, she can¡¯t be trusted. I compress my Domain and extend it in a thin line, almost like drawing molten glass into cane, and quest into the throne room in search of the paper bird. The slim thread of my consciousness finds my target, and I send a pulse of [Greater Heat Manipulation] through the connection. I burn the note that I left for the [Headmistress]. She isn¡¯t the ally I seek. We have to be our own backup.

    An hour later, we finish up our repairs. The [Guards] swear us to secrecy, presenting us with a [Binding Contract] that prevents us from revealing that the [Headmistress] is back in town. I scrawl down the name Zebulun with a smirk; a fake name, but it¡¯s enough a part of my identity that it satisfies the enchantments and doesn¡¯t raise any suspicion. No doubt the [Guards] would faint on the spot if they knew how easy it is to circumvent their flimsy safeguards.

    I reconnect with my brother and depart, praying that no one noticed our presence. While I¡¯m confident of surviving a fight and escaping on my own, I can¡¯t risk it. The collateral damage to the legitimate patients in the building is reason enough, but I¡¯m far more concerned about the repercussions to Lionel, since he¡¯s still nominally in the Menders¡¯ care. I trust Uttara, but I don¡¯t harbor any delusions that he¡¯s strong enough to fend off direct orders from the top. Fazzalaro and Talagrand are far too powerful to resist.

    Our trudge back to Jabal¡¯s workshop goes by in a total blur as I plumb the depths of my mind for a solution to our predicament. I can¡¯t rely on the Menders, but I also need their Skills to restore Lionel. If only there were a way to borrow them. Asking Mender Shiphrah for help seems like a bad idea. If she finds out about my enmity with her niece, I know she¡¯ll pick family first. If I can¡¯t borrow Skills directly, then maybe I can enhance Uttara¡¯s abilities.

    Against the backdrop of my fears and schemes, the complex runes from the Azure Rod burn themselves into my memory like fire, scorching and urgent. My brother and I bid farewell to Jabal¡¯s work team and return to our hidden [Sanctuary].

    All the while, I¡¯m lost in thought. Twice Mikko pulls me out of the way of an oncoming cart, but I barely react other than to mumble my thanks. I¡¯m too busy putting together all the jumbled pieces of a puzzle. I¡¯ll need Rakesh to help me with the finishing touches, but a new theory is consuming me: if I can learn what each of the runes mean, and how to activate them, then I can make my own healing artifact. Even if there¡¯s no way to recruit the [Headmistress] to our cause, all is not lost.

    Even if she won¡¯t heal Lionel¡ªor me, I think wistfully¡ªI might be able to make my own version of the rod. I¡¯ll convince Mender Uttara to allow me access to his inner world, so that I can enhance his Skills. I¡¯m not sure if I can make anything that¡¯s as advanced as the Azure Rod, but I have to try. A healing artifact, combined with the Skill enhancements, ought to be enough to heal Lionel.

    The pained discussion I just heard etches itself onto the slate of my mind. The incredible miracle of restoration isn¡¯t free. If my suspicion is correct, then the [Headmistress] is sharing her own vitality with her patients as part of the healing rite. Convincing Mender Uttara to take on that burden might be difficult, but perhaps I can share the burden and help spread out the load.

    After all, I¡¯ll do anything for Lionel. Anything. He deserves more than I can ever repay after what he¡¯s done for me. I¡¯m still in his debt, but this is a step in the right direction.

    And maybe, just maybe, if he feels like he needs to pay me back, then he can restore my hand once he¡¯s awake and healthy. I grind my teeth at that thought, struggling with the guilt of my overwhelming selfishness. I don¡¯t want a glass hand, even if I can direct it with my [Glass Animation]. I want a real hand. Skin and bone and muscle. I won¡¯t give up until I find a way to make it happen. I want to be healed. I want to be whole again.

    No pressure, Lio.

 Book Six Chapter Seventeen

    ¡°Write it down again!¡± Rakesh demands, tapping the open notebook with a mana pen. ¡°That doesn¡¯t look right.¡±

    ¡°How do you know? You weren¡¯t there,¡± I say, staring at him with my best impression of Ezio.

    Rakesh frowns and points to a knot of intersecting lines. ¡°You¡¯re not paying attention to the rules of formalism. That¡¯s neither a link nor a crossing.¡±

    I furrow my brow and rub my forehead, fending off a pounding headache. Stifling a sigh, I comply with Rakesh¡¯s wishes and write down the rune that¡¯s giving me the most trouble. Or, at least, I sketch out the general shape of the rune that I vaguely remember from my brief glance at the [Headmistress]¡¯s artifact.

    It looks lopsided and ugly.

    We¡¯re back at our [Sanctuary of Glass] on the evening of the first half of our operation. My favorite [Secretarial Researcher] is helping me reconstruct the arrays I saw etched into the Azure Rod, but progress has ground to a halt. The more complex runes become, the more they occupy extra space. They¡¯re not actually four- or five-dimensional, but they feel like it.

    I grind my teeth, wishing that I had a better description of the soft whorls and intricate, geometric fractal edges. I don¡¯t have a dedicated memory Skill. Maybe I should work on that for the future since I¡¯m spending more and more time with complicated runes these days.

    ¡°Pushing mana into that abomination is more likely to kill me than heal Lionel,¡± I say with a snort. My self-deprecating joke earns a brief laugh from Rakesh, who¡¯s becoming something of a connoisseur of acerbic humor.

    ¡°Keep trying, Nuri,¡± Melina says, but her encouraging smile looks more brittle than usual. Purple bags hang heavy under her eyes. She¡¯s leafing through our hand-written runic dictionary, looking through common shapes to try to identify some overlap with runes we already know, but our combined efforts aren¡¯t bearing much fruit.

    After she returned from the hot shop at the Orpheus, along with a small glass golem tucked into her tunic pocket to broadcast my mana signature, she and Rakesh immediately got out notes and started on the next phase of the project.

    Hours later, she hasn¡¯t gotten as far as she¡¯d hoped. Rakesh¡¯s two bread and butter Research Skills, [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities] and the slightly more nebulous [Epiphany of the Scholar], are working overtime to analyze what I can remember.

    They¡¯re our only hope at this point. I can¡¯t seem to concentrate on the runes. Holding the strange shapes in my mind gives me a headache; the longer I focus on them, the more they fall out of my memory. It¡¯s like trying to grab a handful of smoke and shadow.

    Meanwhile, Mikko and Avelina are sitting quietly in the corner, deep in conversation. I don¡¯t expect them to have any input on runes, but their earnest whispers are distracting me. I wouldn¡¯t mind on a normal day. Right now, my head is killing me and they won¡¯t stop talking.

    ¡°Nuri? You with us?¡±

    My head jerks up, and a lie forms at the tip of my tongue before I swallow my words and shake my head. ¡°Sorry, Mel. I need a break.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to apologize,¡± she says softly. ¡°You¡¯ve worked yourself to the bone lately to make this all happen.¡±

    My shoulders slump. I shove the notebook away. ¡°All for nothing. The [Headmistress] is practically a corpse herself.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll crack the code,¡± Avelina says, finally breaking away from her sweet nothings to join the conversation. ¡°Rakesh is meticulous. And my sister¡¯s a genius.¡±

    The twins share a brief, brilliant smile. Melina brightens, seeming to regain some energy. ¡°Thanks, Ava.¡±

    I stand up and stretch, yawning so hard that my jaw cracks. ¡°Still. We¡¯re not any closer to fixing things than we were before. All we did was kick a hornet¡¯s nest.¡±

    ¡°We haven¡¯t reached our goal yet. That¡¯s true. But we¡¯ve got every tool we need at our disposal. Get some rest. We¡¯ll reconvene in the morning with fresh eyes and sharper minds,¡± Rakesh says, nodding sagely.

    I comb my fingers through my beard, trying unsuccessfully to tame my unruly curls. ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯m worried that we don¡¯t have much time. The entire city is on high alert.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the best time to take a break. Just lay low and let things blow over,¡± Mikko offers from where he¡¯s lounging against the wall, propped up on a stool in the corner. He¡¯s relaxed, a small smile on his face, and I envy how peaceful he looks.

    ¡°Mikko¡¯s got a point,¡± Rakesh says.

    ¡°Well, yeah. He¡¯s obviously the smarter brother,¡± Avelina teases.

    I laugh despite my frayed nerves. ¡°Oh, yeah, he¡¯s always been a real voice of reason.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for recognizing my talents,¡± Mikko replies, his eyes glinting in amusement.

    ¡°All right, all right. I get it. We¡¯ll come back to things tomorrow. I¡¯m too stressed to think properly, anyway,¡± I say.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get there bro.¡±

    I nod in thanks toward my brother. Honestly, the admission that I¡¯m struggling lifts a great weight off my shoulders. I don¡¯t have to solve this puzzle tonight. I don¡¯t have to bear up the weight of the entire world all by myself.

    It¡¯s a lesson that I keep having to re-learn on our travels. I guess everyone grows up at different rates. Some people just seem to ¡°get¡± life instantly. Some people see mistakes and consequences and learn from other¡¯s mistakes. Me? I learn through painful experiences¡ªand making the same mistakes multiple times over. I¡¯m slow. Stubborn. But I¡¯m trying.

    I hope that¡¯s what counts in the end, I tell myself as I get ready for bed and bid my friends good night. Everything will look brighter in the morning.

    =+=

    Despite my exhaustion, my nerves keep me up. I sleep hard when I finally pass out, but I¡¯m up with the dawn. The [Sanctuary] isn¡¯t transparent like window glass, but a little light still filters through. The intensity of yesterday¡¯s caper feels like a distant dream, although I¡¯m sore and my thoughts aren''t flowing as smoothly and quickly as usual.

    When I shuffle into the kitchen area, I find Melina exactly where I left her, poring over the notes I made and scribbling away furiously in her own notebook.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°You¡¯re up early. Sleep is for the weak, huh?¡± I say in greeting.

    She doesn¡¯t look up from her notes. ¡°I found a partial match for the subsections of five new runes,¡± she crows. The triumphant gleam in her eyes makes me swallow my snarky retort.

    I take a seat next to her and stifle a yawn. ¡°Nice work. Anything unusual?¡±

    ¡°No. They¡¯re all within expectations. Healing and enhanced connection between the user and the target. I don¡¯t know all the details, but I should be able to decipher the full runes if I can piece together the underlying radicals once Rakesh is up.¡±

    I glance at her notes, scratching my nose while my thoughts churn. Processing all of the information is slow today. ¡°Huh. That doesn¡¯t look like my drawing. I might not be much of an artist, but I didn¡¯t think I was that far off.¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t off at all,¡± Melina assures me with a chuckle. ¡°I didn¡¯t understand the runes at first, so I cut out the shapes and rotated them in space until I recognized something. Oh! Also, I had to slide some of the connecting lines to the side so I could see the vertices more clearly, but things started coming together once I got a better view.¡±

    I nod along, my eyes glazing over. It¡¯s too early for scholarly discourse. I give her a bright smile anyway. I don¡¯t really follow the process, but I fully trust Melina when it comes to spatial manipulation. She¡¯s had the most practice of any of us thanks to [Object Manipulation], not to mention her years of practicing meta-magic with her time dilation Skill.

    Moving the slow and fast bubbles for [In the Blink of an Eye] requires incredible acuity. Translating the Skill¡¯s anchors through space is way more demanding than simply adjusting hot and cold like I used to do. So if she claims she¡¯s made a breakthrough by moving the runes until they make sense, then I believe her.

    ¡°Whoa. That¡¯s awesome. Definitely sounds like you¡¯re on to something,¡± I say.

    ¡°Thanks! I do some of my best work when it¡¯s just me and my thoughts all night,¡± Melina says. Her stomach growls, and she giggles. ¡°Guess it¡¯s time to eat. Studying makes me hungry.¡±

    I grab two bright purple fruits from the basket, tossing one to Melina. I lift the other to my mouth, but hesitate before I sink my teeth into the sweet flesh. I should eat something savory first, and leave the sweet flavors to linger while I walk to work for the day.

    ¡°You know, I never considered that the runes might not have been written from the perspective of a supplicant. Nice going,¡± I say as I rummage around for more food.

    I end up cooking a quick double-serving for the two of us. Breakfast is a rice porridge with a single boiled egg on top of each bowl. We wash it down with ice water thanks to the cold box that Mikko made with his budding enchanting skills, and I wish her good luck with the rest of the runes¡ªonce I make her promise to get some sleep first.

    I enjoy the juicy fruit on my way out the door. It¡¯s the perfect early-morning snack. My steps are lighter than ever as I sneak out of her hidden lot and head to the Orpheus, and I hum while I walk. I¡¯m happy things are finally coming together.

    When I arrive at the Orpheus House, a squad of city watch [Enforcers] and [Guards] are waiting for me. Ugh! I gotta stop constantly testing fate, I growl at myself. Whenever I think life is swimming along, everything goes sideways.

    A gigantic man, a handbreadth taller than Mikko and even more thickly-built, with streaks of gray in his short-cropped hair, steps in front of me. A scowl twists his face as he bellows for all to hear: ¡°Halt!¡±

    I play dumb at first, turning to look over my shoulder as though I¡¯m certain they¡¯re talking to someone else. Determination and frustration roll off the city watch [Enforcer] as he strides toward me with a hand on his enchanted stun baton. ¡°Nuri Shahi? You¡¯re under arrest.¡±

    I grimace but don¡¯t make any threatening moves. Although I¡¯ve dealt with a lot of pain over the past couple years, I¡¯m not keen on feeling the electric bite of his weapon if he feels like I¡¯m resisting.

    ¡°Arrest? On what charges?¡± I finally ask, meeting his eyes and projecting confidence.

    When the big [Enforcer] realizes that I¡¯m speaking in a reasonable tone and not looking to fight, he relaxes slightly, although there¡¯s still a sense of wariness about him, like a panther poised to pounce. I can¡¯t recall ever seeing someone so muscular or with such well-condensed mana looking quite so nervous. Who does he think I am?

    He unfurls a scroll tucked into his belt and, keeping one eye locked on me, reads the list of charges on the warrant for my arrest:

    Inciting public unrest

    Extreme verbal harassment

    Inflicting intense fear and suffering

    Unauthorized use of magic

    Destruction of property

    Unregistered Second Threshold [Mage]

    ¡°Hold up,¡± I interrupt, chuckling. ¡°I¡¯m not in the Second Threshold. Nor am I a [Mage]. Well, not really. You sure you got the right guy?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your objection?¡± he asks, his craggy demeanor lightening up for a moment as he snorts in amusement. ¡°So, you don¡¯t deny the other allegations?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll sort that out in the court of law,¡± I reply, rolling my eyes. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have business to attend to in the building behind you.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance. You¡¯re coming with us,¡± the [Enforcer] says, loosening his stun baton in its leather holster.

    The other [Guards] fan out, holding up shields that buzz with enchantments. A barrier leaps into existence, connecting the members of the watch and boxing us in¡ªthough I suspect it¡¯s not intended to lock me down as much as it is to prevent collateral damage in the case of stray pulses of magic.

    I lick my lips, suddenly unsure of what to say. I¡¯m not keen on going to prison, but this is a fight I don¡¯t want. Without the insidious, insistent whisper of violence in the back of my mind, I don¡¯t feel very confident that I can take them and walk away unscathed.

    Just as I¡¯m about to tap into my Domain and flatten them anyway, Ozana intervenes.

    ¡°How good of you to visit the Orpheus, [Enforcer] Rueger! What brings you to our fine establishment today? Are you trying to steal my best glassmaker away from me? Sly devil! I always knew you had an eye for talent.¡±

    Rueger hesitates. He glances back and forth between us, then gestures angrily for the other [Guards] to stand down. ¡°He really works for you?¡±

    ¡°Of course. He¡¯s the artistic genius behind all the imbued items we sell. Want one?¡±

    Ozana¡¯s blatant bribery makes my heart skip a few beats. Is she trying to get me into worse trouble?

    ¡°You¡¯ll pay bail?¡± Rueger asks in a calculated voice. He twirls his baton, which appears in his hand too fast for me to follow. Probably a weapons Skill at play. He spins it between his fingers, causing tiny arcs of white lightning to crackle around him in agitation as he speaks.

    I gulp. He¡¯s definitely stronger than I am. Without my Domain, I don¡¯t want to fight him in close quarters.

    ¡°On my honor.¡±

    ¡°I prefer gold,¡± he says in a wary voice. ¡°He still has to stand trial, you know. Don¡¯t ship him off and think we¡¯ll forget about it.¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t leave the Orpheus House until this is resolved,¡± Ozana promises. ¡°You could call it House arrest, I suppose!¡±

    [Enforcer] Rueger groans. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll remand him into your care. After his stunt yesterday, he¡¯s banned from the Menders. Keep that in mind. You paying his repair fines, too?¡±

    ¡°Naturally. How about a watch discount?¡±

    ¡°Abyss take me. Fine! Let¡¯s get the paperwork done,¡± Rueger agrees, scowling harder than ever. His shoulders sag in defeat, and he mutters under his breath as he herds me toward the auction house.

    Curiously, not a hint of greed wafts off him, only deep resignation. Maybe he¡¯s not just doing it for the money. Ozana must have an odd reputation.

    All the while, I barely repress my laughter at the thought of Ozana paying for repairs that I performed. I wonder if she realized yet that I was on Jabal¡¯s crew, albeit temporarily.

    In the end, we strike a deal that lets me avoid jail in exchange for house arrest. Ozana bails me out and pays my fine, on the condition that I¡¯ll put my stay at the Orpheus to good use and create more glass masterworks to pay her back. Rueger departs looking like he swallowed an entire bag of lemons, much to Ozana¡¯s amusement.

    I watch him go, then chuckle and head to the hot shop to get to work. Ozana might own my days now, but at night I¡¯ll put my efforts toward making my version of the Azure Rod. Melina and Rakesh will have to crack the code without me. Luckily, they¡¯re perfect for the job. I have the best team in the world.

 Book Six Chapter Eighteen

    I¡¯m holed up in the Orpheus to avoid another run in with the city watch, which means I¡¯m bored. My schedule is full, but it¡¯s hard to shake the feeling that I¡¯m wasting time with busywork. At least Mikko¡¯s counsel holds true: laying low gives us time for the brouhaha to die down. The others aren¡¯t under any real suspicion of wrongdoing other than spending time with a hot-head like me, so they¡¯re free to come and go as they please.

    When they come to visit, my brilliant friends keep me apprised of their progress. They¡¯re getting more work done than I am. We¡¯ve all continued to try to decipher the runes I remember from the Azure Rod. Developing a working prototype has become a friendly race, as well as validation for our unique approaches: Rakesh with his odd Skills for pattern-matching and library-lookups, Melina with her creative use of time-space manipulation, and my dogged efforts to test runes in real-time.

    I spend my evenings etching one rune at a time onto the surface of palm-sized panes of glass. Attempting to initialize the runes with my mana hasn¡¯t been going well, though. Despite our growing runic dictionary, there are still too many ideograms that I don¡¯t fully understand. All too often, I let out a frustrated sigh, melt down the glass when it inevitably fails to produce the intended results, and wrap myself in a blanket before passing out on the floor of the hot shop.

    Every failure cuts me to the core. The longer we take to help Lionel, the more I worry that his chances are slipping away.

    I pace back and forth one evening, pondering the meaning of a swooping line bisecting a golden spiral. I want to believe that I¡¯m closer to unlocking its meaning than I was the first night I tried infusing my mana into the rune, but I¡¯m trying not to lie to myself.

    I stop in the middle of the hot shop and snap my fingers. ¡°Perhaps it simply intensifies the subsequent runic array?¡±

    I fetch a second pane of glass and use my Domain to etch a simple rune for fire. I feed in a drop of mana, watching closely through my mana sense as it flares to life. Too big for a candle and too small for a hearth fire, the pure flame burns like a merry little torch.

    I stack the two panes of glass, with the intensifier on top of the fire rune, and offer up the same exact amount of mana¡ªthe smallest discrete unit I can produce. As I hoped, the mystery rune lights up just before the fire leaps into the air. The resulting flame is taller and brighter.

    ¡°Just over half again as high, and definitely greater intensity,¡± I mutter to myself, pleased at the minor epiphany. Greater efficiency is always welcome, particularly for people who struggle with mana control. Lionel could use the rune to combat his mana leakage. He might amplify his efficiency to average levels with this new modifier.

    Jubilation dies as my gaze drifts over to the pile of runes I plan to test later. What¡¯s one small victory compared with a hundred defeats? I know that I shouldn¡¯t think about the mountain of work still to come. Focusing on the next task is the best way to avoid getting overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the task at hand. Still. It¡¯s hard not to wallow in my failures.

    I set the runes aside, noting down my discovery, and shake out my stiff muscles. I¡¯m in the studio every day, rising before dawn to work for the Orpheus. Staying up late each night to puzzle out runes means sleep has fallen by the wayside, and it¡¯s starting to take its toll on me. Without the gift of [Lesser Resistance: Mental Strain] from Lionel¡¯s Class Skills, I don¡¯t know how I¡¯d continue to function.

    Mana-imbuing more glass items for Orpheus is lucrative enough to sustain all of us at once, thankfully. My team no longer has to put in long hours at their work, which means that my friends have more time to spend on the runes I copied. The extra money is going toward raising the homey [Sanctuary of Glass] to an entirely new level of luxury¡ªor so I hear.

    I sigh, shuffling over to my favorite chair and slumping down to rest my weary body. I didn¡¯t live in the [Sanctuary] for long, but I miss the place all the same. It¡¯s more of a home than most places I¡¯ve stayed on the road, including the hot shop at the Orpheus into which I¡¯ve moved recently after Ozana intervened on my behalf.

    Speaking of Ozana, I had a long and eye-opening discussion with the iron-fisted ruler of the Orpheus House about the auctions for an audience with the [Headmistress]. According to the bylaws that Rakesh studied, paying to jump to the top of the long waitlist is illegal. Ozana confirmed that¡¯s technically true. No public official ever enforces the statute, however. There¡¯s too much money flowing into their coffers thanks to patients the world over making pilgrimages to Gilead to visit the Menders.

    Like all things, there seem to be two sets of rules: those for regular people, and those for people in power. The elites turn a blind eye toward the fundraising auctions, provided that gold continues to flow.

    In a rush, I told Ozana that we could use the auction to our advantage and simply buy the next available time slot. Excitement blinded me to reality, but she soon set me straight. Even if I crafted an imbued masterwork every single day for the next few years, I likely wouldn¡¯t earn enough to win a bid. The amount of money the wealthy could throw around to heal a family member was so far outside of my expectation that I found myself numb to the cost. It¡¯s too hard to wrap my mind around the number as anything more than a concept. It¡¯s simply too high.

    My frustration with the situation drove me to redouble my efforts with the runes, which is why I called tonight¡¯s meeting. I expand my [Arcane Domain], checking for the third time in the last few minutes if my friends are here yet. While we¡¯re still far from figuring out the full array, both Rakesh and Melina are confident that I can prototype a lesser variant soon. We might not be able to fully heal Lionel, but perhaps we can reverse some of the damage bit by bit.

    Progress is progress, I tell myself. Melina keeps earning small victories, as much as my competitive nature hates to admit that I¡¯m falling behind. We¡¯re all in this together, though. The more runes she uncovers, the easier it becomes for the rest of us to fill in gaps and determine the hidden meaning of the remaining runes. It doesn¡¯t matter that she can¡¯t fully translate the inscriptions; she¡¯s been able to guess at the rough purpose of a few arrays, and that¡¯s better than I¡¯ve done until my discovery tonight.

    Familiar presences enter the farthest range of my Domain. I leap up to my feet, my weariness and mopey thoughts instantly forgotten. With a pulse of mana, I activate a ward that Ozana keyed to my signature, allowing me to open an otherwise-locked side door for my team.

    Minutes later, they¡¯re gathered in the studio, and my isolation ends. If only Lionel were here, too, then my life would be perfect.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see what the big deal is,¡± Avelina complains as she makes herself comfortable on a pile of pillows I¡¯ve set aside in the corner just for when she visits me for a crafting session. ¡°Why do you have to know what they mean? Copy all the runes directly and see what happens.¡±

    I suppress a sigh, about to launch into an explanation of why that will never work due to the lack of resonance with the underlying concepts, when I wonder if maybe we¡¯ve been looking at it all wrong. We know the meaning of the full paragraph, but not the words and sentences. Is that enough? If it is, then getting the broad strokes correct is what¡¯s important right now. We can unravel the rest of the mystery after Lionel is restored to good health.

    Warming to the idea, I consider my words as I place my last piece in the annealing kiln and join the team at a low table on the side of the studio space. We¡¯re sprawled on the floor, reclining on incredibly plush cushions and eating cheese, dried meats, and candied nuts.

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    ¡°Um. That might actually work,¡± I find myself saying around a bite of smoked cheese.

    ¡°Then why hasn¡¯t someone done it before?¡± Mikko asks. He gives Avelina an apologetic look when she scowls at him, but he¡¯s got a point.

    ¡°Usually, runes require intent. If you don¡¯t harmonize the meaning with your goal, then nothing happens. But we already have a clear example of the intent and meaning; we simply lack understanding of all the symbols. Most of the people who get close enough to the artifact to see the runes probably aren¡¯t also able to imbue or decipher runes. We might be able to copy the entire thing and successfully power the entire runic array without full comprehension of the individual runes, as strange as that sounds.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s do it!¡± Avelina cheers.

    ¡°That¡¯s dangerous, Ava,¡± Melina rebukes, but her mild tone tips me off that she¡¯s simply answering by rote. The thoughtful furrow of her brows tells a different story.

    Rakesh laces his fingers together and rests his elbows on the table. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous for most people, yes. But we have enough runic experts here to give ourselves a shot.¡±

    ¡°I hate to repeat myself, and I know I¡¯m not as smart as the rest of you, but why haven¡¯t others done it first?¡± Mikko asks.

    ¡°Without Melina¡¯s ability to look at my chicken scratches, recreate them, and rotate the corrected runes in three dimensions, we¡¯d never have gotten close. I don¡¯t think you realize how many strange and powerful Skills we have as a team.¡±

    Mikko smirks at me. ¡°I just hit things with a hammer. Seems to be working out all right for me. Some might say I¡¯m the more successful brother, honestly.¡±

    ¡°Boring as always,¡± I tease.

    ¡°Effective,¡± he counters.

    ¡°Also, not the brother who got arrested. Again,¡± Avelina helpfully adds. She turns an innocent gaze toward me, her eyes wide and unblinking.

    I can¡¯t help but laugh.

    ¡°Got me there,¡± I admit. ¡°While I¡¯m under house arrest, why don¡¯t you help me put our new theory into practice? Let¡¯s make a healing artifact!¡±

    Mikko puts a protective arm around Avelina. ¡°I don¡¯t want to risk anyone getting hurt if it goes sideways.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re tough enough to protect us against a backlash, Mikko,¡± I say tentatively, not sure if I should volunteer my brother to shield us in case of disaster.

    A proud look settling over his rugged features. ¡°Someone has to take care of you fragile little mages.¡±

    I chew on the inside of my cheek. ¡°You sure? Don¡¯t let us pressure you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± he growls, absolute conviction radiating off him in waves.

    I salute him. ¡°Proud of you, bro.¡±

    He waves me off, a rust-red blush creeping up his neck. I take pity on him and turn to our [Researcher]. ¡°Rakesh, how much longer until your contacts are in position?¡±

    He scowls. Before he answers, he sends his paper birds to the corners of the rooms with a flick of his wrist, setting up the protective silencing array of his beloved Skill. Satisfied at the security of the room, he finally speaks. ¡°They¡¯re ready.¡±

    ¡°Are we?¡± I ask quietly.

    He shakes his head. ¡°We still haven¡¯t managed to identify the remaining rotten elements of the Menders, however. We¡¯re confident that we¡¯re getting close to determining precisely how the [Lady] Saphora is connected to everything, but we don¡¯t want to move too early and spook them into hiding.¡±

    I frown, stroking my beard as I consider his analysis. ¡°Not sure I agree. Cut off the head and the body drops lifeless.¡±

    ¡°Hmph. And if the rest scatter instead, biding their time and reemerging in a few years?¡± Rakesh says. He leans back on his cushion, adopting what I assume is a dignified look. He only manages to seem cozy, instead.

    ¡°I guess we can wait until we try Ava¡¯s idea with the Azure Rod.¡±

    Rakesh nods in approval. ¡°I¡¯d hope so. I¡¯ve spent my days planning and writing letters like a madman possessed. I won¡¯t risk upending things by acting prematurely.¡±

    ¡°You just want to count this toward your graduate project,¡± Melina says, a knowing smile on her face.

    ¡°That¡¯s always been the plan,¡± Rakesh says. He shrugs helplessly. ¡°Why do you think I agreed to join your adventure? Ezio insisted that traveling abroad and seeing the world would be good for me. He was right.¡±

    I smile. ¡°No surprise there.¡±

    ¡°An excellent mentor,¡± Rakesh agrees. There¡¯s a hitch in his voice, though.

    ¡°But?¡± Melina interjects.

    Rakesh sits up and pours himself a cup of tea. ¡°I¡¯m still a [Secretarial Researcher], but these days I have a hard time imagining myself sitting in front of a desk for the rest of my life. What will Ezio say?¡±

    I take another bite of my cheese, savoring the savory notes. ¡°Easy. Ezio will be proud of your growth. No wonder you¡¯re putting out feelers for new lines of work. I didn¡¯t think of you as [Inquisitor] material before, but you really excel at forensic analysis. I¡¯m positive [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote will take you immediately if we pull this off.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of pressure.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so talented that he¡¯d take you regardless,¡± I say, amending my previous answer as smoothly as I can. ¡°Don¡¯t let it get you down. Besides, you don¡¯t have to do field work all the time, even if you¡¯re good at disguises.¡±

    Rakesh sips his tea, taking a while to answer. ¡°I enjoy subterfuge. I used to hate when people teased me for being caged in the library, but I¡¯ve gotten a taste of freedom. Honestly, I don¡¯t want to go back.¡±

    ¡°Then don¡¯t. Now stop moping and give me a hand with those runes.¡±

    Avelina leaps up, bouncing on her feet in excitement. ¡°You got it! I¡¯ll assist.¡±

    I spring up from the cushion, reinvigorated by Avelina¡¯s intriguing suggestion. ¡°I¡¯ve been studying the scrying system more. I think I can duplicate the effects. Let¡¯s get to work.¡±

    I wave my hand, beckoning a glass golem over to my side. It¡¯s simple in design, looking more like a table than an animal. Its surface is covered in small, elegant runes.

    ¡°Watch this!¡± I boast, connecting my [Arcane Domain] to my newest golem creation. The runic arrays glow with power in my sight, and an instant later the smooth table top lights up with an image of my latest runic combination, showing off the intensifier I discovered.

    ¡°Ah! It includes magnification,¡± Rakesh exclaims, leaning over the table to study the up close and personal view of the sea serpent chalice that I made. ¡°This is better than that device Ezio ordered for the SCA.¡±

    ¡°The microscope?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Precisely. Can you get this golem to work with the scrying sensor?¡± Rakesh murmurs, writing down the runes I used while he observes.

    ¡°Unfortunately, I haven¡¯t had any success with making my own sensor yet. I¡¯d have to steal¡ªer, borrow¡ªone from Ozana. It¡¯s only compatible with my Domain currently.¡±

    ¡°Once you figure it out, I¡¯ll help you optimize the runes and buy a few,¡± Rakesh promises. ¡°I can think of a number of uses for this level of detail. Perhaps we could return to the armor that you were making. If we can find a way to miniaturize it, then I could finally manage the weight.¡±

    I wince. ¡°Sorry about that. I ought to craft you a replacement gift since my present wasn¡¯t very practical.¡±

    Rakesh straightens. In a rare display of sentimentality, he tucks away his notebook and smiles, his eyes crinkling. ¡°Gifts aren¡¯t why I travel with you. I¡¯m your friend, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad to count you as my friend, too.¡± I break into a grin. ¡°It helps that you¡¯re also a runic expert.¡±

    He chuckles and pulls the notebook back out, thumbing through the pages to pull up his most recent research on the Azure Rod. ¡°To the crucible, my friend.¡±

    Mikko slides the entire platter of leftover snacks over to his spot, a happy smile on his face while the rest of us scurry into position around the studio. Avelina takes up her place by the workbench, ready to support me with the glass shaping. Her flameworking is better than ever, thanks to all her practice lately creating jewelry and curios for the Orpheus, but it¡¯s been a long time since we worked side by side on a glass blowing project.

    Melina and Rakesh re-write the runes that we¡¯ve been able to verify, writing each one on a separate piece of paper. I display the design on my little scrying table, enlarging the view so that we can see the next one at a glance. I¡¯ll need to supply the mana and intent to complete the work, but Melina agrees to etch the runes into the glass rod. I can¡¯t wait until she earns an imbuing or enchanting Skill of her own. Maybe this project will be the impetus she needs to take the next step.

    Avelina collects a gather of molten glass for me while I consult my notes and finalize the plan for our knock-off version of the Azure Rod. I breathe in deeply, filling my cheeks with air, and blow out in a slow, steady stream as I envision the exhale carrying away all of my doubts and fears.

    ¡°Ready, Ava?¡± I ask.

    She grins. ¡°Let¡¯s make a miracle!¡±

 Book Six Chapter Nineteen

    As I take the blowpipe from Avelina and pour the hot glass into a mold I¡¯ve prepared for the rod, I¡¯m struck by a stray memory.

    Artisans see the world differently.

    My mother used to tell me that. I remember those words, though I recall little else I learned from her since I was so young when my parents passed. Our perspective is vitally important, she insisted: it helps prevent the world from losing its soul. I click my tongue. It¡¯s a nice sentiment, but I¡¯m not so sure that I agree. Beauty may be subjective, but to claim it¡¯s the exclusive purview of crafters? Hubris.

    I almost freeze up and let the glass flow down in a glob to the ground, but years of training save me from embarrassment. I keep the pipe spinning while I ask myself, why now? What prompted that old thought of artistry versus function?

    ¡°I¡¯ll use a mold for simplicity,¡± I announce, changing tactics and moving over toward a simple metal mold. The glass will come out with gentle fluting along the sides as the only nod to decoration. I¡¯m trying to save my best friend, not compete with the Master who crafted the original Azure Rod.

    I¡¯ve met plenty of [Soldiers], [Merchants], and even a certain surly [Smokeborn Pathfinder] who all saw things I didn¡¯t. They weren¡¯t soulless or overly utilitarian because of their Class. Even Azariah was full of surprises, like when he recounted stories of the Phoenix he met, or when he showed off the power of his smoke-based illusions and scrying magic.

    Perhaps everyone is an artist at some level, deep inside, I muse. There¡¯s nothing unique about it, but that doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s meaningless.

    At the raised eyebrow from Avelina, who no doubt intended to help me make something that will look far more impressive, I can simply offer a shrug. I don¡¯t feel like explaining myself. Maybe it¡¯s not fair to her, but my sudden bout of melancholy makes me feel more introverted than usual, even if I¡¯m making an attempt lately to trust my friends and rely on them more often.

    ¡°You gonna take all the credit for yourself?¡± Avelina grumbles.

    ¡°Sorry. This just seems easier for now. If we get it working, I want you to help make it beautiful,¡± I reply, finishing up the pour and moderating the local heat to aid the glass as it cools in the mold.

    Mikko glares at me. ¡°You better.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s our best flameworker. I wouldn¡¯t leave her out!¡±

    ¡°Ava, why don¡¯t we check out the auction floor while my selfish brother plays hero again?¡± Mikko suggests. ¡°We¡¯ll be back in time to help with a barrier in case of a backlash.¡±

    ¡°Buy me something pretty!¡± Avelina says, switching from a scowl to a happy smile. She wags her finger at me. ¡°Don¡¯t start without us, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± I deadpan.

    Avelina snickers, but shrugs after a moment. ¡°Who gets things right on the first try, anyway? This way I get to skip the boring parts!¡±

    I wave goodbye as the two take off for the upper floor with the more extravagant display cases. A frown creases Melina¡¯s face, but she doesn¡¯t advocate for her sister to stay. Instead, she settles down to wait for the glass to set, casting a time-dilation around the mold to hasten the process.

    Rakesh clears his throat. ¡°It¡¯s for the best this way. Avelina¡¯s right. Our first attempt isn¡¯t likely to succeed, so there¡¯s no need to hold everyone hostage to suspense.¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± I reply, less certain of my actions than I was before. ¡°I hope I didn¡¯t hurt her feelings.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance,¡± Melina assures me. ¡°You promised her that she could make the final result look beautiful. It was a good call; there¡¯s no point wasting her talents on a non-working prototype.¡±

    I nod at Melina¡¯s words, but I still feel bad. I should have given her an option before switching to the mold. Just because I was dealing with an unexpected bit of nostalgia doesn¡¯t mean that I should have decided for everyone unilaterally. We¡¯re supposed to be a team, after all. The two scholars in the room will obviously want to note down everything that happens, regardless of success or failure, but I didn¡¯t really give Avelina a chance to express her opinion or help with the project.

    Before I lose myself in wallowing, Melina claps her hands together in satisfaction. ¡°Done! Let¡¯s get the glass out and start engraving.¡±

    She lifts the solid glass rod with [Object Manipulation], hovering it over to the workbench near me and laying it down on the marver. A mana pen coalesces in her grasp, and she whistles nonchalantly as she begins transcribing the first minuscule rune at one end of the rod. Her gaze is locked onto the golem table I created with the scrying magnification on its back, relying on the visual feedback to guide her script.

    Rakesh smirks at me. ¡°Better close your mouth before one of my birds flies in and makes a nest. Or don¡¯t. It¡¯s an amusing mental image.¡±

    I snap my jaw shut with a click, tossing a glare at my favorite [Researcher]. The sight of Melina¡¯s irrepressible grin makes me whoop and jump into the air, pumping my fist in victory. ¡°That¡¯s awesome, Mel! When did you learn to make your own mana pen?¡±

    ¡°A few days ago.¡±

    ¡°And you didn¡¯t show me?¡± My voice squeaks with my indignation.

    ¡°What, and give up the chance for this kind of reaction?¡± Melina asks innocently. She never once looks away from her inscription, but the corners of her lips keep twitching up. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for just the right moment to show off¡ªand it was so worth it!¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°All right. I admit it. You got me. You got me good,¡± I say, chuckling. Melina really loves her pranks. ¡°Promise me that you won¡¯t keep it a secret when you learn to mana-imbue? I¡¯ve been waiting to celebrate with you all year.¡±

    ¡°You have my word,¡± Melina says. There¡¯s no hint of teasing or mockery this time, and I relax at the sincerity in her voice.

    I pull up a chair next to her, sitting still so I won¡¯t bump her as she works on the runes. ¡°I meant what I promised last year about helping you become a Master. I¡¯m taking all of you with me. What¡¯s the point of reaching the heights if I¡¯m all by myself?¡±

    We fall into a companionable silence after that. Melina meticulously inscribes each rune, while Rakesh advances the papers of written runes across the scrying sensor in synchronization with her work. I don¡¯t have anything else to do other than hold the intent in mind and coax mana into the entire runic array.

    Hours flow by like water. At some point, Mikko and Avelina return from their shopping trip to show off our [Flameworker]¡¯s new jewelry collection. I barely notice, although Melina pauses her work to make appropriate noises of approval. Drowsiness almost claims me twice, but Rakesh is on the spot, prodding me awake each time so that I can continue to supply energy into the rod.

    By the time we finish the work, everyone¡¯s too tired to return to the [Sanctuary]. Despite our impatience to test out our version of the healing rod, we turn in for the night, sprawling out on the floor in front of the furnace for warmth.

    No one sleeps right away. Rakesh coughs loudly, catching our attention. ¡°In our rush to complete a working prototype, have we ever stopped to ask the question of how we¡¯ll test the rod? None of us are [Healers].¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope that it doesn¡¯t simply amplify healing Skills,¡± Melina replies from her spot on the other side of the furnace, where the two girls have set up a hanging blanket to act as a privacy divider for the evening.

    ¡°Good point,¡± Mikko says. ¡°We don¡¯t want to make things worse. This should work more like that miracle potion than a standard healing Skill, right?¡±

    ¡°As far as I know,¡± I say, but the lack of certainty makes my stomach churn. If we end up hurting Lionel instead of helping, all because we didn¡¯t have a way to test the rod properly, then I¡¯ll never forgive myself.

    Rakesh lets out a heavy sigh. ¡°We don¡¯t have much of a choice. I hesitated to even bring up my earlier question, since I doubt we will be able to find a Mender who¡¯s willing to help.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you test out the rod on me before trying it on Lionel?¡± Mikko suggests. ¡°I¡¯m as tough as they come, so there¡¯s little chance of harming me.¡±

    ¡°Not a bad idea. Mender Uttara will probably agree to help. Rakesh and Melina will have to analyze the runic activations in my absence. My [Arcane Domain] can¡¯t see what¡¯s going on through the scrying spell.¡±

    ¡°Have you tested that?¡± Melina asks.

    I snort in amusement. ¡°Typical question, Mel. And, yes, I have. The scrying is visual only. No magical transmissions.¡±

    ¡°Guess it¡¯s up to us. Rakesh and I will do our best,¡± Melina promises.

    I close my eyes, content with her answer. They¡¯ll figure out a plan. Tomorrow will be a day of reckoning, one way or another. Nerves have me jittery, but I¡¯ll just have to trust my team to take care of everything. I hope Avelina is wrong and it works on the first try, I think as I finally succumb to exhaustion and slip into a deep and dreamless sleep.

    Waking up is hard the next day. I¡¯m still groggy, and my friends are talking way too loud for the early morning hours. A quick glance at a clock informs me that I slept in far longer than I thought. I still wish they were quieter, but I no longer have an excuse for acting grumpy. At least breakfast is tasty; the fried potatoes and well-seasoned eggs improve my mood considerably.

    My friends take a golem paired to the scrying table with them when they depart. I don¡¯t let them leave until they each promise to remind the others to set up the scrying sensor before they give the rod to Mender Uttara. Mikko rolls his eyes, but he goes a step further than the rest and writes down the instructions in his notebook, assuring me that he¡¯ll do his best to remind the others not to get swept up in their excitement.

    I bid them farewell with a heavy heart, sad that I won¡¯t be able to be there for Lionel. He deserves better; I can¡¯t let my emotions get me in trouble like this again in the future.

    Rakesh folds a paper bird and leaves it with me so that we can confirm verbally that I see the feed. Between Rakesh and Mikko, I trust that I won¡¯t be forgotten. It¡¯s nerve-wracking not to be there in person, but I remind myself that I couldn¡¯t do anything to help either way.

    Pacing back and forth in the studio is all I can do while I wait for them to make the trek over to the Menders Campus. Technically, I owe Ozana another masterwork, but today I don¡¯t care much about quota. I suspect she won¡¯t hold it against me if I take a break. She knows it¡¯s because I¡¯m worried about Lionel, and not because I¡¯m slacking.

    That¡¯s one of the reasons I like working with her; our arrangement feels like an actual partnership, even with the imbalance of favors, power, and connections. After the disastrous encounters in the Barrens, I¡¯m tired of letting people take advantage of me. From now on, I¡¯m determined to only work with people I trust.

    ¡°Nuri? Can you see us?¡±

    Mikko¡¯s voice echoes through the studio, startling me out of my reverie. I yelp and barely keep from jumping back in fright, fumbling the bird and dropping it on the floor. Good thing they can¡¯t see me, I think in embarrassment as I scoop up the paper bird. By the time I check my golem, confirming that I can see Lionel, my heart rate is almost back to normal.

    ¡°Uh. Yeah,¡± I say shakily.

    He arches an eyebrow. ¡°You sure?¡±

    ¡°Yep! You¡¯re good to go.¡±

    In the image on the back of my table-golem, Mikko flashes a smile and waves. He turns to Mender Uttara, whose arms are crossed, and hands him the glass rod. Skepticism is plain to see on the Mender¡¯s face, but he¡¯s studiously trying to keep a professional demeanor.

    Mikko gestures toward himself, puffing up his chest, but Mender Uttara shakes his head. He looks more and more uncomfortable the longer my brother talks.

    Eventually, Rakesh draws a small knife and stabs Mikko in the arm. Thanks to his [Iron Skin], he takes hardly any damage, though the sudden burst of violence draws a shout of alarm from the gentle Mender.

    ¡°Go on, heal me! I¡¯ve got a scratch from the fragile [Researcher],¡± Mikko says in between peals of laughter. His jovial nature and lack of actual injury mollifies Mender Uttara somewhat, although the man gives Rakesh an extremely peeved side-eye.

    ¡°Very well. I will try your artifact, although I must warn you that the Azure Rod is a very popular target of counterfeiters. I hope the scammers didn¡¯t charge you too much.¡±

    The team is tight-lipped about where they got the rod, which doesn¡¯t seem to reassure the one friend we have among the Menders. Still, to his credit, he sends a spark of mana into the glass rod, powering up the runic arrays etched across its surface.

    A flare of blinding light obscures the scrying feed. By the time I blink away the tears in my eyes from the blazing white burst, two things become instantly obvious: the cut on Mikko¡¯s arm is gone, and Mender Uttara is lying motionless on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

 Book Six Chapter Twenty

    Consequences.

    The word has never tasted so bitter in my mouth. I grip the edge of the scrying table so hard that the glass creaks under my grip. Even with an unbreakable imbuement, the [Mage] half of my Class churns my mana and empowers my right hand with super-human strength.

    No one speaks. Shock renders them mute. Then, all at once, movement breaks out.

    Melina swoons, her eyes rolling up, and only quick movement from her sister Avelina saves her from collapsing to the ground. Mikko guides her to a seat next to Lionel¡¯s bedside, and she soon seems to recover her senses, although her eyes have a glassy, far-off look. She¡¯s shaking hard, and I¡¯ve never seen her seem so disturbed. She¡¯s way too hardy for the blood to bother her, so what¡¯s going on? And why aren¡¯t Mikko and Avelina affected when Rakesh looks similarly ashen?

    The [Researcher]¡¯s fingers are trembling, and he¡¯s swaying on his feet. Most worrying of all, he¡¯s let go of his notebook, dropping it on the floor. For once, he hardly seems aware that he¡¯s not holding his book. He doesn¡¯t even reach for it despite witnessing an incredible burst of power from testing an artifact he helped create. Something is terribly wrong, and I suspect it has to do with watching the runic arrays as they activated. Did the mana surge damage their minds?

    Help comes from an unexpected quarter. ¡°Pull my teacher up here on the bed before he bleeds out,¡± a feeble voice croaks. As soft as the words are, there¡¯s an inexorable command in the tone that makes my friends listen.

    ¡°Lionel!¡± I scream into the paper bird that Rakesh left behind for me. ¡°You¡¯re awake!¡±

    ¡°Nuri? Where are you?¡± Lionel asks, looking around in bewilderment. He still seems too weak to sit up, but thankfully Rakesh dropped the bird right next to his pillow, so he can hear me clearly.

    ¡°Watching from the Orpheus.¡±

    Lionel¡¯s face falls. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°I wish I could be there, but I got kicked out,¡± I admit sheepishly.

    ¡°And arrested,¡± Avelina pipes up.

    Lionel blinks rapidly. He opens his mouth to ask a question, then turns his full attention toward Mender Uttara as Mikko drags him up onto the hospital bed next to Lionel.

    ¡°Seems like I missed a lot. We¡¯ll catch up. Later,¡± Lionel says. He reaches for his mentor, placing a hand on the Mender¡¯s shoulder, and closes his eyes. Teeth gritted in concentration, he sends healing magic into Mender Uttara, stemming the blood seeping from the Mender¡¯s eyes and nose.

    After far too brief a moment, Lionel¡¯s strength gives out. He coughs weakly and slumps back against his sheets, too spent to continue. His eyes flutter closed.

    ¡°Lio! Stay with us!¡± I yell.

    He can¡¯t hear me through the link. He doesn¡¯t respond. Panic rises up like bile within me, but my friends are quick to check his pulse and give me a reassuring hand sign.

    Melina picks up the paper bird, cupping it in her hand. ¡°Relax, Nuri. His breathing is calm and even, if a bit slow. I¡¯m not seeing any evidence of deterioration. He¡¯s simply worn out after healing Mender Uttara.¡±

    ¡°Hm. Both of our healers are out of commission, just when we need them,¡± Mikko says, shaking his head.

    ¡°No wonder the bodyguards were arguing against the [Headmistress] using the Azure Rod so many times in a row,¡± I mutter, staring at Mender Uttara with equal measures pity and admiration. He activated an unknown enchantment on the off-chance it would heal his student. That takes courage.

    It¡¯s also stupid. I cough at that stray thought. I might be a bad influence, come to think of it. Always charging ahead without concern for the consequences. Look where that got us.

    Mikko scoops up Mender Uttara¡¯s still-unconscious form. ¡°We should probably get him to another [Healer]. I¡¯ll go find a Mender who can help.¡±

    Avelina¡¯s eyes go wide. She slides in front of him, barring his way to the door. ¡°We can¡¯t! They¡¯ll wonder how he got like this. We have to keep things secret.¡±

    ¡°Then he dies,¡± Mikko replies, his voice hoarse with emotion. His simple proclamation makes the rest of the team freeze in place as surely as if they¡¯ve been caught in one of Melina¡¯s temporal bubbles.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe that,¡± Avelina whispers. She takes a breath, and her mouth opens and closes twice, but no words come out. I wonder if she¡¯s discarding new lines of thought before even giving them voice. Finally, she throws up her hands and steps out of the way.

    ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    Mikko smiles sadly. ¡°Believe it. Without further help, he¡¯s going to die. And it will be our fault. We can¡¯t hide from consequences forever.¡±

    ¡°There might be another way,¡± Melina says. She paces in the narrow confines of the room with one hand clasped on her notebook. She and Rakesh no longer seem to be shaking, although her eyes look bloodshot and haunted. She definitely saw something strange.

    ¡°What are you thinking, Mel?¡± I ask, trying to project my voice through the paper bird so that the entire team can hear me.

    She flips the pages of her book with her free hand, looking for a specific entry. ¡°Ah! Here. Our notes on how mundane medical care stabilized Lionel. If it worked for his grievous wounds, then why not for Mender Uttara? We¡¯re so caught up in magical artifacts and runes lately that we haven¡¯t been paying attention to simple solutions.¡±

    Avelina brightens a bit now that there¡¯s a task at hand. ¡°Oh, yeah! There¡¯s gauze and ointment in the cupboard underneath the desk. I helped change a few of Lionel¡¯s bandages, so I¡¯ll start wrapping up the worst of the injuries.¡±

    Mikko relents, laying Mender Uttara down at the foot of the bed. He helps Avelina with a folded package of clean linens and bandages that she produces from the cabinet, and together they bind up his wounds.

    ¡°Will that be enough?¡± I ask.

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    ¡°Not likely. I¡¯ll also give him some medicinal tea,¡± Avelina offers. ¡°One of the assistant Menders showed me how to prepare the herbs the other day. It improves blood circulation and promotes mana regeneration. That should help accelerate his natural healing.¡±

    I nod, then remember they can¡¯t see me. I clear my throat. ¡°It¡¯s a good start, but I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s fast enough. Do you think you can use the rod to heal him? I don¡¯t want anyone else to take the hit.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. We¡¯ll still need another [Healer] to activate the rod,¡± Melina points out.

    Avelina snorts. ¡°Let¡¯s make [Lady] Saphora do it. Only fair she fixes her problems.¡±

    Her sister looks eminently unamused, but I catch Mikko mirroring the smirk on my own face. Humor helps in the middle of tense situations.

    ¡°What if you only use some of the runes, without the full activation?¡± I suggest.

    ¡°Nuri, you¡¯re the one with the most practice. I¡¯m a [Researcher]. Theory is my area of expertise,¡± Rakesh says, grimacing as he admits his drawbacks.

    ¡°You know the most,¡± I agree. ¡°But Melina is my choice for this one. She has the best mana control of the group.¡±

    ¡°You flatter me,¡± Melina mutters, but I don¡¯t miss the way the tips of her ears take on a pink tinge. She¡¯s clearly pleased with my compliment.

    ¡°You got this, Mel. Feed a little mana into the runes related to vitality and we should be able to restore him to good health.¡±

    Mikko claps his hands together, interrupting our conversation and sending a concussive wave of sound through the transmission. I wince at the sudden spike in volume, but focus on what my brother says. ¡°Not a chance I¡¯m letting anyone else activate those runes without more understanding of what we¡¯re doing. That¡¯s reckless, Nuri!¡±

    Anger wells up at his rebuke. Who does my brother think he is? I¡¯m not a child! I take a breath, about to lash out, but the red-hot surge of emotion abruptly bleeds away as I realize he¡¯s right. Didn¡¯t I come to the same conclusion that I¡¯m too hasty just moments earlier? My mouth snaps shut before I say anything I regret, and I slump forward, leaning on the table-like surface of the scrying golem.

    When I¡¯m calmer, I remind myself to speak in measured tones. ¡°You¡¯re right, Mikko. We need to take things more slowly. I¡¯m sorry. I got carried away.¡±

    ¡°I forgive you, bro,¡± Mikko says gently. ¡°Just remember we¡¯re all on the same side. We all want to fix things.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± I whisper.

    Mikko rubs the back of his neck. ¡°I, uh, I think I might have an idea to try next.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Share!¡±

    Mikko clasps his hands together behind him, rocking on his ankles as he shyly explains his epiphany. ¡°Remember the bodyguards were concerned for the [Headmistress] because she was healing at the cost of her own vitality? What if we spread out the cost so we¡¯re all paying part of it instead of one person nearly dying?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s brilliant,¡± Rakesh says, smiling for the first time since Mender Uttara activated the enchantments and nearly killed himself.

    ¡°Told you he¡¯s the smarter brother,¡± Avelina puts in. She pats Mikko on the arm. A soft, dreamy smile slowly spreads across her face.

    ¡°I have the most strength,¡± Mikko says with a grim set to his face. ¡°I¡¯ll take the brunt of it.¡±

    ¡°What happened to not shouldering the entire load?¡± Avelina says, flicking his forehead.

    ¡°Obviously, we¡¯ll share,¡± he sputters. ¡°I just don¡¯t think we need to share equally!¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± I call into the paired paper bird on my side as new avenues of thought open up before me. I want to intervene before they get into an argument. ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea.¡±

    Rakesh startles at my shout, glancing over at the bird on the bed. He smacks his elbow on the bed frame in the process of turning, eliciting a growl of pain and irritation. ¡°This better be good, Nuri.¡±

    Words pour out in a jumble as I try to capture the concepts coalescing in my mind. ¡°I have an idea to fix the rod. Or, at least, part of it. A way to reinforce it, at least. Ugh! We should have done it together from the beginning. I shouldn¡¯t have been in such a rush. This is my fault for not accepting Ava¡¯s help. I keep trying to do everything myself¡ªjust like the [Headmistress], ironically¡ªand it keeps backfiring on me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re rambling, bro.¡±

    I cough. My face flushes with heat, and I¡¯m once again glad that the image transmission is only one way so that they can¡¯t see my embarrassment. ¡°Got me there, Mikko.¡±

    He chuckles. ¡°Still listening, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Ava can help me prepare an upgraded version of the healing artifact. We¡¯ll fix this.¡±

    ¡°What can I do?¡± Avelina asks. ¡°I don¡¯t know runes like my sister does.¡±

    ¡°No, but you¡¯re the best flameworker we have, and you¡¯ve got an eye for beauty,¡± I say. ¡°My thought is that we create multiple layers to the rod. We¡¯ll make it hollow, initially, to leave room for smaller versions on the inside. Each one can be attuned to a different member of the team, so we can share the load like Mikko suggested. Amplifiers throughout should help with efficiency, too. I need your delicate glass skills to connect the layers. Oh, and [Strong as Stone], since they¡¯ll be so thin and fragile otherwise.¡±

    ¡°That might work,¡± Avelina says, grinning as she realizes that I genuinely want her input to create the next iteration of the rod. ¡°Prepare a batch of glass for me, Nuri. I¡¯m on my way!¡±

    ¡°Hang on. I approve of your enthusiasm, but I¡¯m not sure if we have to share the load at all,¡± Rakesh says. He¡¯s fiddling with the cover of his notebook as he speaks, without actually reading the contents, which is usually a sign that he¡¯s not as confident as he may sound.

    Melina looks up from her own notebook. ¡°Oh? You have an alternative?¡±

    Rakesh gives a curt nod in reply. ¡°The rod is a massive amplifier, but it could be modified to pull from a non-living entity. What if we used a healing potion as the fuel? Then no one has to bear the burden at all.¡±

    ¡°Healing will kill Lio!¡± I protest.

    ¡°But not Utarra,¡± Melina fairly yells, her volume rising in tandem with her sudden burst of excitement as she catches the vision. ¡°He has no restrictions on healing Skills. We don¡¯t have to worry about the drawbacks. We can modify the rod, heal Uttara, and then fix the runic arrays to share between all of us.¡±

    ¡°Clever as always,¡± Mikko says, giving Rakesh a gesture of approval.

    He beams at the praise, puffing out his chest and practically strutting across the room as he continues speaking. ¡°Healing potions aren¡¯t common, but they¡¯re still more readily accessible than the miracle potions. Although they¡¯re less potent, we ought to be able to use a lower-cost option instead of beggaring ourselves for the miracle variety. I¡¯ll see how many I can requisition.¡±

    Hope surges through everyone like a bolt of lightning leaping between earth and heaven. I feel terrible crushing their dreams, but I clear my throat and speak up before anyone gets too carried away. ¡°Don¡¯t forget that their use is limited, even among the Menders. They¡¯re going to wonder why we need one if we ask. We¡¯re better off sourcing what we need from the Orpheus.¡±

    ¡°Too bad you can¡¯t bring us any. Getting in trouble and losing access to the Menders is a pain, even if your plan worked out in general,¡± Mikko grumbles.

    ¡°An unfortunate side effect,¡± I say wryly. ¡°Ava is coming over anyway. She can get them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go, too,¡± Melina volunteers. ¡°I¡¯ll need to review the runes anyway if you expect me to use the modified rod as an amplifier for healing. Drawing from the healing potions might work, but it will take some adjusting to get it right. Ask Ozana to get us a few healing potions while I look over the runes and Ava helps with the rod.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid we don¡¯t have time to fiddle around with runes,¡± Rakesh says. His eyes gain a far-off look that makes me nervous. What is he thinking?

    He¡¯s scowling in fierce concentration, but he sits on the edge of the bed between the two comatose patients, leaning against the closest cream-colored wall for support. ¡°This calls for drastic measures. Go on ahead. I¡¯ll figure out the runes while you walk. Mikko, catch me if I fall, will you?¡±

    Without waiting for confirmation, Rakesh sends out the rest of his birds, double-sealing off the sound from the room. He must be anxious about eavesdroppers. A moment later I realize why as he closes his eyes and speaks quietly, activating his greatest Skill.

    ¡°I¡¯ll find the answer. [Eidolon Construct: Mind of The Index].¡±

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-One

    True to his word, Rakesh has a workable runic structure prepared for us by the time the Linas arrive at the Orpheus. In a trance, I review the information he scrawls in his notebook and holds up to the scrying golem. I barely register when the twins arrive. I¡¯m too busy scraping my jaw off the floor, shocked by his speed given how long it took us to chip away at the mysterious runes previously. While I¡¯m still recovering from having my whole world rocked, Avelina immediately begins work on the improved rod, claiming a sudden burst of artistic inspiration.

    Melina trots off to track down healing potions to use as fuel for the medical operation. I stare at the paneled wood door for a full minute after she leaves, my eyes roaming the polished wood as though I¡¯ll find a clue in the crisp paint that will tell me how Rakesh did it. His Skill is so unfair sometimes.

    Avelina hums under her breath as she works, shaking me out of my envious reverie. In a quick sweeping motion, she ties back her hair with a scarlet sash that matches her dress, and goes over to the furnace to collect a gather from the fresh batch of glass waiting for her. When she returns, she offers me the blowpipe to start the process. I soon fall into a familiar rhythm of turning the blowpipe and rolling it across the marver. I tuck the end of the pipe under my arm, bracing it for stability as I roll with my only hand, and guide the glass to create the shape I want.

    I angle the pipe so that I can shape the tip of the glass and let it cool down. The glass is thicker at the end, leaving the middle to expand while I blow more air into the bubble. Avelina tends to it with her flames, keeping the glass at a malleable temperature while I rotate the pipe. Technically, I could use my own [Greater Heat Manipulation] for that purpose, but it¡¯s nice to focus on crafting exactly what I want and nothing more. It feels more rustic this way.

    With a pair of jacks, I constrict the glass near the pipe. I move the jacks to the end of the glass and hand the pipe to Avelina to continue turning. I pull aggressively, elongating the bubble and creating the outer layer for our updated attempt.

    Lost in the creative rush, I almost miss Rakesh¡¯s pained expression in the scrying image. He¡¯s still sprawled on the bed, although there¡¯s not much room given the other two patients. His hands occasionally twitch toward his notebook, but he¡¯s not writing anything down. There¡¯s a grim pallor to his face that makes me worry for him. That much sadness is contagious.

    I nudge my [Flameworker] friend and offer the blowpipe back to her. ¡°Ava, take over, will you? We¡¯ll need inner layers, one for each team member. You¡¯re the best at detail work.¡±

    She grins and takes the pipe, deftly spinning it in her hands. ¡°Nuri, Nuri, Nuri. You wound me! I¡¯m the best at everything.¡±

    I chuckle at her joke¡ªalthough I¡¯m not sure she¡¯s actually joking¡ªand pat her shoulder as I walk over to the table displaying the image of Lionel¡¯s room. I pick up the paired paper bird, cradling it close to my lips as I whisper to our despondent [Researcher].

    ¡°Everything all right, Rakesh?¡±

    He twitches, but doesn¡¯t respond. I raise my voice a bit and ask Mikko to move the bird closer to Rakesh, then repeat my question. This time, Rakesh glares up at the scrying golem they smuggled into the Menders campus.

    Uh oh. He¡¯s ignoring me.

    For a split second, I consider putting the bird back down and helping Avelina with anything that she needs. Chances are, she¡¯s perfectly self-sufficient, but it¡¯s still a convenient excuse. Then I remember how many times my team has helped me when I was struggling, and I try again with a softer voice.

    ¡°Hey, buddy. Something tells me that we didn¡¯t get the full picture earlier. You figured out what we need to do with our next attempt. That¡¯s great! So why do you look like a man staring down his own execution?¡±

    ¡°Skill goes two ways,¡± he grunts.

    I wait for him to elaborate, but he¡¯s still staring vacantly into space. It¡¯s so unlike him, so uncharacteristically terse, that I lose my line of thought entirely. What¡¯s going on?

    With a jolt, I get his meaning. ¡°Oh. Oh.¡± I swallow hard, dreading the next question. ¡°So, what did the information cost you?¡±

    ¡°Everything,¡± he whispers bitterly. His eyes grow hard and flinty. ¡°I had to trade the entire dictionary so that the Index could ingest it and synthesize an answer. Anything less would be far too lacking to train the Index. Insufficient to save our friends. Thus: All of our work. Gone.¡±

    I freeze, forgetting to breathe. My heart skips a beat before the world stutters and starts up again. ¡°All of our secrets?¡±

    ¡°Ripe for the picking.¡±

    Despite Rakesh¡¯s forlorn, grim declaration, I breathe a sigh of relief. ¡°So it¡¯s not spelled out for anyone to read? If I understand you correctly, then people still have to research the new entries you created and put all the pieces together.¡±

    He shrugs one shoulder. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re overrating their research Skills. Most people aren¡¯t as gifted as you are,¡± I say as diplomatically as I can. What I really mean is that most of the world isn¡¯t as crazy about esoteric knowledge and obscure books, but I¡¯m not about to insult our resident scholar after his sacrifice.

    The sour twist to his lips means he must have figured out my meaning anyway. ¡°It¡¯s just a matter of time. We¡¯re giving away an enormous advantage.¡±

    I tap my forefinger against my chin. ¡°Does the Index credit its sources?¡±

    ¡°Who cares? I¡¯m just a lowly [Researcher] from the borderlands. The central Academies will run with the information and ignore me.¡±

    Mikko coughs. ¡°Uh, sorry to put my ignorance on display, but weren¡¯t you planning on releasing a book of your findings anyway? What¡¯s the difference?¡±

    Rakesh offers a thin, pained smile. ¡°The difference is that I¡¯d present our discoveries as my thesis. After I graduated from the SCA, I¡¯d go on a scholar¡¯s tour to present at the major centers of learning. While the information would still get out, my career would be established.¡±

    ¡°But now anyone might steal your ideas and not give you credit?¡± Mikko asks, frowning as though the concept personally offends him.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Precisely. The information will be attributed to me in the Index, naturally, but without the clarification from my essays, it will be considered raw data and not a polished work. Thus, I¡¯ll be relegated to footnotes or postscript. Not many people read those.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Rakesh. You shouldn¡¯t have had to give up your career just to figure out the right runic combinations,¡± I say with as much gentleness as I can.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. What good is a scholar who trades blood for ink?¡± Rakesh says, rising to his feet with great dignity and smoothing back his dark hair.

    ¡°Admirable, but I still feel bad for forcing you into this. If you weren¡¯t stuck with me, then you wouldn¡¯t ruin your chances of graduating.¡±

    He plants his fists on his hips and glares straight at the scrying sensor embedded in my glass golem. Defiance blazes in his eyes once more. ¡°I¡¯m too clever to pin all my hopes on a single thesis. I have a dozen¡ªno, a hundred other ideas just as good!¡±

    ¡°Glad to hear it!¡± I say, putting extra cheer into my voice as the door opens and Melina returns with a healing draught clutched in each hand. ¡°Now put that big brain of yours to work and figure out a backup plan or two if this one doesn¡¯t work out. Mel just got back, so we¡¯re on our way soon.¡±

    Rakesh salutes with an exaggerated flourish, and I¡¯m relieved to see that he¡¯s gotten his confidence back. I tear myself away from the table, repeating whatever words I can to convince myself that he¡¯ll be fine. He¡¯s a grown man. He¡¯s got alternate plans. He doesn¡¯t need my help. Time to get back to work, anyway.

    It¡¯s a hollow consolation.

    In the quiet recesses of my mind, I swear that I¡¯ll find a way to pay him back. He doesn¡¯t want me to ¡°fix¡± things for him, but I can¡¯t let him bear this burden alone in good conscience.

    I rush over to the Linas and catch them up to speed, although I try to downplay just how devastated Rakesh was about giving so much information to the Index. Melina sees through me at once, but she simply presses her lips together in a thin line and doesn¡¯t comment. She places the expensive potions on the table and lays out her notes instead.

    ¡°Good work on these layers, Ava. Ordinarily, I¡¯d be worried since they¡¯re so delicate, but I¡¯m sure you can mitigate that with [Strong as Stone]. Let me know when you¡¯re ready for me to anneal them. We¡¯ll have to wait for them to cool before I etch the new runic arrays. Nuri, can you make a small bottle while we wait? We can pour the healing potion into it and attach it directly to the back of the healing wand.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Of course!¡±

    As I turn toward the crucible to get a gather of glass, a new thought hits me. I spun back to Melina, turning on my heel so quickly that I almost overbalance, and hold up a finger.

    ¡°Question, Nuri?¡± she asks, an amused smile playing on her lips. ¡°I know you¡¯ve been working on grander pieces lately, but I hope you haven¡¯t forgotten how to make simple bottles.¡±

    ¡°Very funny, Mel. I have an idea!¡±

    ¡°This oughta be good,¡± Avelina mutters.

    Her sister elbows her in the ribs, although I¡¯m almost certain the same thought occurred to her at the exact same instant. For all their differences, the twins are a little too much alike sometimes.

    ¡°Imbuements don¡¯t require waiting for the glass to set. In fact, they don¡¯t work once the piece has solidified and taken shape. So why limit yourself now that you have a mana pen?¡±

    She flushes pale crimson. ¡°Nuri. You know I can¡¯t imbue yet.¡±

    ¡°This is the perfect time to try, since you don¡¯t need to forge a connection to any higher order concept. You only have to work with the mana to make the right shape.¡±

    ¡°And if I fail?¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± I insist.

    Avelina grins. ¡°I believe in you, sis!¡±

    Melina nods in a slow, jerky fashion, as though she¡¯s trying to convince herself that we¡¯re right, but can¡¯t quite let herself hope that it¡¯s true. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll try. But if this doesn''t work, then you better make a replacement rod as quickly as you can. Mender Uttara needs our help.¡±

    I squeeze her shoulder gently. ¡°Trust me, Mel. I wouldn¡¯t suggest this option if I didn¡¯t think you could do it. I agree that we don¡¯t have time to play around.¡±

    Bolstered up by our encouragement, Molina takes a shaky breath. She hovers over the intricate glass pieces of the newly-crafted healing wand, which still glows the cherry red thanks to Avelina¡¯s flames.

    Instead of forming a singular mana pen and inscribing runes onto the surface of each layer, she grasps each of the individual pieces with her [Object Manipulation] and impresses her will on them directly. All the while, I watch through my [Arcane Domain] as the multivariate hues of the world¡¯s energy swirls and coalesces around our new version of the Azure Rod. Absently, it occurs to me that I shouldn¡¯t call it that anymore, not with all of our modifications. This is new. It¡¯s ours, not merely a derivative.

    Awestruck, I cheer on Melina as she coaxes the ambient mana around us to paint the extravagant and intricate picture she envisions. Utilizing imbuing techniques, she successfully imprints the runic arrays in a single, unbroken script that connects each of the unique layers of our new masterwork.

    ¡°Exquisite,¡± Avelina murmurs.

    I can¡¯t help but agree. Melina might not have imparted a higher order concept to our homegrown artifact, but she still counts as a master in my book. What she just accomplished is far more delicate and demanding than adding sharpness, for example. I choke up with emotion as I echo the words Master Melidandri once said to me.

    With a bow, I address my friend. ¡°Master Melina, I¡¯m honored to witness your ascension. You¡¯ve truly earned your place as a foremost expert of the craft.¡±

    Adelina¡¯s eyes go wide as she realizes what my words mean, and she squeals and hugs her sister so hard that [Object Manipulation] cuts off.

    My Domain catches the delicate healing wand before it shatters on the floor, and with a pulse of willpower, I levitate it back up to the same height it was before so that the twins don¡¯t notice anything amiss while they celebrate. I don¡¯t want to ruin the fun.

    Once they regain their focus, I leave Avelina to cast [Strong as Stone] on the multiple layers of the hollow, interconnected rod. It¡¯s hard to keep my focus in the midst of the excitement of creating new things and growing into abilities, but I finally head over to the crucible to get the glass required for a container that will fit into the back of the wand. With the help of my Domain, I confidently measure the exact dimensions to slot into place, ensuring that the narrow phial I create will fit perfectly.

    By the time my work is complete, Melina has finished the annealing process. It¡¯s still unsettling how rapidly she¡¯s grown in strength recently. Everyone always praises me for creating my [Sanctuary of Glass] and bringing my new army of golems to life with [Glass Animation], but it occurs to me¡ªnot for the first time¡ªthat Melina is the true genius in our group. How she can complete an entire night¡¯s worth of annealing in mere moments is beyond me. The dilation effect on her time bubble is more powerful than ever before.

    That thought brings a smile to my lips. I can¡¯t wait to introduce her to Master Melidandri and Lady Evershed once we finally depart Gilead. Leaving fills me with hopeful anticipation. I¡¯m tired of the petty politics and dangerous games we¡¯re playing here, and I look forward to getting back to the simplicity, creativity, and pleasure that comes with an honest day¡¯s work.

    The Linas fill up the small vial in the back of the wand with half of a healing potion, and pack up the remaining one and a half bottles for backup in case our plan doesn¡¯t work as well as expected. With their nigh-on miraculous work complete, they race back to the Menders Campus to try out the new artifact, barely maintaining their composure in their rush to heal Mender Uttara and finally restore Lionel.

    It¡¯s only after they leave the range of my Domain that I remember with a rush of dread that I never created a variant of the wand to use the complicated restoration magic from the Azure Rod. The whole point of the extra layers was to spread out the vitality draw between the team. While we¡¯ve theoretically created a breakthrough artifact that will allow a non-[Healer] to amplify a healing potion many times over, we still haven¡¯t solved the original problem of helping Lionel.

    I slump back in my seat, my mind reaching for miracles as I search for a solution. One step at a time, I tell myself. Without my friends here to help, there¡¯s only so much I can do. No matter how strong I become, I¡¯m still just one man. That small, lonely thought has never made me feel so helpless before.

    I let out a deep, weary sigh. I miss my friends more than I realized.

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Two

    Waiting for the Linas to return to Lionel¡¯s room feels torturous. I¡¯m almost positive I¡¯ve worn a groove in the floor of the studio from pacing back and forth so furiously. As soon as they show up in the scrying image, I leap into action, grabbing the paired paper bird from Rakesh and blurting out the bad news.

    ¡°Get Uttara on his feet and get back here. Hurry! We forgot to create a second variant for Lionel.¡±

    ¡°One thing at a time. Let¡¯s focus on what we can control first,¡± Melina says.

    As usual, her steady demeanor helps me calm down. The surge of anxiety and energy doesn¡¯t completely dissipate, but she shows me a clearer path forward. We can fix this a step at a time if I don¡¯t panic. ¡°All right. I trust you.¡±

    ¡°Maybe this is a dumb question,¡± Mikko says, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°But why on earth can¡¯t we just give the potions to Uttara directly? I thought the wand was for Lionel.¡±

    ¡°We could administer the potions to Mender Uttara directly,¡± Rakesh says in a voice that sounds suspiciously like a lecture from Ezio. ¡°The problem is that they are really only effective on minor wounds and illnesses. Chances are unfortunately quite high that we would accomplish very little, given the way he looks like a husk of his former self.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s precisely why we made an amplifier instead of reinventing the entire runic array,¡± Melina chimes in. The explanation seems to mollify Mikko.

    Working together, Mikko and Rakesh gently shimmy Lionel over to one end of the bed, creating space so that he¡¯s not caught in the crossfire when they activate the healing wand. In a few moments, they¡¯re ready for their first attempt.

    Mikko steps forward with a determined set to his jaw. He takes the glass wand from Melina with minimal resistance, staring her down as though he¡¯s prepared for an argument.

    ¡°If anything goes wrong, I have the best chance of surviving. Everyone stay behind me.¡°

    ¡°You better not die,¡± Avelina huffs.

    I lean over the scrying table, staring at my heroic lunkhead of a brother in equal parts admiration and fear. I can¡¯t help but mutter in agreement with Avelina. If he dies, I¡¯ll never forgive myself for not insisting on more rigorous testing. We¡¯re skipping too many steps in the process in our rush to restore both Lionel and Uttara while also keeping our actions hidden.

    Creased faces and worried frowns meet my gaze as I glance around the room. I catch myself chewing on the nail of my little finger. Then Mikko chuckles, breaking the tension.

    ¡°How do I do this, anyway?¡±

    Melina walks him through the correct sequence for activating the linked arrays, and he dutifully repeats it back to her like a schoolboy reciting his lessons. When she¡¯s satisfied that he understands what he¡¯s doing, she backs up to the corner so he can shield her from the potential side effects.

    To his credit, Mikko gets the sequencing right on his first try. He feeds a little mana into the runes, initializing them one at a time, and soon the entire wand glows with power as the odd hybrid of runes and enchantment pulls in ambient mana to power the inscriptions.

    Wisps of visible energy curl up from the healing wand like smoke from a campfire. The glimmering lights waver before winking out, almost like a slow motion dance. It¡¯s mesmerizing, but we don¡¯t have time to simply admire the show. As the complex working intensifies, more and more lights flash throughout the room. I¡¯m too far away to sense the flow of mana through my Domain, but the concentration of energy is dense enough now to clearly see with my naked eye through the scrying sensor.

    Swelling to a crescendo, the magic brightens and takes hold. The healing potion in the built-in canister in the wand flashes pure white and evaporates into the ether abruptly. I hiss in a sharp breath involuntarily and gawk as a gorgeous wave of amber-gold energy, undulating like a stream of liquid honey glistening in the sunlight, envelops Mender Uttara body.

    Color immediately seeps back into his cheeks. His eyes flutter, letting in a little light, and he flinches against the glare of magic on display. His eyes squeeze shut as he groans, but he finally opens them a crack and lifts a hand to shield his gaze. Something seems to catch his full attention, because he sits up sharply, drawing in a deep breath. Still, he blinks owlishly as he adjusts to the bright mana lamps.

    ¡°Why is my patient in my bed?¡±

    If he didn¡¯t seem so confused by the situation, his peevish voice would have been funny. As it is, I still find myself giggling, more from nervous relief than anything else.

    Uttara glances down at his bandages, a peculiar look on his face, and quirks his brow in the way he usually does when he performs a Sounding. He coughs and lets out a weak laugh of his own. ¡°What do you know? That the knock-off actually improved things for my poor student.¡±

    As my friends whoop and holler, exuberant that Mender Uttara is no longer on the brink of death, a chill runs down my spine. With this invention, we just made powerful enemies. For the first time ever, a non-[Healer] can perform on par with the Menders.

    Keeping my morose predictions to myself, I join the rowdy celebration. When the noise finally dies down, Melina explains the situation to the Mender. He looks increasingly alarmed as she matter-of-factly goes over the details of how we copied the Azure Rod, his near-fatal test, and our redesign into the current healing wand that can be operated by anyone, albeit for a heavy cost. Healing potions aren¡¯t cheap, after all.

    At last, he holds up a hand to cut her off. ¡°I won¡¯t pretend to understand how any of this is possible, but if your friend is really as powerful as the [Headmistress]¡¯s loyal and aggressive bodyguards seem to think, then I won¡¯t argue it¡¯s impossible. But if we¡¯re going to help Lionel, then I think it¡¯s time we go about this in a more responsible manner.¡±

    Avelina shakes her head, sparks dancing around her as her hair stands on end. ¡°Not a chance we¡¯re going to the Menders. We don¡¯t trust anyone here.¡±

    Defiant to the end, I think fondly.

    ¡°We trust you,¡± Melina corrects gently. ¡°Are you willing to help us?¡±

    ¡°Are you kidding?¡± Mender Uttara throws his hands into the air in exasperation. ¡°This is the biggest breakthrough of my life! I wouldn¡¯t miss it for the world. Take me to your dangerous friend.¡±

    =+=

    I¡¯m ready to forge another layered wand by the time they arrive. I can barely shake the strange sense that we¡¯ve been here before. How many times has the team traveled back and forth, to and from the Menders Campus endlessly as we iterate over and over again? No matter. We¡¯ll do it again in a heartbeat, as many times as it takes until our friend is restored.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Mender Uttara eyes me warily when he enters the hot shop, as though he¡¯s forgotten how meek I was when we first met. I¡¯ll have to give him a reminder that I¡¯m totally harmless.

    Well. I¡¯m harmless toward my friends.

    Thanks to our recent practice, Avelina and I fall into a comfortable rhythm, assisting each other with each stage of the process. I bring over a gather of glass and create the foundation of the piece, while she uses her precise and flashy flameworking to shape it into something lovely. As the layers come together, far more quickly than our previous attempt, Rakesh and Melina are sketching out runes and modifiers, although our [Researcher] is significantly more subdued than usual. He still seems drained from using his grand Skill.

    All the while, Mender Uttara takes it in, watching the glass fairly dance in our hands. I¡¯m cheating, relying on the absolute control of my Domain to make up what I¡¯m lacking due to my missing hand. It looks like the glass has a mind of its own, molding itself into a finished product that suits its whims.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your [Enchanter]?¡± Mender Uttara asks finally, glancing around the studio with his eyes wide.

    He looks so perplexed that I can¡¯t help but chuckle, looking up from the work to offer him a toothy grin. ¡°We need no [Enchanter]. They think too narrowly.¡±

    He snorts, then realizes I¡¯m not making a joke. Or at least my joke isn¡¯t far from reality. If possible, his eyebrows crawl even higher up his forehead than before, and he shakes his head in amazement. ¡°And that actually works?¡±

    ¡°Our methods are unorthodox,¡± Melina allows. A sharp smile stretches across her face in a mirror of mine. ¡°That¡¯s why our results are superior.¡±

    ¡°Consider yourself lucky we¡¯re letting you watch,¡± Avelina breaks in. She tosses a lock of hair out of her eyes, shaking a finger wreathed in flames at the beleaguered man. ¡°You¡¯re in the presence of two Masters of glass¡ªsome might even say three, since I¡¯m the most talented in the family¡ªand you¡¯re getting a behind the scenes peek at their secret methods.¡±

    ¡°Did . . . did you just claim you¡¯re more talented than a Master?¡± Rakesh asks, looking up from where he¡¯s scrawling out runes at a record pace. He starts to snicker, then yelps and jumps back as a tiny bolt of fire launches in his direction.

    ¡°She¡¯s pretty amazing,¡± Mikko says through the paired bird. He¡¯s the only one still back at the campus, since he insisted that someone needed to guard Lionel in their absence.

    ¡°Amazingly vindictive,¡± Rakesh mutters.

    I didn¡¯t realize that my brother could hear all of our banter, but a quick glance reveals that we each have a small paper bird in orbit above the crown of our head. Rakesh must have deployed them once he realized how limiting it is to only hear one conversation at a time. No wonder Mikko was so aware of what¡¯s happening here.

    Uttara regards us with increasing curiosity. He studies my work for a while, then asks, ¡°You¡¯re truly a glassmaker?¡±

    ¡°Truly.¡±

    ¡°And a Master of the craft? This looks like more than a hobby. Everyone says you¡¯re a Second Threshold [Mage], though. Something doesn¡¯t add up,¡± Uttara says, stroking his chin as he looks at me like I¡¯m a puzzle to be solved.

    ¡°I¡¯m not in the Second Threshold yet,¡± I say reflexively, then wince. I shouldn¡¯t give away that kind of information. Ah well. For better or worse, Uttara is tied to our chariot now. I might as well be forthright with him; he put his life on the line for Lionel¡¯s sake, after all.

    He lets out a low whistle of amazement. ¡°You¡¯re not there yet, you say, as though it¡¯s a foregone conclusion. From most people, I¡¯d take that as a sign of arrogance. Something tells me that you¡¯re simply stating a fact though.¡±

    I shrug helplessly. ¡°I¡¯m a [Glass Mage]. Both a glassblower and a wielder of the arcane.¡±

    ¡°Never heard of that Class. Must be exceedingly strong for you to have come this far. Possibly unique,¡± he says slowly.

    ¡°You and Rakesh can figure that out later. He¡¯s our very own expert on all things related to, well, everything. You won¡¯t find a more educated man in Densmore, mark my words.¡±

    ¡°Hmph. Shameless flattery,¡± Rakesh says, grinning. ¡°You should try it more often, Nuri!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d warn you not to praise him too much, or else it might go to his head, but you can see that he¡¯s a lost cause,¡± I tell Mender Uttara in conspiratorial tones.

    ¡°A terminal case,¡± Uttara replies dryly.

    Melina claps twice in imitation of Ember. Avelina and I immediately jump to attention, our responses honed by years in the Silaron Glass Works. ¡°All right, enough chit chat. Ava¡¯s done, so that means I¡¯m up. Ready to update the runic arrays? We could use your help for this part, Mender Uttara. If you¡¯re willing.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d certainly like to assist, but I¡¯m hardly an expert on runes. Are you sure that you need me for this stage?¡± he asks, hesitating as he searches for words.

    Melina smiles brightly. ¡°Yes. We¡¯ll need your help to test and activate the healing wand, but if you¡¯re willing to let us look closely, then you¡¯d be of great service to Nuri.¡±

    I laugh, interrupting the mysterious air that Melina¡¯s putting on, and step in to rescue the poor man from his confusion. ¡°Can you keep a secret, Mender Uttara?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± he replies, sounding offended that I¡¯d even ask. ¡°Have I not proved the very soul of discretion thus far?¡±

    ¡°Well said!¡± Rakesh interjects.

    Avelina rolls her eyes. ¡°You just like that someone else has fancy language. What¡¯s the point? Why use lots of big words when small ones work just fine?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss the merits of flowery language later,¡± I say to placate my fiery friend. ¡°In the meantime, Mender Uttara, will you consent to allowing me View your core space?¡±

    He startles. ¡°Isn¡¯t that an advanced Skill? Did you somehow learn that from Rashad?¡±

    ¡°Hah. No, it¡¯s simply a technique. Anyone can learn with some practice,¡± I say casually, though I¡¯m careful not to reveal that I learned it from the [Inquisitors]. Until Rakesh and I give the signal for the [Inquisitors] to swoop in and execute Operation Cut the Head Off the Snake, which I will totally convince Rakesh to call it, it¡¯s better not to tip our hand.

    ¡°I suppose there¡¯s a reason for your confidence that you¡¯ll advance to the Second stage,¡± he muses. ¡°Very well. Whatever it takes to save my student. I am an open book, Master Nuri.¡±

    I reach out to him with [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], and find that he¡¯s spoken the truth. His resistances are lowered completely, accounting for the sweat on his brow, and he¡¯s gently flaring all his Skills at once so that they glisten with the extra flow of mana and show up clearly, something I¡¯ve never seen before. I didn¡¯t know it was possible to do that, but I appreciate his helpfulness.

    After cataloging the runes, I send a pulse of [Glass Animation] to a partially-molten bit of glass that¡¯s already a half-formed golem. The knee-high, stool-like creature¡ªa smaller version of the scrying table¡ªtakes shape in seconds, guided by both my will and my impressions of the runes I just saw.

    As I hoped, the images are imprinted on the scrying mirror on its back, glowing with the energy of our connection. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve used all the Skills together in this combination, so I¡¯m caught off guard when it works flawlessly. Usually, I have to try my crazy ideas multiple times before they become reality, but lately everything feels strangely easy. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s due to incorporating the [Mage] half of my Class into my soul, confirming that it¡¯s part of my identity, or if it¡¯s because I¡¯ve gained a sufficient level of power.

    Regardless, my crafting ambitions have leaped skyward. Nothing seems off the table for me anymore. No pun intended, I think with a private chuckle.

    ¡°Please show me how you used the rod before, but please don¡¯t burn your vitality to fuel the healing this time,¡± I instruct Mender Uttara.

    He doesn¡¯t seem to hear me, gaping at the spiraling whorls and razor-edged fractals of his Skills displayed in runic script on the back of the golem I just created. I¡¯m about to repeat my request when I notice the rest of my friends reacting in the same way. Even Rakesh is staring at the runes. He narrows his eyes and gazes at me like he¡¯s never seen me before.

    Coughing once to draw everyone¡¯s attention, I wave at the original healing rod. ¡°Please, we don¡¯t have all day. I¡¯d like to see what happens with your runes and mana flow when you try to initialize the inscription. That should help me figure out what to fix for the next iteration.¡±

    ¡°Of¡ªof course!¡± Uttara stammers.

    Spellbound no longer, the hush breaks as the team gets back to work. I faithfully record all the images, sending them to the newest golem along the connection I forged. To my great relief, I don¡¯t have to [Animate] a new golem each time. That would soon exhaust even my considerable mana supplies.

    Melina and Rakesh take careful notes, working off the runes on display, and faster than I ever thought possible, we soon arrive at a consensus. They remap the arrays on the original rod and add in the modifiers, borrowing from the multi-layered approach we took with the wand that uses healing potions. Emboldened by our unanimous agreement that the schematics will work, Melina transfers them to the new glass restoration artifact, then speeds up annealing.

    Moments later, they¡¯re ready for the first test. Mender Uttara is gawking openly, though I wonder how much is astonishment and how much is mortal fear. After all, the last time he used the rod, he was a hair¡¯s breadth from death. Only a fool wouldn¡¯t be terrified of trying again.

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Three

    ¡°Honestly, I feel a little foolish.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Mender Uttara?¡±

    He rakes his fingers through his hair and forces a half-hearted smile. ¡°Wrong? Nothing. I¡¯ve just witnessed a miracle!¡±

    Melina offers him a glass of cold water from the enchanted cold box on the side of the studio. He takes it with a grateful look and gulps it down. ¡°It¡¯s just that this entire time I thought I would have to rein in a rogue [Enchanter] who was abyss-bent on selling you crazy schemes and scandalously irresponsible promises. Now I see that I¡¯m completely outclassed.¡±

    ¡°We couldn¡¯t have done this without you,¡± I tell Mender Uttara. I¡¯m telling the truth, but by the carefully blank expression he cultivates, I can tell that I¡¯ve missed the mark. Ah. I¡¯m probably coming off patronizing.

    ¡°You needed me the way a chef needs an egg to cook an omelet,¡± Uttara replies with a hearty laugh. At least he seems quick to understand his role. I hope he doesn¡¯t resent me for it too much.

    ¡°At least we didn¡¯t scramble up your insides after we cracked you open,¡± Rakesh says, immediately back on familiar footing now that he has an edgy joke to crack.

    ¡°Given the horror stories I¡¯ve heard about those with metaphysical powers, I suppose I should be grateful that didn¡¯t happen,¡± Uttara says. He stares at the healing rod with longing in his eyes. ¡°When we left the campus, I swore to myself that I wouldn¡¯t let you risk hurting anyone else. Sounds absurd now, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°No it doesn¡¯t,¡± I say, more forcibly than I intended. ¡°It makes me trust your judgment more, honestly.¡±

    ¡°Kind of you. But I see I was operating under faulty assumptions.¡±

    ¡°If you have concerns, then we¡¯d be stupid not to listen to you,¡± I say without hesitation. ¡°I¡¯m tired of acting without regard for consequence. Too many people have gotten hurt because of my impatience and arrogant assumptions that my way will always work out.¡±

    Mender Uttara puts down his empty water glass. He walks over and sits on the edge of my workbench, rubbing his cheeks under his eyes. Only now do I see how exhausted he looks, with dark circles and two day¡¯s stubble. He doesn¡¯t answer for a few minutes while he collects his thoughts. ¡°My usual reservations hardly seem to apply in your case. I¡¯d still prefer that you just work with the [Headmistress] to resolve everything, but you seem to have things in hand.¡±

    ¡°We have our differences with the Menders,¡± I say, unwilling to make accusations against his colleagues without a clear understanding of his own sentiments and loyalties.

    ¡°That¡¯s obvious to anyone with eyes,¡± Uttara says with a chuckle. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you got on the bad side of my esteemed coworkers, but you seem like nice folk to me.¡±

    I take that as an implicit admission that he won¡¯t pry or work against us. It¡¯s nice to know that at least one member of the Menders isn¡¯t corrupt, power hungry, or, worst of all, indifferent. [Lady] Saphora probably thinks of herself as a freedom fighter. I might not like her underhanded tactics, but her allies probably think highly of her efforts. By contrast, some of the Menders act so jaded that I wonder why they took a healing Class at all. Once upon a time, they resonated with helping people. What caused them to become so uncaring?

    Maybe they got worn down by bureaucracy, or overwhelmed by all the suffering they¡¯ve seen. Regardless of how the bad actors in the group ended up the way they did, there are still good men like Mender Uttara, so the excuses of the others ring hollow to me by comparison. I crack my neck and put that trail of thought aside. We have work to do.

    Melina sits next to Mender Uttara and pats his arm with an encouraging smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We modified the enchantment so that it shares the vitality draw between the entire team. You won¡¯t be alone this time.¡±

    ¡°And if anything does go wrong,¡± Rakesh interjects, ¡°we can just use the other wand that runs off healing potions to fix everyone up. Foolproof plan!¡±

    Mendor Uttara gives him a complicated look. ¡°I suppose I should be concerned that you¡¯re putting us out of business, but there¡¯s always more work to be done than people to do it. Somehow, I doubt that the Menders will lack for business.¡±

    I shoot a warning look toward Rakesh, who¡¯s practically bursting with unspoken secrets. His mouth snaps shut, though he¡¯s vibrating in place with the effort of not telling Mender Uttara about our plans with the [Inquisitors], but he glares at me for ruining his fun.

    ¡°Do you think your wand could help the [Headmistress]?¡± Mender Uttara asks. He frowns as he sees our guarded looks. ¡°I know you¡¯re not the biggest fan, but please do what you can to help her. She¡¯s trying her best.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll . . . see what I can do,¡± I make myself say, though I know it¡¯s a terrible idea to reveal what we can do.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Uttara says with genuine emotion. His eyes mist over. ¡°She¡¯s paid the price for keeping the Menders afloat. We¡¯re strong because she¡¯s weak.¡±

    My thoughts flow back to the conversation I overheard with her bodyguards, and I find myself pitying the woman for the unenviable position she¡¯s in. At the same time, my sense of justice is offended; she might make personal sacrifices, but she also allowed rot to fester in her organization instead of excising it like a good healer ought. A firmer hand and clearer sense of duty might have solved many of the problems with [Lady] Saphora.

    I clear my throat. ¡°I can¡¯t make any promises. But we¡¯ll do our best to make things better. For everyone, not just Gilead¡¯s elite.¡±

    Rakesh snorts. He looks like he¡¯s about to complain that I¡¯m hinting at his secret plans, so I press down on him with my Domain for a brief second. His eyes widen. He folds his hands in his lap and keeps his peace.

    No one else says anything for a while, either, since we all seem to sense the delicate nature of Uttara¡¯s mood. The gentle healer pushes himself to his feet, laces his fingers together, and flips his palms around, pushing outward to crack his knuckles. ¡°No point putting things off. Let¡¯s go make a miracle!¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Rakesh says, looking supremely offended. ¡°Catch phrases are my specialty.¡±

    The team¡¯s chuckle releases some of the tension. I walk with them toward the door of the hot shop. ¡°Remember, write down everything.¡±

    Rakesh rolls his eyes at me. ¡°Who do you think I am? My thesis won¡¯t write itself.

    I blow out my cheeks and remind myself who I¡¯m talking to¡ªof course he will document every single detail in precise, accurate language. I slap myself lightly on the face to get back into the right mindset.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I mumble. ¡°I¡¯m just frustrated playing the waiting game again. This is¡ªwhat? The fiftieth time you¡¯ve retraced your steps from the studio to the campus, while I¡¯m stuck here just watching through the scrying mirror?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be dramatic,¡± Avelina says. ¡°It¡¯s only been a handful of times.¡±

    ¡°Still too many. I should be there.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get arrested next time. Easy!¡±

    I narrow my eyes at Avelina, who¡¯s smirking at me with undisguised glee since she¡¯s got a point I can¡¯t refute. ¡°Love you too, Ava.¡±

    ¡°Naturally. I¡¯m always lovable!¡±

    Mender Uttara glances between us all awkwardly as we tease and laugh. He steps up and shakes my hand before they all depart. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, Nuri, I didn¡¯t vote to ban you from the healing center. I understand the desire to save a life. I¡¯ll do my best to take care of your friend. Come what may.¡±

    My lips pull into a thin smile. ¡°Can¡¯t lose a promising student, after all.¡±

    To his credit, Mender Uttara meets my gaze with clear, steady eyes. He nods with steely conviction that catches me off guard. ¡°Life is worth preserving, young man. Even if Lionel were the worst student I¡¯d ever met, I¡¯d do what must be done. ¡±

    My smile blooms into something warmer. I catch Rakesh¡¯s eye, and he returns an almost imperceptible nod. We¡¯re in agreement with our assessment on the man¡¯s character. We¡¯ll make our report to the [Inquisitors] who are currently moving into place around Gilead. Let¡¯s hope our good word counts for something.

    The rest we¡¯ll leave up to fate.

    When I¡¯m alone again, I feel my friends¡¯ absence more keenly than I care to admit, as though someone has scooped out a portion of my chest with a shovel and left a cavity behind. I¡¯m almost certain that if I looked inward with my Domain, I¡¯d see scarlet wounds on my soul. I snort, berating myself for my moment of sentimentality. Months on the road, and I still can¡¯t handle myself solo.

    Still. It¡¯s an intangible pain that¡¯s worse than any physical agony I¡¯ve suffered. I¡¯d rather burn apart in a thousand Rifts than go through life alone.

    I scrub away the tear threatening to well up in the corner of my eye before I embarrass myself any further. Ozana is probably watching me through her own scrying mirror, and I don¡¯t want her to think I¡¯m unstable or emotionally stunted.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    With extra time to kill, I turn back to the furnace and get a blow pipe. ¡°Might as well make myself useful,¡± I mutter. I take my time feeling out the viscosity of the batch before I get a new gather of glass. Although I know it¡¯s just an excuse so I don¡¯t have to confront just how isolated I feel, it¡¯s still nice to get to make something purely because I want to and not because I¡¯ve been commissioned for a job.

    It occurs to me that I wouldn¡¯t be stuck here if not for my house arrest. I¡¯ve really gotta stop that habit. New resolution: No more arrests in the next year.

    Of course, I¡¯ll never admit that aloud, or Avelina will mercilessly tease me till the end of my days. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m trying to get arrested. Authorities are just too quick to overreact!

    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s it,¡± I say aloud. ¡°I¡¯m just a misunderstood genius.¡±

    Somehow, the lie makes me feel better. I resume working with a faint smile on my lips.

    =+=

    A little glass flower emerges by the time my friends return to Lionel¡¯s room. I don¡¯t imbue the flower or use either my [Arcane Domain] or [Greater Heat Manipulation] to assist with shaping the creation. Relying on old-school glass techniques feels therapeutic, and my anxiety fades away little by little.

    ¡°Nuri? We¡¯re ready if you are,¡± Mikko calls through the paper birds. He¡¯s standing in front of the scrying sensor, which is still mounted in the upper corner of Lionel¡¯s room. It can¡¯t spin a web like an actual spider, but the little glass golem I created has spiked legs that allow it to stick to walls and ceilings wherever I send it.

    They¡¯re all arrayed in a semi-circle around my comatose friend. Mikko¡¯s standing by the head of the bed, flanked by Mender Uttara to his right. Rakesh is next, with Melina taking up her positions next to him to assist with notes. Avelina sits on the foot of the bed, a basin of water in her lap and a pile of bandages stacked up neatly beside her.

    ¡°This is your show! I¡¯m just watching over here,¡± I say as brightly as I can. I very carefully don¡¯t mention how much I wish I could be with them.

    ¡°All right. We¡¯re beginning,¡± Mender Uttara says, taking over now that he¡¯s back in his area of expertise.

    Everyone links hands, much to my surprise. I didn¡¯t think physical touch was necessary to share the vitality required for the restorative healing, but I¡¯m sure that Melina and Rakesh signed off on any changes to the plan.

    Uttara lifts the healing wand and it begins glowing with a faint outline of power as mana initializes the first set of inscribed runes. Reverence shines in his expression, which makes me uncomfortable until I realize it¡¯s not directed at me. All this talk of miracles is way outside of my realm of experience. I¡¯m just doing the best I can for my friend.

    Mana glimmers around the healing wand, coating each layer with blazing light. Layers of energy gather so densely that I can barely see anymore through the haze of mana, and it¡¯s only intensifying as the wand continues to draw on the amplifiers I added to the arrays. The glare is far beyond my expectations, building up to blinding brilliance, turning the entire scrying mirror pure white as a latticework of strangely familiar glowing fractals fill my sight.

    I clench my fist in helpless frustration. I should be there!

    ¡°He¡¯s in good hands. Trust them, Nuri,¡± I whisper to myself. It¡¯s hard to listen to my own advice. One day, I swear I¡¯ll find a way to truly spread my Domain to my glass creatures. More than carrying a touch of my mana signature, they¡¯ll extend the range of my senses, working like beacons or relays to expand my sphere of influence.

    For now, I have to believe that our research and practice over the last few years will pay off. Rakesh and Melina are skilled scholars. Mender Uttara is an advanced [Healer] of no small repute. Mikko is brimming with vitality and strength; he could probably power the transfer of life all on his own. Avelina is overflowing with warmth and compassion for Lionel. And, of course, I can¡¯t forget that I designed and hand-crafted the foundation for the entire process.

    I straighten at that reminder, standing tall and proud. My contributions weren¡¯t minor.

    If we can¡¯t pull this off, then the [Headmistress] probably can¡¯t, either. Just because the original Azure Rod is famous doesn¡¯t mean that we can¡¯t surpass his efforts with our combined talents or innovate on the runic arrays. Applying imbuing principles alongside a more meticulous and studied method has to bear fruit.

    Melina and I are also Masters of glass. I¡¯m confident that only an [Enchanter] in the high Second¡ªor maybe even Third¡ªThreshold could surpass our new and improved creation. Or, at least, that¡¯s what I tell myself since I can¡¯t see what¡¯s going on in Lionel¡¯s room.

    Light flashes, exactly in time to interrupt my frustrated inner monologue. The mirror goes dark a split second later. Screaming in terror, I wrap it in the authority of my Domain, desperate to figure out what¡¯s going on.

    The image on the top of the table-like golem¡¯s mirror returns a moment later, although it appears dull and dim compared with the sun-bright, all-consuming fire of the powerful healing array in action. Faces flicker in my vision a few times before the scrying transmission settles down at last.

    Lionel is sitting up, a healthy flush in his cheeks. He¡¯s holding his hands out in front of his face, staring at them with wonder and confusion on his features. He grins and kicks the covers off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to stand on his own two feet once more. He¡¯s solid and steady.

    If I had any doubts about his condition, he dispels them by leaping around in a circle as he whoops and hollers. ¡°Take that, ya old witch!¡± he hollers, grinning broadly. ¡°Can¡¯t keep me down.¡±

    ¡°It worked,¡± I whisper.

    ¡°It worked!¡± Mikko shouts, his echo far louder than my words. He steps forward, staggers for a moment, and rights himself in time to engulf Lionel in a massive hug. The others are on his heels, swallowing up Lionel in a group hug and blocking my view of my friend.

    I narrow my eyes, looking closely for any signs of dangerous side effects, but other than general weakness, they all seem fine. They did it. They did it!

    First to break away from the crush of bodies is our [Researcher]. Notebook in hand, he¡¯s writing down everything that just happened. ¡°What was that surge of power at the end?¡±

    My eyebrows lift at Rakesh¡¯s question. What does he mean? Did something unexpected occur that I couldn¡¯t sense since the scrying system only transmits sight?

    Lionel struggles to extricate himself from the team. He accepts Avelina¡¯s offered glass of water, but otherwise waves off attempts to assist him. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Really! Stop treating me like a fragile bit of glass.¡±

    ¡°Can you blame us? You almost broke,¡± I say into the paper bird in my hand, my tone halfway scolding, but full of affection.

    ¡°Not even close,¡± Lionel shoots back, his signature lopsided grin twisting his face as he speaks. ¡°I knew you had my back. Never a shred of doubt.¡±

    The Linas exchange a glance fraught with meaning. Mikko snickers. But Rakesh is not so easily sidetracked by humor.

    ¡°What happened, Lionel? I¡¯ve never seen anything like that. The energy readings were all within expectations¡ªthen your eyes opened and they went crazy!¡±

    Lionel chuckles. ¡°Oh, that? Yeah, I learned a thing or two from the way that hag Saphora reversed my healing Skills. I still can¡¯t believe she¡¯s a Mender! We gotta kick her out. She¡¯s not fit to go anywhere near patients. Anyway, I took over the healing spell at the end. Didn¡¯t want all that sweet, sweet mana to go to waste!¡±

    ¡°You assisted in your own recovery? That¡¯s awesome!¡± Avelina says, high-fiving Lionel. She sways afterward and sits down on the edge of the bed, looking weaker than usual.

    ¡°Yep. That was the easy part, though. Bet not even Nuri has pulled off anything as crazy as what I did next,¡± Lionel brags, crossing his arms over his chest and looking smug.

    Realization hits me like a bolt from the blue. ¡°You evolved your Class!¡± I shout, unable to keep my excitement to myself. ¡°I knew I recognized that shimmering mesh of power.¡±

    Lionel¡¯s jaw drops open. He blinks up at the scrying sensor a few times, then scowls as if someone just stole all his dessert. ¡°Leave it to Nuri to make me wish I were back in a coma. You just had to be more amazing than I am, huh?¡±

    His light tone reassures me that his sour words don¡¯t mean anything, and sure enough his smirk breaks out again. ¡°Remember when I hit the First Threshold and you still only had a single measly Skill? Ahh. Those were the days! To be fair, you¡¯ve been playing catch up ever since, so I¡¯ll be gracious and let you have this win.¡±

    ¡°Lio! Stop preening and tell us what you got,¡± Melina interrupts. She¡¯s even paler than usual, her lips pressed together, but the joy of uncovering knowledge still shines in her eyes. She¡¯s a scholar born, no matter what her Class.

    ¡°I¡¯ve earned a new Skill. It¡¯s yellow-white. That¡¯s Iridium rank, right?¡± He grins, basking in the shocked gasps. ¡°Looks extremely complicated. Nuri and I can take turns showing off later to see who has the most amazing Skill structures.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it called, Lio?¡± Rakesh fairly explodes. His fingers grip his mana pen so hard he¡¯s shaking, and I wonder if the condensed energy pen can shatter like glass.

    ¡°Oh, you want the name?¡± Lionel asks innocently. ¡°The banner says [Runic Restoration]. Ever heard of it? No? Wow, fancy that. I know something Rakesh doesn¡¯t!¡±

    Rakesh writes down the name, peering at Lionel with unsettling intensity, as though he can split open our friend and extract his secrets. I¡¯ll have to remind him later not to give in to the temptation; one Scalpel was enough for a lifetime.

    ¡°Anyway. I assume it has something to do with that crazy artifact my teacher is holding. Good to see ya again, Uttara. Thanks for keeping me alive and all.¡±

    ¡°It was an honor,¡± Mender Uttara responds solemnly. He bows toward Lionel. ¡°And it was the least I could, considering one of my colleagues is responsible for the pain and suffering that you endured. Rest assured that I will submit a formal complaint.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°We will take care of everything shortly.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m afraid of,¡± Mender Uttara replies in a dry voice. ¡°With your kind of power, you could bring down her entire family. I hope that I don¡¯t have to remind you that her relatives are the reason your friend Nuri has a restored core and channels.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t forget what I owe Shiphrah and Rashad,¡± I assure Mender Uttara. ¡°But Rakesh is right. What is in motion cannot be undone.¡±

    Uttara shivers. ¡°Ominous.¡±

    Even Lionel drops his jocular attitude. He turns to look straight into the scrying sensor. ¡°I know it has to be done, but I hope you know what you¡¯re doing, Nuri. I¡¯ve had a lot of time to think while trapped inside my own body. I don¡¯t want to play these kinds of games anymore. As much as I¡¯m teasing everyone, I want to help and heal, not spy and fight. I¡¯m not¡ªI guess I¡¯m not a kid anymore.¡±

    Somber silence reigns after that pronouncement. Uttara looks more concerned than ever before, but I can¡¯t tell him what¡¯s going on. Not yet. He¡¯ll find out soon enough as it is.

    I swallow the lump growing in my throat. ¡°I understand. I¡¯m proud of you, Lionel. I¡¯ll miss you, though.¡±

    Avelina scrunches up her nose. ¡°What do you mean, you¡¯ll miss him?¡±

    Lionel sighs and clasps his hands together. ¡°Nuri¡¯s good at taking the fun out of things sometimes, huh? Well, he guessed it. I¡¯m staying here with teacher Uttara to heal people who need my help. I won¡¯t be joining you for the journey home¡ªwhich sounds like it¡¯s just around the corner, if I¡¯m picking up the clues correctly.¡±

    ¡°No! We just got you back!¡± Avelina cries, reaching out to Lionel as though she¡¯s afraid he will turn into smoke and drift away on the wind.

    ¡°You¡¯ll always be family,¡± Lionel says, his voice thick with emotion. ¡°Now go get super rich so you can afford to travel to visit me all the time.¡±

    Mikko grips Lionel¡¯s shoulder and squeezes gently. ¡°We will. Promise.¡±

    Lionel¡¯s grin returns. ¡°Counting on it! Now, seriously. Enough with the moping everyone. Take me to Nuri. It¡¯s time I put my new Class into action and spread some joy in this dreary old world.¡±

 Interlude: [Ladies] of the Realm - Part I

    [Lady] Saphora

    [Lady] Saphora hated rats.

    Some people had no sense of propriety. No decorum. No understanding of their place in the world. They were, simply put, rats.

    ¡°Lionel. Nuri. And their henchmen, whose pitiful names I¡¯ve already forgotten,¡± she seethed as she floated in mana-infused water to strengthen her blood and bones. Listing off the rats plaguing her barely calmed Saphora¡¯s growing agitation. Vicious little upstarts!

    She slapped the water, spraying the valuable resource across her bathing suite. They deserved nothing more than extermination¡ªto be put down like the vermin they were.

    Trembling with indignation, she set down her wine glass with a clink on the pale ivory tiles of her soaking tub. She touched her cheek, where that one-handed freak had dared to slap her a month ago. No red outlines of his finger remained, thanks to the durability of skin enhanced by daily soaks in mana, but she still ground her teeth together at the memory of his impudence. She was a [Lady]! He had no right to touch her.

    Little rat.

    ¡°I never should have let that other boy live. Weakness on my part. Talentless little [Healer],¡± she spat. ¡°Nettles under my nails, all of them! They¡¯ll destroy everything I¡¯ve worked so hard to build.¡±

    Wind chimes interrupted her pouting session. Gentle notes of music tinkled, signaling that the cabal was calling a meeting to order off-schedule. Galling levels of impertinence, really. This had better be important!

    With a wave of her hand, she cleared the waters away and simultaneously dried herself off. Mana manipulation was a marvelous and under-appreciated technique. She rose up from her infusion bath and slipped into silks embroidered with her house emblem, ready as she could be for her upcoming appearance in the scrying mirror. She didn¡¯t bother checking herself in an actual mirror. One of the benefits of picking up [Healer] as her second Class was the hard-won ability to shape her skin and hair, ensuring she looked flawless at all times.

    Striding down the long hallway to her meeting room¡ªa meticulously cultivated nook in her second-largest sitting room, stocked with rare books that flaunted her philosophical sophistication¡ªshe took a brief moment to compose herself. No matter how much those rats put her on edge, it wouldn¡¯t do to let the others see her flustered. Projection was power; who people perceived you to be often mattered more than who you actually were.

    And, unlike many of her fellow freedom-fighters, [Lady] Sephora refused to wear a mask to the meetings. She represented one of the oldest noble houses in Gilead. Sadly, these days they were less wealthy and powerful than their predecessors, but that was temporary. When the revolution succeeded, and they retook control of their city from those blood-suckers in Central, she would restore their fortunes. Densmore had drained them dry. The loss wasn¡¯t her fault, but the victory would certainly be her triumph.

    Blame and responsibility were so closely tied, she mused as she took her seat in front of the enchanted scrying mirror and answered the call of her fellow conspiracists. One belonged to small, unimaginative people who lacked the courage to do what was required. The other? That was her purview. She was a visionary. She¡¯d certainly never lacked the will to act. She would drag her city along after her¡ªkicking and screaming if need be.

    Shimmering lines etched across the mirror, separating it into a dozen squares in a three by four grid. Faces popped up in each section, most of them hidden behind masks. Through supreme force of will, Saphora succeeded in not rolling her eyes at her fellow conspirator¡¯s flimsy efforts to hide their identities. She¡¯d already tracked them all down, despite their best attempts to stay in the shadows.

    Knowledge was power, after all. If any of them ever tried to turn on her, they¡¯d find that she already had a fail-safe in place. The fact that it involved that pretentious mage crafter irked her to no end, but she had to admit that there was a certain elegance to pitting her enemies against each other.

    A slim woman with severe, steel-gray hair rang a small bell with a gloved hand. Delicate stitching showed off the sign of the Menders. No surprise there. Saphora¡¯s colleagues were the most affected by Densmore¡¯s demands.

    When the susurrus of conversation died down, the women set aside the bell. ¡°Order, my friends! Thank you for your respectful silence. Our enemies may be circling, but our position is stronger than ever. We¡¯re poised to earn a total victory if we act decisively.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re teetering on a knife-edge, you mean. If my sources are correct, then [Inquisitors] have made inroads into our city. We have traitors in our midst,¡± a man with an obviously-fake basso rumble accused.

    He probably thought his voice made him seem mysterious and powerful, but Saphora had always thought he sounded like he¡¯d had too much to eat and was groaning while dealing with indigestion. The fact that he bankrolled the majority of their operations galled her to no end. She couldn¡¯t wait until they were free of his influence.

    Once we finish off the rats, I¡¯ll ensure he¡¯s out of the picture. After we plunder his goods, of course. His mana-refining jasmine flowers will look good in my gardens.

    ¡°Traitors!¡± Saphora gasped theatrically, holding her hand up to her open mouth.

    ¡°Mock at your own peril, [Lady] Saphora. We face threats from both within and without. If we¡¯re going to act ¡®decisively¡¯ today, as our moderator suggests, then we must begin by cutting out the rot in our company. Surely you understand that, as a [Healer]?¡±

    ¡°Far better than you!¡± Saphora shot back. ¡°The real question here, and the one you are implicitly answering by appointing yourself judge and executioner, is who purges our members? Do you claim to be impartial and uncompromised?¡±

    ¡°Bickering accomplishes nothing,¡± the moderator reminded the group. As it so often did when she spouted platitudes, her prim voice took on a bored undertone, like she didn¡¯t actually believe the admonition she delivered.

    ¡°Excellent! Spill the bad blood.¡± A new speaker interjected. The only other member of their conspiracy who refused to hide his identity, [General] Kepko was a square-jawed man whose gleaming, bald head showed off a patchwork of ridged scars, earned from decades of service in the borderlands. His steady dark eyes bored into the other people, glaring out from above a well-trimmed, black mustache as if daring them to gainsay his next words.

    The [General] drove a large fist into his chest. ¡°If a purge is required, then I will lead it.¡±

    Great. More zealots.

    ¡°I will gladly assist,¡± Saphora said, volunteering before the rest of the meeting dissolved into petty arguments and shows of dominance. ¡°My position as a Mender affords me excellent practice excising infection and amputating mangled limbs.¡±

    ¡°I will take you up on that offer,¡± Kepko said, stroking his mustache. ¡°Your forthrightness has been evident from the beginning. There¡¯s no one else I¡¯d trust.¡±

    She flashed a brilliant smile. ¡°Of course, if innocence is established after our vigorous investigations, I¡¯ll heal any wounds. Free of charge.¡±

    One of the conspirator¡¯s faces blanched above his elaborate mask. His image winked out as he cut the connection to the scrying mirror, leading to shouts of outrage and fear.

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    Ah. No wonder he wanted to be our accountant, so he could track the flow of money. Our [Banker] apparently made a bad investment when he revealed his identity to me.

    The grid did not rearrange itself to accommodate eleven members, leaving a blank spot in the middle of the mirror that seemed more and more ominous as Saphora looked at the mirror of Gilead¡¯s elites. Were they really rotten to the core? Doomed to fail?

    No matter. She acted while cowards dithered.

    Smiling to herself, she thumbed a control ward on the side of the desk and activated a fail-safe of her own devising: reversing the healing spell implanted in her target. No need to involve that despicable crafter for this process. If only she held such leverage over the rest of them, then she could simply assume her rightful place as their leader.

    ¡°Who was that?¡± the moderator demanded, her voice pitching up sharply and taking on a strained, panicked timbre. ¡°[General] Kepko, we must track him down immediately!¡±

    ¡°Have no fear. I¡¯ve dealt with [Head Banker] Soji already,¡± Saphora purred. Of course the money-maker is another rat!

    ¡°Competence! Excellent,¡± Kepko boomed. ¡°Madam moderator, by your leave, I suggest that we all gather in one place. Mender Saphora and I will cull the herd. Purified and stronger than ever, we¡¯ll launch our assault on the bastions of Densmoran oppression.¡±

    ¡°Can we truly risk weakening ourselves like this? I called this meeting to initiate the next stage of our plan¡ªon that, we¡¯re in agreement, [General] Kepko¡ªbut it seems shortsighed to rid ourselves of potential allies at this late hour.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary. Anyone who doesn¡¯t stand with us is a dead weight,¡± a woman in a peacock mask spoke up. ¡°Better to cut away entanglements.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Saphora said, leaning forward with a snarl parting her lips. ¡°Starting with you.¡±

    The peacock mask stayed on the scrying mirror. The woman behind the mask let out a low chuckle. ¡°Cunning as always, Saphora.¡±

    Two other men who spoke little, but whose nervous eyes had always shouted volumes, were not there to hear the congratulations, however. Saphora crossed her arms and leaned up against the bookshelf behind her, a gloating grin on her face.

    ¡°Productive meeting,¡± she said.

    ¡°Depending on your definition. We¡¯re now weaker by twenty-five percent,¡± the moderator said dryly.

    ¡°Less is more,¡± Saphora replied dismissively. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste another moment on those rats. We have to act before Densmore marshals a coordinated response. Let¡¯s drive them from our fair shores.¡±

    The moderator removed her mask for the first time. She lifted a narrow chin, her eyes hard as flint, and nodded. ¡°On that, we agree. Launch the attack.¡±

    =+=

    [Lady] Evershed

    An explosion of power shattered the stillness of night. Lady Evershed bolted upright in her bed, clutching at her chest and willing her wildly-beating heart to settle down.

    A fulcrum. At last.

    The long, blue-shaded shadows of her room stretched in menacing shapes, but a quick pulse of her mana cleared away her mental fog. She reached for her Skills, confirming that the source of the disquiet was a disturbance in distant lands to the west.

    ¡°What has that boy done now?¡± she muttered. Her greatest Skill from her original Class, [Lady], shifted and groaned ominously within her. [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride] was a demanding Skill, with far-reaching implications that she was still deciphering.

    She rose and prepared for a fight. Worry over a thousand unseen possibilities built up within her, but she smashed the negative feeling down as quickly as it appeared. All the signs pointed toward a tipping point. A fulcrum, as she¡¯d come to call it. She would be ready, or not. Little sense in wasting energy on unknowns. She¡¯d prepared her entire life for moments like these, which would serve as thermals to lift her soaring like an eagle into the skies.

    Panic was corrosive. It upended the best of plans. Thus, she would not panic. Everything had a place. Everything had a strength.

    And everything had a weakness.

    Lady Evershed retrieved her cane and marched down the stairs to the glass studio. She hadn¡¯t reached her exalted position by letting herself get caught off guard. Planning for this day had begun decades ago, long before Nuri Shahi had ever been born, assuming that he was, in fact, the one behind this powerful fulcrum. She didn¡¯t know the details, but she had been certain that she would one day need the countermeasures she¡¯d laid down long ago.

    Baryl met her at the foot of the stairs. He offered a cup of tea, along with a pastry from her favorite new bakery¡ªPhantasmal Frostings, run by a delightfully sensible woman who had recently immigrated to Grand Ile. An all-too-serious expression twisted his little face.

    He had a knife strapped to his belt, a pack on his back, boots on his feet, and a precious statue in his hand, she noted with a pang of sorrow. Old habits died hard, as the saying went. Nowhere was ever safe for a street rat, he¡¯d told her once.

    ¡°Go back to bed,¡± Lady Evershed said as tenderly as she could. She¡¯d taken him in the next day after his sad declaration and promised him that he could be so much more than a child of alleyways and slums. Rat was such a limiting label. His horizons weren¡¯t discovered yet; he still had room to grow. She hoped she didn¡¯t have to break her word.

    The sweet boy shook his head. ¡°Someone¡¯s gotta watch yer back. Trouble¡¯s comin.¡±

    She combed her gnarled fingers through his dark curls. The thudding in her chest had stopped as soon as she clamped down her willpower, but now it came back again. The ache hadn¡¯t gone away fully. If anything, it was stronger now that she knew Baryl was involved. He had tied himself to her, for better or for worse, the darling little fool.

    Tasting hope for the first time in ages was a dangerous rush, especially now that she had someone to protect and to hope for. A fulcrum event could lift her to unprecedented heights, or crush her just as easily. She couldn¡¯t bear for her ward to suffer the same fate.

    ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡± she asked. Formalities, really. A terrible suspicion had already risen up unbidden in her mind.

    ¡°Got a nose for trouble.¡±

    The way Baryl looked down and mumbled his answer gave her the confirmation she did not want. She sipped her tea and sighed before replying. ¡°You re-Classed.¡±

    Baryl crossed his arms. His eyes blazed with defiance. ¡°My choice, ain¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± she murmured.

    His half-smile looked incredibly pleased at his tacit victory. ¡°Five minutes until it gets bad. Think someone¡¯s comin to see ya.¡±

    Lady Evershed waved her hand, levitating a tray of sweets over to the boy. ¡°Thank you. Sit behind the counter and be ready.¡±

    His chest puffed out and he stood tall with pride, a hand on the hilt of his knife. ¡°Got it!¡±

    Her mind raced while she watched him trot off to take up his lookout. Relying on one of her overlooked Skills picked up from running a glass shop in her ¡°retirement,¡± she sent mental invoices to several key figures in the city, along with a certain spy from Naftali. She didn¡¯t have to charge them for glass pieces she¡¯d created, she¡¯d discovered. As the Skill ranked up, she¡¯d been able to demand anything she desired in payment, even if she¡¯d never sold anything at all to the target individual.

    Sending a few more invoices initiated multiple steps to her plans: the release of funds, naming Baryl her heir, calling in promised aid from various officials in Grand Ile. They¡¯d pay up or face the consequences.

    Favors were more valuable currency than gold. That was true in every nation. Here in Grand Ile, with the Mint enforcing the official coins, it proved doubly so. Luckily for her, she had spent a lifetime investing in this particular form of payment. Dividends should be excellent.

    She finished her pastry, enjoying the warm glow of mana replenishment, and wiped off the crumbs stuck to her lips. ¡°Ready. Light up the enchantments.¡±

    ¡°Already turned ¡®em on,¡± Baryl reported. He perched on the edge of the checkout desk, almost invisible in the gloom of night. Only [The Weight of the World] picked him out, based on his influence against the mesh of power and prestige ever-present around her.

    Pressure built up in her soul space. The outcome still hung in the balance. Whatever she did in the next few minutes seemed likely to push forward or burn her out completely, given the way vast, unbridled power churned through her Skill.

    This was it. Like lightning flashing across the sky, the moment had arrived. All her plans would come to a head at once. Tonight would make or break her.

    Her pulse picked back up at the thought. Glee and madness went hand in hand; she had to steady herself. She¡¯d need a clear mind to navigate this new set of responsibilities. Running a city was less of a challenge than caring for a child sometimes, but it still wasn¡¯t trivial.

    Something had triggered a fulcrum event. Someone, more likely. Nuri had a spectacular talent for taking expectations and turning them on their head. She didn¡¯t have proof it was him, but who else had she ever met who set off her Skill shaking and quivering like a struck gong? History warped in his wake. She was sure of it.

    When the knock came at the door, she was ready. Serenity enveloped the studio as she flooded the room with her gravitas, and she gave her little friend a calm, dignified smile. Destiny came for her. She hitched up her skirts, shifted her grip on her cane, and answered the call.

 Interlude: [Ladies] of the Realm - Part II

    [Lady] Saphora

    The incredible thing about the scrying network that the Orpheus House maintained¡ªother than how easy it was to gain access to the scrying sensors and recreate their eyes around the city¡ªwas the control it offered to the users. Extensive reach, bordering on invasive, allowed the conspirators to monitor all of the attacks in real time.

    The consulate burned to the ground, engulfed in flames from a fire-touched [Mage], mere seconds after the command was given. A few key ships from across the inland sea, thinly disguised as [Merchant] vessels, followed soon thereafter.

    Watching the thick pillars of gray-black smoke rise in lazy curlicues was as enthralling as she had always dreamed. She let out a satisfied sigh; she could scarcely imagine anything as marvelous as sitting back and watching her enemies turn to ash.

    If only I hadn¡¯t left my wine glass in the mana-infusion suite, this would be the perfect day, she thought with a twinge of regret.

    Bloodthirsty as his reputation hinted, [General] Kepko led the charge against the foreign interests personally. His bulky form was unmistakable on the scrying mirror. The ropey bursts of viscera exploding out of his enemies was strangely hypnotic. Any opponents below the Second Threshold stood no chance; they exploded under the detonations from his enchanted gauntlets. [Lady] Saphora found herself thrilling to the carnage, swept up in the grand, bloody drama of revolution.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the library,¡± the moderator commanded in clipped, business-like tones. ¡°Cesspool of revolutionary ideas.¡±

    ¡°Yeah! Only our revolution is allowed,¡± Saphora said, snickering.

    ¡°Decorum, young [Lady],¡± the moderator chided.

    Saphora rolled her eyes. She only had to put up with the hag for another few days, if all went well. Curious how the fight was going, she switched away from the faces on the mirror and pulled up an image of the library.

    Her nose scrunched up in confusion. It looked just like usual. Soaring buttresses, stained glass windows, serene crowds of patrons streaming in and out of its doors. Where was the fire? Where was the blood? She chewed on her lip while she watched for another few minutes, but it proved just as dull as ever. Sunny day. Boring people. Nothing changed.

    There! The fluffy white clouds in the corner of the image shifted abruptly, returning to the original position they¡¯d occupied at the opposite edge of the mirror. She blinked, tilting her head to the side, and squinted. Several familiar outfits went by. It took a few minutes to be sure, but it was unquestionable once she realized that the mid-morning sun had never advanced to noon. To anyone with less refined senses, it may have been undetectable, but the image in the scrying mirror undeniably looped after several minutes.

    ¡°That sly witch,¡± Saphora snarled through gritted teeth. She should have known better than to work with Mistress Ozana. No one who had dealings with that sly mage crafter could be trusted. What else had been tampered with?

    Her fingers flew like lightning across the glyphs that controlled the scrying mirror. Each of the scenes seemed stale, now that she looked more closely. Who knew what was happening in the city right now? Something was terribly wrong.

    ¡°We have a rat in our midst!¡± Saphora declared, switching back to the group discussion. She scowled. ¡°Kepko is going to tear you¡ª¡±

    She jerked around, cutting off mid-sentence as a massive swell of mana erupted across the city. No mana senses were required; the way all her fine hairs stood on end was more than enough to announce the counter-attack. Ripples of unease swept through the meeting.

    [Lady] Saphora shivered at the overwhelming power. She severed the connection to the scrying mirror, discarding her fellow co-conspirators with as little regret as if she¡¯d tossed aside a well-used tissue. Let the masses rot. She¡¯d fend for herself from here on out.

    An alarm sounded from an enchanted vase tucked away in the corner of the luxurious sitting room. From the outside, it appeared to simply provide a home for her favorite bouquets of delicate jasmine and hibiscus, adding a counterpoint fragrance to the scent of old books and refined erudition. Hidden within its elegant form were the enchantments that powered its true function: to alert her in case of emergency.

    Swallowing her inclination to sneer¡ªof course she knew it was an emergency¡ªSaphora checked in with her faithful [Huscarls] by activating a hidden ward that allowed for ranged verbal communication. Nearly half of the worthless servants had resigned in the wake of the terrifying and humiliating assault at the hand of that crafter.

    ¡°Imminent and personal danger, Ma¡¯am,¡± came the instantaneous and panicked reply.

    She tensed, her fingernails digging into her palm despite many years of mana soaking and skin refinement. ¡°Evacuation?¡±

    ¡°Strongly recommend, though it¡¯s not my place to presume on the [Lady]¡¯s desires,¡± her [Huscarl] said without any hesitation. ¡°A powerful [Spear Master] is cutting apart our defenses like a scythe through wheat.¡±

    Curse that hideous little rat!

    Scowling at the interruption of her celebration more than from any real concern for the danger, she stalked through her mansion until she reached her personal chambers. Tides of anger seethed within her. How dare they! She¡¯d worked too hard for this to give up now.

    Yet she found herself donning a cloak, strapping a dagger to her belt, and keying in her secret security code to open the underground passages that would lead her to the basement underneath her House¡¯s research facility. Once she entered those hallowed chambers, she¡¯d lose any pursuers with ease. They might win this first clash, but Gilead would rise up against their oppressors once they witnessed such blatant disrespect from the agents of Densmore.

    Soon, her people would be free of small-minded foreign minders. They¡¯d clamor for her leadership, happy to trust her competent guidance. She¡¯d raise up her House once more and make a new legend. A true name for herself, as befitting her talents.

    Cool air flowed through out of the narrow hallway, washing over her face and bringing her back to the present. She slipped into the passageway, activated a mana torch, and closed the door behind her as she crept onward. Victory was assured. First, though, she had to escape the vengeance of overzealous [Soldiers].

    Downward sloped the passage. Steep stairs cut into living rock carried her toward her destination, lit by the soft, warm glow of the torch. Murky as the depths may be, mana always provided clarity.

    Her white-hot fury at losing the initial clash had burned down to embers by the time she reunited with her retainers. Sparks of bitter rage ignited in her heart when she realized that of her once-formidable band of [Huscarls], only a single remained true. He was her oldest servant, a man devoted to her family from before her birth.

    Embers flared back into raging flames at the thought of slinking away with only a single bodyguard. She should be accompanied by a full honor guard for her tactical retreat. How dare they abandon her in her hour of need! She¡¯d remember their treachery. Each slight, each small rebellion to save their own worthless skin. All of the remaining bodyguards would die upon her return. It was the least they deserved.

    ¡°This way, my [Lady].¡±

    She flushed when she noticed that her [Huscarl] refused to meet her eyes. He gazed at the ground with steadfast determination and trembling hands, appearing resigned to his fate. And so he should! Better to be unfaithful to her House and honest about it rather than skulk around like a beaten dog, devoid of the courage to strike out on his own. He gave lip service at best, but he was as useless as the rest. They all denied her the honor that was her due.

    He¡¯ll die last. And worst.

    Pleased with her new resolution, Saphora smiled thinly. She swore her vengeance by the heavens above and the sands below, sealing the pact. She flounced after the [Huscarl] as he led her through a shining, pearlescent portal and into the Rift below Gilead.

    ¡°Sharp eyes, swift feet, my [Lady],¡± her retainer cautioned as they walked.

    ¡°Why? Isn¡¯t this Rift tame?¡±

    He had the temerity to snort. ¡°No such thing. This is safer than most, but each time you enter, it¡¯s like pouring oil on a fire and hoping you don¡¯t get burned.¡±

    He stood closer to her than was strictly proper, but something about the haunted look in his eyes made Saphora refrain from commenting. Perhaps even an old Rift could be dangerous. She¡¯d be equally magnanimous and not mention his impudence. Besides, his fate was already sealed. What did a few more minutes of indignity matter?

    Tall, needle-thin spires of rock jutted up from the ground ahead of them, emerging from the fog without warning. They rose impossibly high, disappearing from view high overhead. She could scarcely believe her eyes; they shouldn¡¯t have been able to sustain their weight, yet they soared into eternity.

    She swallowed hard. They were just stupid rocks. They had no right to make her feel so insignificant. It was rude. Unsettling. As her anger flared, she drew on her mana to center her.

    Her [Huscarl] grabbed her arm, his fingers as unyielding as iron. He whispered fiercely, ¡°Don¡¯t let your mana leak like that!¡±

    ¡°Insolent cur!¡± she spat, twisting away from him and brushing off her sleeve. ¡°Touch me again and I¡¯ll rot you from the inside out.¡±

    Mana surged behind her. She whirled around, preparing a reverse healing spell to deal with the new threat. Her eyes widened. A hulking form charged out from behind the eerie spires, multi-horned and covered in coarse, thick reddish bristles.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Bellowing in challenge, it bore down on her, unleashing waves of intimidating power that dwarfed her own meager output. Its milk-white eyes glowed with ghostly, flickering light, and she instinctively flinched away, shrinking in fear as unfathomable pressure crashed over her.

    ¡°My [Lady]!¡± came a hoarse, desperate cry from her [Huscarl], followed by a shove from the side that sent her sprawling out of the path of the rampaging beast.

    She scrambled to her feet, took one look at her retainer impaled on the monster¡¯s long, vicious horn, and ran. Her screams echoed through the canyons as she plunged ever deeper into the heart of the Rift.

    Minutes bled into hours. Her burning terror faded, replaced by a cold certainty of her own death. Why had she turned tail and fled? Today was supposed to be her greatest moment of triumph! Now she wandered, turned around in the labyrinthine depths, unable to find the way out of this accursed place. Nothing looked familiar. The shadows blurred together, monotonous yet ever-shifting, voids unto themselves that conspired to confuse and torment her.

    When she got out, the cleaning fires of vengeance would be legendary. She¡¯d start with the rats who forced her into this position, then move on to the nattering moderator. If all went well, she¡¯d complete the sweep with a clearing of her house, removing the useless bodyguards and replacing them with her own, hand-picked specialists.

    Thirst kicked in after a few hours. She tried to work salvia into her dry mouth, but nothing seemed to help. Her cracked lips and parched tongue tormented her. She wasn¡¯t a [Commoner] who was used to hardship! Is that even a Class? I suppose it might be a useless Copper ranked Class for talentless grunts who balance the ledgers and build bridges and the sort.

    ¡° . . . picking up a signature!¡±

    ¡°Not far, now. Found her!¡±

    Voices! Her head snapped up. ¡°Finally, a welcome party,¡± she murmured. ¡°Battle must be over.¡±

    Ranting to herself vastly improved her mood. She shuffled onward, ignoring the ache in her feet and legs and side from so much running and climbing. The artificial, clear luminance of mana lamps up ahead steered her toward the group who¡¯d come to serve her. As they should.

    Of course they¡¯d look for her. It was only right. Bunch of fools! They¡¯re lost without my guidance.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be rewarded for your loyalty. I¡¯ve re-emerged,¡± she announced imperiously, lifting up her chin and clasping her hands behind her so that everyone could bask in her greatness as she entered the light and announced her presence to the search party.

    =+=

    [Lady] Evershed

    The jolly-looking gentleman at Lady Evershed¡¯s front door did not particularly match the image of destiny she¡¯d initially expected. Slightly plump and of average height, he seemed mild, kind, and disarming. Dozens of tiny brass buttons decorated the front of his vest in a scattered hodgepodge of star-shaped, circular, and triangular fasteners in no discernable order. Crinkles around his eyes spoke of mirth and light-hearted living. Yet he pressed down against the mesh of the world with an intensity that made her eyes flare wide with shock.

    ¡°May I come in, good Lady?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be honored,¡± Evershed lied. She lifted an arm, pressed her cane against the door, and held it all the way open for her guest. With a faint smile that took all of her courage and patience, she invited the infamous [Numismatist Regent] of Grand Ile to saunter into her glass studio¡ªa thing she¡¯d once swore would never happen unless he sent her corpse down the river first and tore the deed to her home from her cold, enervated fingers.

    ¡°Love the quaint decor, though it¡¯s not as enduring as precious metal,¡± he murmured as he gestured at the delicate glass decorations arranged around the shop.

    She bit back a scathing answer, considering and discarding a dozen potential replies in a split second before settling for offering him tea. She kept her voice and movements easy while they spoke. Time enough for settling accounts, should she survive this encounter.

    ¡°Do you take milk?¡± she asked, and swiftly repressed an instinctive shudder when the coin-obsessed monster answered in the affirmative.

    Of course he does. Peh!

    Nonetheless, she nodded graciously and strolled about the studio, collecting another tea cup of her own making and retrieving a glass of milk from her cold box. She brought it to just the right temperature with her [Greater Heat Manipulation], levitating the abominable mixture over to her guest. All the while, she kept up an innocent smile, and never, ever turned her back on him.

    The minter accepted his glass cup, eased into an overstuffed, green-striped chair, and took a tentative sip. His face brightened. ¡°Ah, that hits the spot.¡±

    ¡°Glad I could assuage your midnight thirst,¡± Evershed said. Control eluded her; this time her voice came out acerbic.

    ¡°Truthfully, the tea isn¡¯t why I¡¯m here,¡± the [Regent] said with a regretful sigh. He slipped an oversized coin out of his breast pocket and set it down on the arm of the chair, balancing the glass tea cup on top of it like it was a tiny coaster.

    ¡°I¡¯d doubt your taste in brews if it were. Shall we get to business?¡± Evershed raised one eyebrow, waiting for the other half of his declaration. Rumor had it that he had a theatrical flair. This was her first time seeing it in person, however, since he had assumed his current position shortly after she withdrew from the public eye a few decades ago.

    The [Regent]¡¯s smile had disappeared, although the crinkles around his eyes remained. ¡°Business it is. Three of my colleagues have resigned tonight. Two others have put in transfer requests to different departments. Yet another handful have named successors with known ties to your family.¡±

    Evershed hid a smirk. She covered by sipping her own tea. ¡°Sounds like you have your hands full.¡±

    A vein pulsing in his neck was the only hint that he was less than perfectly composed. ¡°Rescind your orders, Evershed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered you think me so influential.¡±

    He cleared his throat. ¡°Very well. If you¡¯re going to dam up information, then I have no choice but to open a sluice gate. Let¡¯s review your communication with Naftali.¡±

    ¡°I have many contacts, both home and abroad. You¡¯ll have to be more specific,¡± she said while meeting his suddenly-intense gaze. His ability to snoop on her mental notes unnerved her, but she¡¯d never show weakness around him. Not until I have the upper hand.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have time for games,¡± the [Regent] snapped. ¡°Your reputation works against you. No one else in this city is capable of coordinating a high-level coup involving many foreign and domestic allies with such ease. Stand down now, and I¡¯ll expunge it from the record personally.¡±

    Lady Evershed drained her tea. She eased herself up from her seat and shuffled over to a display case, maneuvering so that the [Regent] shifted in his seat to face her. Behind him, her precious little friend leaned forward, his right hand resting on the hilt of his knife. Poor child was in over his head, but she appreciated the gesture.

    ¡°Rude,¡± she replied with a low chuckle. ¡°Insinuating that I¡¯m disloyal to the fine leaders of Grand Ile is one thing. Insulting my competence in such an action? Peh! If I were coordinating a deposition, you¡¯d only find out when it was too late to stop it.¡±

    ¡°You refuse to cooperate?¡±

    Evershed picked up a glass goblet etched with a facsimile of the walls of Grand Ile. She traced the legendary gates with her finger, considering the wealth and power that flowed into the great city from all over Densmore.

    ¡°I refuse to let my city languish any longer under your tight-fisted, short-sighted control,¡± she said, straightening her back and lifting her cane. Calling on Skills from both of her Classes, she wielded the growing gravity of her domineering pride alongside her total command of her studio to bind the [Regent] in bands of mana-empowered glass.

    His presence clashed against hers, painting a picture of utter implacability that resisted the change she sought to enforce. Absurd amounts of mana surged through him, staggering her backward with the force of its presence.

    Glass fetters burst asunder.

    In that moment of chaos, Baryl struck. Wild-eyed and screaming with childlike anger as he sought to protect her, he launched at the powerful, Second Threshold [Regent]. His knife hit the man¡¯s back¡ª

    And snapped.

    Snorting, the [Numismatist Regent] turned and backhanded the boy into a shelf of glass curios, shattering the little sprites and fanciful creatures in her collection. ¡°Cheap tricks? A little gutter rat with a toothpick? No wonder you fell from power, Evershed!¡±

    A cry of agony tore from her throat. Desperation drove her. She reached out to him with her magic, confirming in an instant that Baryl¡¯s spirit weighed down on the mesh of prestige that was woven between her and all the people she¡¯d ever met. He still lived.

    ¡°Power?¡± she spat at the [Regent]. ¡°You know only how to crush metal and men alike in a rigid mold. You¡¯re not a leader; you just like control.¡±

    ¡°So high and mighty, Lady Evershed,¡± the [Regent] sneered. ¡°We could have worked out an arrangement. Mutually benefited. I¡¯m flexible, believe it or not. Now? Witness exactly how a mold works. [Mana-Impression: Stamped in My Own Image].¡±

    Once more, power swirled around him, coalescing into a vision of the world that hit her with physical force as it manifested. Gasping for breath, she fought to control her body, twisting against the impression of a giant coin press bearing down on her. Crushing her. Changing her.

    Her own power pooled at her fingertips. This was it. The moment she¡¯d waited for. The final fulcrum. Distant events culminated; she felt the shift with unparalleled clarity as her inner world condensed and purified her mana, then exploded outward in boundless energy.

    She laughed, understanding in a flash the insight that had eluded her for all these years. It was so simple. She didn¡¯t need to dominate mana¡ªor people, for that matter. She simply had to paint a picture of a more compelling future and invite them to participate. Isn¡¯t that what Nuri had hinted at in his letters about imbuing?

    ¡°What are you doing! Stop!¡± the [Regent] screamed, panic twisting his face into an ugly mask.

    Evershed battled back, leveraging her burgeoning understanding of mana to craft an image of her people flourishing. Against the strictures of stagnation, she represented change: not a bloody revolution or an imposed policy, but the joy of growth.

    Something deep within her shifted.

    The Second Threshold, just like that? [Lady] Evershed marveled, embracing her original Class once more. She threw off the impending danger of the coin-press, shredding the narrative the [Regent] wrote in mana and blood.

    Awestruck, she invoked the new version of [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride], which had transformed into a higher rank and gained a new title. In an instinctive way, she knew that [The Weight of a Thousand Worlds: Fealty of the Worthy] worked in a similar way to her domineering Skill, yet her new understanding of leadership had changed it to work with people who trusted her.

    Power expanded out in a sphere from her. Her Classes hummed, and [Lady] forced its way to the fore once more. She¡¯d nearly written it off a decade or two back; her momentum had stalled, and her influence in Grand Ile waned. Her calculated gambles had backfired. She¡¯d retired from politics in semi-disgrace, searching for a way to reinvent herself.

    The [Regent] was bound in glowing chains of glass once more. This time, he couldn¡¯t break the bonds. He was as helpless as stubborn stone ground down by a glacier. His sense of solidity creaked, buckled, and imploded.

    Seconds ago, he was the most powerful man in all of Grand Ile. Now, the landscape had changed. The air seemed more alive, as though a weight had lifted. Once more her people were free to grow and change and reinvent themselves.

    Groaning, Baryl sat up, holding his head. She levitated a healing draught over to him as easily as thinking. The world responded to her commands effortlessly now that she¡¯d advanced.

    Chimes rang out in endless melodies, alerting [Lady] Evershed that her mental invoices had been paid. Investments came due, propelling her forward in strength. And, in the center of it all, one luminous connection rose above all else. Thrumming with power and glowing brightly in her mana senses, it led far, far to the West, toward a strange young man she¡¯d helped last year despite how illogical it had seemed at the time.

    [Lady] Evershed shook her head and smiled. Tomorrow, she¡¯d resume her rightful place as the leader of Grand Ile. Tonight, she would indulge her curiosity and send messages to the Capital, asking what in all the heavens and abyss Nuri had done now. That boy was trouble, but this time it seemed to have worked in her favor. She couldn¡¯t wait to see what he did next.

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Four

    Seeing Lionel in the flesh does my heart good. Healthy and hale once more, he swaggers into the hot shop at the Orpheus looking like he owns the place. The tightness around his eyes and the grim set to his jaw have disappeared. He¡¯s back to his usual mischievous half-smile that makes him seem like a perpetual jokester. Which he is.

    I hurl myself across the room at top speed, the studio blurring in my sight, and wrap up my best friend in a hug.

    ¡°Oof! When did you get so strong?¡± Lionel wheezes, staggering backward a few steps under the force of my greeting. He slaps me on the back a few times, squirming as he fails to extricate himself from the vice grip of my hug. ¡°Good to see you too buddy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re alive! I can¡¯t believe it worked!¡± I cackle, releasing him and stepping back.

    He crosses his arms and gives me a mock glare. ¡°You mashed together an unknown enchantment, flooded it with mana, and pointed it at me without knowing what would happen?¡±

    I mirror the impish grin that takes over his face. He¡¯s too happy to keep up the front of pretending to be miffed. We both know full well that Lionel enjoys impossible odds and grand adventures. He¡¯s not even remotely mad at me; he¡¯s going to tell this story for the rest of his life.

    I shrug one shoulder. ¡°Someone had to be reckless in your absence.¡±

    Lionel laughs until he snorts. He raises a single finger, asking for silence, but requires another few moments to compose himself. His grin grows sharp-edged when he finally speaks. ¡°Pretty sure you always had that covered, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°Slander!¡± I sputter in protest.

    ¡°Eh, pretty hard to argue with that assessment, dear brother,¡± Mikko cuts in, elbowing me in the ribs and nearly knocking me over in his enthusiasm. We¡¯re all so strong these days.

    He¡¯s beaming ear to ear, just like the rest of us. If I look half as goofy as my teammates, then I definitely don¡¯t want Ozana spying on me during this reunion. I obscure all of her scrying sensors with a pulse of mana, then unblock them again as I come to the conclusion that I¡¯m too happy to care what others think of me right now.

    The Linas are matching each other, arms folded and knowing expressions on their faces, as they join the rest of the team in smirking at me. They don¡¯t have to speak up; I already know they¡¯re looking forward to less reckless behavior in the future. They¡¯re enjoying the way the rest of the team is ribbing me way too much.

    Overjoyed at being reunited with my friends, I don¡¯t even mind the teasing. In a way, I¡¯d feel worse if they didn¡¯t tease me. I¡¯ve gotten too accustomed to the battle of wits, or just flat out insults¡ªdelivered in love, of course¡ªand I don¡¯t think I¡¯d adjust well to a change of dynamic.

    ¡°Nuri, we¡¯ve got a lot of catching up to do,¡± Lionel tells me, growing uncharacteristically serious. He¡¯s unusually pensive, as though concerned about how I might react, which makes me wonder what he possibly could have on his mind that would put him on edge.

    ¡°Looking forward to it,¡± I say, smiling softly. I hope my encouragement shines through. It¡¯s hard to tell exactly how my body language will be interpreted. Even though we¡¯ve known each other well for a very long time, we haven¡¯t communicated on any meaningful level in a while.

    In my defense, he¡¯s been comatose.

    ¡°I hardly know where to begin,¡± I say, and we both let out awkward chuckles. ¡°I¡¯ve been on the hunt for a cure, in addition to evolving my Class and expanding my soul. How about you?¡±

    ¡°Is that why everyone at the Menders campus was whispering about a terrifying [Mage]? That was you?¡± Lionel says, his eyes growing wide.

    ¡°Afraid so.¡±

    ¡°Wow. That¡¯s . . . that¡¯s a lot to take in. I thought you¡¯d be a [Glassworker] for life,¡± Lionel says. ¡°Oh, Azariah is going to love this development. He¡¯s finally right about you!¡±

    ¡°Half-right,¡± I correct Lionel.

    He raises his eyebrows. ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a [Glass Mage] now. Best of both worlds, if you think about it.¡±

    ¡°Or just a mutt,¡± Lionel says brightly.

    ¡°It¡¯s not too late to put you back under,¡± I mutter darkly, glaring at my friend in mock anger.

    ¡°Try me. I¡¯m like a ghost. Impossible to put down. Ready to haunt your dreams,¡± Lionel says, shadow-boxing the air and making sound effects as he dodges my pretend attacks.

    ¡°What¡¯s your news, Lio?¡± Melina asks, breaking into the conversation before it devolves into an actual good-natured fight between us.

    ¡°I got a new Skill that I¡¯m dying to try out,¡± Lionel informs us grandly. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not dying anymore, but I just gotta see what it can do! You¡¯re the perfect test subject.¡±

    ¡°And you accuse me of being reckless!¡± I say with a laugh.

    ¡°It¡¯s called [Runic Restoration],¡± he says, waggling his eyebrows at me. ¡°Betcha it¡¯s pretty good.¡±

    Rakesh¡¯s notebook appears in his hands faster than I¡¯ve ever seen before. He¡¯s already taking notes on the name of the new Skill that Lionel earned. He¡¯s squinting at Lionel as though he can see right through him and figure out the effects of the runic arrays that make up the Skill structure, which reminds me that I really should teach him Viewing sometime. Rakesh would put a technique like that to good use.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Sounds incredible,¡± I say, activating my own technique to take a peek. I suck in a sharp breath as the shape and function of the healing-adjacent Skill come into focus. My jaw works, but I¡¯m barely able to squeak out further words. If Lionel¡¯s [Runic Restoration] does what I think it can, then he¡¯s about to change the world.

    ¡°Whatever it is, be quick about it,¡± Rakesh says. ¡°My birds just returned with news.¡±

    We gather around the [Researcher] expectedly. He frowns at the words printed on the bird, a stormy expression passing across his face. ¡°Looks like the [Inquisitors] just made their move on Gilead. We have only a few minutes until the city is absolutely buzzing.¡±

    ¡°What did you do?¡± Lionel asks, his jaw dropping as he looks back and forth between the two of us. ¡°I thought my Skill was the biggest news of the day!¡±

    I scratch my chin and look away, coughing to cover my embarrassment. ¡°Sorry we didn¡¯t include you in the planning. I guess you could hear more than we thought, huh?¡±

    ¡°I heard everything,¡± Lionel confirms quietly. His face twists, covered in shadow for a moment. He shakes his head, clearing everything away, and smiles as bright as the sun. ¡°All behind us now! Did you blow up another smuggling operation?¡±

    ¡°Something like that,¡± I mutter, still feeling guilty that we didn¡¯t keep Lionel apprised of the plans we made with the [Inquisitors]. ¡°We dug up the rest of the conspiracy. Saphora¡¯s team is about to get a nasty surprise.¡±

    ¡°Trying to become a magic revolutionary for your next Class?¡± Lionel teases.

    ¡°Nah. Doesn¡¯t fit well with glass,¡± I say, returning his grin. Then I tilt my head to the side, thinking. ¡°Actually. I guess there is a lot of synergy. My flying creatures are scrying across all the streets right now. When we get into the thick of the battle, I¡¯ll pull up the image on the mirrored table over there. We¡¯ll have the best view in the entire city.¡±

    ¡°I knew it! Class upgrade is pretty much locked in once you hit the Second. You¡¯re such a good little dog of the Army,¡± Lionel says.

    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m not like Nicanor,¡± I start to protest. It comes out a bit weak in my own ears. I¡¯m nowhere near as flashy in battle as he is, but otherwise I¡¯ve been just as effective for the cause, despite my complicated relationship with Densmore. I¡¯m not fond of those in power, but I do love my country.

    Bah. Politics are complicated.

    Lionel crosses his arms. ¡°Once is a coincidence. Twice is a trend, Nuri. You¡¯re pretty good at this. We¡¯re a great special operations team.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what do you mean ¡®we¡¯ are a great team? You were unconscious for most of it!¡± Avelina says in a huff, interrupting our conversation.

    Lionel glares at her for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that. But, hey, let¡¯s get back on track. Whatever scheming and plotting you¡¯ve got going on can wait. Time for my Skill to shine.¡±

    My breath catches in my throat when Lionel beckons me over. He reaches for my left arm and examines the skin that¡¯s grown over the wrist. ¡°Hmm. Bit off more than you could chew. As usual. Let¡¯s take care of this!¡±

    Mana swirls around him, tinged with the green of growing things and the burnished golden sheen of a perfect summer day. Power suffuses my wrist, tingling like a thousand tiny needles. The skin over the missing end of my wrist bubbles, stretches, and elongates as new flesh and bone push through the left over scarring.

    A look of such pure joy and satisfaction radiates from Lionel that I can¡¯t help myself. Hot, salty tears leak out of the corner of my eyes despite my exemplary control. After the last year of struggle and shame, a way forward presents itself.

    Instantly, I activate my [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall the Veil], not wanting to let the incredible display of power go to waste. Emotional turmoil or not, I¡¯m the best suited on the team to figuring out the mechanism of the Skill. If I can unlock the hidden meaning of the hundreds of new runes that slot into the array I can half-interpret, then I¡¯ll help usher in the dawn of a new age of healing.

    Melina and Rakesh are whispering feverishly in hushed, awed tones, caught up in the wonder of seeing a completely new Skill. Their discussion fades away into the background as I draw the full force of my attention to the phenomenon in my arm and wrist.

    From the ashes, life emerges. Phoenix-like, beauty comes from death. The Rift took my hand¡ªa fair trade for the life of the townspeople¡ªand now Lionel is giving it back.

    Incredible thrums of energy shoot through me while the [Runic Restoration] works. Each pulse of power almost drives me to my knees under the pressure, but I grit my teeth and force myself to stay standing. I don¡¯t want to miss anything. Layer by layer, new bone, blood vessels, muscle, and skin knits together. It¡¯s not as bad as when the energy of an entire lesser Rift melted off my hand, but it¡¯s still a bonfire of agony.

    I try to smile at Lionel in encouragement, ignoring the waves of pain, but he doesn¡¯t even seem to notice. He¡¯s too caught up in guiding the potent Skill as it restores what was lost. I lean against my scrying table for support, no longer trying to hide how much the restoration hurts. He can¡¯t see me anyway.

    My biggest worry was that if I looked like I was in pain, Lionel would stop. I can¡¯t bear  the thought of giving up when I¡¯m so close to my goal. Now as I watch in horror while he wrestles with a Skill beyond him, it doesn¡¯t seem like much of a concern.

    I recognize all too well the trance of inspiration. Lionel is finding new paths of possibility, blazing a trail into unknown realms of healing that have never existed before apart from costly artifacts such as the Azure Rod, and even that only works by practically draining the wielder dry. Nothing can break his concentration or interrupt his growing excitement as he restores my hand, which means he doesn¡¯t recognize the danger. He¡¯s not practiced enough to pull this off. Not yet.

    ¡°Help him,¡± I croak out as I realize it¡¯s going sideways. My panic leaks through, coloring my voice with urgency. I try to buttress his Skill, like I did with Melina previously, but his mana is surging all around him, preventing a connection.

    Mender Uttara springs into action. He snatches up the new glass healing wand, pouring mana into it to initialize the layered runic arrays. Taking their cues from the Mender, the rest of my teammates link up, sharing their vitality.

    The combined spell hits Lionel, not me. Blinking in surprise, I¡¯m about to call out for them to switch targets when it dawns on me that this is exactly the support Lionel needs. Shored up by their revitalizing energy, he forges ahead, layering both mana and vitality to fuel the working.

    Light blooms in my Domain, as brilliant as a thousand suns invading the night, as a last rush of overwhelming power finishes the task at hand. By the time I blink away the tears and my vision returns, Lionel is sprawled on a bench nearby, breathing heavily from the exertion. Sweat beads across his forehead, and he looks gaunt, as though he¡¯s overdrawn his own vitality to heal me, but he¡¯s triumphant.

    My teammates gawk, their gazes locked onto the end of my arm. Barely believing my own eyes, I look down at the lined palm and bent knuckles and newly-grown fingernails at the end of my left arm. With trembling fingers, I reach over with my right hand and clasp my own hand, savoring the sensation of flesh and blood after so long.

    Before I can indulge in any more sentimentality, a muffled explosion rocks the Orpheus. My eyes dart over to Rakesh, who¡¯s speaking into a folded paper bird that flutters near his ear, and the grave expression on his face confirms what I already knew. Celebrations will have to wait. The [Inquisitors] are here.

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Five

    Sirens reverberate throughout the city.

    Distant as the sounds may be, the fact that they cut through the dampening wards in the hot shop at all tells me that it¡¯s deafening outside the Orpheus House. Nervous energy floods my system. I dash over to the rows of chests on the side of the glass studio, flipping open the lids and rummaging through the roomy storage to pull out new golem designs.

    ¡°I¡¯ve made a pair for each of you. Mender Uttara, that includes you,¡± I say, bowing to the only man in the Menders who¡¯s earned my respect. ¡°I¡¯ve added as many runic arrays as I could to provide some protection, though I¡¯m not a true [Enchanter].¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the gift,¡± Uttara replies, though he holds the offered glass spiders at arm¡¯s length, eyeing them sideways as though afraid they¡¯ll bite him with their glittering glass fangs.

    ¡°Speaking of enchantments! Mel, Rakesh, we gotta talk when everything settles down, because I¡¯m more and more convinced that imbuing and enchanting are two sides of the same coin. Neither is a complete discipline,¡± I say in a jumbled rush.

    Melina¡¯s eyes light up as soon as I bring up an exciting new theory. To my surprise, her scholarly counterpart simply nods and continues withdrawing papers. He barely seems to have registered my statement at all.

    Chaos makes each person react differently. The rest of the team grabs their gear, kitting up for our next adventure. There¡¯s simply no time to slow down. We can¡¯t enjoy the one we just concluded until this is over.

    Rakesh finishes his mana preparations. He opens his satchel, releasing dozens of new paper birds. They flit away as quick as thought, up the ventilation shafts. I track them all the way out of the building with my Domain, impressed by their speed. He must have ranked up the Skill again, which is no surprise with how much communication he¡¯s been coordinating lately.

    With my [Arcane Domain] active, I notice something different immediately. Although my channels have been healed, the flow of mana wasn¡¯t quite right. I¡¯d grown so used to my limits over the last year that it never registered until just now. With my hand restored, the circulation of energy through my body is complete once more. I sense every single person in the Orpheus with pinpoint accuracy. I almost expect to feel disoriented by the increased precision, but instead I let out a sigh of relief. This is how it¡¯s supposed to be.

    One of the mana signatures within my Domain blazes far more brightly than the rest, and she¡¯s headed this way faster than I¡¯ve ever seen her move before.

    I dart over to the doorway, grasp the door handle in my left hand, and fling open the door to admit Ozana just as she¡¯s reaching for the handle on the other side. She rushes in, outlined in a glimmer of mana that¡¯s so thick it looks like body armor. I do a double take as I realize that is precisely what it is. Somehow she¡¯s managed to physicalize her mana.

    I force myself to set aside the distraction of trying to puzzle out how she achieved such a stable manifestation, and instead get straight to business. I¡¯ll have to study this technique when I have the luxury of indulging my curiosity.

    ¡°Are you ready to throw your lot in with us? If we fail, there¡¯s no coming back for you,¡± I remind her solemnly.

    She arches her brow. ¡°Good thing the house always wins, Nuri.¡±

    ¡°No doubts you¡¯ve made the wrong choice?¡± I ask, looking Ozana dead in the eye and trying to nonverbally impress on her the seriousness of what¡¯s to come.

    ¡°My dear Nuri,¡± she says with a charming smile, ¡°you misunderstand me. I don¡¯t gamble and hope I chose the winning side. I crown the winner myself.¡±

    I can¡¯t help but grin at her confident proclamation. ¡°Looking forward to the coronation.¡±

    Her levity fades, replaced by a level of vulnerability and worry I¡¯ve never seen from the charismatic leader of the Orpheus. ¡°Gilead is a city of [Healers] and [Merchants]. While we have a standing army, it¡¯s small and cannot stand up to the might of Densmore. I fear for the people caught in the crossfire.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll take care of them,¡± I promise.

    ¡°Congratulations on your healing, Nuri,¡± Ozana says, looking between my hand and the glass rod still clutched in Lionel¡¯s grasp. I can practically see the gold bars in her eyes as she comes to the conclusion that the Menders¡¯ monopoly on miracles is over.

    I clap twice in imitation of Ember¡¯s signature method for getting her workers¡¯ attention, and the team turns toward me. ¡°You heard her! The storm is breaking over Gilead. Let¡¯s ensure that only the guilty are cut down in the carnage.¡±

    Lionel lifts up the healing wand. Mikko¡¯s glass hammer is in hand, and he¡¯s at the ready. He looks like he¡¯s about to charge out the door with the others on his heels.

    ¡°First things first,¡± I say, activating the scrying sensors I built into the glass golems, which I¡¯ve deployed across the city in preparation for this operation. Projecting the images onto the mirror table I created as well as panes of glass I set up along the far wall of the studio elicits a chorus of oohs and ahhs from my friends. Dozens of scenarios spring into existence, all in vivid, moving color.

    ¡°Rakesh? We need a plan.¡±

    The [Researcher] rubs his hands together and steps up to the scrying table where an overhead view of Gilead from a few thousand feet above the streets gives us a clear picture of the action. His eyes glow white with a mana-enhanced analysis Skill. ¡°[Fractured Plans, Fallen Enemies],¡± he invokes.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    My quick peek into his core confirms that it¡¯s completely new. If I¡¯m reading it right, the Skill seems to prey on weak points and sow confusion, which makes sense given all his time working in the shadows and making plans. Notebook in hand, he scribbles out thoughts and takes in the ebb and flow of the small pockets of battle breaking out across the city as he runs his [Overlooked Commonalities] Skill in tandem to the new observational ability.

    ¡°Best places are here, here, and here,¡± he announces, confident in his burgeoning role as the team¡¯s strategist. ¡°We need defense more than anything. The [Inquisitors] can strike far faster than we can. They¡¯re trained for this.¡±

    Mikko squints down at the image on the scrying mirror. ¡°Uh, where is that? I can¡¯t read the street signs.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you shouldn¡¯t go anywhere,¡± Rakesh chuckles. ¡°Ozana, do you mind taking this green district? I know you prefer to stay here, within your stronghold, but I have a hunch that you will be able to do quite well fending off attacks on subordinate [Merchants].¡±

    ¡°My, but you are well informed,¡± Ozana replies. ¡°I accept. And I expect to have a long conversation with you and Nuri when this blows over. You¡¯re a gold¡ªno, platinum¡ªmine in the making!¡±

    Her mana armor solidifies even further, forming what looks like an impenetrable shield. She breezes out the door, though I don¡¯t miss the set of her jaw.

    ¡°Nuri, your favorite spear fighter is here,¡± Rakesh murmurs, pointing at the screen and drawing my attention away from my colleague in profitable endeavors.

    I turn to watch just in time to witness a blur zip across a city block like a streak of black lightning. Violence may no longer dwell in my soul¡ªnot yet, at any rate, though I¡¯m curious to see if I can resonate with the axiom again in its purified form¡ªbut I instantly recognize the tell-tale signs of a higher-order concept at play. With a mental command, I switch to a view of a closer golem just in time.

    I watch in vicious satisfaction as Nicanor enters the fray. His black jacket trails behind him like inky streaks in the air, and he moves so quickly I can barely keep pace. He intercepts a huge bald man with scars all across his muscular upper body, diverting the man¡¯s attack just before he crashes into a team of Densmore foot [Soldiers].

    The force of their collision sends shockwaves through the area. People stagger, falling to the ground. Hazy ripples of refined mana clashing obscure the scrying sensor momentarily. By the time it resumes its broadcast, each fighter is bleeding from multiple open wounds.

    My mouth opens, and I surprise myself by letting out an involuntary gasp. I haven¡¯t seen Nicanor fail to come out ahead in a physical clash before. He¡¯s likely taken a further step into the Second Threshold, which means his opponent is equally powerful. Good thing we didn¡¯t run into him on our own, or we¡¯d be mincemeat.

    The insurgent wields heavy gauntlets that crackle and spark with a dull yellow gleam that makes me think of lightning at first. When he punches Nicanor, a detonation follows in the wake of the strike, driving the [Spear Commander] backward with the overwhelming force of the blow. I''ve never seen anything quite like the concussive blast that comes off his weapons.

    ¡°I really need to learn how to extend my Domain through my golems,¡± I mutter. If I were closer, then I could properly examine the enemy¡¯s explosive Skills to get a better idea of how they work¡ªand how to steal them.

    Nicanor twirls his spear and plants his foot in the empty sky. An opaque pane of mana coalesces underneath the sole of his boot, and he launches back toward the enemy with such force that the mana construct cracks in a spider web pattern. It crumbles away to nothingness a split second later, but it does its job of redirecting him back towards his foe.

    I can''t tell if it¡¯s a Skill or an advanced form of raw mana manipulation, but either way it¡¯s extraordinarily impressive. I lean closer, gripping the edge of the scrying mirror with both hands as I watch them duel in the sky.

    Both hands.

    That thought makes me grin. I haven¡¯t used both hands in over a year, but it feels as instinctive and natural as breathing. It¡¯s good to be whole again. Some people are adaptive. It seems like they can effortlessly overcome adversity. Not me. I struggled with resentment and frustration. I¡¯m not as strong as they are.

    Fist meets spear, and Nicanor crashes backward, slamming into a stone wall before he can stop himself with a pane of mana. I wince in sympathy at the heavy impact. I may have had my differences with the [Spear Commander], but I¡¯m firmly on his side in this situation.

    ¡°Fight¡¯s looking brutal,¡± Lionel says, his lips twisting in worry. ¡°Uttara? Let¡¯s get out there. We can do a whole lotta good elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°Wounded here,¡± Rakesh announces, highlighting an area of Gilead with his mana pen. ¡°You know the way?¡±

    ¡°Nope. Uttara will show me.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. Follow me, Lionel; I will lead you to where we can be of most use..¡±

    ¡°Come back safe,¡± Melina says, stepping forward swiftly to wrap up Lionel in a hug.

    ¡°Yeah. Don¡¯t make me revive you again. Last time was expensive!¡± I tease, waving at my friend as he grins cheekily and ducks out of the room after Mender Uttara.

    I turn back to the fight just in time to see a flurry of blows from the spear, too many for me to count, finally get past the enemy pugilist¡¯s guard and slice open a gash in his stomach.

    ¡°Got ¡®em!¡± I shout, pumping my left fist in the air. I clap obnoxiously loud, just because I can, which earns me an eye roll from Rakesh.

    Seconds later, Nicanor¡¯s spear pins the huge man to the ground, right through the heart. He convulses, reaches out toward the [Spear Commander] with one hand, a confused look on his face, and slumps back. He dies in a pool of his own blood while Nicanor bounds off to find another worthy opponent.

    I shiver, reminding myself never to get on Nicanor¡¯s bad side. Maybe he can teach me a few combat forms after this is all over, now that I can hold a staff or spear with two hands again.

    Yep. Still not tired of that thought!

    The image on the scrying glass flickers as I rotate through the available glass creatures I¡¯ve outfitted with scrying sensors to find a new scene. Beside me, Rakesh gasps. He freezes in place, staring at the new scene displayed on the mirror. His eyes go wide with horror.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I ask, frowning down at the image. The image shows a team of masked  and armed men with torches running toward a stately building that doesn¡¯t look like a consulate or marketplace. They trample over citizens in their way, which instantly breaks me out of my self-satisfaction at having a fully-restored arm and hand again. People are in danger. We have to help.

    A jolt shoots through me as I recognize the flying buttresses and delicate stained glass from my many discussions with Rakesh. ¡°Why are they targeting the library?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t the foggiest idea,¡± Rakesh says in a strangled voice. His breath comes out fast and ragged, and his fingers tighten into fists. Then his eyes harden, and he shakes himself free of his trance. He snatches up the failed healing wand. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m going to stop them.¡±

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Six

    ¡°The library?¡± I echo in dull shock.

    ¡°Not on my watch!¡± Rakesh thunders. His deep olive complexion burns dull crimson with anger. He waves the failed wand that almost killed Mender Uttara at me. ¡°Nuri, Mel, I need you to amplify the vitality draw further. I¡¯ve got a plan to turn this around on them.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not exactly how the healing magic works,¡± Melina says. She peers at him in concern. ¡°You know that. Take a breath; we¡¯ll figure this out together.¡±

    Her cool, clear voice cuts through the righteous rage billowing off Rakesh. The raw force of his emotion is almost overwhelming as it crashes through my Domain, but I center myself and stay alert. Through it all, I keep an eye on the library, which has slammed shut its doors and activated a defensive ward that glows faintly with power. The mob will take a while to break through. I hope.

    ¡°Fine! Then I¡¯ll take care of it the old fashioned way,¡± Rakesh growls, grabbing a spare punty in each hand. He stomps out of the room, awkwardly swinging the glassblowing tools like maces, followed by an ominous flock of mismatched birds¡ªboth paper and glass.

    I stare at his retreating back. ¡°Mikko?¡±

    ¡°Already on it!¡± my brother calls, running after our indignant [Researcher]. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure he¡¯s safe from the crazies. And that he doesn¡¯t give too many people paper cuts.¡±

    ¡°Might wanna hide the lemon juice for a while,¡± Avelina snickers as she joins Mikko on his way out.

    ¡°Wait! That¡¯s not what I meant!¡± I call, running after them. When no one listens, I channel extra mana into my legs and sprint faster, passing them in seconds.

    ¡°Rakesh! We¡¯ve got a job to do here. You can¡¯t just abandon your post and dash off. I¡¯m the reckless one, remember?,¡± I remind my friend, planting my feet wide and standing in front of him to block off the hallway.

    ¡°It¡¯s a self-appointed job,¡± he snaps.

    ¡°Even so! We¡¯re better off coordinating communication with your birds. You can see most of Gilead from here. Why spread ourselves thin?¡±

    ¡°Get out of my way, Nuri. I¡¯m not letting all those books go up in smoke.¡±

    I put my hands on his shoulders and keep my voice calm. ¡°My friend, please, think about this for a moment. We¡¯ll ask Nicanor to defend the library. He can get there way faster than we can. Even if you run, it¡¯s an hour away. Probably more with all the crowds and chaos around.¡±

    Rakesh scowls at me, then lets out an exasperated growl. The anger bleeds away and he hangs his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it will be too late either way. It¡¯s a sad day when knowledge dies.¡±

    ¡°Sorry you won¡¯t get to read those books,¡± I say, trying to inject some levity into things.

    He lifts his head back up. ¡°Hm? Oh, no, that¡¯s not the problem. I¡¯ve gained a powerful knowledge-absorption Skill recently. I¡¯ve read most of them. I just feel bad for other people.¡±

    ¡°Another Skill? You¡¯ve been holding out on us!¡± I say, intrigued at how he¡¯s developed so quickly the last few months.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t do me much good now,¡± he says quietly. Sadness tinges his voice, so profound that I swear I can see the outline of a dark purple cloud in the air when he speaks. Rain clouds look less depressing than he does right now.

    ¡°We¡¯ll figure something out. Together. Send out your flock. Who knows what we¡¯ll come up with by the time they reach the library?¡±

    Rakesh hands the punties back to me. A sheepish half-smile makes him look younger and less certain than usual. He straightens his robes, takes a deep breath, and sends away his birds just like I suggested.

    They zip through the Orpheus and soon leave the range of my Domain. We jog back to the glass studio where we¡¯ve set up our command center, and I nudge the mental connection I maintain with my golems, guiding a glass spiderling to follow after the birds as they wing through the city. Moments later, the scene on the scrying window panes displays the strange sight of paper and glass flying along, held aloft by magic¡ªproof that birds of different feathers can flock together.

    With our birds on their way to the library, we turn our attention back to communicating with the Army units that infiltrated alongside Nicanor. Thanks to our overhead view, Rakesh is able to warn them off two ambushes and guide them through the city to set up a trap of their own. Their [Captain] obeys Rakesh implicitly, which makes me wonder what orders he¡¯s under. It¡¯s not like military men to listen to civilians like that.

    Despite our good work, Rakesh keeps stealing glances at the small scrying mirror in the corner with the library image on it. None of the squads are free to help; unfortunately, they¡¯re on the wrong side of the city. I shake my head ruefully and move the image to the central pane of glass so we can all keep an eye on the defense of the library.

    ¡°Glad you¡¯re not out there,¡± I say softly when I see a crack spread across the library front door. My stomach twists at the thought of anything happening to my friends. I know that they¡¯re smart and capable, but I still worry when I¡¯m not there to safeguard the team. The [Inquisitors] are excellent at reconnaissance, infiltration, and assassinations, but I doubt they¡¯ve made our team a priority to protect.

    ¡°It¡¯s a lost cause,¡± Rakesh says, heaving a sigh and slumping down on a chair. He stares off into space with a dejected air about him. I¡¯ve seen happier funerals before.

    ¡°Too bad I can¡¯t cast magic through my golems,¡± I mutter to myself, wishing there were a way that I could put a stop to things for him.

    Apparently, I¡¯m not as discreet as I thought, since Melina perks up. She shuffles over to stand next to me, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she leans in to whisper so Rakesh can¡¯t hear. No sense giving him false hope.

    ¡°Are you sure you can¡¯t, Nuri? Normally, I¡¯d expect that mana control would fizzle out since the nuclei of the spell structure are too far away to maintain, but you¡¯ve got practice with distributed spell-casting through your Domain.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Guess I do,¡± I say in surprise.

    I frown as I consider the possibilities. I¡¯ve been using my Domain to control the world in small ways for a while, and after my Class evolution, my sphere of influence has only grown. Do I actually have a path forward here?

    ¡°Now¡¯s not really the time to run a research project,¡± I murmur at last, gesturing toward the fights on the scrying table and glass panes.

    ¡°Nicanor seems to have the most unruly members of the insurrection well in hand. And I¡¯m certain the [Inquisitors] will track down anyone from the conspiracy who tries to flee,¡± Melina counters calmly. She folds her hands in front of her and stands with a quiet, patient smile, as if my participation is a foregone conclusion and she¡¯s just waiting for me to catch up.

    I let out a shaky laugh. ¡°Hard to argue with that. Pondering magic is as good as anything else we can do. It will be a while still before the birds reach the library.¡±

    ¡°What are you two nattering on about?¡± Avelina demands, hands on her hips.

    ¡°I¡¯m innocent!¡± I say reflexively.

    ¡°It¡¯s actually my fault this time, shockingly enough,¡± Melina agrees with a smirk.

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    Mikko and Avelina both back away in tandem. My brother shakes his head at us. ¡°You gotta warn us when you¡¯re scheming. Life has a way of getting dangerous when you put your heads together like that.¡±

    Through it all, Rakesh simply stares morosely at the scrying image. He doesn¡¯t seem to pay attention even when Melina pulls out her notebook and materializes a mana pen. That more than anything makes me worry for my friend.

    ¡°All right. Here I go.¡±

    I select a faint link to a golem just outside the range of my Domain¡¯s sight and activate [Greater Heat Manipulation]. If there¡¯s any chance of succeeding, it will be with a Skill that I¡¯ve used since I first gained my Class. I understand it better than any other ability I¡¯ve got, whether earned or borrowed. My mastery over heat and cold is an intimate part of me after all the years of pushing it along to greater and greater heights.

    Mana pulses along the thin connection to the golem, and a surge of excitement builds up like a wave on the sea as I put theory into practice. I close my eyes to help focus, envisioning a bloom of fire at a distance, but nothing happens. Crash! The wave hits the shore and recedes! How anticlimactic.

    I shrug. ¡°Sorry, Mel. No go.¡±

    She narrows her eyes at me. ¡°Since when do you give up that easily? You¡¯re hardly trying.¡±

    ¡°What? I gave it a shot.¡±

    ¡°No, you poked at your Skill and didn¡¯t see anything amazing, so you gave up. What would Ezio say about that? No rigor! No creativity!¡±

    I scoff. ¡°All right. You¡¯ve got a point.¡±

    ¡°Always do,¡± Melina says primly.

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Now you sound like Ava. Fine, let me see what else I can do. It gives me something to focus on at least.¡±

    ¡°Nervous energy is your enemy. Take a breath. Instead of doing it all at once, consider what you¡¯re trying to accomplish and break it down into smaller steps,¡± Melina says.

    ¡°Yeah. I feel it. Seems wrong to be here watching instead of participating, huh?¡± I ask as I pace in front of the scrying mirror.

    Mikko clears his throat and steps toward the mirror. ¡°Good point. We should be out there. It¡¯s probably safer than staying here, anyway. Rakesh! Where should we go, my man?¡±

    ¡°The docks, if you can make it in time. Ships under attack,¡± Rakesh says absently. ¡°Fire control might counter the attacks. Keep the rabble off Ava.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll protect her with my life,¡± Mikko vows. He and Avelina hold hands and dart out of the room without a backward glance. I feel like I ought to be insulted since they can¡¯t wait to get far away from my magical experiments, but they¡¯re too sweet together for me to stay mad.

    ¡°They¡¯ll be all right. Hey, try a different Skill at a distance. Use your Domain to find out if Casella and Mbukhe are here. Let¡¯s meet up with them,¡± Melina suggests.

    I brighten. ¡°Fantastic idea. I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s practical, but I¡¯ll try it.¡±

    ¡°You can do it, Nuri!¡±

    Once again I extend my senses along the connections I have to the glass golem. There¡¯s a sensation of distance, like an unbridgeable chasm, but I¡¯ve seen first-hand the power of mana. I can find a way to make up the gap. My [Arcane Domain] reaches out toward the golem¡ªand, once again, I fail to initialize my Skills.

    I grunt. ¡°Still nothing.¡±

    Melina crosses out a line in her notebook and jots down a new thought below it. She looks up, her pale eyes intense and focused. ¡°How do you visualize your Domain?¡±

    I blink. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Well, I have a theory, but I don¡¯t want to influence you too much one way or another by getting into the details. Describe your [Arcane Domain] for me? Free association is fine.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s . . . um, well . . . it¡¯s kinda hard to describe,¡± I start lamely. I rub my temples with my fingertips. ¡°Right. Yeah. It¡¯s like a sphere of perfect awareness¡ªno, that¡¯s not the right word. It¡¯s more than that. Control? Authority? Hah, that sounds ridiculous.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t judge,¡± Melina says, her lips curving up into a smile that tells me she is definitely already judging me. ¡°Keep going. This is helpful.¡±

    I raise my eyebrows, but continue despite my skepticism. ¡°You know how when you drop into your core you see an entire inner world? Your soul space, or whatever?¡±

    She nods, and I continue my explanation, my confidence growing as I go. ¡°Well, when I first got my Domain, I thought it was just a fancy version of [Manasight] or something. It¡¯s not. It works more like examining or changing my inner world, but clarity diminishes with distance. It¡¯s why I have more range now. Oh, and it¡¯s harder to affect things the farther away from me they are. The less familiar something is, the harder to change. Does that make sense?¡±

    While I¡¯m rambling, Rakesh finally seems to notice we¡¯re working on something together. He slides out his own notebook, but his hands hang limply by his side, and he doesn¡¯t jot down any notes. Even so, the distraction can only be healthy, so I struggle onward, stringing words together to try to express myself.

    As difficult as it is to adequately assess the feeling of my Domain, talking about it like this is freeing in a way that I never imagined, like I¡¯ve experienced an epiphany about who I am.

    Melina dutifully writes it all down. Whenever I get stuck or struggle to find words, she encourages me to continue in her typical gentle yet inexorable manner. By the end, she reads off her summary, drawing connections between words that I didn¡¯t quite notice.

    ¡°You think of your Domain as an extension of your soul. It¡¯s an inversion¡ªor, really, an expansion¡ªof who you are, with the inner world slowly taking over the outer. That¡¯s the key. So why not think of each of your golems as part of you when you try to extend your casting range? They¡¯re far-flung hands and feet and eyes.¡±

    I chew on her words for a while. Is that why I was so determined to get a real hand? I¡¯ve already got pseudo-extremities all over the city. One more nearby wouldn¡¯t move the needle. But real flesh and blood? That makes me feel complete.

    ¡°Moving my concept of self, huh?¡± I mutter to myself. Easier said than done. Still, it¡¯s not like I lose anything by trying a new tactic. I activate [Glass Animation] first this time, establishing a stronger link to the creature before I attempt to reach through mana-wrought ropes tying me to the distant beast. Then I borrow on Viewing techniques, opening my sight to the metaphysical world, and drift along the link.

    Exactly as Melina suggested, my sense of self shifts along the link. Awareness blooms in my mind, glimmering gold and white against the darkness of the void. I pour more power into it, chasing the euphoria of success, and for a brief moment, the discordant images in my mind¡¯s eyes grow clearer. Overeager, I push too much power into the attempt, causing the mana ropes to stretch, distorting under the overwhelming surge of power coursing through them.

    I try to ease back, but the connection is already waning. Flickering, faltering, fading.

    Failing.

    ¡°Shatter it all!¡± I curse, smacking my hands together in frustration. The slap of my palms hitting each other stings, but it still brings a wry, determined smile to my face. I haven¡¯t felt my left hand in over a year. Phantom pain aside, this is the first intense sensation I¡¯ve experienced in my hand for far too long.

    It feels good, in a weird way, even though it still hurts. There¡¯s just something profoundly right about restoring a proper connection. Huh. Maybe there¡¯s something to that.

    ¡°. . . Nuri? Nuri!¡±

    Melina¡¯s voice shakes me out of the reverie I¡¯d fallen into, and I give her a sheepish grin. ¡°Heh. Had an idea.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t say,¡± she says, rolling her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve been staring at the wall for a solid two minutes now.¡±

    I snort out a laugh. ¡°Sorry, got distracted. The birds won¡¯t arrive for another few minutes at this rate. I think I know how to make things work by the time they get there. I don¡¯t want to try pushing my Skills through the scrying golem in case it breaks the connection.¡±

    Melina¡¯s notebook is still out. She¡¯s been documenting my experiments with enthusiasm. I suspect it helps keep her mind off her sister, but I still appreciate that she¡¯s helping me instead of wallowing in her own fears. She taps the page with her mana pen. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±

    ¡°Moderating the power draw is a problem, so I need to spread out the foci of the ability to multiple golems at once. It takes more concentration, but I think it will dilute the mana enough to give me a chance.¡±

    Rakesh pops up to his feet, his lips twisted into a frown. ¡°If it were that easy, then you would have just used less power and gotten it to work on your first half-hearted attempt. You¡¯re smarter than that.¡±

    I grin at the reluctant [Researcher], glad he joined the conversation at last. I rub my hands together, if only for an excuse to use both hands while responding to the conversation. ¡°Got that right! That¡¯s why I¡¯m gonna use [Adjuration of the Phoenix] first and watch how it enables long-distance spell-casting. I¡¯ll borrow the right runes, do some free-form magical prestidigitation, and pull off a miracle. Easy!¡±

    A flash of light interrupts us before I can put my plan into action. My friends spin to look at the pane of glass where I¡¯ve projected the scene of the library assault, and the two of them go completely still.

    I turn my head, following their gazes, and let out a gasp when I see the source of the glaring light in the scrying image. Fire dances along the front of the building, burning through their defensive wards¡ªno, the fire is inside already.

    My stomach turns. The insurgents have breached the door. Now they¡¯re torching untold millions of words in their indiscriminate rampage. My breathing gets faster and faster. Rakesh is moaning like he¡¯s about to keel over and die. Someone has to stop them. Someone has to¡ª

    Anger washes through me. I reach out through the void, heedless of the cost. Usurping control of the glass golem, I take command of the flames and extinguish the blaze.

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Seven

    Dousing the fire takes longer than I expect; my Skill feels clumsy, like I¡¯m trying to row with an extra-long oar that moves ponderously through the water. Leverage is working against me. Maybe the distance reduces my effectiveness? Dropping the temperature doesn¡¯t affect the chain reaction of fire consuming fuel at first, but I push my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to its fullest potential, and suddenly momentum is on my side.

    My control of heat in the area changes abruptly, and the freeze covers the torn books and broken shelves in a thick layer of ice. Cold takes over the library, snuffing out the flames as the ambient energy plunges far below the threshold required to support the fire.

    Melina catches me when I stagger and fall, drained of my entire remaining mana pool far more quickly than usual. Casting at such an extreme distance leaves my ears ringing.

    ¡°What did you do!¡± she demands, staring down at me wide-eyed. Her voice screeches like a metal gate on rusted hinges, shrill enough to make me wince.

    I cough, looking around in a daze. It takes me a moment to realize she¡¯s looking at me with concern, not judgment. When I do, I manage a weak smile.

    ¡°Put me down. I¡¯m all right.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding,¡± Rakesh says, sounding faint and far away. He withdraws a silken cloth from his pocket, unfolds it, and wipes my ears and nose.

    The ringing in my ears fades as my mana regeneration kicks in and restores enough for me to circulate energy through my body again. Bottoming out that abruptly is exhausting, but I¡¯m not injured other than leaking a little bit. For some reason, that makes me laugh, which in turn sets me off coughing again.

    ¡°Thanks for cleaning me up,¡± I mumble.

    ¡°Thank you for saving the library,¡± he replies, although he keeps glancing over at the scrying image with concern plain on his face.

    All at once it clicks for me. ¡°Oh. Fire¡¯s out, but those fighters are still there.¡±

    ¡°They are,¡± he confirms.

    ¡°What are we gonna do?¡±

    For the first time since we saw the threat to the library, a smile adorns his face. ¡°Take a look. They¡¯re, ah, struggling. I¡¯ll take care of things from here,¡± Rakesh says. He whispers to his birds, and they follow his lead, slashing at the mob.

    I push myself up to standing, steadying myself against the workbench while I wait for the world to stop spinning. Thankfully, as I regain my mana, I feel stronger and more normal. I won¡¯t need to lean on the bench for much longer.

    On the central glass pane, the scrying image paints a surprisingly humorous picture. The sudden shift in temperature coated the library facade and stairs in ice, and the would-be vandals are slipping and sliding every time they try to mount a new assault.

    After several minutes of slapstick comedy¡ªa much needed reprieve from the scenes of chaos in the rest of the city¡ªthe conspirators give up. They scatter as the city watch shows up, which reminds me that not everyone here in Gilead is a revolutionary. Most are normal people who are confused by the outbursts of violence.

    I run the fingers of my left hand through my beard while I watch. ¡°I wonder how many people are sympathetic to Saphora¡¯s plans.¡±

    ¡°Not many, thank the heavens,¡± Rakesh says, snorting in derision. ¡°What kind of people are so misguided that they think torching a library will lead to a better life?¡±

    Melina arches her right eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯ll bet a lot of citizens want to be independent from Densmore. What¡¯s wrong with that?¡±

    I find myself nodding. ¡°Yeah, I wouldn¡¯t mind getting out from under Nicanor¡¯s thumb. He always seems to have plans for me. And I¡¯m no fan of the current [King] and his policies. We all know that the [Viceroy] is poisoning him against Rifts and non-sanctioned magic-users.¡±

    ¡°Motive is one thing, methods another,¡± Rakesh rejoins. ¡°I don¡¯t begrudge anyone the desire for self-governance, but her violent approach to reform is appalling.¡±

    ¡°Politics is too complicated. Three people, four opinions,¡± Melina says, chuckling.

    ¡°Whatever you¡¯re about to say can wait, Rakesh,¡± I cut in, interrupting our [Researcher] before we get too far off on a tangent. ¡°Mikko and Avelina just reached the docks. We need to keep in touch with them.¡±

    Avelina¡¯s mastery of fire is on full display. She stands at the end of a pier, her glass wand outstretched, a look of fierce concentration on her face. Her magic takes control of the few ships still burning, which the crews seem to have abandoned as lost causes. She pulls towering pillars of flames toward her, trembling with the exertion, and gathers the fire into a white-yellow ball of eye-searing intensity that outshines the daylight.

    With a forward slash of the fiery wand, like a [General] signaling a cavalry charge with a flashing saber, Avelina launches the miniature sun across the harbor. An incredible explosion of steam erupts on contact. The water extinguishes the fire, unleashing waves in all directions.

    Moments later, an unsettling thrum passes through my chest, like the low rumble of an earthquake, and I let out a long whistle. ¡°Whoa! That was an enormous blast!¡±

    ¡°That looked even more powerful than the last time she used the glass wand,¡± Melina says, her tone thoughtful. She jots down a few quick lines in her notebook.

    I cycle through scenes on the scrying mirror, looking for where else we might be able to help, but it seems like Nicanor and his crew have things well in hand. I¡¯m about to turn off the connection to all of the golems other than the ones keeping watch over Mikko and Avelina, as well as Lionel and Mender Uttara, when I remember the recommendation Melina made about trying to find my old friends Casella and Mbukhe. Maybe I should use this break in the action to track them down.

    Tempting as it is to extend my Domain through my connected golems so that I¡¯ll be able to sense their mana signatures, I still haven¡¯t recovered enough mana to meaningfully contribute to the search. I¡¯m better off moving the fliers and crawlers around to cover more of the city.

    While I¡¯m trying to make up my mind, Rakesh speaks up. ¡°Have you checked in on that witch lately? With her revolution in shambles, she¡¯s likely to fly the coop.¡±

    That makes me scowl. ¡°She won¡¯t get away from us. I promise.¡±

    Melina grabs a quick drink of water, stuffs her notebook in a bag, and throws on a cloak. ¡°I¡¯m ready. Let¡¯s go confront her.¡±

    I pause, unsure if it¡¯s wise to leave our impromptu command center, but soon give in with a nod. I down the last mana draught on hand to fill up before whatever comes next. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s hunt her down.¡±

    For that, I¡¯ll need my fastest golem: the falcon bonded to Saphora by blood, able to track her wherever she flees.

    =+=

    We make it to the aristocratic district in record time, since the streets are cleared out. Everyone seems to be hiding indoors while the chaos swirls around us. No one wants to get caught out. Battles are for strong, high-ranked individuals or squads, not for the everyday citizen or laborer.

    As we draw near the noble houses, my connection to the glass falcon I created strengthens and solidifies. Through it, I gain a vague sense of where Sephora is at all times, and it¡¯s instantly clear that she isn¡¯t in her home. Like the coward she is, she fled at the first sign of pushback.

    ¡°This way!¡± I call, breaking into a sprint once I¡¯ve identified her general direction. My friends follow at my heels, although I have to remind myself to slow down occasionally; they¡¯re not as accustomed to the empowering effects of mana. Not even Melina, who boasts some of the most sophisticated mana control I¡¯ve been around, matches the sheer volume of power I can output now.

    Falcon lets out a wordless, soundless screech of frustration in my mind. The cry echoes along our mental link, and I almost lose my balance reacting to the desperation. Since when did my golems exhibit that kind of emotional intensity?

    ¡°My tracker can¡¯t follow her,¡± I say, slowing to a trot and turning to talk with my friends. Frowning, I try to interpret the jumble of impressions coming from the glass creature. So much for my confidence that Falcon could follow her anywhere she fled.

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    ¡°I think she went underground.¡±

    Rakesh snaps his fingers. ¡°Of course! The cave system below the research facility. She probably seeks to make her way through the Rift and escape somewhere else.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯d better hurry. She won¡¯t get away on my watch,¡± I vow. I owe Lionel that much.

    Racing through the gardens of her ancestral home, I review what I know about the Rift underneath Gilead. My mind tracks possible exit points, but I¡¯m too far away to sense the power that pools around the openings to Rift systems.

    Abruptly, I draw up short. Two familiar presences enter the edges of my Domain, though it¡¯s hard to get a clear grasp on them. Every time I try to focus on their mana signatures, it feels like trying to pick up a greased cup. They slide away from my senses, although flaring my slowly-recovering mana helps to track them more closely.

    I turn and bow just as the faster, more heavily-cloaked presence arrives. ¡°Fancy meeting you here.¡±

    ¡°Ah! The boy becomes a man. His senses sharpen,¡± Mbukhe whispers, shimmering momentarily and then coming fully into view nearby. He smiles, all sharp angles and self-satisfaction, when my friends leap at his sudden appearance.

    ¡°See? Going on an adventure was the right call if you wanted to find your friends,¡± Melina says as she recovers from her shock and waves to Mbukhe.

    ¡°Fortuitous, indeed,¡± Rakesh says, patting a paper bird flying around his head. He¡¯s got an impish half-grin that makes me think that he coordinated this serendipitous little encounter.

    ¡°Nuri! Your hand!¡± Casella rumbles, jogging around a tree and waving. His wide, friendly face splits into a broad smile. ¡°A fruitful mission. You¡¯ve done well for yourself. A credit to your country. I am happy for your restored fortunes.¡±

    ¡°Delighted to see you again,¡± I say, forgoing a wave and going straight to a bearhug. That turns out to be a bad idea; the massive [Inquisitor] nearly crushes my ribs under the force of his own hug. Despite my recent improvements, I still can¡¯t match his raw strength. Perhaps at my next Threshold advancement.

    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t tarry. Sephora is likely to get away while we stand around gabbing,¡± Rakesh reminds us. He speaks gruffly, but he turns away too quickly, hiding his smirk.

    Unfortunately for him, my Domain doesn¡¯t miss details like that. The incredibly pleased sense of accomplishment rolling off him in waves has me convinced he set up this reunion for me, and I¡¯m grateful for his kindness.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re going to end up in another Rift together,¡± I joke, falling in next to my friends. ¡°We just need old Nic to show up to complete the delving squad from Silaraon.¡±

    Casella rumbles in laughter. His easy good humor instantly makes me more relaxed. ¡°He will join us once there are no more bugs to be squashed. Let him take some time to cool down before you meet. He will be in an excellent mood, I guarantee you.¡±

    Through my ever-present links to my glass creations, I call Falcon over. He settles on my left arm, and I have to suppress a wince when his talons dig into the fresh, tender skin of my newly-formed wrist by my hand.

    ¡°As ever, you are full of surprises,¡± Mbukhe says, raising his eyebrows at the majestic bird. ¡°We¡¯ll have to catch up once this is all over.¡±

    ¡°Looking forward to it. We deserve some peace and quiet,¡± I reply, earning a nod in response.

    Navigating through the research base, down the long stairs and eerie, silent halls, takes less time than I remember¡ªyet it still seems like an eternity while we¡¯re chasing down the witch who attacked my best friend. I have to remind myself that this isn¡¯t the end. No matter if Sephora gets away or not right now, I have no question that the [Inquisitors] will track her down. She will be a national criminal in addition to my sworn enemy. I can probably lean on [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote to repay the favors I¡¯ve done him by allowing me to lead a team of hunters to find her.

    As usual, plunging through the portal to the Rift feels like stepping through frozen gelatin. It resists our passage, as though reality itself is stretching before reluctantly giving way. It¡¯s still much easier than I expect, however, which makes me wonder if it¡¯s an artificial opening. After all, I¡¯d be surprised if the one and only entrance to the Gilead Rift just happened to be under Shiphrah and Rashad¡¯s research facility.

    Artificial entrances. Hmm. Maybe I could replicate them with the right enchantments someday. I¡¯ll bet I could leverage my Domain to tear open a temporary portal once I get stronger.

    Lost in thought, I barely notice when Casella quick-steps past us to bind a creature with his chains. He dispatches the beast with a flick of his hands, tearing it apart with effortless strength. No core shows up in my Domain, so it wasn¡¯t a particularly strong beast, but it¡¯s still a reminder of how competent the duo is, which is why they¡¯re entrusted with these kinds of sensitive missions.

    Where does that put me on the power scale if I¡¯m their vanguard? I shelve that thought for later as my Falcon launches into the air, flying off through the Rift with unerring accuracy. Excitement pulses along the bond; he¡¯s found his target again.

    I motion for the others to follow, and we set off after the bird of prey as quickly as we can. Once we get close enough, [Lady] Saphora pops back up into my Domain, and I signal for the others to prepare a welcoming committee for our errant guest.

    ¡°Flushed out like a miserable cockroach,¡± Rakesh hisses when she comes into view.

    Confusion settles over her like a scarf covering her face. She blinks, as though disbelieving her own eyes while she tries to adjust to the light.

    She glances back and forth between us with a look of such profound bewilderment that my anger gives way to a bitter laugh. I can almost imagine her internal thoughts: Where is my honor guard, arrayed in adoring lines? Where are my stalwart supporters, ready to escort me to my rightful place on the throne?

    Then, like a veil tearing in two and revealing the face behind, I see the exact moment she realizes that she¡¯s lost. Absolute, awful clarity takes hold of her, and her heart rate spikes before she calms herself back down through supreme control of her body.

    ¡°Your reign of terror is over,¡± Melina announces. Her nostrils flare wide and her jaw clenches tight. She¡¯s breathing through her nose, standing rigid with her fists balled up, and only now do I fully realize how terrible it¡¯s been for the gentle-hearted Melina to watch Lionel suffer through unspeakable agony.

    My Domain unfurls at the thought, fueled by hot rage and cold calculation. It drives the haughty Mender to her knees, too overbearing for her to resist. As I make contact, her emotions pour outward, an unceasing onslaught of arrogance, uncertainty, and fear. Worse, I can make out the exact shape of her thoughts, though not all the words are completely clear.

    Impressions intensify as I walk closer toward my hated foe. Mana binds us together, much to my surprise, but it makes sense the more I think about it. A link not dissimilar to the one Falcon maintains with me opens up between me and Saphora; I can¡¯t help but wonder if it¡¯s because my glass golem is bound to her by blood. I¡¯ve never been able to connect with anyone else with this kind of lucidity.

    I¡¯m not sure I want to connect with anyone like this. It¡¯s uncomfortable¡ªa level of intimacy that¡¯s on the verge of deeply wrong and uncomfortable. Yet now that the link is open, her thoughts crash toward me in a turgid, unstoppable flow:

    That pitiful little [Healer]! He had the gall to wake up. I saw him in the scrying mirror, walking through my city, a smirk on his healthy and all-too-vibrant face. How? How! He should be falling apart, disintegrating under the forces of the inverted healing I planted to keep him in line.

    And now his smug little [Mage] pet and his crafter friends are here. Come to gloat? I hate them. I hate them all! Each far surpasses him in accomplishments. Yet they deny their talents¡ªloath as I am to admit their worth¡ªand follow him around like he¡¯s worth anything.

    Infuriating! It offends the natural order. Backward, cowardly, weak. I¡¯ve never felt so humiliated in my life. How could I get entangled with such awful peasants?

    They could have at least sent a Second-Threshold [Assassin] or a [High Mage] after me. Blatant outrage. An insult not to be borne! Cheap tricks pin me to the ground. I can¡¯t even stand tall and gather my tattered dignity about me like armor.

    Well. I refuse to act desperate. If they won¡¯t give me the honor of an inspiring death in front of all Gilead¡ªa tragic spark that would surely feed the all-consuming flame of an eternal rebellion and echo through the ages in song and myth¡ªthen I¡¯ll make life insufferable for them all.

    I cut off our link, reeling from the sheer insanity. And people tell me that I let my hubris blind me. I turn toward Casella. ¡°Let¡¯s bring this sorry chapter to a close.¡±

    Sneering, she flings her arms wide. ¡°Go on, then. Bury me in secret. You thrive in the dark, just like the rats you are.¡±

    I snicker at her. ¡°What, you think we¡¯ll turn you into some sort of noble martyr?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s inevitable,¡± she replies icily.

    ¡°Nah. No one likes you.¡±

    ¡°No. That¡¯s¡ªno. I¡¯m the beloved daughter of my city,¡± she declares proudly as she glares up at us from where she¡¯s kneeling in the swirling dust.

    Through our hateful bond, a different story plays out: the simple words make her breath catch as she tastes the bitter tang of truth. Heedless of the dust clinging to her dress, she fights not to bow her head in shame. She wants to rail and shout, or appear aloof and dignified, but there¡¯s a dreadful ring of authenticity that cuts her to the quick.

    No one answers her ridiculous proclamation that all Gilead loves her.

    The ugly truth echoes back with her last words, the pitiful sound bouncing off lonely canyon walls of the Rift, far beneath the city she¡¯d dreamed of dominating, as glittering chains encircle her wrists and ankles, stealing her birthright from her forever.

    Shuddering, I sever the link. The mana backlash makes me stagger, but Casella holds me steady. He frowns, regarding me with shrewd eyes, but doesn¡¯t pry. I¡¯m sure he saw the connection. He¡¯s far too perceptive to miss it. But he¡¯s the kind of good friend who knows how to keep quiet at all the right times.

    I¡¯ve missed him. It¡¯s good to be back with friends. Speaking of friends, I watch with great pleasure as Melina and Rakesh haul Saphora to her feet, tie a cloth over her mouth to keep her from spewing more hateful words, and escort her out of the Rift.

    We return to the sunlight above and march her toward the Royal Army encampment to turn her over for judgment. Justice will prevail. There are brighter days ahead¡ªnot only for Gilead, but for each of us personally. Of that, I¡¯m certain.

    With a smile on my face and a spring in my step, I reestablish the connection to my scrying golems and quickly locate Lionel working alongside Mender Uttara. We head toward the nearby [Healers] to tell them the good news that [Lady] Saphora can¡¯t hurt anyone ever again.

    Lionel deserves closure. We all do.

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Eight

    A week later, the [Inquisitors] have cleaned up most of the insurrectionists. The list of names I¡¯d received from now-imprisoned [Lady] Saphora is largely reliable, and the courts are busy processing the cases. Ships come and go freely in the harbor. Business is booming at the Orpheus, with more orders than they can fulfill, including numerous requests for custom work from me; among those in the know in Gilead, my role in the [Inquisitors]¡¯ operation is far from a secret.

    The average citizen is no longer scurrying around in fear of surprise attacks. The city is finally getting back to normal.

    Lionel . . . isn¡¯t.

    ¡°Wanna go to the beach? Mikko and Avelina are having a picnic. They invited us to join them,¡± I tell Lionel. My offer seems to fall on deaf ears. My friend doesn¡¯t even look up.

    He¡¯s been holed up at the Menders campus since we captured [Lady] Saphora, helping with healing the worst cases deemed beyond help. The [Headmistress] was loath to trust him at first, and her bodyguards were ready and willing to fight off a full contingent of the Royal Army by themselves to maintain autonomy, but Mender Uttara vouched for him. After a demonstration of his incredible [Runic Restoration], as well as our upgraded version of the Azure Rod, which spreads out the vitality draw, the [Headmistress]''s bodyguard, Talagrand, welcomed him with open arms.

    None of that matters right now. Lionel hunches his shoulders, staring out a window and not replying to my question. He¡¯s leaning against the windowsill in the private chambers that the [Headmistress] granted him while he works at the Menders¡¯ sprawling campus, overlooking her well-curated gardens.

    The array of flowers forms a vague symbol of a rune, intended to be soothing and gently restorative. While I¡¯m not sure how strong an effect it actually has, Lionel seems to find it helpful. He doesn¡¯t leave the room unless he¡¯s assisting with one of the healing sessions, and he claims that his outlook is slowly improving.

    I clear my throat and try again. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking of making a boat so we can explore the harbor. Mikko put me up to it. Says glass can¡¯t float because it¡¯s too dense. I¡¯m gonna prove him wrong, and then refuse to let him take Avelina on trips in it until he agrees to announce to the entire team that I¡¯m the better brother.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a good project. Maybe you¡¯ll see some fish underfoot,¡± Lionel says. He still doesn¡¯t look away from the window, but it¡¯s the most I¡¯ve gotten from him in a while. Despite my best assurances that Saphora will never bother him again, he doesn¡¯t seem to believe me.

    ¡°Maybe. I¡¯ll probably start by transmuting a toy boat into glass, then scaling up. Anything I should avoid?¡±

    He shrugs one shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t really know boat design. Hope it works out.¡±

    Keeping my voice light, I ask, ¡°Come boating with us once it¡¯s done?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    I pat him awkwardly on the shoulder and withdraw from the room. As I walk through the Menders facilities, I catch fearful looks and overhear snatches of whispered comments. Most of the general workers weren¡¯t privy to the reasoning behind either my banishment or my return, so my presence inspires numerous rumors.

    I ignore the stares, too worried about Lionel to pay attention. For some reason, I thought that he¡¯d be completely recovered. He was so cheerful when he came to restore my hand, just like his old self. Nothing could shake him. Watching my friend fall back into fear and anxiety is tearing me apart inside.

    Maybe Avelina can help. She dealt with a lot after Mackaiaraon, but she seems to be on the road to recovery. I don¡¯t think there was any magic formula. She went through her ups and downs, and thankfully pulled through after a few months. Not everyone does, so I¡¯m not going to take for granted that Lionel will bounce back. We¡¯re here for him, though.

    On reflex, I check the paper bird Rakesh gave me that¡¯s paired to my [Inquisitor] friends. We¡¯ve been in constant touch throughout the week as they track down conspirators, work out deals for scrying sensors with the Orpheus, and revamp the leadership structure of Gilead. No new updates. They haven¡¯t requested my presence today.

    ¡°Mbukhe, find anything interesting?¡±

    ¡°Still no,¡± Mbukhe¡¯s perpetually-amused voice replies. ¡°We already cleared your list. It¡¯s time for some rest.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. Catch you tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow, Nuri,¡± he agrees.

    I pick up the pace, heading for the harbor. I¡¯ll meet them and Rakesh tomorrow to help rebuild the library, but it¡¯s not exactly a priority compared with the rest of the city. For now, we¡¯re all taking a day off to rest up and calm our frazzled nerves.

    Considering I¡¯m glaring suspiciously at the people I pass on the streets, a break is long overdue. We haven¡¯t experienced peace and quiet in months.

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s my tiny brother!¡± Mikko yells from the pier just as I reach the quay. His booming voice carries across the water, causing strangers to turn and look.

    ¡°Thanks, bro,¡± I mutter under my breath.

    A few of the dock workers seem to recognize me from the constant scrying images that Ozana is broadcasting as advertisements for the Orpheus. Their eyes go wide, and one even approaches to ask for a masterwork. I tell him to put in an order like everyone else, but decide to reward his courage and offer him an employee discount.

    I extricate myself from the workers and continue onward, meeting up with my brother at the edge of the wharf. ¡°Got any toy boats?¡±

    He nods eagerly. ¡°Took you long enough to agree to make a boat. I still think you¡¯re just stalling because you know it won¡¯t float.¡±

    I punch my brother on the shoulder, though that¡¯s a risky proposition. Hitting him usually hurts me more than it hurts him. ¡°Nah. It¡¯ll float. Your suggestions are always excellent. The Iron Lunk pushed my combat skills forward, and so will this new challenge. But what are you gonna do with a boat?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a little island out in the bay. I thought I¡¯d take Ava out there for lunch. But oh no, you couldn¡¯t possibly help out.¡± Mikko scowls.

    I laugh, hanging on to Mikko¡¯s shoulder for balance. Once I catch my breath, I shake my head at him. ¡°That¡¯s what this is about? Fine. I¡¯ll get right on it.¡±

    The three of us sit on the edge of the nearest dock, kicking our legs over the edge and teasing each other while we work on the little boats Mikko found. The first two sink after I use [Vitrification] on them, setting Mikko off laughing each time.

    I frown, trying to puzzle out why it¡¯s not working. Finally, I notice all three of the boats he procured share narrow hulls, so I hold off trying to transform the last one. ¡°Give this boat to a kid. Get me a simple barge instead. Something broad and simple.¡±

    Avelina nudges Mikko with her elbow and points to a nearby pile of empty packing crates stacked up haphazardly. ¡°What about using one of those?¡±

    ¡°Brilliant! Thanks.¡± I leap up and grab a box, checking to make sure it doesn¡¯t have any holes or gaps between the thin wooden planks. I bring it down to the edge of the water, run [Vitrification] through it, and place the glass crate on the gentle waves.

    ¡°It floats!¡± Mikko shouts, grabbing Avelina¡¯s hand in and jumping up and down. ¡°Never a doubt in my mind.¡±

    =+=

    After dropping off the two lovebirds on a small island for a picnic lunch, I enjoy rowing my new glass boat across the harbor. It took a few tries to scale up the design, and it looks ungainly, but the boat floats. That¡¯s all that matters. Using both hands to work the oars feels exhilarating, too, even though the hard work makes my muscles burn.

    Mikko and Avelina are surprisingly cute. Avelina is growing more confident and happier by the day, flourishing as she receives counsel and mental healing from a specialized branch of the Menders. Her budding romance with Mikko also seems to help. Melina, by contrast, is more withdrawn and pensive lately. I think her long separation from Padouk is wearing on her more than she likes to let on, and she¡¯s struggling with celebrating her sister¡¯s happiness.

    Or, at least, that¡¯s my analysis. I¡¯m not an expert by any means. Still, it makes me worry that both Melina and Lionel are having such a difficult time adjusting to our new situation. It¡¯s high time we put aside constant danger and intrigue, if that¡¯s even possible. I owe Melina a visit to Naftali, and chances are that I¡¯ll get pulled into more international politics and schemes.

    I pull in the oars, drifting on the water and looking for fish through the translucent bottom of the boat. Who knows what the future holds? Regardless of whether we go back to our old lives as crafters, or we go on more missions for the [Inquisitors], we need to get stronger. We¡¯ve gotten a taste of what¡¯s possible, and I don¡¯t think any of us are willing any longer to settle for mediocrity.

    Everyone¡¯s been working hard to improve their grade and rank up their Skills. Avelina is making more and more intricate pieces of unique art, which are selling for a premium thanks to her take on aesthetics. Mikko is improving much faster than I¡¯ve ever seen before. Working in a modern, automated smithy with streamlined processes is drastically different compared with his previous experience in Silaraon, but the exposure to their enchanting techniques is invaluable. Even if he doesn¡¯t pick up an [Enchanter] Class, I expect he¡¯ll evolve his current [Blacksmith] Class soon. He¡¯s been learning the basics of inscribing a Skill or stand-alone spell into his wares, and I¡¯m surprised at how many similarities it shares to my process. Enchanting isn¡¯t as sought-after as imbuing, but I have a plan to merge the two well-known schools together.

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    I can sense an expansion in his core space as he passes into the middle stages of his current Threshold. Sometimes the sheer sensitivity of my [Arcane Domain] is nerve wracking now that I¡¯ve incorporated elements of [Mage] into my Class, but I¡¯m learning to filter out the information as I practice. Examining other people¡¯s levels of mana development is excellent practice, even if it feels strangely intrusive.

    I shrug. There¡¯s too much at stake for me to worry about personal hang ups, so I plan to keep up the practice.

    I glance up at the gleaming cityscape of Gilead while I review my notes. I need to find a way to push myself to new heights. I might start by creating animated, rotating rings of paddles on either side of the boat. Then I can maneuver around with mana, directing the boat only by my will. With a mere thought, I¡¯ll be able to spin around, find a new course, and zip off.

    Re-orienting the small boat toward an uninhabited island of dark rocks and a few gnarled trees, I haul on the oars and skim across the water toward the island. I want to practice a few of my Skills away from the scrying orbs.

    Traveling across the harbor makes me grateful that the area is so well sheltered from the storms. Gilead is a bubble of calm thanks to some incredible wind and weather magic that I still haven¡¯t deciphered. Ozana claims it¡¯s the work of an artifact built centuries ago, but she¡¯s never seen it. None of us are authorized to access the city¡¯s key infrastructure, but maybe Casella can get me access.

    I run up against the rocky shores, hop out, and pull the boat up past the line of seaweed and driftwood that marks high tide. I don¡¯t want to get stranded out here. I look for a smooth rock and plop down.

    Flipping through the pages of my notebook, I find the first blank page and write a list of day to day drills that I believe will help me rank up my Skills. I have an unbelievable amount of mana Capacity available now that my metaphysical wounds are healed, but it¡¯s more complex to work on them than I anticipated. Simply raising shelters around the city isn¡¯t feasible. I tried to convince Ozana to sell my services, but my current rank of [Sanctuary of Glass] is too limited for rapid deployment. Unfortunately, the high-rollers who can afford to enchant their palaces like an impenetrable vault don¡¯t find much utility in glass, although a few have hired my services purely for the prestige of working with me. I¡¯ve become a minor celebrity since the failed coup.

    Ozana just doesn¡¯t know how to price the service properly to prevent a market collapse, I think uncharitably. She¡¯s intimidated by how quickly my team can churn out imbued glass items, especially now that Melina has broken through and become an official Master. Working with me, she¡¯s been able to guide the imbuing process, but she hasn¡¯t been successful solo yet. It¡¯s only a matter of time, however, and she¡¯s able to use the same technique to inscribe runic arrays, so it counts in my book.

    I push the thoughts aside, chiding myself for losing focus so easily. There¡¯s no one else around on the island, so I find myself talking aloud. ¡°List everything out, Nuri. You¡¯ve been too helter-skelter with your plans. Ranking up requires more specific dedication than just hard work. Otherwise, why would Lady Evershed get stuck in a bottleneck? She¡¯s way stronger than you are, but the Second Threshold eluded her for years. Wonder if she¡¯s broken through by now.¡±

    I¡¯ll have to visit her when we¡¯re done with everything in Gilead. Perhaps the team can be persuaded to come with me after we return home to our families. In the meantime, I¡¯ll write out each Skill and figure out my path forward.

    [Greater Heat Manipulation]

    No need to push it forward. Already robust, versatile, and my most-practiced Skill. It¡¯s the current standard. If all my Skills were at this level, I¡¯d probably be able to reach the Second Threshold immediately. That still feels ridiculous to write or even think. For normal amounts of mana use, that should still be a decade away, or more. But will my understanding of energy and thermal behavior be enough to push me forward?

    I suspect I¡¯m missing something vital.

    [Vitrification]

    Built from the bones of several rare and powerful Skills. High quality, but uneven. Could be a candidate for rebuilding, perhaps with the help of [Legacy of the Scalpel]? Upgrading the runic arrays to take advantage of my improved understanding of how runes work will probably let me push the Skill up another rank in quality, and will open the way forward for more powerful transmutations. Combining it with my Domain might be how to get around the range restrictions, which means I should practice distributed casting through my glass creatures. Difficult to use in combination, but practice might pay off.

    Should more rigorously test whether certain base materials are more resistant to change than others. Rocks with silica flecks break down and transmute to glass easily. What about an iron ingot? A precious gemstone? The air itself?

    [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil]

    Capable of far more than I¡¯m doing with it. Too bad Azariah already departed. I¡¯d like to get away from relying on the scrying sensors I borrowed from the Orpheus. They¡¯re expensive and limited. Copying his scrying magic would have been much easier if I still had the template in front of me. (Need to send him an apology, too. His exile wasn¡¯t criminal; he¡¯s just too brusque for his own good.)

    Need to further explore the possibility and implications of impacting the physical world through forcible use of my Domain now that I have enough mana to fuel the Skill properly. With some prompting from Mbukhe, I started testing the limits of my Domain back in Mackaiaraon. A single flex of my willpower could stop a man in his tracks, or fling away all the dust and dirt in the air so that I can breathe in a pristine lungful, but it took most of my limited Capacity back then. Now I can easily levitate glass while I work, and Mbukhe has some drills for me to keep advancing in power and control.

    I have no delusions that that¡¯s the extent of my abilities. Further testing required; might be able to exceed what Lady Evershed and Melina are capable of through manipulation of objects via my Domain as a starting point, but move on to combat applications once we¡¯re in a target-rich environment. That may mean leaving the city, however.

    [Glass Animation]

    This is a tricky one. On the surface of it, I¡¯ve gotten in good practice by creating glass animals for my teammates. I¡¯ve even sold some lesser versions in the Orpheus house. Yet I can¡¯t help but think that I¡¯m not pushing the bond far enough¡ªthere¡¯s only limited intelligence or self-direction in my creations. Small, repeatable movements or some semblance of locomotion is fine, but even my discarded plans for a glass hand replacement weren¡¯t as ambitious as they could have been. Next iterations need to push the boundary of what ¡°animation¡± really means.

    Explore creating a true golem? The next step for my strange Skill has to be imparting some sense of autonomy or functional intelligence into the creation. Mana creates a bond that didn¡¯t exist before. I don¡¯t think merely moving glass is the upper limit of what [Glass Animation] can do, as I discovered in the Rift when I heard that crazy witch¡¯s inner thoughts. Revolting!

    Perhaps making a larger creation and requiring a more complex response from it will push the Skill forward in meaningful ways. But how to program behavior without enchanting? Unclear. May require research. Ozana may know how to go about finding a [Golemancer].

    [Sanctuary of Glass]

    Least clear of all. Unless I make a habit of visiting wild Rifts and draining the core dry to power new structures and using Sanctuary to rebuild them into an architected variety, there¡¯s no real way to rank up this Skill. Tiny shelters are exhausting, mana-intensive, and don¡¯t challenge the Skill the way that my pillar and dome in Natan did when using the Oletheros core.

    [Greater Endurance]

    Already high-ranking. Mikko is nothing if not a hard worker.

    [Adjuration of the Phoenix]

    How am I going to raise this any higher? Creating an army of glass phoenixes seems like an option, but I¡¯m not sure how efficient it will be. I¡¯ve already made a ton without any real signs of progress. I think the key is finding out how to create and manipulate mana bonds across a vast distance. My golems are good practice.

    I stretch, looking up from my list and groaning as I realize the sun has trekked halfway across the sky. Just going through a partial list of my Skills takes hours; I need to go back to the other island and pick up my brother and Avelina.

    As I row back to where I left them, I list off my other Skills mentally:

    [Artisanal Acuity]

    [Compositional Analysis]

    [A Perfect Prototype]

    [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness]

    [Fault Finder]

    [Quick Cool]

    [Lesser Resistance: Mental Strain]

    [Legacy of the Scalpel]

    I chuckle weakly. How far I¡¯ve come since my early days with only a single Skill to my name¡ªand a lesser variety, at that! My muscles strain, and I cut through the waves, reveling in the sensation of mana strengthening my body. I¡¯ve reached heights I never thought possible before, but I know I haven¡¯t reached my peak. There¡¯s a long way to go, and I can¡¯t wait to find new paths to tread in the pursuit of greatness.

    ¡°Unfortunately, there¡¯s no beating the clock,¡± I grunt as I heave on the oars. ¡°There¡¯s no way I can rank up so many Skills.¡±

    Taking stock of the structures in my soul has led me to an inevitable conclusion: I have too many Skills to properly rank up. There¡¯s no way for me to maintain equal pressure and pursue the Second Threshold within the next several years if my efforts are divided between so many disparate parts.

    Saying that aloud is both discouraging and liberating. If it¡¯s a race against time, then I¡¯m better off melting a few of them down into raw runes and recombining them into a single, more powerful Skill. If I can incorporate our growing knowledge of runic arrays, then there¡¯s a good chance that I can even recover the Skill I miss the most: [The Eternal Glass Forge].

    While the thought of never earning more [Way of the Artisan] Skills is painful, I need to get back on the path of a Creator. Summoning glass is more reliable than just finding things to use as fuel for [Vitrification]. Besides, I¡¯ve shifted [Vitrification] into more of a combat-oriented finishing move, and I¡¯d rather rely on something else for my day-to-day glass needs.

    With [Legacy of the Scalpel], I have all the tools I need at my disposal.

    Still, the thought of using that Skill makes me uneasy. Her specter looms over me when I consider Skill surgery or experimentation, and it¡¯s deeply unsettling.

    I check over my shoulder, making sure I¡¯m on the right heading, though it¡¯s more out of habit than need; my Domain keeps me informed of everything around me in a massive sphere in all directions, and I know I¡¯m about to rendezvous with my brother soon.

    And when I do, I¡¯ll need to ask some hard questions about how I put their donated Skills to use. That makes me squirm in my seat. As much as I want to honor my team¡¯s gifts, the only practical conclusion is the one I like the least: I need to either eliminate Skills, or consolidate the raw material into a few super-structures. What will they think if I get rid of part of their souls that they donated to me?

    I swallow hard, not looking forward to that conversation. Less emotionally, I¡¯m wary of putting myself in an unbalanced state again, so consolidation is the only real path forward. Even with the strange new Skill [Legacy of the Scalpel], I¡¯m nervous at the thought of rearranging and combining so many skills.

    What if I destroy a Skill?

    What if the new Skills are no good?

    What if I damage myself?

    I tilt my head side to side, cracking my neck, and tell myself to kindly shut up. Doubts have assailed me at every turn on my journey, but giving in to them has never done me a lick of good. Far better to forge ahead with determination and an undimmed spirit.

    We might fail ninety-nine times, who knows if the hundredth attempt might lead to our greatest success yet. That promise is enough to keep going. I¡¯ll talk with my team, figure out a plan, and keep getting stronger. The future is in our grasp. I simply have to reach out and seize it¡ªwith both hands, I tell myself with a smile

 Book Six Chapter Twenty-Nine

    Today¡¯s the day we visit the library!

    That cheerful thought echoes in my mind when I wake up the next morning. I picked up my brother and Avelina, finished off their picnic leftovers, and rowed us back to the docks under a cloudless, cobalt blue sky. The dock hands ribbed us over the see-through glass boat, but it was all in good fun. I negotiated a deal to moor the boat: rides in the glass vessel to watch the colorful fish. Agreeing on a heavily-discounted price, we parted ways, each feeling like we got the better deal in the arrangement.

    Sunfire burns rose gold through the open southern-facing window of my chambers at the Orpheus. The others opted to return to the cozy [Sanctuary] I built, but I¡¯ve gotten spoiled by the easy access to the hot shop. I dress in haste, scarf down my breakfast alone, and duck into the studio to practice glass blowing for an hour before I¡¯ll have to head downstairs to meet Rakesh and company in the side courtyard.

    This morning, I¡¯m making simple globes. Nothing fancy. No decorations. No basic vases, cups, or bowls; no powerful wands or circlets or totems.

    Instead, I¡¯m reacquainting myself with the fundamentals of glass-making now that I have a restored hand. I take my time prepping the batch, adding in flux until my Skill [Compositional Analysis] is satisfied. I cheat by using my mastery of heat to melt down the glass while I hover it over to the crucible with my Domain, but I go back to stirring by hand afterward. Accelerating the process is fine by me. I¡¯m still practicing the right forms and pacing all on my own.

    I collect a gather and bring the molten glass over to the workbench, turning the rod in my hands to maintain movement. After an initial moment of surreal surprise at using both hands again, I settle into a rhythm that feels natural. Everything is as it should be.

    I¡¯ve missed this.

    I coat my left hand in a double layer of thermal energy, the outside protecting me from the heat and the inside to provide a buffer against dropping the temperature too far and ruining the elasticity of the hot glass. I freeze unexpectedly before I grab the globe and start shaping it. Apart from this Skill, I¡¯d use paper or cloth folded over and soaked in water to keep it from lighting on fire. Trying this with my newly-restored hand has me nervous.

    Objectively, I know I¡¯m fine. My Skill won¡¯t fail me. Yet there¡¯s a slither of unease in the back of my mind, like a snake just out of sight yet still lurking in the shadows, that makes me wonder if I¡¯ll lose my hand just after regaining it.

    ¡°Enough of that foolishness,¡± I reprimand myself, taking hold of the glass and shaping it into a sphere as I turn the rod. I could use a wooden block, scooped out and perfectly round to create a globe, but doing it by hand feels good after so long without the use of both hands. Plus, I¡¯ve relied on my Skills for a long time now, and I¡¯m worried that I¡¯m getting sloppy. It¡¯s so easy to use magic as a crutch instead of a multiplier. I want to reach the heights by using every tool at my disposal, not by only using mana-based abilities.

    Occasionally blowing into the end of the blowpipe allows me to inflate the bubble in the glass until it reaches the rough size of my head. The first sphere complete, I elongate the glass slightly, cool the neck, and pull it off the pipe. It goes into the annealing kiln, rather than cooling it with a combination of [Quick Cool] and [Greater Heat Manipulation].

    As I move on to the next globe, theories about the nature of mana flow through my mind like a lazy river, meandering wherever it wills.

    I keep thinking about how Melina coaxed the mana in the environment to complete the inscription for her when we made our version of a glass healing rod. Normally, something that complex requires an [Enchanter], but she side-stepped the Class requirements. Are they truly requirements, or is it simply easier for someone to complete an enchantment after resonating with the underlying truths of enchanting?

    I think back to the lectures from Ezio: Enchantments are essentially a Skill, or a fragment of a Skill, inscribed on an object that can withstand the mana required to imprint the spell structure. They require mana to activate. Runes are the language of our Skills¡ªsome say of the universe itself¡ªthough they¡¯re symbols rather than strict language. They unleash raw energy directly, without any need for a spell structure.

    ¡°But what does that mean?¡± I ask myself while rolling a new glass globe. This one is not quite symmetrical, so I reheat the side and swing the blowpipe in a circle to stretch it out again. I feel like I¡¯m waving a banner in front of an army. That ridiculous mental image makes my lips quirk up. I let out a low chuckle. Maybe I should leave the philosophizing to [Sages] and become a baton wielder in the local parade.

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    Hm. Runes theoretically have higher potency than enchanting. I think that¡¯s what Melina tapped into when she invited the mana to coalesce not around a concept¡ªlike sharpness¡ªbut the symbolic language of the world.

    Before I know it, I have a row of half a dozen glass globes. They may not be completely round, but they¡¯re close enough. Out of curiosity, I try to etch a different rune onto the surface of each one and initialize them. The required intent fizzles out, but only because I¡¯m caught in the no-man¡¯s land of trying to combine imbuing and ward inscription.

    Like most things in life, it¡¯s better to pick one direction or another and commit to it fully. It may not be a perfect solution, but straddling two paths doesn¡¯t usually end up with the best of both worlds; it usually ends up with bleeding energy and emotional stability just to end up with subpar results.

    I comb the fingers of my left hand through my beard, pondering that thought. Wards are usually simple runes combined with formalized structure from enchanting. It¡¯s still inscribed by hand in most cases, but maybe Melina is on her way to becoming a ward master by borrowing imbuing techniques. She¡¯s providing the intent, but somehow skipping the astronomical mana costs usually associated with wards.

    I pull out my notebook. ¡°Rakesh and Mel would be so proud,¡± I mutter to myself as I jot down my ideas. Wards: are imbuing and enchanting parallel lines, or converging techniques at the highest levels?

    Intrigued by that concept, I draw on innovation and sharpness together, while invoking one of my borrowed Skills, [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness]. My thoughts fly at a faster pace than I¡¯ve ever experienced, racing through scenarios with unprecedented ease.

    Forget inspiration. This is tantamount to cheating! I think, giddy with the divergent paths that unfurl before me. I reach out with my Domain, gently drawing the attention of all ambient mana in the entire Orpheus. Imbuing techniques have never felt so clear, so simple.

    Instead of simply displaying real time imagery using scrying, I imagine each of the glass spheres becoming the new home of the sights and sounds around me. Runic arrays carve into the glass, not etched but instead imprinted on the mana that¡¯s swirling through my creations. In a rush of power, the room around me is perfectly preserved in a permanent record of color and texture, light and shadow.

    The half a minute of transcendence passes all too soon, and I let out a sigh as I return to my ponderous thoughts and unfinished theories. Even so, a smile stretches across my face. I¡¯ve unlocked a new method of changing the world around me. I¡¯m not a natural at it like Melina, but I¡¯ve verified that my suspicion about her new technique is correct, which means I can help her fine-tune the process even though she¡¯s more advanced than I am.

    A sonorous bell rings out, breaking into my excitement. Guilt jolts through me; I¡¯m late to the meeting with the team. I let myself fall deep into a rabbit warren of possibilities, lost in deep, trance-like focus, and now I¡¯m holding up Rakesh from finally visiting his beloved library.

    I dash out the door, zipping through the hallways, and leap down the steps five at a time. I manage not to roll my ankle in my hurry, and burst into the courtyard with a grin on my face.

    ¡°Hey slowpokes! Let¡¯s go read some books!¡± I yell, sprinting for the doorway.

    ¡°Nice try covering for your forgetfulness, bro,¡± Mikko says, grabbing me by the left wrist as I try to blow by them.

    I¡¯m held fast in his iron grip. No amount of squirming will break me free. I pout. ¡°I blame Lionel. If he hadn¡¯t fixed my hand, you wouldn¡¯t have been able to stop me.¡±

    Avelina rolls her eyes in an exaggerated display, but Rakesh laughs at my joke. Melina doesn¡¯t dignify my attempt at humor, simply turning on her heel and striding toward the doorway.

    ¡°Nuri¡¯s half-right,¡± Rakesh says, coming to my rescue and pulling me free from Mikko¡¯s grasp. ¡°We¡¯re heading to the library, but we¡¯re going to read all the books, not just some of them. I hope you¡¯re prepared for a long expedition.¡±

    ¡°Better stock up on snacks,¡± Avelina teases.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think backpacks come large enough for the amount of food we¡¯re gonna need,¡± my brother replies with a groan as we stride out of the Orpheus House and make our way down the streets toward the bastion of scholarly wisdom.

    Our friendly banter continues in a similar vein for the next half an hour, carrying us halfway to the library. The warm aroma of baked goods mingles with the sharper scents of spice as we pass through a colorful restaurant zone. Bold saffron paints the stucco walls, accented by golden awnings and vermillion trim on the eatery entryways.

    I breathe in deeply, savoring the serenity. The trouble of the last few months falls away, and I let myself revel in the fun of spending time with friends. I can¡¯t wait to tell Melina about the discovery her breakthrough inspired. She¡¯s going to squeal when she sees I even wrote down all the details in my notebook.

    We¡¯re in high spirits, happier than I can remember in a long time. I bend down and pick up a loose rock half the size of my fist, transmuting it into glass since it¡¯s the medium I¡¯m most accustomed to working with. I draw on the mana around me, willing it to memorialize the wonder of our day.

    Energy swirls in lovely, lazy spirals around me, dancing at my invitation. I can¡¯t imagine a more perfect moment. That makes it so much worse when our fun comes to an abrupt end; the peace shatters like a brick thrown through glass a second later as the explosions begin.

 Book Six Chapter Thirty

    Shock writes itself plainly on my friends¡¯ faces. Disbelief is the predominant theme, but there¡¯s another, more insidious element hidden among the emotional strokes of the pen: the fear that they¡¯ll never get to experience a regular, peaceful life again. Watching their fragile sense of normalcy crack and crumble makes my heart skip a beat with guilt.

    I dragged them into this.

    I shake off the recriminating thought with a snarl. We¡¯re all in this together. Survival is our first priority. Breathe, Nuri. Neutralize the threat first. Assign blame later.

    Rakesh¡¯s birds flutter around his head. I didn¡¯t even see them deploy, but he¡¯s already speaking with the Royal Army command team, coordinating emergency communication. Deep frown lines mark his annoyance, but he reacted to the crisis more quickly than I have.

    ¡°Back to the Orpheus,¡± I order.

    The team pivots, leaving behind the colorful food district and running in unison toward our temporary home. Rakesh glances over his shoulder once, a longing look on his face. The library will have to wait. Again. I promise silently to make this up to him, but it rings hollow. What if the rebellion is more deeply embedded than I realized? We might spend weeks responding to threats that haven¡¯t even materialized yet.

    Rakesh angles closer to me as we run. He leans over and murmurs, ¡°[Lady] Saphora¡¯s loose. Get to Lionel.¡±

    A bolt of terror shoots through me. I take the offered folded paper bird Rakesh produces seemingly out of nowhere, pin it in place near my ear with a flex of my Domain, and run.

    Mana surges out of my restored core, pulsing through my now-complete channels with a ferocity that takes me back. The circulation completes many times in the blink of an eye, and when the power hits my legs and arms, I pump them faster than ever, easily doubling up a race horse at full gallop.

    I lean forward, reinforce my stomach and back muscles to endure the strain, and sprint even harder. Windows and doors fly by in a blur. People¡¯s faces are shimmering afterimages as I tear through the city, making it to the Menders Campus in only a few minutes. Exhausting as it is to empower myself like this, I draw on my borrowed [Greater Endurance] to sustain the speed and ward off fatigue.

    When I leap over the tall, ornate gates blocking the way to the [Headmistress]¡¯s private garden compound, twin mana signatures jump into action to intercept me. I growl in frustration. I don¡¯t have time for this right now.

    ¡°Get your mistress to safety! The insurgents are attacking again,¡± I roar at Talagrand and Fazzalaro as I pass them by in a gust of wind.

    The powerful bodyguards hesitate only a moment before running back to their posts. In the space of their hesitation, I sprint past them and reach Lionel¡¯s chambers, blasting through the door with the might of my Domain, only to realize an ugly truth.

    Lionel isn¡¯t there.

    Panic threatens to suffocate me. Did we lose him again? I never should have left him by himself. My fingers twitch, gathering mana in a helpless surge of rage. My throat closes until I force myself to squeeze my eyes shut and breathe. When the air flows again, my chest heaves and my gasps of desperation quicken. No. Not again!

    My [Arcane Domain] billows out, filling the room with power as I search for clues. To my surprise, I don¡¯t sense any lingering evidence of Saphora¡¯s mana signature, even though I¡¯m certain she¡¯s behind this.

    ¡°When I find that witch, I¡¯m going to shatter every bone in her body,¡± I growl, indulging in the satisfying mental image of transmuting her into glass and fracturing her bit by bit.

    Memory belatedly catches up with my anger, and I recall that Lionel¡¯s been helping with the healing rotation. That¡¯s why he didn¡¯t accompany us today.

    I groan and bury my face in my hands. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Here I am running off again, reacting to half-baked assumptions. I need to slow down. Make a plan. Act on solid information.

    Back out in the hallway, I track down a low-level Mender and ask for directions to where the [Headmistress] has set up her clinic today. As usual, the Mender is outwardly helpful and polite to a fault, smiling and answering my questions. Through my Domain, however, I pick up on his terror. My old reputation still carries too much weight around here.

    I smile back, trying to set the poor man at ease, and jog in the direction indicated. It¡¯s an easy trip, just a district over, so I should pick up Lionel¡¯s mana signature in my senses soon. If I really pushed myself, I might be able to detect faint traces from here, but I¡¯m just as likely to trip the alarms the Orpheus installed that scan for dangerous levels of mana use. I¡¯d rather avoid a scene if I can help it, although it comes naturally to me it seems.

    ¡°Any news?¡± I ask Rakesh as I go.

    ¡°Nothing useful for us yet,¡± he replies through his birds. ¡°Her cell was breached from the side. Stone-cutter of some sort at play. No sightings since her escape.¡±

    I grunt and pick up the pace as soon as I¡¯m out of the confines of the Mender campus. If I¡¯m reading things right, she had inside help. That means we might be in for a drawn out, deadly game of hide and seek dealing with more insurgents.

    We probably also can¡¯t trust anyone in the Royal army, other than Nicanor. I¡¯m not stupid enough to think all of the [Inquisitors] are above reproach, but I know Casella runs a tight ship. He would warn me if anyone acted suspiciously. No, the chances of a rogue [Inquisitor] is much lower than a double-agent in the army.

    Thankfully, the explosions have died down. I no longer hear any thunderous detonations echoing through the city. Either they were targeted attacks, or a diversion to cover the escape. I¡¯m betting on the latter.

    My best friend¡¯s mana signature shows up seconds later, to my great relief. I home in on his location and run over to where he¡¯s set up under a canvas tent with a row of cots. It¡¯s not as posh as the Menders campus, but the pop-up clinic is bustling with people waiting for help.

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    I wave in greeting, but he only nods in response, his attention almost entirely devoted to his patient.

    With a gentle pulse of restorative mana, Lionel heals a broken arm. He holds it in place as it sets and the bone knits back together, speaking in low tones to the man whose face goes from twisting in agony one moment to smiling and relaxed. His gaze is tinged with wonder as he grips Lionel¡¯s hand with each of his own and expresses his profound thanks.

    ¡°Glad to see you¡¯re well,¡± I say, slowing to a walk and heading over to my friend.

    ¡°Yep. Almost as well off as this fellow, now that he¡¯s good as new,¡± Lionel quips, patting the man¡¯s healed shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Nuri? You seem pained.¡±

    The freshly-healed man dips his head again in a grateful bow to Lionel, then hurries off to embrace a worried-looking woman and a young child nearby¡ªhis family, I presume¡ªleaving us to speak in private. My mouth goes dry now that it¡¯s time to share that Saphora escaped.

    Lionel peers at me, his countenance turning stony. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong. What happened this time? Blasts went off, and I¡¯ve been healing wounds ever since, but no one seems to know what caused them.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh is looking into things. Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m fairly certain that I can stop the blasts if I use my Domain. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. You know, to make sure you¡¯re all right,¡± I say, rambling as I try to find the right way to break the news.

    ¡°Lio¡¯s fine?¡± Rakesh asks anxiously.

    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s busy saving the city, one person at a time. Doesn¡¯t seem in danger,¡± I reply. I¡¯m still scanning the area for any suspicious activity, but it seems like the immediate threats are passed. For now.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you and Rakesh will take care of everything,¡± Lionel says at last. He smiles as he speaks, but the skin around his right eye twitches, and his jaw is tight with unspoken strain. I wonder if he¡¯s figured it out already; he¡¯s not an idiot. ¡°Now, I have to get back to my patients. You¡¯re welcome to stick around, but please don¡¯t alarm them. They¡¯ve been through enough.¡±

    I jerk my chin up and down in a shaky nod, not trusting my voice yet, and he grins wide in a throwback to his usual style. My friend is dealing with some serious trauma, but it¡¯s nice to see a glimmer of his old self now and then. He turns and introduces himself to the next patient, and I stand back a few paces to give them space.

    ¡°The sooner we can wrap this up, the better. Lionel is putting on a strong front, but I can tell he¡¯s upset,¡± I whisper to Rakesh, keeping my speech soft so that I don¡¯t disturb Lionel while he works.

    All of his healing talents have surged forward since he gained his new, upgraded Class. He¡¯s begun converting the prodigious amounts of potential siphoned away from me in exchange for his Class and Skills, so he has a new suite of healing-oriented abilities. From what the other Menders tell me, he¡¯s working at all hours of the night to bring relief to the backlog of people suffering from disease and injury. I¡¯m proud of him.

    ¡°Caught the sappers placing explosives,¡± Rakesh informs me. ¡°Three teams, coordinated by a mystery agent. Still tracking down the instigator.¡±

    ¡°Casualties?¡± I ask, my voice clipped.

    ¡°None. At least, not yet,¡± Rakesh says.

    The grim undertone to his words makes me stand straighter and take notice. ¡°Saphora¡¯s nasty surprise again?¡±

    ¡°Precisely. We¡¯ll need Lionel to purge the rot as soon as he¡¯s done at his clinic. I¡¯m trying to get in touch with Melina so she can keep them in stasis. It doesn¡¯t seem as bad as what Lio went through, though. We have time.¡±

    I glance over at my friend, who¡¯s patching up a young girl caught in one of the blasts that [Lady] Saphora arranged as a distraction for her escape. The entire right side of her face is torn to shreds. Blood no longer leaks; the flesh underneath the missing skin has fused together from the heat of the blast.

    Spellbound, I watch in awe as Lionel¡¯s [Runic Restoration] reverses the devastation. Bit by bit, the bone and muscles take shape. Pain disappears from the aura of distress she¡¯s pulsed out since she arrived. Her epidermis knits itself together layer by layer, covering her face like a veil. It solidifies, takes on a darker, more vibrant hue, and settles into unblemished skin.

    I step closer, watching the entire process through my [Arcane Domain] and marveling at the delicate interplay of mana and unknown runes. I really need to decipher this Skill as soon as I can. It could change the world if I can reliably reproduce its effects in a healing wand.

    Lionel spins around, his hands raised in a defensive posture and his eyes wide in alarm as he senses me right behind him. He huffs when he sees me so close. ¡°Nuri! You about gave me a heart attack.¡±

    I shuffle back, embarrassed that I got so distracted by the magic and intruded on Lionel¡¯s personal space. As I try to think up an excuse, he frowns at me, and my defenses finally crumble.

    ¡°Saphora escaped,¡± I blurt out.

    When his face goes ashen, I hiss at myself and wish I could take back my delivery of the news. Now I¡¯ve terrified him for no good reason. What kind of awful friend am I? I can¡¯t snatch words out of the air, either with magic or with my two hands, which means I need to watch what I say. Stupid, Nuri!

    ¡°What happened?¡± he asks, squaring up his shoulders and gathering his courage. Some of his old fire shines through, which encourages me that he¡¯s on his way toward recovery.

    ¡°No one knows yet,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Rakesh in touch with Nicanor?¡±

    I jerk my chin down in a nod. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll, uh, I¡¯ll see what¡¯s going on. You¡¯ll be safe. I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±

    He sinks into a woven rattan chair near the row of cots in the makeshift clinic. ¡°Yeah. Yeah.¡±

    ¡°I promise,¡± I insist.

    ¡°Shoulda killed her when you had the chance,¡± he mumbles, so low I barely pick it out. Without my [Arcane Domain] sharpening my senses, I doubt I would have noticed.

    I wince. Does that mean he blames me? I¡¯ll have to deal with that heavy revelation later. I cover my guilt by holding up the paper bird between the two of us so that Lionel can listen in to the conversation. ¡°Status report, Rakesh?¡±

    ¡°Nicanor chased down two conspirators,¡± Rakesh says. He hesitates, faint amusement in tone. ¡°Admittedly, he may not have been the best choice to send on this merry chase. Difficult to interrogate corpses speared full of holes.¡±

    I snort despite the gravity of the situation. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with sustained attacks across the city?¡±

    ¡°Not precisely. Phantom enemy, if anything. The [Spear Commander] has been chasing down ghosts. I think it was all a distraction to draw them away from the Army camp so that witch could worm her way free.¡±

    ¡°Did someone help her?¡± Lionel asks suddenly. He¡¯s leaning forward with a frown, intent on the paper bird hovering in the air in front of him.

    I step closer so that we can both hear and speak more clearly, but there¡¯s no reply for an uncomfortably long moment. ¡°Rakesh? Did you hear Lio¡¯s question?¡±

    ¡°I heard,¡± he replies quietly. ¡°Inside job, without question. Please, let the [Inquisitors] find out more. Don¡¯t be hasty¡ªeither of you.¡±

    We exchange scandalized looks, our lifelong camaraderie rising in an instant. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of it!¡± I exclaim.

    ¡°Nuri,¡± Rakesh says sternly, warning in his voice, ¡°you won¡¯t earn any friends if you go on a rampage. We¡¯re still clearing your name from when you threatened the Menders.¡±

    I cross my arms and let out a displeased harrumph. ¡°And now she¡¯s free. I should have done more than threaten her after what she did.¡±

    Lionel smiles grimly when I say that. He knows I said that for his benefit; I only hope he forgives me for not finishing the job the first time.

    ¡°Hang on, priority transmission,¡± Rakesh interjects. He goes silent for a few minutes as he switches over to another set of paired birds. Urgency makes his voice shrill when he finally speaks up again.

    ¡°Lionel! We need you. Saphora hit the Capitol building then fled town. Bring the healing wand. Gilead¡¯s [Premier] is rotting from the inside out.¡±

 Book Six Chapter Thirty-One

    My favorite [Inquisitors] meet us at the Capitol building, grim-faced and geared up for war. The building is a grand edifice built of gleaming Imperial jade polished to a mirror shine, all edged in gold. The sheer amount of time required to find that much jade boggles my mind, but I shove it aside for now. I set down Lionel so Mbukhe can guide him to the [Premier], who¡¯s suffering from the same reverse-healing that Lionel endured.

    ¡°When did you get so fast?¡± Lionel wheezes, clutching at his chest. He wipes tears away. ¡°You ran so hard that the wind made my eyes leak!¡±

    ¡°In my defense, Rakesh did say it was an emergency,¡± I remind him, but I can¡¯t help but put a little swagger in my steps as we approach our friends together. I carried him over as quickly as I could, using both empowering mana and my Domain to lift him, and my recent gains are on full display as my magic pushed me faster than before. All the recent running around is making me tired, but we still have work to do.

    An [Inquisitor] darts out of the Capitol. He halts and snaps to attention in front of Casella, although he forgoes a salute. ¡°Sir! My colleague is nearly out of mana.¡±

    Casella acknowledges him with a grunt, then turns to his comrade in arms. ¡°Mbukhe, go with him. Bring Lionel to the patient. Hurry! The time stasis field is failing.¡±

    The other [Inquisitor]¡¯s eye twitches at the mention of the status field, but he runs off with Lionel and Mbukhe. As they shoulder their way past the guards stationed outside, I turn to my old friend and take in his grizzled, heavily-lined face. More pronounced streaks of gray shoot through his beard than I recall. Has he really aged so much in half a year?

    ¡°He seems surprised you mentioned such a rare time-manipulation Skill in front of me. Classified secret?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Need to know basis,¡± Casella confirms. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. A fond expression softens his granite-like face. ¡°Though, I have leeway in making a judgment call. [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote is quite fond of you these days. You might outrank me by the time all is said and done.¡±

    ¡°Rakesh maybe. Not me,¡± I say, deflecting automatically. Before Casella can respond, I change the subject. ¡°Bet the stasis field isn¡¯t as good as Mel¡¯s time dilation.¡±

    Casella smiles widely with a gleam in his eye, all but confirming my suspicion with his reaction. ¡°Not everything is a competition.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like something you¡¯d say when you¡¯re on the losing side,¡± I tease him.

    We share a brief chuckle as we head inside the Capitol building to check on Lionel and his patient. Despite the serious situation¡ªor perhaps because of it¡ªlaughter feels good. We¡¯ve been running on the ragged edge for what feels like months now. I need the emotional release.

    My good mood fractures a moment later, shattered like a glass vase without tempering enchantments dropped on the floor, when Casella flicks a silencing artifact on his wrist and envelops us in a bubble of privacy. ¡°Stay alert, friend. We¡¯re nothing but buzzing flies to the real powers in Densmore.¡±

    ¡°My whole life has been an uphill climb,¡± I reply lightly, though I know better than to brush off good counsel. If someone as strong as Casella is cautious, then what chance do I have? I¡¯d be foolish to ignore him.

    ¡°Break through to your next Threshold as soon as you can. You¡¯ll need it.¡±

    ¡°Working on it,¡± I assure him.

    My frustration with my current Skills bleeds through my tone. He squints at me and tilts his head to the side, his brows pulling together into a quizzical look. ¡°How did you get so stuffed up, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Found a metaphysical expert who traded some of my unformed potential for donations from my team. They helped me stabilize my inner world so that we could repair my core.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing I set up a privacy ward,¡± he replies after missing a beat.

    I grin. For someone who is so good at taking everything in stride, he almost tripped over that news. It¡¯s fun to watch him try to wrap his mind around all the crazy, ¡°impossible¡± things that have happened to me since our last meeting.

    ¡°Hmph. Foolish, even if it solved a short-term issue. You¡¯re a mismatch of Skills, and too many are lagging behind. You need to find a way to fix that. Now. You¡¯re too high-profile now to be so weak.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve gotten stronger,¡± I start to protest, but a warning bell sounds in the recesses of my mind. Anything¡ªor anyone¡ªthat has Casella spooked is likely operating at the highest echelon of power. I¡¯m not there yet, despite my rapid growth.

    ¡°Keep on that path. You¡¯ll get it sorted,¡± Casella encourages me.

    ¡°I will,¡± I promise. ¡°Help me put together a plan to advance? I could use your expertise.¡±

    ¡°You have my word. Mbukhe and I will push you forward. But be prepared; it won¡¯t be fun or easy.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way,¡± I tell him, and I mean it. My best progress has come as a direct result of overcoming challenges.

    Casella twists his ring, dropping the ward. His smile grows sharp. ¡°Excellent.¡±

    Without the privacy ward, we chat about banal topics while we stride down the corridor to the suite where the [Premier] is laid up in bed. Dense clusters of mana signatures guard the door, and I only recognize a few as [Inquisitors]. The rest are unfamiliar, but share similarities, which makes me wonder if they¡¯re house guards.

    When we turn the corner and lay eyes on the [Guards], my hunch proves accurate. They are decked in the city colors of Gilead, and the glares they level toward us are brimming with an intensity that I can¡¯t quite parse. Grudgingly, they move aside and grant us entrance.

    Inside, a strange scene greets us. I expected that Lionel would be done by the time we got there, but he¡¯s perched on a stool next to the comatose [Premier], sweat dripping down his face as he works to undo Saphora¡¯s miserable ministrations. As excited as I am to see the strange runes at work, I was glad for a moment to catch up with Casella. Now it seems I have the best of both worlds.

    I can¡¯t help but grimace when I observe the state of the once-proud leader of the famed city of healing. His skin has faded into a dull gray. Black sludge seems to fill his veins, clogging up the circulatory system. The noisome ooze seeps out from under his fingernails. Twin trickles of blood roll down from the corner of his eyes.

    ¡°How is he still alive?¡± I ask, staring in morbid wonder. He seems worse off than I ever expected, based on how recently Saphora targeted him.

    ¡°Might still die,¡± Lionel whispers.

    I glance up at the note of desperate anger in my best friend¡¯s voice. Lionel¡¯s intense look of concentration catches me off guard. ¡°Is the wand not working?¡±

    ¡°It is, but he¡¯s got an underlying condition. I¡¯m not sure why I can¡¯t clear the symptoms all the way. My healing isn¡¯t taking hold. Something feels like hitting a wall.¡±

    I frown, stroking my beard as I consider the problem. ¡°Try again? I¡¯ll keep a close eye on the runic arrays as they activate. Maybe I¡¯ll be able to see what¡¯s interfering.¡±

    ¡°Worth a shot,¡± Lionel says slowly.

    ¡°But?¡± I prompt.

    ¡°But I¡¯m just about out of mana. If this doesn¡¯t work, then I won¡¯t be able to do anything else to help.¡±

    ¡°I will bring you a mana draught from the army stores,¡± Mbukhe says, slipping out of the room and running off to find the promised draught. To my shock, he¡¯s almost impossible to track in my Domain, even after my Class upgrade. He must be getting stronger, too. I should ask him to train with me later.

    Lionel gulps. ¡°Let¡¯s hope it works.¡±

    ¡°You got this! No fear,¡± I tell him.

    His shoulders sag. ¡°Not helping, Nuri. I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯ll try. But no guarantees it will be enough.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why you have me,¡± I boast, walking around to the other side of the sick bed and throwing an arm around his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll bolster your Skill and empower it with my Domain. You just focus on fixing what¡¯s wrong.¡±

    He grimaces. ¡°That¡¯s just it. I can¡¯t tell what¡¯s wrong, or I would have fixed it already. He¡¯s suffering from more than just Saphora¡¯s malediction.¡±

    ¡°Mind if I take a look?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re better at Soundings than I am. Go ahead,¡± Lionel says. ¡°I need to prepare for my attempt, anyway. This will give me a breather.¡±

    I reach out with my Domain, enveloping the [Premier] with the power of my will. He isn¡¯t responsive, and his core space feels weak from his ailments, so I don¡¯t have to fight to extend my consciousness into his inner world. The Sounding technique the Menders practice is similar to the Viewing technique I learned from the [Inquisitors], but it¡¯s focused on the body instead of metaphysical realities. I don¡¯t know how to interpret all of the feedback¡ªI¡¯m not a [Healer]¡ªbut it¡¯s clear that something is desperately wrong with his body.

    Growths that shouldn¡¯t exist are all over the place, littered throughout his body. They¡¯re difficult to identify, since there are so many threads of unfamiliar mana woven throughout, but they don¡¯t seem healthy to me. Weeding them out seems like the only logical choice.

    I test out my theory by attempting to excise a growth using the concept of sharpness. Instantly, a burst of putrid, polluted energy flows into me from the pustule, attempting to invade my pristine core space. I annihilate it with a shudder of revulsion.

    ¡°Lio? Think I¡¯ve got it.¡±

    He startles, then leaps up from his seat next to the bed. ¡°Already? You¡¯re ridiculous! No fair. Healing is supposed to be my domain.¡±

    Gloating doesn¡¯t seem appropriate given our patient¡¯s poor health, but I can¡¯t stop the smug smile that spreads across my face. ¡°It¡¯s just mana senses. I have an unfair advantage.¡±

    He nods sagely. ¡°True. You¡¯re still useless at healing. That¡¯s my role. Now, tell me what you found.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s something making his body grow in weird ways. Here, let me show you what I¡¯m seeing.¡±

    I pick up a sheaf of papers lying on a nightstand near the bedside, peel off the top sheet, and run my favorite home-made Skill through the paper to turn it into glass. I levitate the slender mirror over to Lionel and connect to it like I do with my scrying golems to display my sight.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Nuri, are you sure you know what¡ªwhoa! What is that!¡± Lionel all but shouts, pointing at the abnormal growths in the mirror. ¡°Those are definitely not natural.¡±

    ¡°Careful,¡± I warn him. ¡°I tried to cut one out, and it exploded into something nasty. It tried to flow into me, but I shut it down. It¡¯s like Saphora¡¯s rot, though not triggered by healing. Worst? Something about it feels familiar. Kinda like being in a Rift.¡±

    I trail off as a terrible thought occurs to me. Old fears I thought long buried rise up with a vengeance. I back away, my breathing labored, as I consider where I¡¯ve seen this before.

    Casella lays a hand on my upper arm, calming me with his strong, quiet presence. He pulls gently and leads me away. Lionel follows, and we allow him to guide us away from the guards arrayed near the doorway.

    He re-activates his localized privacy ward. His gaze locks onto mine. There¡¯s a dreadful pity in the depths of his kind eyes that I don¡¯t want to acknowledge. He sighs deeply, rubs his forehead with his hand, and forces me to confront the truth. ¡°Sounds like void sickness.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll burn up from the inside out if that¡¯s really the plague,¡± I whisper, my voice a ghost of its former self.

    ¡°Not likely. Someone stabilized him. His mana won¡¯t tear him apart as it tries to combat the corrosive effects of the void.¡± Casella lets out another frustrated sigh. ¡°Nuri, I¡¯m sorry you have to see this.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t hide forever,¡± I say woodenly.

    ¡°Still isn¡¯t pleasant,¡± Casella says, clapping me on the shoulder. ¡°We need to isolate him immediately¡ªthat, or put him out of his misery before his mana runs rampant.¡±

    My stomach churns at that thought. Before I can voice my opinions, Lionel pipes up. ¡°We aren¡¯t losing more people to Saphora¡¯s madness. Now that I know exactly what I¡¯m dealing with, I can use the wand to counteract its effects.¡±

    ¡°And your restoration Skill?¡±

    He shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ll need to regenerate mana either way. Mbukhe should be back soon with the mana draught. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll cut, you heal?¡±

    He nods. ¡°Deal.¡±

    ¡°Work quickly. I will stand by in case of a breach of containment,¡± Casella rumbles in a grave tone.

    I swallow hard. A breach will kill us all. We¡¯ll die, boiled from the inside out, if Casella and I can¡¯t restrain the virulent power of the void.

    We return to the bed, ignoring the suspicious stares from the guards as we emerge from the bubble of silence. Lionel grasps the glass healing wand we created, takes a breath, and sets his jaw. I fall back on my experience with Scalpel¡¯s odd brand of surgery, manifesting a blade of mana, and excise each malignant growth.

    He activates his healing magic and moves in tandem with me, a single heartbeat behind my cuts, following each of the moves I make by watching what I do in the mirror. The full weight of my [Arcane Domain] presses down on the foreign energy flows, preventing them from leaking out and infecting anyone else present.

    The longer Lionel works on the [Premier], the worse he appears. Sweat beads on his forehead. His face grows wan and thins out right before my eyes.

    ¡°You can¡¯t heal him without your own vitality?¡± I ask, trying not to lose track of what I¡¯m doing with my mana scalpel. ¡°The rod shouldn¡¯t require that.¡±

    ¡°Not if I¡¯m going to heal everything. It¡¯s too deeply embedded,¡± Lionel explains, panting as he runs low on strength. ¡°This isn¡¯t a normal illness.¡±

    Sure enough, although the glass wand amplifies Lionel¡¯s healing magic, I watch through my senses as the void plague actively corrodes mana. They¡¯re opposites, clashing in a potent, destructive battle. More and more energy goes into fixing both the physical and metaphysical wounds, until finally we¡¯re done.

    Lionel collapses into his seat, utterly spent. His eyes flutter shut, and he dozes off. We leave him to recover his strength; I¡¯ll wake him once Mbukhe returns.

    The [Premier] is breathing more easily. Soundings no longer return such frightening and confusing results. Not all is well, however. He still shows signs of the pervasive rot that [Lady] Saphora implanted before her escape. Lionel will have to undo it with his [Runic Restoration], once he¡¯s recovered enough to cast his powerful Skill.

    Minutes stretch on, turning into another half an hour, before Mbukhe arrives. He shows the foresight that¡¯s let him rise through the ranks, bringing an entire box of draughts with him, along with a second case of healing potions. One of each goes down Lionel¡¯s hatch, and soon my friend¡¯s color is restored.

    ¡°Ready to put an end to this?¡± he asks, some of his old vivaciousness peeking through as a big, crooked grin snakes across his face.

    ¡°About time!¡± I say.

    ¡°Watch closely, Nuri. Maybe one day you can be this amazing.¡± Lionel smirks, invoking his greatest Skill. ¡°[Runic Restoration].¡±

    I project my view of the runic arrays involved in his restoration Skill onto the thin mirror I made, marveling at its complexity and awesome power. The [Inquisitors] gather around as my best friend works, exclaiming over how much detail the Viewing reveals, although they cut off awkwardly whenever they run into the bounds of the geas holding their tongues. Not being able to speak freely must be miserable.

    Rather than simply display what I see, I imprint it into the glass using imbuing techniques to coax the mana into stamping the image permanently into the glass. This way, I¡¯ll be able to share the recorded data with Rakesh and Melina later. With our combined talents, we¡¯ll analyze the runes and further our understanding of restoration magic.

    ¡°I¡¯m losing him!¡± Lionel hisses.

    My attention snaps back to the present. I press closer, trying to follow what¡¯s happening. Where did we go wrong? At first, nothing stands out. Soothing mana flows out from Lionel and wraps around the [Premier], creating miniature scaffolding and encouraging his body to rebuild itself accordingly. Everything seems right.

    ¡°You sure? I don¡¯t see a problem¡ª¡±

    I fall silent, noticing a strange hole in my perception at last. The absence of information was so subtle that I didn¡¯t register it at first. Now that I see it, it¡¯s obvious. ¡°Something¡¯s sucking away the mana. It¡¯s like a whirlpool, drawing everything in and devouring it.¡±

    Mbukhe glides up next to me, his hand extended. He murmurs under his breath, too soft for me to hear even with my Domain-enhanced senses, and a strange Skill snaps into place. It blocks off the suction, closing the odd connection to the distant point where the mana is being siphoned off, and Lionel¡¯s Skill finally takes root.

    Seconds later, the work is done. The [Premier] is healed. He¡¯s restored, as good as new, at least in theory.

    ¡°Now what?¡± I ask, wondering how we¡¯re going to handle the fallout of this intervention. Nicanor has smacked down the remaining insurgents¡ªat least, I hope he got them all this time¡ªbut Saphora¡¯s actions echo across the city like bad luck that keeps coming back.

    Lionel exhales. He scratches his nose, still trembling. ¡°That was way harder than it was last time.¡±

    ¡°Something interferes. I¡¯ll investigate,¡± Mbukhe announces. He ghosts away, no doubt following the connection to the strange anomaly that devoured Lionel¡¯s restorative magic.

    ¡°Fishy if you ask me,¡± I say, crossing my arms. ¡°You can¡¯t tell me Saphora inflicted that nasty terminal illness in such a short time.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t add up,¡± Lionel agrees.

    ¡°You think there¡¯s more to this story?¡± Casella asks him, suspicion turning him stern. Right now, he¡¯s an [Inquisitor] first and foremost, and a friend second.

    Lionel nods immediately. ¡°Oh yeah. It took much longer for her to plant the seeds of rot in me. How did she get so much faster in just a few months?¡±

    Before I can answer, a disturbingly-weak gurgle from deep in the [Premier]¡¯s throat cuts into our conversation. We turn back toward him as he gasps for air, wheezing as though his last breath is rattling through his lungs.

    He blinks, and his eyelids crack open. He squints at us, groaning against the light in his luxurious suite. I douse the nearest mage lamp to help him adjust to the brightness. Bleary-eyed and mumbling, he sits up with considerable effort, which leaves him panting. For all that Lionel healed him, he doesn¡¯t seem well.

    Through my Domain, I pick up on strange movements and bursts of unease. All of the loyal house guards are backing away from the room. Some of them are running.

    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± I snap, distracted by how all the guards are retreating from the suite. By the time I turn back to the [Premier], he¡¯s clutching a thin bracelet with a ward inscribed along the top of the band.

    ¡°Put that down,¡± Casella demands.

    The politician spits in his face.

    I recoil, gasping in shock. Lionel looks just as stupefied as I feel, staring at the [Premier] with his mouth gaping open.

    The senior statesman of Gilead sneers at us. ¡°You barge into my room, trample over my guards, and order me around in my own house? Despicable.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªbut I healed you!¡± Lionel sputters.

    ¡°So arrogant! Always assuming that you¡¯re better than we are. Dogs of Densmore! Peh. You¡¯re as predictable as ever.¡±

    ¡°Better than you?¡± I echo, thoroughly confused. ¡°We¡¯re just trying to help.¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°Too late. Your corrupt Kingdom sealed its own fate. Densmore is ruled by monsters far worse than what crawls out of the Rifts.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you put that down and we¡¯ll talk about it?¡± Casella says, more gently than I expected. His eyes are locked onto the bracelet, however, and something about the intensity of his gaze makes my skin crawl.

    ¡°What is there to talk about? I admit, I didn¡¯t expect such a thorough healing, but a young man¡¯s kindness doesn¡¯t outweigh the sins of an empire.¡±

    My jaw clenches. ¡°What¡¯s your problem? Nothing is perfect. Densmore has her faults. But if you support Saphora, or if you did before she turned on you, then you¡¯re worse than whatever system you¡¯re railing against. Instead of coming together to communicate concerns and to build toward a brighter tomorrow, she murdered good people and sowed mayhem and chaos across Gilead. How is destroying everything with blood and fire any better than whatever grievances you hold against Densmore?¡±

    The [Premier]¡¯s sneer deepens. ¡°You¡¯re barely out of childhood. What would you know of grievances?¡±

    ¡°I know the [Viceroy] is corrupt. I know he¡¯s manipulated the [King], imprisoned my friend and mentor, and pursues power no matter the cost. I¡¯m not as naive as you seem to think.¡±

    ¡°Yet you¡¯re standing side by side with an [Inquisitor]. You¡¯re either foolish or too cowardly to act.¡± He spits over the side of the bed.

    I scowl. ¡°I¡¯d rather work towards the common good and mutual benefit of each citizen than tear it all down.¡±

    ¡°Fool boy. I was never meant to live¡ªjust to deliver vengeance,¡± he snarls, thumbing the control ward etched into his bracelet.

    The trap springs shut.

    An intense chain reaction of mana sets of sirens in my head. My Domain blasts outward, catching a heavy bookshelf in the claws of my will and dragging it between my friends and the approach of death. I transmute the shelf into glass and encase every inch of it with the concept of unbreakable conviction, setting a bulwark before us in the blink of an eye.

    A hidden explosive detonates, tearing the [Premier] and the bed on which he lies into ragged, bloody strips. The shockwave collides with the shelf, splintering it apart. Chains catch me and Lionel, jerking us sideways a split second before the trap kills us all.

    Fury burns on Casella¡¯s face. He dashes toward the bed, but it¡¯s too late. The [Premier] is dead without a doubt, blasted into a thousand pieces. His remaining guards look shocked. Only a few conspicuous gaps in their ranks point toward knowledge of a conspiracy. Whoever was complicit fled before the explosion that should have damned us all.

    Coughing as clouds of dust swirl around us, I stumble out of the charred remains of the [Premier]¡¯s palatial suite, my friends at my heels. I don¡¯t need my Domain to know that they¡¯re both seething with anger over almost dying. All we tried to do was make things better.

    ¡°Can¡¯t believe I fell for it,¡± Casella growls as we climb over the last pile of jumbled stone and plaster from the blown-out wall. ¡°Such an obvious trap. I should never have put you two in danger like that. My deepest apologies.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your anger speaking,¡± Lionel says. ¡°We knew the risk. We came here anyway.¡±

    I nod in approval. ¡°Got that right! We¡¯re not going to hide away while that witch destroys our peace of mind.¡±

    Lionel¡¯s fist smashes into his open palm. When he speaks, his voice comes out in a low snarl. ¡°She¡¯s evil. She needs to be stopped. How in all the abyssal halls did she bewitch the [Premier]? I healed him! And then he threw away his second chance at life! It doesn¡¯t make any sense. No sense at all.¡±

    I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen Lionel so incensed. Mana revolves around him, a maelstrom of energy far beyond anything I¡¯ve seen from him before. ¡°Is that what I¡¯ve been doing? Blind to the beauty of a second chance?¡±

    I hesitate, licking my lips as I try to figure out how to phrase things. ¡°You¡¯ve been through a lot,¡± I start to say.

    ¡°Oh, shut up, Nuri. Don¡¯t give me that diplomatic crap,¡± Lionel says. He dashes away sudden tears. ¡°I¡¯m done with moping around. Life¡¯s too short. Let¡¯s kill that hag and get on with things.¡±

    As he speaks, the mana spins faster and faster, coalescing around him. Diffuse clouds of mana compact around him, swirling in a tight ball that sinks into his core. I exchange a glance with Casella, whose smile eclipses even his anger.

    ¡°An epiphany,¡± he whispers, leaning close so he doesn¡¯t disrupt Lionel. ¡°Rare to witness such a thing. He¡¯s conquered his fears.¡±

    The scintillating swirl of such pure mana around Lionel can only mean one thing. He¡¯s breaking through to the next stage in his advancement. I¡¯m about to congratulate him when I stop short, caught off guard by something niggling in the back of my mind.

    I clench my fists. While my friends are dealing with the fear, anger, and disbelief at the suicide attack, a new fear strikes the depths of my heart: my glass golems are spreading out through the city, moving with swift purpose. I can barely sense my connection to the creatures, just enough to know that they¡¯re following someone else¡¯s orders.

    Icy fear grips me, suffocating and unrelenting. Has [Lady] Saphora subverted them against me?

 Book Six Chapter Thirty-Two

    Hands still shaking from our near brush with death, I untuck the paper messager bird folded away in my collar, letting it fly free to orbit by my ear. I clamp down on my fluctuating emotions with my Domain. My voice is steady as I hail our communications expert. ¡°Rakesh? Can you get me a line to Ozana?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll relay your message,¡± he replies almost instantly in crisp, professional tones that do little to hide his exhaustion.

    ¡°May I speak with her?¡±

    A pause. ¡°You sound troubled. What¡¯s wrong? Complications healing the [Premier]?¡±

    Oh. Rakesh doesn¡¯t know yet.

    I glance around the smoldering rubble. Lazy spirals of gray-black smoke drift upward into the sky. Coughing, I shuffle my feet and scratch the back of my head, embarrassed to admit that we ran into problems again. ¡°Turns out it was a trap.¡±

    ¡°Are you all right?¡± Rakesh hisses.

    I let out an awkward chuckle. ¡°Yeah, yeah. We¡¯re fine. Tell you more once we¡¯ve got a lead. Right now I need to talk with Ozana.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t leave you without oversight for one minute,¡± Rakesh grumbles. ¡°I might be able to hold two birds close together. My Skill lets me communicate to each of you simultaneously now that it¡¯s ranked up, but I can¡¯t connect you two directly. Maybe after I gain further mastery and empower it with more mana.¡±

    ¡°Contact her. Now.

    He seems to pick up on my urgency and opens up a new connection without any further commentary. Seconds later, I hear Ozana¡¯s charming voice answering Rakesh¡¯s harried tones. She sounds faint and far away, but soon her voice is coming through loud and clear.

    ¡°This better be important, Rakesh,¡± she snaps. ¡°I¡¯m up to my eyeballs in¡ª¡±

    ¡°We almost died,¡± I cut in.

    ¡°What did you do this time?¡± Ozana yells. I¡¯ve never heard her sound so frazzled. ¡°Don¡¯t you like peace and quiet once in a while?¡±

    I ignore her slight against my dignity. Honestly, it¡¯s too close to the truth for comfort. My fists clench in rage over the situation. ¡°To make matters worse, now someone¡¯s stealing my things. You tracked down Saphora through her scrying channels before. Can you do it again?¡±

    ¡°Checking,¡± Ozana sighs.

    A moment of silence passes. ¡°Well? Can you tell me if she¡¯s tapped into them again?¡± I ask, pacing back and forth in front of the smoking building.

    ¡°Patience. Takes time,¡± Ozana grumbles.

    I let her work, studying our bleak surroundings in the meantime. Staring at the damage from the explosion makes my head hurt. Fallen edifices. Cracked foundations. Stained glass windows blown out everywhere. All that jade ruined. It¡¯s a travesty, really.

    ¡°We¡¯ve set up alerts. No alarms so far,¡± Ozana¡¯s voice says, coming through clearly from the paper bird that Rakesh must be holding near my own paired bird.

    ¡°Sure? Someone hijacked my golems. I can¡¯t sense who it is, not from here.¡±

    ¡°Wait. That¡¯s what¡¯s got you so worked up?¡± Ozana snickers loudly, making me wince and move my ear away from the folded paper. ¡°You forget that you gave the twins the control wards, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Oh. The Linas were moving them all this time?¡± I ask in a strangled voice.

    ¡°Yep,¡± Ozana drawls, dragging out the word.

    My cheeks burn. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I told them to, Nuri. Someone has to display your work, since you¡¯re hopeless at self-promotion.¡±

    Dumbstruck, I stand unmoving, staring at the paper bird in front of me. What could have prompted her to¡ªwait. Did she say that she was going to display my work? ¡°Ozana? Are you showing my actions on the scrying golems?¡±

    ¡°Naturally. With a banner message that the Orpheus has eyes everywhere. Those who can afford our services will understand the implications,¡± Ozana replies smugly.

    When I burst out in a strangled, incoherent protest, she laughs. No matter how much I complain, she keeps laughing at me until I¡¯m chuckling along, though my heart¡¯s not in it.

    ¡°And I thought we were friends,¡± I grumble. ¡°You¡¯re using me as an advertisement while I¡¯m fighting for my life.¡±

    ¡°Think of the kickbacks,¡± Ozana says sweetly. ¡°Besides the profit-sharing, you¡¯re about to be famous.¡±

    ¡°Shameless! I¡¯m not sure whether to feel indignant or impressed by your savvy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll thank me later.¡±

    ¡°If I live that long. Saphora¡¯s lackeys will put a target on my back,¡±I say, rolling my eyes.

    ¡°Hate to interrupt, but I¡¯m getting a priority code again. Back in a moment, you two,¡± our overworked [Researcher] says, butting into the conversation.

    While I¡¯m waiting for the next unsettling bit of bad news¡ªand it¡¯s always bad news, lately¡ªI turn to watch my friends at work. Nearby, Casella is debriefing a small crew of [Inquisitors] on what happened inside.

    One of their coworkers runs up, joining the group, and salutes. ¡°Perimeter secure, Sir.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re certain? No room for complacency after that blast,¡± Casella replies, frowning with all the subtlety of a thundercloud.

    ¡°Scanned thrice. I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°No chance of further traps?¡± I ask, edging closer to the intense discussion. Two of the men I don¡¯t recognize shoot me a look that tells me exactly how they feel about me interfering in official [Inquisitor] business, but the man who was inside with Casella nods respectfully.

    ¡°Thanks for the save, young man,¡± the slim, gray-haired man with a weathered face says softly, clasping his hands and inclining his head.

    ¡°Anytime,¡± I answer distractedly, peering at Casella in surprise. He¡¯s normally in absolute control of his emotions, but right now they¡¯re fluctuating like a flickering candle on a windy day.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time to waste,¡± Casella snaps. His eyes flash as he glares at each of his subordinates in turn. ¡°Find out how we overlooked the hidden charges. Who planted them? Did we skip any safety checks? Then connect with Mbukhe and track down Saphora. Go!¡±

    Orders handed out, the [Inquisitors] disperse and get to work. I wait until they¡¯re not only out of sight, but beyond the range of my [Arcane Domain], before I turn to Casella and frown. ¡°It doesn¡¯t sit well with me that they missed the trap. They¡¯re too good for that.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s actually on your mind? You¡¯re leaving accusations unspoken,¡± Casella mutters.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I admit. ¡°Something doesn¡¯t add up. I¡¯m worried that Saphora had inside help. Is it possible she bribed an [Inquisitor]?¡±

    Casella simply shrugs. ¡°Of course she had inside help. How else would she get out?¡±

    I frown. ¡°I thought you vetted your men? How did she get to them?¡±

    Casella chuckles wryly. ¡°I do. I know them all, which is why I¡¯m able to control the exact information that leaks.¡±

    Realization hits me like a runaway freight cart. Perfect control isn¡¯t realistic, but shaping narratives is easier than I thought. ¡°Ah. I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself over a traitor in our midst, Nuri. I have everything under control,¡± Casella assures me with a grim smile that¡¯s all teeth and no mirth. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get to work.¡±

    I cough into my fist to cover up my embarrassment. ¡°Right. I¡¯ll leave the investigation in your capable hands.¡±

    Now that I don¡¯t have to worry about either a security leak or a hijacker, I switch back to my teammate and best friend to see what¡¯s going on with his moment of epiphany.

    Lionel is sitting cross-legged on a cracked piece of rubble that looks like it used to be part of the floor. It¡¯s canted up at an angle now. Eyes closed, he¡¯s scowling in fierce concentration, locked in on his advancement. Mana howls around him, a maelstrom of power that I¡¯m itching to observe and analyze with my Domain.

    I force myself to focus. We don¡¯t have time for me to get sidetracked right now. I say that way too often. We really need a vacation when this is all over. I¡¯ll float on a river somewhere and indulge my hobbies. It will be fun, I tell myself.

    Instead of studying how the energy of the heavens coalesces around Lionel, trying to tease out secrets not meant for mortal ken, I keep a close watch on how his grade is evolving. Advancing to the next rank is an exciting moment for all of us, but I¡¯ve never had the opportunity to observe it through my Domain. Most of my personal progress came before I received the Skill or happened when I wasn¡¯t well-situated to observe. I wonder if it¡¯s like my Class merger?

    Watching it all unfold is mesmerizing. The exact runes involved are unfamiliar to me, but they¡¯re still bound by the same general rules; the formations contain new patterns of information and exciting details, but nothing that overthrows what we¡¯ve already uncovered. That reinforces for me that there¡¯s a language and intentionality to the laws governing the universe around us.

    I hum to myself while I watch, considering how to quantify Lionel¡¯s growth. He¡¯s still a ways off from reaching the next Threshold, but he¡¯s surging forward within his current division with undeniable momentum, taking the final step to the upper reaches of his rank.

    The actual process is surprisingly simple. Every bit of Lionel, inside and out, is soaked with mana that builds up over time, strengthening his bones and blood, core and channels. His metaphysical self undergoes the same effect of mana-infusion. No, it¡¯s not quite an infusion, I think as I peer closer. It¡¯s more like building scaffolding, or perhaps layering multiple thin sheets of material to create a laminate. Only, the layers are pure mana, not some inferior material that erodes or breaks.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Now that I¡¯m looking at jumping up a division within Silver more closely, I¡¯m struck by the similarities to the way I once reinforced Melina¡¯s grand time dilation Skill, [In the Blink of an Eye]. It¡¯s building a support structure, multiplying the mana channels, and deepening the connections on a conceptual level. If I could approximate the process for a Skill, as difficult as it was, then perhaps I could one day artificially boost my teammates to an entirely new tier. Could we all reach the Second Threshold, stepping into Gold, within a year instead of taking a decade-plus? We definitely embody the dedicated pursuit of mastery required, but time isn¡¯t on our side.

    Lionel¡¯s core expands like a balloon, or a bubble of air in glass when I¡¯m blowing into the end of a blowpipe, strengthening the metaphysical lining as mana sinks into every square inch. It glows with power, obscuring my view of the runes involved. I push closer, bringing the weight of [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil] to bear, and regain sight of what¡¯s happening in his inner world.

    The furious rotation slows, reaching equilibrium. Eventually, the expanded core folds in on itself¡ªnot collapsing, but condensing into a more compact and solid version of its previous existence. The glow of power grows richer, more nuanced. Striations of various colors glimmer in the light.

    As the pearlescent glow fades, something catches my eye. I look beyond, peering into Lionel¡¯s interior world and Viewing his greatest Skill, [Runic Restoration]. While the structure itself doesn¡¯t look any different from before, there are several dozen new connections that I didn¡¯t notice previously, each faintly pulsing with a trickle of mana.

    I¡¯m a bit envious of Lionel¡¯s sudden progress, since I¡¯m anxious to advance, but my overwhelming reaction is satisfaction and joy for my friend. He¡¯s earned it. If I¡¯m right, he¡¯ll find the Skill easier to activate now, not to mention more mana-efficient due to less leakage when initializing the ability. In terms of complexity and grade, the Skill looks to be on par with my [Sanctuary of Glass], which is the highest-ranking and potentially most powerful of my abilities.

    Until now, Lionel hasn¡¯t been able to access even a fraction of his [Restoration] Skill¡¯s power. With this breakthrough into the peak of silver, he might boost the effective output of the Skill forward by twenty or thirty percent.

    ¡°Nuri? Are you seeing this?¡±

    Rakesh¡¯s incredulous voice washes over me, breaking me out of my excited observations. Guilt hits me as I realize I¡¯m not writing down any notes, so I fumble with my notebook and jot down a few key thoughts as I answer Rakesh.

    ¡°Uhh. Nope. What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°After Ozana showed off the way you saved everyone, the [Inquisitors] picked up an increase in chatter about you. Among the various murmurings and speculations of the masses, most of which they summarily discarded, they discovered a notice from acquaintances of yours.¡±

    I blink a few times, trying to translate Rakesh-speak into normal words. ¡°They¡¯re spying on Gilead citizens?¡±

    ¡°Essentially, but it¡¯s more elegant than that,¡± Rakesh replies, sounding a bit peeved. ¡°But that¡¯s not the point! They picked up on a publication that¡¯s making the rounds among the nobility, and it¡¯s only a matter of time before it filters down to everyone else. There¡¯s a message for you. And Nuri? You¡¯re not going to like it.¡±

    =+=

    Back at the Orpheus, my hands clutch a fresh page of expensive vellum plucked from a bulletin board in the Capitol building. How it ended up there without me noticing is perplexing, but it¡¯s a good reminder that I¡¯m not at the top of the power structure. Not yet.

    My fingers dig into my palms as I read the prepared statement written by Shiphrah and Rashad. My heart sinks. They must hate me now.

    I never wanted it to come to this.

    I reread the statement more slowly, searing each hurtful word into my memory.

    <blockquote>

    House Chizoba condemns the malicious accusations against [Lady] Saphora in the strongest possible terms. Our ancient and noble lineage is not so fragile that we must defend ourselves against every misguided miscreant or misconception, but the personal affront brought against us cannot stand. Not only is our family¡¯s good name besmirched, but the vicious attack is akin to emotional vandalism. The heinous charges of sedition and duplicitous, ill-gotten gain levied against [Lady Saphora] demand a response.

    As the joint-heirs and elder members of Chizoba, we, Shiphrah and Rashad, seek to set the record straight regarding our dear niece, the honorable [Lady] Saphora. She has devoted her life to the betterment of not only Gilead, but also of the world at large. For years, she¡¯s made every effort to travel throughout Densmore, dispensing healing to all in need. Her commitment to charity is evident to all who know her at the Menders, where she volunteers her time when she¡¯s home from her missions of mercy.

    Our greatest sorrow in this debacle is our hand in perpetuating the atrocities committed against Gilead. Nuri Shahi, a young man at the center of this storm, sought our aid in restoring his metaphysical system. We offered help immediately and without reserve. How has he repaid our kindness? With hurtful lies, horrific bullying against the sacred order of the Menders, and an invasion that violates the sovereignty of the Gilead city-state. Our kind-hearted treatment, which was given free of charge under most spurious misrepresentation of his situation and intentions, is now a source of bitterness and gall.

    </blockquote>

    I groan as I read the rest of the declaration that demands reparations and includes an impassioned call to action. With a heavy sigh, I set it to the side. What a mess.

    ¡°I want to go back to glass. This is too stressful,¡± I say, hunching my shoulders in misery.

    My choices on the way here have all been in the service of helping my friends. So how did I end up in such a strange circumstance, accused of manipulation and collusion with the bad guys? I really liked the siblings I met.

    Rakesh reads a copy to the team in his finest narrator voice while I continue to wallow. The more I hear, the worse I feel. Guilt doesn¡¯t need to be accurate. Blame still wields a wicked whip even if I¡¯m not truly culpable.

    ¡°They should be ashamed of themselves for defending that monster. She needs to die,¡± Lionel says, his lips thinning in disapproval.

    ¡°Lio! They¡¯re family. They love her. What do you want them to do?¡± Avelina asks. Dismay makes her voice crack.

    He snorts. ¡°What do I want them to do? Ava! It¡¯s obvious. Not defend that witch!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d defend my sister if someone accused her of doing something wrong. I¡¯ll bet they just don¡¯t know the truth,¡± Avelina insists. She crosses her arms and glares at Lionel.

    Still basking in the afterglow of his advancement, Lionel stands tall and doesn¡¯t back down. ¡°How come you¡¯re defending them instead of Nuri? Don¡¯t you want to clear his name? They can¡¯t live in an illusion their entire lives, not when it affects us.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s get back on track. Focus on finding Saphora and bringing her to justice instead of engaging in debate or character assassination,¡± I tell the team, hoping that they¡¯ll leave off squabbling and pay attention to what matters.

    Rakesh clears his throat. ¡°Ah. It¡¯s a bit late for letting bygones be bygones, Nuri. Ozana and I have already petitioned the court of public opinion on your behalf.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not chasing down the culprit. That¡¯s a job for the [Inquisitors]. So she and I fought back in the only way we know how.¡±

    A mounting tension headache rises as I try to decipher his meaning. ¡°What did you do?¡±

    He lifts his hands, eyes wide, and splutters in protest. ¡°All I did was suggest that we let people see the truth for themselves! It was only a passing comment.¡±

    I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. ¡°I can think of a thousand ways that might go wrong. What did Ozana do?¡±

    ¡°She retaliated by releasing recordings from the scrying systems,¡± Rakesh says at last.

    ¡°Of Saphora in action?¡± Melina clarifies.

    Rakesh nods, looking for all the world like a cornered beast. He won¡¯t meet my eyes. ¡°In a manner of speaking. Ozana broadcasted all of Saphora¡¯s meetings with her co-conspirators. She¡¯s likely sending out more examples as we speak. She wants to prove that Saphora was not only one of the main architects of the rebellion, but that she has a nasty streak and is guilty of many other crimes.¡±

    ¡°Truly, a terrifying enemy. Ozana has proved a most useful ally, however,¡± Casella murmurs. He¡¯s been listening in on the conversation, but until now he¡¯s kept his peace.

    ¡°Glad she¡¯s on our side,¡± I agree.

    ¡°Even so. They¡¯ll probably claim it¡¯s a fake. They love their niece,¡± Melina points out.

    An itch in the back of my mind won¡¯t go away as I consider her words. ¡°Huh. Maybe we overlooked the obvious. I¡¯ll bet they love her enough to shelter her.¡±

    Casella springs into action before I can even finish speaking. He calls instructions into one of the birds Rakesh loaned him, calling for his partner to meet him at the Chizoba estates. Apparently, he thinks my suspicions seem to ring with truth.

    Next to me, Mikko gasps and jumps to his feet. ¡°Nuri! Sometimes you¡¯re smarter than you look, bro.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Thanks. I think.¡±

    ¡°No, seriously. We never saw her flee. We only assumed she got out of Gilead because that¡¯s what she was trying to do when we caught her in the Rift below the city. I¡¯ll bet she¡¯s been hiding in plain sight. She¡¯s probably still there, tucked away in her aunt and uncle¡¯s house!¡±

    Lionel grips the hilt of his glass rapier. His words come out low and menacing. ¡°Casella can¡¯t have all the fun himself. Let¡¯s end this miserable chapter.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s leave this to the professionals,¡± Melina says, sliding between Lionel and the door.

    His face twists into a scowl. ¡°So they can throw her back in prison and she can get away with everything? Shatter that! We should have taken her out when we had the chance.¡±

    Melina shakes her head. ¡°Who knows what other tricks she has up her sleeve? I¡¯m not willing to risk losing you to her petty revenge. Not again.¡±

    That seems to take the wind out of Lionel¡¯s sails. He flings himself in a chair. His scowl intensifies, but he puffs out his cheeks before letting the air out in a slow stream. His body goes entirely motionless, except for his right leg, which is bouncing up and down with pent-up energy.

    ¡°Fine. We¡¯ll do it your way. But if she gets away again, I¡¯m hiring an [Assassin] to finish the job once and for all.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll pay for it myself,¡± Melina promises, her voice ice cold.

    To pass the time, I direct one of my remaining scrying golems to tail Casella. It¡¯s tough to keep up with the swift [Inquisitor], whose enchanted equipment propels him through the city at an incredible clip. I couldn¡¯t keep up with his top speed even with my magic empowering me. In a few short minutes, he arrives at the familiar gardens where I merged my Class.

    Mbukhe is already there, flanked by a squad of [Inquisitors]. They confer in low tones for a moment, but I can¡¯t pick up their discussion through my golems. Something to improve for the future, I tell myself.

    Wards around the manor house fuzz the scrying transmission, and I¡¯m forced to drop the connection while our colleagues are inside. It¡¯s nerve-wracking, not knowing what¡¯s happening, but I have to remind myself that Casella and Mbukhe are consummate professionals. If Saphora is there, they¡¯ll flush her out.

    Time crawls by, agonizingly slow now that we can¡¯t see or hear anything. Lionel¡¯s antsy leg is infectious, and most of us are similarly bouncing up and down in our seats or drumming our fingers on the armrests of our chairs.

    ¡°Wait. I¡¯m receiving a report.¡±

    Rakesh¡¯s words ignite an explosion of exclamations and excitement as we all leap up out of our seats and start talking at once. He waves frantically for silence as he listens. His brows knit together in concentration. He switches away to another paired bird, calling in another team of [Inquisitors], his voice terse.

    ¡°Well?¡± Lionel demands, his hands splayed wide. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Rakesh? Is she there or not?¡±

    ¡°Negative,¡± he snaps.

    Lionel growls in frustration and steps forward, reaching for the paper birds, but Mikko intercepts him and pins his arms at his side.

    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt. Something¡¯s up.¡±

    Lionel squirms, then huffs and smacks his forehead ineffectually into Mikko¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Traitor,¡± he mutters, his voice muffled by Mikko¡¯s shirt.

    ¡°House Chizoba is empty, but another team of [Inquisitors] picked up on movement just as Casella arrived,¡± Rakesh reports. His fingers are flying, writing notes in his book as he shifts his birds around and compares details.

    ¡°No doubt she was there. Tracking Skills engaged. They¡¯re scouring the city for clues.¡±

    I pump my fists in the air. If anyone can find out where that hag disappeared to, it will be our stalwart allies. They¡¯re like bloodhounds, except they know how to sniff out the truth instead of prey. With the veteran duo on the case, we can breathe more easily.

    ¡°Lio! Good news,¡± Rakesh shouts suddenly. ¡°A second team just called in. They caught sight of her. Escape vector confirmed.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡± Lionel and I demand at the same time. My heart is thudding in my chest, and suddenly the air in the room feels too hot, making my skin prickle.

    ¡°Sailing out of the bay,¡± Rakesh replies, and his voice trembles as he delivers the bad news. ¡°They¡¯ve got eyes on her now. They missed her. Fast sloop, heading out into open water. Ach! Looks like a [Wind Mage] on board is filling the sails with a [Howling Gale]. I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll catch her. Not without a boat that can match her speed.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s it, then. She¡¯s gone,¡± Lionel whispers. He twists free of Mikko¡¯s grip. Shoulders slumped, lips trembling, glassy-eyed and panicking.

    Not on my watch.

    I clench my fists. ¡°Lionel! Snap out of it. We¡¯ve got our own boat, remember? Make for the harbor. Now! I¡¯ve got a plan.¡±

 Book Six Chapter Thirty-Three

    ¡°Nuri! This is foolishness,¡± Casella rumbles from the edge of the dock where our team is preparing to sail away. Heaving from his run across the city, he takes a moment to catch his breath. In the meantime, he levels a stern look at me, his arms crossed and his voice so low and intimidating that my chest vibrates with the force of his displeasure.

    ¡°I know! But we gotta stick together,¡± I say as I fumble about with the mooring line, trying to untie my glass boat from the docks so we can set off in pursuit of Saphora. ¡°I¡¯ll never forgive myself if she gets away. Never.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t catch her. None of you are hydromancers. Neither do you command the wind.¡±

    My friend¡¯s objections crash over me with cold logic. For a brief moment, I freeze under the assault of his superior reasoning. Hot anger rises up a moment later, obliterating any chance of giving up. I call on sharpness, severing the messy knot that¡¯s defying my attempts to leave the harbor with all haste, and shove the boat away from the burly [Inquisitor].

    He doesn¡¯t say another word. No spectral chains manifest to bind us in place. There¡¯s not even a hint of mana from him; inwardly, he¡¯s as calm as a lake on a still summer day. Outwardly, the wind whips his beard around, but the man himself stands as unmoving as a rock. When I lift my gaze and meet his dark eyes, no recrimination shines forth, only resignation. And sorrow. He thinks we might fail. Or worse. Yet he does not bar our way.

    I hope we don¡¯t let him down.

    Mikko works the oars, sending us skimming away from the dock, while Melina envelops us in a bubble of compressed time at my direction. I set out a flight of mana draughts, telling her to keep up the Skill as long as she can with the extra mana, and brace as we cut through the waves faster than should be possible since Mikko is pulling on the oars dozens of times a second compared with the flow of time in the outside world. This is the power of a golden Skill, refined twice over.

    Ten minutes later, Gilead has long since disappeared over the blue curve of the world. We¡¯re approaching the storm barrier that staves off the worst of the rainy season, keeping Gilead in perpetual balmy weather. I signal Melina to cut her Skill.

    She raises an eyebrow, confusion evident in her expression, but follows my command. Even so, she clutches the edges of the boat, her knuckles white with tension, though she doesn¡¯t seem ready to give up. ¡°Already? I have more mana. We¡¯ll fall behind if I stop.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all right. You need a break,¡± Avelina says, patting her sister on the arm.

    Melina shakes her head stubbornly. She¡¯s panting lightly, but puts on a brave face. ¡°We¡¯ll lose her if I don¡¯t push my Skill.¡±

    Avelina tuts. ¡°Don¡¯t risk straining your channels just so we catch up a little earlier. We¡¯ll get her. As soon as she¡¯s in range, I¡¯ll call down an inferno. Just watch.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± I interrupt gently, smiling at Avelina¡¯s care for her twin.

    Now both Linas look confused.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if we¡¯re on the right track,¡± I explain. ¡°I need to track her down, and I forgot about my best weapon for that¡ªmy Falcon.¡±

    Rakesh tilts his head, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. ¡°I thought she¡¯d found a way to hide from it?¡±

    ¡°She did,¡± I admit. ¡°But I don¡¯t think it¡¯s permanent. Remember how our scrying attempts fizzled out when they came into contact with the House Chizoba wards? I¡¯ll bet they interfered with Falcon¡¯s ability to lock onto her. Now that she¡¯s out in the open¡ª¡±

    ¡°We can find her again!¡± Rakesh finishes for me, turning to flash a brilliant grin as he connects the dots and in seconds leaps to the same conclusion I arrived at after chewing on the problem for an hour.

    I nod, a grim smile on my own face. ¡°Exactly. But I have a hard time communicating with Falcon when we¡¯re in the time bubble. Something about the spatial distortion messes with our connection.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating. But when¡¯re we gonna get going again?¡± Mikko asks. He scratches his head, not even winded from hauling so hard on the oars. ¡°Do you have a lock on her yet?¡±

    Concentrating on the sharp-edged glass bird, I quest along the mana connection and check in on the progress. A vague impression of outrage and disdain¡ªFalcon¡¯s usual response to Saphora¡ªtravels back along the ethereal bond between us. I close my eyes, blocking out the kaleidoscope of light reflections on the sea, and instead rely on the bundle of meaning passed along to my inner world to guide my sense of direction.

    ¡°Turn thirty-five degrees starboard!¡±

    Water churns around us as Mikko twists each oar in the opposite directions, reorienting us along a new trajectory. Time dilation engulfs us once more just as he heaves, sending us skimming through the water so quickly that the glimmer of sunlight on the water turns into long streaks of gold and white, like pulled glass cane, stretching far into the distance.

    ¡°Breathtaking,¡± I murmur, even as I recognize it¡¯s not the right time to get caught up in observing the beauty around us. We¡¯re sailing forth to war.

    As we go, I pulse outward periodically with my [Arcane Domain], keeping close track of everything on the water¡ªand beneath the waves. While we¡¯re hunters seeking a target, I¡¯m also wary of becoming prey to a greater monster. Denizens of the deep could swallow us whole if I¡¯m not prepared to fend them off with a spiritual bludgeon: the authority of my Domain made manifest.

    After seeing the matriarch sea serpent destroy half the city of Natan, I¡¯ve gained newfound respect for the dangers we face in open waters. At least on land, we could outmaneuver the slow-moving Oletheros, despite its overwhelming power. Here? We¡¯re a tempting, mana-rich target that can only move quickly in a straight line. Changing directions is laborious and slow out on the water, our time cheat notwithstanding. I¡¯m not willing to bet my team¡¯s survival on our speed. We need advance warning if we¡¯re going to fend off predators.

    ¡°Why the long face, Nuri?¡±

    Melina nudges me with her knee, startling me out of my reverie. I¡¯m so focused on the surrounding world that I¡¯ve lost track of what¡¯s right next to me, but her question refocuses me on the present.

    ¡°Keeping watch,¡± I say. ¡°We¡¯re hurtling into the unknown, without backup. What kind of leader would I be if I didn¡¯t worry?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good, as long as you remain poised. Right now you look like you¡¯ve been buried alive. The others might worry; it¡¯s your job to take their fears on your shoulders, not to multiply them,¡± Melina murmurs.

    Mulling over her words leads me to nod slowly. I split my attention. My mind still tracks the deeps, but I make the effort to smile at the team, clap Mikko on the shoulder, and praise him for his tireless rowing. She¡¯s right. I have to keep everyone¡¯s spirits up.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s not fair.¡±

    Melina¡¯s admission startles me. That¡¯s two times in as many minutes. When I arch my right eyebrow and tilt my head, looking at her for answers, she simply sighs.

    ¡°Nuri, hear me. We might be heading to our deaths. No time for second-guessing, no time for regrets. We ask a lot of you, but only because you can take it. We trust you. Got it?¡±

    ¡°Appreciate it, Mel,¡± I whisper.

    She swallows hard. ¡°We¡¯re prepared to do whatever it takes to see this through.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m worried about,¡± I say. A genuine smile tugs at my lips. My vision narrows a touch as my eyes crinkle. ¡°What¡¯s the point of gaining all this power if we can¡¯t look out for each other? We¡¯re going to end that witch. And we¡¯re all gonna make it home.¡±

    Just as Melina starts to answer, I lift a hand, cutting her off. Alarms blare in my head.

    An alien presence brushes against the far edges of my Domain, deep underwater. My entire body stiffens in fear. Reaching out with my presence, I take in the full scope of the beast beneath us. Snake-like, with protruding dorsal fins, the creature is four or five times as long as our boat. It keeps pace easily, stalking us despite our warped time.

    My fingers shake involuntarily when I push through its natural resistance and perform a Viewing, confirming that the huge beast is a half-step into gold already. I clench both hands into fists and force the fear back down into its deep, dark cave to stop the trembling.

    Marshaling my courage, I prepare to strike. Monsters won¡¯t stop me. Not today. If I drive through its eyes with a pulse of sharpness-infused mana, maybe I can scare it off. Failing that, I¡¯ll drop one of the several spare golems I brought with me and attempt to use it as a locus point for my Skills with the distributed casting I¡¯ve just started practicing.

    Lost in thought, tracking the monster through my [Arcane Domain] as I come up with a plan, I¡¯m too slow to draw first blood.

    A massive whump passes through my ribcage, rattling my bones and making my heart palpitate. I lurch sideways and nearly fall out of the boat, held in place only by Mikko¡¯s quick thinking and strong arms. Ears ringing from the aftermath of the shockwave, I rely on my other senses, questing out further with my Domain to figure out what in the abyss just happened.

    Blood floats in the water, an inky haze in my spiritual sight, surrounded by fine chunks of gore that used to be a team-killing threat. Whatever struck the sea monster didn¡¯t hold back. An attack like that could have leveled the entire Silaron Glass Works.

    New terror seizes me. If it¡¯s another beast, then we¡¯re dead. If it¡¯s a new faction joining the party, then an even worse fate might await us. Mastering my dread, I push my Domain out further than before, seeing answers.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    A presence emerges from below us, sleek and menacing. It¡¯s not swimming, not in the traditional sense, but it cuts through the currents all the same. Cold and unyielding against my extended senses, it knifes toward us on an intercept course.

    ¡°Drop the time bubble,¡± I bark.

    ¡°Orders?¡± Avelina asks, summoning fire.

    ¡°Stand down!¡± I shout in relief, finally recognizing the dark shape. I heave a sigh of profound relief

    Frothing water turns to foam off our port side, sending out choppy waves that rock our transparent boat. The churn intensifies, like a [Witch]¡¯s cauldron brought to a roaring boil, and a patrolling watercraft emerges from underneath the waves, looming above us in gleaming metal and layers of reinforced mana.

    ¡°Yathawn to the rescue!¡± Melina cheers.

    Right on cue, a circle appears on the side of the undersea boat. Spraying aquamarine droplets of water that catch the light and shimmer with a refracted rainbow, the circular silver hatch protrudes out from the boat, unseals with a hiss of released air, and reveals a familiar face of a familiar [Outrider].

    Vedarian bares his serrated teeth. ¡°I¡¯d claim surprise at meeting you again, O friends of Natan, but I should have known you were involved in another incident with a monster. Always getting yourselves in trouble!¡±

    ¡°I see that your little ¡®personal transportation¡¯ vessel carries powerful armaments,¡± I say with a shake of my head. Just how much has Vedarian hidden from us?

    ¡°Fortunate for you,¡± he chuckles.

    ¡°What are you doing so far from the city, anyway?¡± Rakesh asks, shifting in his seat and placing a hand on his notebook. His eyes are hooded, flickering back and forth while he regards the far-ranging Yathawn. In his soul space, the maze-like, peak silver structure of his newest Skill [Fractured Plans, Fallen Enemies] glints as it winks to life.

    I guess we¡¯re all a little more guarded after our time on the road. Gilead¡¯s been a proper nest of vipers, so I don¡¯t blame Rakesh for his skepticism, not when I¡¯m gathering my Domain in preparation for a multi-pronged attack of my own.

    ¡°Rescuing you,¡± Vedarian deadpans.

    ¡°Patrolling this close to Gilead? Dire straits must have forced you away from your usual hunting grounds. You have my sympathies,¡± Melina replies. Only years of familiarity with Melina lets me pick up on her reservation. Have we all become jaded?

    ¡°Everything all right back home?¡± Lionel asks. His is the only voice that sounds gentle, without any hint of ulterior motive or veiled antagonism.

    ¡°Times are tough. We¡¯re holding on despite it all.¡± [Outrider] Vedarian pauses, his fingers fluttering with the Yathawn¡¯s characteristically strange expression of humor. ¡°Alas, now we¡¯ll have to do without one of our most powerful weapons, since I spent it in defense of my wonderful friends. What can you do to help us make this right?¡±

    ¡°Could be worse. Your entire city could be engulfed in a flood while you¡¯re forced to flee and abandon your young,¡± I point out.

    ¡°Ah. Awkward banter. Good for keeping spirits high,¡± Vedarian replies, baring his sharp teeth again. Nothing seems to faze him in the least.

    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Avelina blurts out. She narrows her eyes, her hand lifted up, flames gathering in an orange-white ball above her palm.

    ¡°Truth be told, we¡¯ve been following you,¡± [Outrider] Vedarian replies easily. He hisses in amusement at the flinches from my friends, but continues on without a care in the world. His lack of fear reassures me, oddly enough.

    ¡°In good faith, I hope,¡± Rakesh says.

    Vedarian nods emphatically. ¡°We employ a few smugglers who trade with Gilead for the more difficult to obtain goods. We¡¯ve heard the news of how Nuri has stirred up trouble. It seems he is a harbinger of floods, no? Friendship with you is hazardous!¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Trouble follows in my wake. That¡¯s hardly my fault.¡±

    The flat, dubious stares from my teammates is a knife to the back. ¡°Oh, come on! It¡¯s not that bad.¡±

    ¡°Protest not, glassmaker of miracles. I admire your bold dance across the currents of fate,¡± Vedarian says. He chuckles again at my discomfort, a twinkle in his slitted eyes. ¡°The fact remains that we have followed your rumors with great interest. The Matriarch even purchased a scrying mirror. You¡¯ve grown powerful.¡±

    I scratch my chin through my beard. ¡°Not powerful enough, apparently. I didn¡¯t sense you when we left the harbor, only as you approached the deceased silver beast.¡±

    ¡°That you could track me at all means you¡¯re stronger than I anticipated,¡± Vedarian says. For the first time in our conversation, he eyes me more warily, as though he forgot that I raised a [Sanctuary] and saved his entire city. Maybe he thought that my power only came from the core of the Oletheros.

    He shrugs. ¡°Good. That¡¯s better for all of us. My Matriarch sent me to keep a close eye on you, should you ever need the might of the deep. I¡¯ve been waiting for you to return to the waters. We are fated, after all.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re playing a dangerous game, hanging out so close to Gilead,¡± Mikko says. ¡°The Army is still putting down insurrectionists.¡±

    ¡°Danger is all around me, friend! Naturally, I¡¯ve not docked in the harbor. Even I dare not trespass past the weather barrier. Gilead¡¯s guardians get, hm, twitchy at intruders.¡±

    ¡°What does your Matriarch want? Why all the prevaricating?¡± Rakesh demands. He sits up tall in our shallow boat, imperious even though Vedarian is seated above him since the larger watercraft is bobbing on the waves nearby, looming over our position.

    ¡°To the point. Schemer, scholar, contract-maker! Very well. I shall indulge your curiosity. Now that you¡¯re well known in the city, we have come to entreat you to bargain on our behalf. We¡¯ve suffered under the weight of trade embargoes for far too long. We need access to the city once more. My people need the lifeblood of trade, or we will wither and die.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°You really think we can arrange that for you? I¡¯m hardly a [Lord] of the land.¡±

    ¡°I have it on good authority that you can,¡± Vedarian says. This time, the steel in his voice leaves no doubt that he will not stop until our bargain is struck.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can. But what will you do in exchange? Killing a weak water monster is hardly the equivalent of changing the fortunes of an entire people¡ªfor the second time, I might add.¡±

    ¡°The sloop cutting across the face of the waters too quickly for you to catch it. I offer it to you as a show of good faith,¡± the shrewd hunter declares.

    Lionel leans closer. His hand digs into my biceps as he squeezes tight and growls in my ear. ¡°Nuri! Do whatever it takes. She can¡¯t get away. Not again.¡±

    Rakesh chews on the inside of his cheek, appearing lost in thought. ¡°You¡¯re overestimating the pull we have with the powers that be. I¡¯ll do what I can, but no guarantees.¡±

    ¡°Ozana will probably help,¡± I say, speaking slowly. ¡°I can¡¯t promise what the rest of the city will do, but I believe I can speak for her. She runs the largest auction house in Gilead.¡±

    Rakesh pulls out another of his paper birds. He whispers a few terse words, no doubt calling the mistress of the Orpheus as we speak, and gives us a curt nod. ¡°She¡¯s in.¡±

    Once more Vedarian¡¯s teeth show in a terrifying grin. ¡°I suppose that will suffice. For now. Here. Take this and hang on tight; I¡¯ll tow you to your quarry.¡±

    Deal done, he glides across the surface of his craft and attaches a thick hawser to a tow hitch on the back of the boat. He tosses us the other end, and Mikko soon secures it, looping it through the holes I made for the oars.

    ¡°Ava? Reinforce the boat. Just in case,¡± I suggest, concerned that my glass isn¡¯t strong enough in its current form to hold up.

    Not a moment too soon. [Strong as Stone] go into effect just in time. The Yathawn vessel lurches forward, driving us back in our seats, and I rub my suddenly-sore neck as we skim across the inland sea far faster than before.

    Tears trace along my cheeks from the force of the wind. I squeeze my eyes shut, lest the rushing wind dry them out completely, and hunker down on the seat, glad I can hold tight with both hands. At this rate, we might actually catch Saphora now.

    Comparing the pace of the enchanted watercraft to Mikko¡¯s manful rowing shocks me. I was sure that with Melina¡¯s time-dilation, we could outrun most boats at sea, but I was dead wrong. We¡¯re flying far faster than I can run, even mana-empowered, and our little glass boat slams into each wave hard enough to make my teeth rattle. It¡¯s a good thing we¡¯ve all reached the First Threshold, or else I¡¯d worry about the risk of injury. Every so often, we launch off a wave and fly for real, soaring through empty air and crashing back into the water several long heartbeats later.

    I peek at the enchantments, curious which runic arrays lend such swift wings to their manasteel vessel. Strange scripts greet me, all swooping sigils and curlicues. None of them are intelligible, despite my crash-course in the runic language over the last year.

    My breath catches in my throat. My pulse quickens as the second shock of the last few minutes poleaxes me. Is this an entirely new system of inscriptions? A new way of partnering with magic to direct it to do our bidding? How the Yathawn wrought such an advanced propulsion system is beyond me, but I¡¯m determined to unearth their secrets in time. Perhaps the trade arrangement will prove more profitable than I dreamed, assuming I can get my hands on their enchantments.

    Despite our overwhelming speed, a full hour flies by before a small dot appears ahead of us. It¡¯s dark and low on the horizon, barely a smudge at first. I cycle mana into my eyes, falling back on old tricks to see better, and realize with faint amusement that I¡¯m essentially creating miniature lenses in front of my eyes with mana. Of course. That makes sense. I can¡¯t break the rules of optics; better eyes will only help me see clearly, but won¡¯t enlarge a far-off detail.

    While I¡¯m musing over the nature of body-enhancements and the intersection of magic and natural laws, Saphora¡¯s lead shrinks. Soon, I can resolve the masts and rigging. Individual ropes and colors come into sharp focus. Then, abruptly, the dark silhouettes of indefinite shapes scurrying across the small deck turn into people, with identifiable colors and outfits.

    Another few minutes, and we¡¯re in range of my [Arcane Domain], which expands outward to engulf their ship. Each person¡¯s mana gleams in my metaphysical senses, from dull orange to brilliant shades of argent, depending on the person¡¯s advancement. A symphony of Skills activate as they notice us, and with my Domain pushed to the maximum, the mana shines in my sight like the plucked strings of a harp in the hands of a maestro, each string resonating with a different frequency of power and beauty.

    Tearing myself away from the artistry, I remind myself sternly that yonder lies the enemy. Saphora is our foe thrice over; she dies today. I hone in on the [Wind Mage], easily picking out the bonfire of potent mana around her soul. Straining, I push power through the connection, slamming down on her with the full power of my unleashed Domain, severing her concentration and disrupting her Skill.

    Where she falters, Vedarian thrives. He re-emerges from the portal that he¡¯d closed over his head, standing tall and whooping like a banshee. Savage joy pours off him as he thrills to the hunt, poised to kill as soon as we¡¯re in range.

    There¡¯s a purity to his violence, a simplicity and straightforwardness that I admire. I¡¯m too caught up in dilemmas of morality and niggling questions of whether mercy might lead to future redemption. Our Yathawn friend cares little for such trivialities, which makes him the perfect executioner.

    Power gathers in his soul, bridging between him and the torpedoes his vessel carries. With a snap that leaves my ears ringing, the projectile launches, carrying its deadly payload straight toward the sloop.

    A split-second before impact, a new presence manifests. If the [Wind Mage] is a bonfire, he¡¯s an inferno, a forest-fire, a volcanic eruption¡ªno, the sun itself, blinding in intensity, burning white-hot.

    Burning, burning, burning!

    Screaming, I release my Domain and fall back into the boat, vaguely aware of Mikko and Lionel¡¯s arms grabbing me and holding me up as fear overpowers me.

    I grit my teeth, shaking my head and snarling in pain. Little by little, the disorientation falls away. I lift my eyes, hoping against hope to see nothing but smoking wreckage where the boat was moments earlier, but it¡¯s completely unharmed. The strange [Mage] who teleported in front of the sloop is holding an inert weapon in his hands, looking more entertained by the attempted destruction than truly threatened.

    He flings it downward, into the waters, with a disdainful flick of his wrist. Once it¡¯s far beneath the waves, it explodes, but the shockwave only rocks the boat instead of destroying our target. He smiles, and with a single step crosses hundreds of feet to appear next to me.

    Every bone in my body seems to turn to liquid. I collapse back into the boat again, and this time no one is able to catch me. We¡¯re all flattened by the force of the figure in front of us. Horror creeps along my spine, taking residence at the base of my skull, as I recognize the old monster.

    [Viceroy] Tapirs smiles at me, but it¡¯s a hollow, predatory thing. ¡°Hello, Nuri. It¡¯s high time we talk.¡±

 Book Six Chapter Thirty-Four

    The [Viceroy]¡¯s abrupt appearance sends me into a spiral of uncertainty. My jaw clenches and my eyes narrow. My heart palpitates as though a band of iron squeezes me tight. I clutch the edge of my little self made glass boat for support. I¡¯m lost in overwhelming currents, trying and utterly failing to swim through the miasma of weakness and confusion swirling internally.

    I¡¯m a fool for taking on this foe.

    I¡¯m outmatched. Overwhelmed.

    Worst of all, I¡¯ve led my team right into the jaws of the lion.

    Adrift in the angry, dark-gray storm clouds that are gathering within my mind and hurling bolts of accusation, I cast about for a path forward in the chaos. An anchor in the storm.

    My brother. My friends. Their faces flicker through my mind, reminding me that I¡¯m fighting for more than my own survival or for the glory of the empire. I grit my teeth, growling as my hot anger at the [Viceroy]¡¯s far-reaching meddling clashes against his forcible suppression. My desire to protect my team cuts through the fog of fear, and all at once I recover my courage. Memories of the self-defense training Mbukhe drilled into my head appears in a flash.

    Compressing my awareness until it barely covers my boat, but still provides a buffer between us and the hovering form of [Viceroy] Tapirs, I reinforce my Domain with as much mana as I can possibly spare. Rather than conceptualizing my Domain as its usual sphere, I reimagine it as a geodesic dome in multiple layers, and call on my [Sanctuary] to lend aid. I¡¯ve never used my Skill quite like this before, but borrowing on the underlying runic concepts works surprisingly well, much like using axiomatic truths for imbuing techniques.

    Hints of a powerful epiphany glimmer at the eyes of my consciousness, but I shove them away. Survive first. Delve into the mysteries of the universe later.

    Instantly, the stifling pressure crashing against me becomes more bearable. Breathing is no longer a tribulation. The [Viceroy]¡¯s power no longer sweeps me away. His massive domain pushes and grinds against the outer layers of my own [Arcane Domain], constricting it like a boa with its prey, but I draw on unbreakable and refuse to shatter under the weight of his assault.

    Swiftly redirecting the concepts at play, I angle the plates of arcane force that comprise my Sanctuary-infused Domain, taking advantage of my increased control with the condensed range of my influence. With a thin, arrogant smile, he bears down on me, pressing the pieces tighter and tighter until they interlink and become a small but impenetrable fortress, like the shell of a monstrous, mana-empowered tortoise.

    ¡°Vedarian! Get us out of here!¡±

    Rakesh¡¯s strangled voice calls out to our Yathawn friend. Our [Researcher] gasps out the words as his breathing returns thanks to the aegis of my Domain.

    If I struggled this hard to simply think, then the rest of them are lucky not to have passed out on the spot. They don¡¯t have the benefits of their own Domains to push back.

    ¡°This fight is your own,¡± Vedarian replies, an unexpected bite to his words. He unhooks the hawser from his underwater craft and gives us a hard look as his vessel maneuvers away from us. ¡°Farewell, surface dwellers. Natan will not forget your [Sanctuary], but my part here is done. I wish¡ªI wish things had ended differently.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re dismissed, creature,¡± the [Viceroy] says, making a flicking motion with his fingers toward the Yathawn, who¡¯s already navigating away. ¡°Tell your Matriarch I will visit again soon.¡±

    ¡°I knew it! Showing up just when we needed him was too good to be true,¡± Mikko growls. His simmering anger is visible in my Domain like a pot boiling over.

    Lionel hunches down in the stern of the boat. ¡°Betrayal all around. Nowhere safe. Water everywhere. No help. No witnesses. Of course.¡±

    Reeling from Vedarian¡¯s about face, it takes me a moment to realize that the [Viceroy] is placidly hovering in front of us and not attacking. For all my fears of his antagonism, he seems content to let the drama play out. Perhaps he¡¯s simply secure in his position. We aren¡¯t much of a threat to him, not when we¡¯re so far from our allies. We¡¯re at his mercy.

    Vulnerable. Alone. Outmatched.

    Lionel¡¯s feverish muttering mirrors my own thoughts. I glance around wildly, searching for a lifeline, but nothing manifests. His stability concerns me, but we have to make it through this encounter if we want to help each other. Worrying about my friends will seem like a luxury if we get out of here alive.

    ¡°Marvelous. You¡¯ve grown, young man! Resisting me is unheard of these days. And you aren¡¯t even Gold yet! How far you¡¯ve come since you sat at my table and shivered in terror.¡±

    ¡°Nuri, you know this old guy?¡± Mikko asks in an incredulous tone, his anger melding into confusion¡ªthreaded through with terrible suspicion.

    I nod reluctantly. ¡°We met at the capital. Everyone, this is [Viceroy] Tapirs, head of the [Mages] guild. He¡¯s the real power behind the throne.¡±

    ¡°So young, so cynical!¡± Tapirs chuckles.

    I cross my arms. ¡°I prefer perceptive.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you are, it¡¯s clearly working for you. Your core is restored, and you even have a new hand. I worried that my investment in you was overly optimistic, but you¡¯ve proven quite useful over the last year. I¡¯m glad we let you live after all.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he talking about?¡± Melina whispers. Spattered by sea spray, her wet hair clings in a limp, pale pattern across her brow. She¡¯s trembling under the suppression of the [Viceroy]¡¯s Domain, but her eyes are still blazing with defiance.

    I swallow hard, considering how to respond. I don¡¯t want to let slip anything that our adversary can use as leverage against us. Yet his easy confidence gives the lie to my hope of fighting back. Realistically, we¡¯re so far overmatched that it doesn¡¯t matter what I do or say. He can crush us like bugs any time he wants.

    ¡°I think he pulled some strings to get me out. He also showed me how things really work. Where power comes from. How much reach he has across the country. Why my parents died to the plague.¡± That last part slips out almost unbidden, my voice choking up at the admission.

    [Viceroy] Tapirs tuts in disapproval. He brushes off his robe. ¡°Yet you still associate with Tem¡¯s friends. You¡¯ve benefited from their quiet rebellion. ¡®The Light dawns in darkness¡¯ and all that garbage.¡±

    My teammate¡¯s gazes weigh on me, almost physical with the weight of their disapproval and anger. I feel the unspoken questions, like a great iron yoke around my neck, and drop down to one knee as I struggle to fend off Tapirs¡¯ Domain alongside all the accusations. Everything is against me. My friends are disgusted by my actions. My own mind condemns me.

    My shoulders droop as the truth hits me. I dragged them into this. I pushed and prodded, playing with powers I should have left alone, and now they¡¯re going to pay the price. They must hate me for it.

    ¡°Hey! Don¡¯t listen to that jerk,¡± Rakesh shouts. He grabs my arm, digging in his fingers roughly, and shakes me.

    Clarity cuts through the clouds of confusion. I blink owlishly, examining myself again, and notice a tendril stretching between me and Tapirs.

    Manipulative creep!

    I take a breath and shove away his influence. Of course my friends don¡¯t hate me. They¡¯re not stupid or blind. They knew what we were getting into, and they came along willingly. How dare I demean their choices?

    Gripping Rakesh¡¯s arm for support, I smile at my stalwart friend in gratitude for waking me back up. I call on [Legacy of the Scalpel], severing the mental sway the [Viceroy] holds over me. The web of his influence is subtle, but now that I know what to look for, the sticky strands binding me to him are unmistakable. All this time I thought he wasn¡¯t attacking, but it turns out that I wasn¡¯t even aware of the true battleground. He¡¯s been toying with me all along, subverting my mind and letting me think I¡¯m putting up a good showing because he hasn¡¯t squashed me yet with his Domain.

    Way to play the fool, Nuri.

    More and more mental strands reach out for me. Filaments of pure magic, yet I didn¡¯t perceive them at first. They slipped right past my own mana senses. They¡¯re beautiful in a way, shimmering with potency. A vast, intricate web. The longer I look at their spirals and shapes, the more I¡¯m drawn in, seduced by the promise of¡ª

    I wield sharpness and slice apart the remaining strands. This time, I get them all, and the difference is stark. My thoughts crystalize with startling swiftness, and I push outward with my Domain as I make my first offensive move, throwing Tapirs back in a blast of power.

    He drifts a few dozen feet backward before exerting his own magic and halting in the sky. A patronizing smile stretches across his arrogant face. ¡°Reliable team. Misplaced anger. Have the youth always been so quick to determine they know more than their elders? You don¡¯t see the full picture, Nuri. You¡¯re like a child lashing out because his mother took away a toy too dangerous for him. You¡¯ll learn in time. Once you work for me, you¡¯ll witness firsthand how much better I treat my subordinates than that graceless, rampaging bull Xharrote does.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    I roll my eyes. His poisoned barbs no longer bother me. My emotions are stabilizing now that I know where to look for his treacherous touch on my heart and mind. ¡°Not gonna happen. Now hand over Saphora before things get ugly.¡±

    ¡°This is what I like about you, Nuri,¡± Tapirs replies calmly, utterly unperturbed by the fire blooming above Avelina¡¯s head and the massive glass hammer weaving circles in the air as Mikko twirls it in his powerful hands. ¡°Staring down monsters, conquering Rifts, standing up to the most powerful [Mage] in the land¡ªmost people would call that foolishness, but I salute you for your grit.¡±

    Nudging my mental connection to Falcon, I call the glass bird down from the skies. Silent as a shadow, it plunges from the heavens and strikes Tapirs with talons of glass honed to razor sharpness. Blood blossoms along his left shoulder, staining his robes.

    ¡°Shatter it all!¡± I swear, clenching my fists. Falcon flew true, but the [Viceroy] twitched at the last second, avoiding the fatal blow that would have laid open his throat from collarbone to collarbone.

    ¡°Ah. We seem to have moved on to the next stage of your pointless little struggle,¡± Tapirs says blandly. He waves his hand over the robe and it stitches itself back together as quick as a blink. The rust-red stain of spreading blood is gone, and he shows no sign of any pain. Did I even cut him? Or was it all in my mind?

    The [Viceroy] snags my flying golem with his Domain, reeling it in like a [Fisherman] with his latest catch. He pats the once-proud bird on its head, then makes a slashing motion with his hand, severing our connection. ¡°Pretty pet. Coco will love it.¡±

    White-hot fury explodes within me. Snarling, I launch blades of sharpness at him from afar, hoping to dice him apart. I¡¯m pouring mana into the attack at an incredible rate; even with my massive Capacity, a distant voice whispers a warning that I¡¯m burning through my reserves too quickly to sustain the output for an entire fight.

    The compressed mana dissipates harmlessly before it even reaches Tapirs. His Domain is simply more advanced than mine, brimming with potent mana. Brushing aside my attacks is as easy as breathing for the wily old [Death Mage].

    Wait, what? Alarm bells clang in my head. Isn¡¯t he a [Viceroy]? What is this about death? I knew he was the head of the [Mage] guild. He¡¯s almost certainly folded [Mage] into his ruling Class. But. What? Since when? How did Tapirs hide¡ª?

    Dread threatens to overwhelm me at the revelation. Now that we¡¯ve clashed directly, Domain against Domain, I have a clear line of sight toward his soul. I catch a glimpse past his passive shielding and see the truth: [Viceroy] is a much newer Class, still only high Silver. His true Class is far more terrifying, eclipsing gold and glowing with the power of mid platinum. That, combined with his grade, which must be even higher than I realized since it¡¯s still obfuscated, warns me that there¡¯s no winning this battle.

    Everything clicks into place for me. His connection to Saphora. Her ability to inflict rot from the inside out, despite dual [Healer] and [Lady] Classes that don¡¯t have anything to do with necrosis. Suddenly, his iron-fisted rule over Densmore makes sense as well. Of course a mere [King] can¡¯t fight back against someone who can drain away all his vitality with a snap of his fingers. That also explains Tapirs¡¯ excellent health despite his incredibly advanced age, and why an entire people group like the Yathawn, full of fierce fighters, are cowed into service. How can they fight death itself?

    Tem! Fear for my friend flashes through my mind. Is he even alive? Last I heard, he was imprisoned by Tapirs, but what¡¯s to stop the [Death Mage] from consuming the life from him and leaving his withered husk to rot?

    With a deep breath, I master my fear. I turn to my team, keeping one eye on the bored, arrogant, ancient visage of the [Death Mage]. ¡°Leave me. Get back to Gilead if you can. This fight is beyond you. I¡¯ll hold him off for as long as I can.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance,¡± Mikko bellows, tightening his grip on his hammer until the glass creaks ominously. ¡°We¡¯re in this together. To the end.¡±

    Next to him, Melina is quivering, her eyes wide. ¡°Mikko, he¡¯s right. Trust me when I say I¡¯ve never sensed mana like his before. We have to get out of here.¡±

    Lionel draws his glass rapier. He¡¯s rarely had occasion to use it since we crafted it last year in Silaraon, but it fits perfectly in his hand. Like he was meant to wield it; he¡¯s a [Healer] by choice, but he¡¯s an adventurer at heart. His former fear is gone, now that I¡¯m properly shielding the team from Tapirs¡¯s pressure. ¡°I didn¡¯t come all this way just to turn around. Saphora will pay for her crimes.¡±

    ¡°Troublesome pests,¡± the [Death Mage] chuckles. He¡¯s smiling like a doting grandfather, his tone mild and his hands folded in front of him, as he floats in the sky, unconcerned.

    Avelina lunges forward, unleashing twin jets of roaring flame toward him. They barely travel halfway before fizzling out, undone by the superior suppression of Tapirs¡¯ Domain, and she slumps back in defeat as she realizes the gap in power between them.

    Our adversary shakes his head at her, as though disappointed by her attempt. ¡°Buzzing flies. Shoo!¡±

    With a wave of his hand, he flings the glass boat away from his position. Everyone rocks back¡ªexcept for me, held fast by a far more potent manifestation of his will than his Domain has shown previously. Next thing I know, I¡¯m floating above empty water, held aloft by braided mana that weaves into a platform beneath my feet.

    ¡°I¡¯m only half as monstrous as you think I am,¡± he remarks, still sounding completely unruffled. ¡°Oh, I freely admit that I¡¯m not kind, but I¡¯m not needlessly malicious, either. Your friends are free to go. You, on the other hand, have become stronger than expected.¡±

    ¡°Afraid?¡± I taunt, hoping to keep his attention on me and not my friends. Who knows if he will keep his word once I¡¯m out of the picture.

    ¡°Not yet. Maybe in a decade, if your rage were left unchecked. Your growth is impressive even by my standards,¡± he admits. ¡°But I¡¯d rather you join me than suffer needlessly.¡±

    I shift my stance in the air, my feet gliding in semi-circles according to the Golden Eagle Martial Style, and glare back at him. Despite my best efforts, it strikes me that my attempt at appearing as casual as he does falls flat. He¡¯s got decades of practice on me. ¡°Join you? After what Saphora did to my friend? No chance. Are you crazy?¡±

    ¡°So be it,¡± he replies with a shrug. ¡°Better deal with you now, before you become a true threat like Tem once was.¡±

    ¡°What did you do to Tem?¡±

    He shakes his head, his lips pursed. ¡°Pity. I thought you were better informed than that. He is as well as can be expected, given his treason. No executioner¡¯s blade for our decorated war hero. Not yet.¡±

    Still imprisoned. I¡¯ll take it.

    ¡°Very well. Let¡¯s end this,¡± Tapirs says with a sigh. This time, his age seems to seep into his actions. He¡¯s worn down, world-weary, but still far stronger than I can ever hope to become.

    I tense, marshaling my Domain and preparing to counteract his flashy elemental magic, but his opening move catches me off guard. He steps forward and appears next to me, his form blurring thanks to dimensional shenanigans, and a wizard''s staff appears in his hands.

    He smashes it across my face, knocking me into the water and sending white-hot bursts of light across my sight.

    I swim upward, making for the surface, and splutter as I break back into the air. Waves smack me sideways, and it¡¯s only thanks to my mana senses that I fling myself to the left just in time to avoid another blow from his staff. All the while, rot eats at the edges of my flesh, spreading from the point of impact where he struck me like cancerous ripples.

    Tapirs cackles with laughter. He spins his staff, wielding it like a bludgeon, and dives back down to crack me across the ribs.

    My body folds in half from the force of the blow, and I fly up out of the water with a yell. My vision goes fuzzy around the edges. Fiery pain erupts across my chest where he hit me. I splash back down, still screaming, and swallow a mouthful of cold water.

    Coughing, I spin in circles, my arms wind-milling and feet kicking as I try to reorient to the sunlight above me. I break the surface again, spitting water and gasping. Agony blossoms in my shoulder, and I roan in pain. He stabs me again, with the staff, digging it into the joint and dislocating my shoulder.

    My left arm hangs limp at my side. Useless.

    Pain and wild anger clash within me. Mad laughter burbles up out of my chest. ¡°Tapirs!¡± I shout at the [Death Mage] hovering in the sky above me. ¡°I¡¯ve been here before, missing my left hand. Nothing new. I survived that, and I¡¯ll survive you, too!¡±

    ¡°I think not. You¡¯ve witnessed first-hand how the jump to bronze increased your strength and speed. You¡¯re shockingly close to the next Threshold at gold already. Now imagine if you¡¯ve broken through the Third? I can bat you around like a ball in a children¡¯s game all day and not tire in the least.¡±

    I take advantage of the lull in his assault, calling on [Adjuration of the Phoenix] to boost my affinity for fire. My [Greater Heat Manipulation] sparks to life, and I punch a hole through the protective barrier of Tapirs¡¯ Domain by compressing my own Domain to a needlepoint instead of contesting his strength directly, relying on the trick I learned in our fight against the Oletheros last year.

    His eyes widen in alarm. An inferno engulfs him.

    For the first time since our fight began, his pressure disappears. I still sense him in the sky, but his Domain withdraws. A feral grin stretches across my face as I howl my defiance to the heavens. Firestorm raging overhead, icy water covering endless depths below my feet, a Third Threshold threat battering my bones¡ªyet I¡¯ve never felt so alive.

    Shaking in terror and agony as my body falls apart, I pour more mana into the attack. Nearby, I sense Lionel''s mana stirring. He pumps healing into me, combatting the rot. We teeter in precarious limbo, like [Acrobats] on a high wire, before the constant flood of [Runic Restoration] overwhelms the rot and refreshes my spirit.

    From deep within the white-hot, miniature sun, a skeletal figure emerges. Wreathed in flames and grinning with a skull¡¯s unsettling, hollow stare, Tapirs is very much alive. His robes are burnt off, but he doesn¡¯t seem to care. My heart palpitates in my chest as I stare at the gruesome sight. Flesh and skin have melted under the ferocious heat, revealing smoking bones. Only his death magic still animates him. Somehow, words rasp forth from his mangled face as he finally invokes a Skill that seems to reverberate in my ears and mind long after they''re spoken:

    ¡°[My Throat is an Open Grave].¡±

    Vitality surges upward, torn from my body despite my efforts to resist. I watch in horror as his muscles and tendons are reknit in front of my eyes, restoring his body to its original condition while my own health plummets.

    I fight back, struggling to hold on to my health, but his authority is insurmountable. His long, rattling inhale completes, and he stands before me largely restored. Thankfully, he pulled a robe from some spatial storage and covered himself back up, sparing me at least one horror.

    ¡°Well, well. That was unexpected,¡± he rasps. ¡°Shame to waste such potential, but I¡¯m done playing games. This ends. Now.¡±

    With a dismissive flick of his wrist, the [Death Mage] Tapirs rips open a tear in space. Beyond, a terrifying emptiness seems to drink in the light¡ªit¡¯s not darkness, but something far more compelling. A void. A portal to the abyssal energies between the planes. A Rift that leads nowhere.

    And I¡¯m drawn straight toward it.

 Book Six Chapter Thirty-Five

    Inky darkness yawns above me, an open, voracious mouth that¡¯s no less terrifying for the lack of teeth. My limbs thrash about in useless desperation as I¡¯m drawn toward the tiny Rift like a nail toward a lodestone. Thirty feet. Twenty-five feet. I twist in the air as I draw closer, jerking and convulsing¡ªa marionette in the hands of a child. Twenty feet. I scream and kick harder as I fight against the pull. Fifteen feet. Twelve.

    Ten.

    Fear lends me wild strength. I draw deeply on my well of mana, flinging the full force of my Domain against the inexorable pull. I slow down as the gut-wrenching pull working against me blunts, but it¡¯s not enough to stop me entirely. Even so, I¡¯ve bought myself time to think. I can only pray it will be enough. My fate will be sealed in a few seconds unless I come up with a way out.

    My mind is flying through possibilities at record pace. My thoughts flow effortlessly thanks to the influence of sharpness and innovation. [Artisanal Acuity] activates, adding another layer of clarity.

    Facts: I¡¯m not powerful enough to fight back against a Domain directly. I have no leverage to push against physically. I can¡¯t create a [Sanctuary] out of nothing. Without the [Eternal Glass Forge], I can¡¯t manifest any glass, which locks me out of my strongest magic.

    Or, wait. Maybe not,

    My compressed Domain explodes outward, and I quest around me, searching with my senses for the half a dozen glass golems I brought along: Falcon is gone, cut off from me, but the other birds I brought along to scout for our target are still there. Each of them are clutching glass spiders to preserve a scrying copy of the events for us. I latch onto them like a drowning man reaching out for a raft of driftwood, binding myself to them to create an ethereal web of mana-empowered connections that enable me to struggle against the grip of the Rift in space.

    It¡¯s still not enough.

    Seven feet. Six feet. Five!

    With a keening wail of fear, I redirect all of my golems to my right and yank on the thick braids of mana binding us together as hard as I can. Energy whines in my ears as it builds up, overloading my connections to my little creatures. One by one, they shatter in colorful bursts of fragmented glass until I have nothing left to pull against.

    Only one holds. Praying that it¡¯s enough, I pull on my Domain as hard as I can. My trajectory shifts¡ª

    ¡ªand I tumble past the weaponized artificial Rift, missing the ragged, hissing maw to the abyss by mere inches. Momentum sends me soaring over the dark waters, reminding me that my terror isn¡¯t over yet. Just because the first part of my desperate ploy worked doesn¡¯t mean that I¡¯m no longer in danger.

    Without the array of golems to provide leverage, I¡¯m hurtling through space, completely out of control. I don¡¯t want to pull against the last one and risk breaking it, so I run through my options. My body contorts as I come to a conclusion. I twist myself around just in time to avoid slamming face-first into the cold, unyielding waters of the inland sea.

    My feet cut through the surface, shielded by a condensed application of my Domain and intent, and I plunge beneath the waters once more. The impact stings. My shield shatters. My joints ache, as though I crashed into stone instead of waves, but the cold and pain only serve to remind me that I¡¯m still alive.

    Grateful as I am for the stay of execution, a grim reality remains: unless I can come up with a true miracle, I¡¯m out of options. As soon as I resurface, the ancient [Death Mage] Tapirs will be ready for me. The gruesome image of a hawk skewering its prey in its talon and carrying it off to devour it dominates my mind. I can¡¯t shake the thought that all I¡¯ve done is delay the inevitable. He advances, cold and inexorable as the tomb. As death itself.

    Unless . . . I don¡¯t surface at all.

    A mad scheme comes together in a flash. Marshaling the might of my magic, I run [Compositional Analysis] on the water around me and cut out elements of air with sharpness and the [Legacy of the Scalpel], holding the oxygen and other gasses in a bubble with my Domain. Unlike a few moments ago, when I lacked material to transmute into glass, since air is too diffuse to produce much usable results, I¡¯m now surrounded by water. The deeper I go, the denser it becomes, exerting pressure that would kill a bronzie in seconds. But I¡¯m no weakling. Not anymore.

    Racing against the clock¡ªI can¡¯t hold my breath forever¡ªI tap into two of my borrowed glass Skills. [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness] and [A Perfect Prototype] are potent on their own, but combined with innovation they soar to new heights.

    By the time my mana runs its course, leaving me with a little less than a fifth of my reserves, I¡¯m ensconced in an unbreakable glass sphere filled with breathable oxygen. It¡¯s not a perfect replica of air, but my Skill confirms that the composition shouldn¡¯t be toxic despite the high concentration of oxygen. I¡¯ve rarely used the compositional Skill before, but if I survive, I swear to myself that I¡¯ll rank it up. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯ve largely ignored such a lifesaver.

    I drift in the deep, carried along by unseen currents. This far below the surface, everything around me is a deep, midnight blue, bordering on black. If I sink any farther, I¡¯ll lose the last bit of light. Instead of panicking at the thought, I find myself embracing the darkness. I feel like an infant back in the womb, held up by life-giving water and preparing for a future birth.

    I chuckle. Strange thoughts aside, I¡¯m confident that I can survive the crushing weight of the water around me. Worst case scenario, I can deploy my [Sanctuary] if need be, although I¡¯d prefer to hold back the last of my mana. No matter how much my Capacity grows, it¡¯s never enough. Keep growing, Nuri.

    As the seconds stretch on into minutes, I catch my breath, calm my pounding heart, and sit down on the gentle curve of the glass sphere to meditate and recover some mana. This far from the Greater Rift under Gilead, the energy density is less than impressive, but thankfully I¡¯m close enough to Natan that their Rift helps saturate the environment. Even though their Rift is largely sealed off, enough energy escapes to help me refuel.

    ¡°Let¡¯s be honest,¡± I whisper to myself. ¡°Even topped off, I can¡¯t hope to fight off a Third Threshold [Death Mage].¡±

    My hastily-constructed diving sphere is too small for my words to echo, yet I swear I can hear them repeat endlessly in my head. There¡¯s no way for me to win this encounter head on.

    No way.

    . . . no way . . .

    No . . . way . . . out . . .

    I shiver, pulling my clothes tighter around my chest for warmth as I conserve my mana. My only chance is if Tapirs relents and doesn¡¯t want to dive into the sea after me. I have no delusions that he fears getting wet, but I¡¯m guessing he¡¯ll wait me out, confident that I¡¯ll come back to check on my friends. That makes me wince. Maybe he¡¯ll let my friends escape if he chases me. He did say he had no interest in harming the others, although I¡¯m not convinced that I can trust a single word that comes out of his mouth.

    Tiny fish swim past me, invisible to the naked eye but discernible in my Domain. I spend a quiet moment watching them dart about, wishing that I could be just as carefree and simple. No ambitions. No grand plans. No great fears. A tiny smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I imagine myself cavorting underwater and exploring the expanse of the inland sea.

    My pleasant reprieve doesn¡¯t last.

    Dark pillars of power drill down into the water around me, sending me spinning in the turbulence of their wake. They multiple faster than I can count, weaving into a vast web that boggles my mind. Even my glimpse of the hidden nexus of power in the Lesser Rift I closed barely compares to the complex power of the mana at work around me.

    Deathly chill invades my bones. The net closes, forming a powerful basket that snares the entire glass sphere and drags me up toward the surface. The dull ember of anger directly above me reveals that Tapirs is present and not bothering to veil himself. His power spills outward, threatening and unrestrained, and there¡¯s a familiar tinge to it that makes my heart stop when I recognize where I¡¯ve sensed it before.

    In the lair of the Oletheros.

    Dominion. Usurpation. The very thought of losing control like that makes my blood run cold. The [Death Mage] is preparing a new Skill, one aimed at subverting me. And it doesn¡¯t exactly take a brilliant [Researcher] to figure out the target: my friends, who are fleeing at the very edge of my senses.

    I refuse. I won¡¯t be made a slave again. I went down that path with Scalpel once before, and I¡¯d rather die than be turned into a weapon against my team. They¡¯re family. I will not harm them.

    My shoulders slump. I prepare a blade of sharpness near my heart, just in case. I¡¯ll destroy myself from the inside out before I¡¯ll hurt my family. As I fight off the mental compulsion, I prepare a secondary contingency, pre-priming [Vitrification] around my heart, lungs, and brain. Glass has been my constant companion since youth. If I¡¯m going to die, then it¡¯s fitting I should turn myself into a glass statue.

    Light shines around me as the fishing net of pure mana lifts me from the deep. I¡¯m moving too quickly, and pain stabs into me at the sudden shift of pressure. I fight back with my Domain as well as I can, lessening the deleterious effects of the rapid ascension. Without my body undergoing the intense tempering of ranking up so many times, I don¡¯t doubt that this would kill me.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    I breach the surface. My ears pop. Sunlight stabs my eyes, unbearably bright after my dive underwater. I squeeze my eyes shut, plug my nose, and blow through my nostrils. The pressure in my ears finally normalizes, and I move on to shielding my eyes with mana to prevent the worst of the blindness as I blink and readjust to the brilliant light of the afternoon sun.

    My makeshift diving sphere trembles as it lifts up into the air. Forces beyond me attempt to wrestle the glass away from my control. Tapirs very nearly succeeds, despite my high affinity to my chosen crafting medium, not to mention that I am tied to my own creation. I let it go, confident that I can win a contest of glass, and focus my energies on fighting off the usurpation bearing down on me.

    My sphere bursts around me. The shards bounce off me, turned aside by my passive resistance to my own glass. The severing of connection resounds all about, a shivering resonance filling the air like the tinkling of a thousand tiny bells.

    ¡°Resourceful as always. You were almost beyond the range of my Skill to bind you and bring you back. That was well played,¡± the [Death Mage] says, a new note of respect in his voice. ¡°You will be one of my finest knights.¡±

    When he finishes his pronouncement, the subtlety of the domination attempts disappears entirely. In its place is raw power, crashing against me like endless waves eroding a sandy beach, driven by a furious, merciless tempest.

    The more I struggle, the more the ancient [Death Mage] pours power into the Skill. If before it was a severe thunderstorm, now it¡¯s a raging typhoon. The sheer power is awe-inspiring, as much as I hate to give Tapirs any credit. He¡¯s simply on a different level from anyone else I¡¯ve ever met before.

    My vision tinges blood-red around the edges. The world darkens as Tapirs manifests his Domain in truth, flooding the entire area with oppressive death magic. The compulsion deepens, working its way into my head and swiftly overwhelming the hasty barriers I erected to keep my adversary out.

    Autonomy. Self-determination. The concepts seems laughable as I consider the ease with which Tapirs breaches my defenses. I turn toward my fail-safe, determined to end things rather than end up in the thrall of a madman who will turn me against my family and bring my entire life¡¯s ambitions to naught, but it¡¯s harder than I expected.

    My mana turns slow and sluggish. I push against the domination attempt, struggling to initialize the [Vitrification] that will take away the [Death Mage]¡¯s ability to usurp me. Better to finish things on my own terms. I don¡¯t want to work against everything I¡¯ve built. I don¡¯t want to simply become a blade wielded by my enemy against my friends.

    Yet something restrains me. Instinct, perhaps. Desire, fierce and unyielding. Prescience? I don¡¯t know what to call it. All I know is that I don¡¯t want to die. Not yet. Not here. Not like this.

    It¡¯s so frustrating to lose control again. To realize that my precious agency is all simply an illusion. I swallow hard. This is just like the struggle with violence, when I was infected by the insidious effects of a corrupted higher-order Concept.

    That thought flares across my consciousness like a signal in the sky. It¡¯s enough to make my soul burn like a bonfire within me. I¡¯m not the only one using axiomatic truths in combat. And if my concept of violence could be corrupted, so can Tapir¡¯s concept of domination.

    Howling in defiant triumph, I wrest command of my mana away Tapirs. Plans coalesce in an instant. I sink into my soul and find the telltale connection back to Tapirs. It¡¯s easily twice as thick as the vein of violence that I severed from my inner world a few weeks prior, and at first I¡¯m concerned that I won¡¯t be able to affect it at all. A probing touch of sharpness soon puts my fears to rest. The first snick of the vorpal blade makes the link convulse and twitch like a worm plucked from the earth.

    ¡°Give it up, pest,¡± Tapirs snarls. His voice cuts through my mind, audible even in the subspace of my soul. ¡°That¡¯s uncomfortable, but you¡¯re not strong enough to shut me out. Impressive quickness finding the link, though. Your adroitness pleases me; I¡¯ll make sure to put it to good use.¡±

    A vicious grin pulls my lips back in a snarl. I activate [Legacy of the Scalpel], preparing not to cut it in half, but to edit the meaning behind his domination. Overriding the entire concept is beyond me, but all I need to do is shift one part: the targeting mechanism.

    I pour mana into my Skill, shutting out the voice that whispers Scalpel¡¯s legacy is nothing but hot shame and bitter dishonor. I will use every weapon at my disposal if it means saving my family. The runes of his axiom sprawl before me, laid bare in their splendor, and I pounce before he realizes that I¡¯m making a simple change, not foolishly contesting his strength.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he screams, alarm flooding through our link as he gets an inkling of my real intention. ¡°Don¡¯t touch that! You don¡¯t know what powers you call upon, fool!¡±

    Imprinting my own truth over his is easier than I could have ever dreamed. Ignoring his rant, I push onward, scrawling runes into his soul like a vengeful [Grafiti Artist]. Precisely as I hoped, he¡¯s never faced anything like this. Attacks, yes. The power discrepancy lets him shrug off such pitiful attempts to defeat him. Subversion, however? The proof is before me, stark and undeniable as my attack slips through: he is unprepared and utterly defenseless against a possibility he probably never imagined.

    The new truth I introduce slips into its place in the concept eagerly, overwriting Tapirs¡¯ current conception and rewriting his target. Through our connection, a wail of terror scrapes like claws across my face, raw and primal, as he dominates himself instead of me.

    Desperate energy surges through the mana link, making my hair stand on end. My skin prickles, like I¡¯m caught in a thunderstorm a second before lightning discharges. The dissonant thrum of overwhelming power oscillates and echoes in reverberating waves, each greater than the last as he fights off his own usurpation.

    My consciousness emerges from my inner world when I drop back into the water with a splash. The [Death Mage] is thrashing about, flinging errant bolts of mana potent enough to vaporize me in an instant, and he can no longer spare me any attention to keep me aloft.

    I claw together several shattered pieces of my broken diving sphere, adding new layers of glass and melting them in place with [Greater Heat Manipulation] and the force of my [Arcane Domain], creating a small boat to keep me afloat without treading water. When the mana attacks fade, I form a paddle out of glass and move closer to the dangerous Third-Threshold Mage, watching with grim satisfaction as Tapirs is locked into a self-defeating loop. His own incredible power works against him in a way he¡¯s probably never defended against, turning his greatest strength into a sudden, terrible weakness.

    For a brief moment, I watch in pity as he flails, helpless before me. Destroying him in this moment feels wrong, although I¡¯m well aware that he wouldn¡¯t hesitate if the table were turned. I stare as he falls from the sky, crashing down into the water nearby, and set aside any thoughts of letting him go. Mercy to this monster means cruelty toward my friends. I can¡¯t risk letting him go. Not when their lives are at stake.

    I pick up the paddle and run my fingers along the length of the handle. I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ve got until he frees himself from the self inflicted attack. I¡¯m almost certain that if he let the compulsion finish the job and he ended up dominated, some sort of artifact would kick in and break him out of the thrall of the mental and spiritual assault. I¡¯m not willing to risk finding out if I¡¯m right.

    I draw on [Greater Heat Manipulation], warming up the glass until it¡¯s malleable again, and fold the handle over on itself, thinning out one edge and honing it with an application of sharpness. It¡¯s not exactly a work of art, but my new weapon will cut. It will kill. That¡¯s all that I can ask for right now.

    While Tapirs is still caught in the throws of this new, unaccounted-for attack vector, I pour mana into my creation and swing the rough-hewn blade. The edge does its job, severing a hand effortlessly. It¡¯s almost shocking how easily even the toughened skin and bones of a Mage well into the Third Threshold parts before my crude sword.

    I snag the severed hand with my Domain, levitating it over to me. With a pulse of my willpower, I hit it with [Vitrification], transforming it into glass and then overloading it with mana to break apart all of the tiny connections that comprise reality. The glass disintegrates, dissolving into minuscule pieces and falling into the sea. The dust floats away, spreading in ripples from my location.

    With a grim set to my jaw, I swing again. The blade whistles through the air, and another half limb falls away. Wary of the endless regenerative abilities of a [Death Mage] who¡¯s already shown a willingness to harvest vitality from his enemies, I devote myself to the bloody work methodically, cutting away his life bit by bit and transmuting his cut-up body into glass.

    By the time I reach his head, I¡¯m covered in gore and trembling from revulsion. Killing Scalpel was an act of desperation, a justified moment of self-defense despite unleashing my pent-up rage. Healing that treacherous snake Irving back in Halmuth and leaving him alone so the Oletheros could finish the job felt like poetic justice, even though I wrestled with the weight of his death on my conscience. I tiptoed up to a line there, though I could claim a pure motive of protecting my friends.

    This?

    Hacking apart Tapirs feels like crossing the line entirely. There¡¯s no denying that, not to myself. Others will try to comfort me. Justify my actions. But I know in my heart of hearts that they¡¯d be wrong. Murder is the only word for this. It¡¯s no longer a fair fight where I can claim self-defense. I¡¯m willingly executing the most powerful man in Densmore, while he¡¯s incapable of defending himself anymore. I¡¯m still doing it to protect my friends, but it doesn¡¯t make me feel noble or righteous. I¡¯m not the kind-hearted young man I once was, and that truth cuts me deeper than anything else.

    I pack that away. Trauma for another day; it can get in line with all the rest, I tell myself. Saphora and her crew are still alive, and they¡¯re watching us with slack-jawed horror. I can only hope they don¡¯t have a scrying orb on board, or else my deeds will make it back to the Capital. Not even [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote can help me if the recording ever becomes public.

    I sigh. I have one more threat to end. And as much as I want to claim that I¡¯m a kind soul, apparently I have zero qualms about staining my hands with blood thrice over if it means my family makes it out alive. I¡¯m a wreck, but Lionel can patch me together later. Physically, at least. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll do about the ache deep in my soul.

    Death magic wafts up all around us as I finish the job. The stench of it overwhelms my nostrils, but I press on, cutting apart the last of the ancient [Death Mage]. I only hope that it¡¯s enough. For all I know, he¡¯s got contingencies that will pull him back together.

    If he can recover from the fires I inflicted earlier, this much damage still might not be enough. What if this is just the first battle in a war I can¡¯t hope to win?

    I wave the bloody sword in the air, beckoning my friends closer now that the danger is seemingly past. They cautiously advance, looking back and forth between me and the ship we¡¯d originally pursued. Mikko pulls on the oars, but his gaze is locked on the Yathawn, whose craft has resurfaced and drifts nearby.

    ¡°What do you have against your left hand?¡± Lionel calls out when they draw up next to me. ¡°At least this time you kept it close by, so we don¡¯t have to go through all the trouble of regrowing it.¡±

    I snort in surprised laughter. ¡°All that, and you¡¯re focused on my hand?¡±

    He shakes his head sadly. ¡°Good thing it¡¯s attached to you, or you¡¯d lose it again. Makes me worry about your head.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m always worried about his head,¡± Mikko mutters, finally turning to look at me. His jaw muscles clench at the sight, though his eyes don¡¯t betray any condemnation. ¡°You all right?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± I admit, my voice coming out in a shaky whisper. ¡°We¡¯ll deal with it later. Saphora can¡¯t get away. Not after all the trouble we went through to catch her.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Melina interjects, her firm tone making it clear that she¡¯ll not brook any dissention in the ranks. ¡°Stay alert. I don¡¯t have much mana left if we need time dilation again.¡±

    ¡°Understood. Time to finish what we began.¡± I point toward the ship and offer Lionel a grim smile. ¡°Let¡¯s go. We have a witch to catch.¡±

 Book Six Chapter Thirty-Six

    Disbelief slowly fades to horror on Saphora¡¯s face as we approach. She beckons to her crew to stop us, but they¡¯re too busy running back and forth attempting to fix the hole in the side of the ship. Bailing out water as quickly as they can is a futile endeavor, thanks to Vedarian flanking them and bringing his torpedo launcher to bear. Without Tapirs to block the attack, they were helpless before the threat of his retribution, and now they¡¯re taking on water and listing to port.

    Stiff and unnatural as a broken doll in the hands of an angry toddler, Saphora jerks toward us. She was staring at the faint blood stains spreading in an irregular circle where the last remains of the [Death Mage]¡ªno, to them he¡¯s simply a [Viceroy]; best if I don¡¯t let that secret slip just yet¡ªdisappeared beneath the waves. A complicated and pained expression pinches her otherwise pretty face into a mask of ugliness. Her eyes are hollow when she finally looks at us.

    ¡°You¡¯ve doomed us all,¡± she whispers.

    ¡°That¡¯s rich, coming from you,¡± Lionel says. He bristles, looking like he¡¯s about to say more, but he holds his peace when Melina squeezes his shoulder.

    The disgraced [Healer] lets out a bitter laugh. ¡°Hate me all you want, boy. Our petty feud is nothing compared with what¡¯s coming for you now.¡±

    ¡°Nice of you to worry about us,¡± Lionel says in a tone that¡¯s too sweet by half. His heart is beating faster, sending tremors through my Domain, and his fingers keep twitching toward the hilt of his rapier. If he works himself up any more, he might burst from the inside out. To my relief, he takes a deep breath and masters himself.

    I lift my voice, addressing the crew behind her, who still haven¡¯t given up on patching the hole in the side of their vessel and turned their attention to deploying the lifeboats. Fools. There¡¯s no saving this ship. Not anymore.

    ¡°Listen up!¡± I bellow. ¡°You¡¯ve allied yourself with a madwoman and traitor to the realm, but we¡¯ll overlook your trespasses if you turn over [Lady] Saphora.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t treat with the dogs of Densmore,¡± the [Captain] barks, looking up from turning the winch to lower a small escape craft over the side. ¡°Pray your steel is sharp and your aim is true, or we¡¯ll send you to a watery grave! Board at your peril, dogs. Win or lose, we¡¯ll take as many with us as we can. One final, glorious stand against your tyranny!¡±

    The ragged cheers from the sailors drives home an undeniable fact: we¡¯ll find no room for mercy here. These are patriots, true believers in Gilead¡¯s war of independence. Misguided or not, right or wrong, isn¡¯t for me to judge at this moment. Someone else will weigh their actions and dole out blame or praise. For me, a simple truth remains.

    They stand in our way, so they must be eliminated.

    I mark the shape and desperate fire of each soul, vowing to carry their memories with me even if circumstances made us enemies. Mind made up, I close my eyes, reaching out with my Domain, and sever each of their lives where they stand with a condensed mana blade of pure sharpness. It¡¯s over in an instant, guaranteeing our safety, but I still breathe out a bitter sigh. The world seems dimmer with their passing. I respect their passion, even though we stood on opposite sides, but I can¡¯t risk them maiming or killing my friends if it comes to a fight.

    More blood to stain your soul, the whispers condemn me. I wish I could deny the foul accusation, but I can¡¯t lie to myself. Not anymore. In my pursuit of power, I¡¯ve become the very monster I¡¯ve fought against. One day, the cycle will continue and some young hero will put me out of my misery if I keep on this path. I only hope I can accomplish good in the world before that time comes.

    I shiver involuntarily, closing off that line of thought. Around me, my friends are staring at all the bodies that slumped to the deck in unison like I¡¯m a [Maestro] conducting an orchestra of death. I avoid their eyes, but through the power of my Domain, it¡¯s impossible to completely avoid the knowledge of their reactions.

    I wish they wouldn¡¯t pity me so much.

    ¡°The old [Viceroy] showed me just how powerful a Domain can be,¡± I say by way of explanation as our team climbs aboard the ship. It¡¯s inadequate, sparse on detail, but it will have to do. No one pushes for more information, which makes me feel even worse for not saying anything further. They¡¯re on my side, but maybe they shouldn¡¯t be. Not after today.

    The love and support radiating through my Domain is almost unbearable. A lump rises in my throat in response to their care.

    ¡°You actually knew who that was?¡± Saphora says, and I startle as her voice screeches. For a moment, I was so lost in my own self-pity that I forgot why we were here.

    My friends are more focused than I am, and they¡¯re holding her fast, wary even though we have her alone and surrounded. No one wants to fall victim to her necrotic touch again.

    ¡°Old friend of mine,¡± I say sarcastically. ¡°He treated me to dinner when I was in the Capital and tried to recruit me. He should have stayed in his palace with Coco.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be the ruin of my city,¡± Saphora says blankly. ¡°Your greedy [King] will take and take and take until we have no more to give. He¡¯ll bleed us dry and toss away our empty husk.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a tactic you learned well,¡± Lionel replies. He steps forward and motions for the others to move away from her. ¡°Do your worst, witch. Only one of us is walking away from here.¡±

    Avelina cries out and leans forward, but Mikko restrains her with an arm around her shoulder. ¡°His battle, Ava. Trust Lio.¡±

    The disgraced Mender turns toward Lionel. Arrogance flashes in her eyes once more. ¡°Ooh, brave of you now that I¡¯m in your grasp! You squealed like a stuck pig last year, boy. What makes you think you have any chance against me now?¡±

    ¡°I know how to heal your rot now. You¡¯re out of tricks,¡± Lionel says dismissively. ¡°My only regret is how disappointed your Aunt and Uncle will be when they learn your true colors. They really love you, for reasons only the heavens know. They¡¯re sweet and kind. It breaks my heart to think how they¡¯ll cry when they learn who you really are.¡±

    ¡°Leave my family out of this!¡± Saphora snarls, baring her teeth. Mana swirls within her, fueling her trademark Skill.

    ¡°Make me,¡± Lionel taunts, slashing with his hand and contesting the rotten Skill before it can take root. His own power wells up, a delicate symphony of runic resonance. Trilling in song, the healing arrays in his soul overwhelm the crude death magic that seems so out of place in a [Healer] of Saphora¡¯s ability. Despite her training and years of advancement, she¡¯s lacking refinement, too spread out between [Lady], [Healer], and the stolen strength of a [Death Mage]¡¯s forbidden power.

    Lionel snorts in contempt as her eyes widen and her lips part. No sound comes forth, but her shock is evident. He¡¯s grown since their last encounter, trading his glass-related Class for razor-edged focus now that he¡¯s a full-time [Healer]. He¡¯s finally shored up his mana leakage, and his power is growing rapidly. He¡¯s flourishing in his new role.

    Falling into stances we¡¯ve drilled for weeks, he shields himself from her magical assault. Despite all his hard work, it¡¯s a close thing; Saphora is still older and has broken through to a higher grade. Lionel staggers, but doesn¡¯t lose his footing, pushing back against her attack. He draws his rapier and snaps into a guard position just in time to deflect a thrown dagger.

    Saphora shrieks and rushes forward, a second dagger in her hand that¡¯s glowing with potent mana not her own¡ªa dangerous artifact of some kind.

    I reach forward, about to intervene, but my friend shows just how much he¡¯s grown. Before she can reach Lionel, he extends the blade and straightens his arm, pointing straight toward her heart. His stance is exemplary, honed to perfection through rigorous sparring with me and the [Inquisitors]. Casella and Mbukhe have pushed him beyond Saphora¡¯s league.

    He lunges forward with an elegance I¡¯ve never seen from him before.

    His tip strikes true.

    Despite how much death I¡¯ve witnessed today¡ªhow much death I¡¯ve caused today¡ªthe bright bloom of red still catches me off guard. There¡¯s a jarring finality to the end of Saphora¡¯s long reign of terror against my friends. As she sinks to the deck, her face contorted in rage, Lionel pulls the sword free, flicks the excess blood in her face, and wipes the blade across her cloak to clean it.

    A carefree whistle slips from him as he polishes the glass. His glass rapier glistens in the sunlight, and he turns it in his hands, admiring it with a smile. Flourishing it one last time, Lionel returns the blade to its sheath. He pivots on his heel, standing tall, and clutches the railing with both hands, staring out to sea.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go home,¡± he finally sighs.

    =+=The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Apologies,¡± Vedarian says, his head bowed as he addresses us. He sounds more genuinely sorrowful than I¡¯ve heard from the typically-bombastic Yathawn.

    He¡¯s towing us with his watercraft again, this time heading back to Gilead. All his bluster is gone, and I don¡¯t detect any further duplicity from him. Despite my reassurances, Mikko keeps glaring at him as though we¡¯re going to break into open combat at any second.

    I place a hand on my brother¡¯s arm and murmur just loud enough for him to hear. ¡°Peace. It¡¯s been a rough day already.¡±

    Mikko grunts, but doesn¡¯t stop glaring. Still, he¡¯s let go of his hammer, so that will have to be good enough for now.

    ¡°The [Viceroy] threatened to destroy our Rift if we did not comply. I could not doom our people''s great dreams of Return. Not even for the saviors of Natan,¡± Vedarian continues.

    I bite my lip before I say something I regret, drawing blood with the force of my displeasure. I can¡¯t help myself, though. A few words slip out. ¡°So you sold us out to save your own skin?¡±

    ¡°Good trade, no?¡±

    Vedarian¡¯s grin never fades as he cracks a joke, but I sense his inward turmoil as he awaits my answer. He puts on a brave face, at least. I¡¯ll give him that.

    ¡°I would do the same,¡± Lionel says solemnly.

    That seems to shut up the rest of the team. As much as we dislike how the Yawthawn lied to us, it¡¯s impossible to say we wouldn¡¯t have done whatever it took to keep our clan and country alive. Thus, an uneasy truce settles over us. We turn our discussion toward more pleasant matters, and Vedarian pulls us swiftly through the waters.

    Dusk¡¯s rosy fingers are pulling the velvet cover of night over the famous city of Menders by the time we return to the docks. Playing it safe, Vedarian bids us farewell on the outskirts of the bay, declining to approach Gilead, although he tells us with a gleam in his lidded eyes that he looks forward to hearing from the Orpheus about their trade propositions.

    Predictably, Ozana is part of the welcoming committee waiting for us when we pull in, as though she sniffed out a deal on the wind. Who knows? Maybe she did. I haven¡¯t fully analyzed her Skills, but a strong sense of opportunity matches her behavior. The pieces fit together almost too well not to be true, unless it¡¯s actually misdirection.

    ¡°The heroes of the day,¡± she calls to us brightly as we disembark. She¡¯s all smiles, which instantly puts me on guard.

    What is she planning this time?

    ¡°We are pretty amazing. Feel free to shower us with praise. Oh, and gold,¡± Avelina fires back.

    ¡°A performance like that is worthy of gold, I must admit. But how will you follow up with an encore?¡±

    I freeze as her implication hits me. The scrying sensor from my last surviving golem. She was watching us the entire time. She saw everything.

    At the sight of my stricken face, Ozana winks at me. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Nuri. I¡¯m selective about my clientele. You¡¯ll be able to name your price from now on when they see what you can do. A word of advice? Stay out of the Capital until Gold at the earliest. You¡¯re powerful, but so are your foes.¡±

    I swallow a bitter retort. As much as I hate the idea that she has leverage over me, she¡¯s been a stalwart ally so far. If she knows all my secrets, so be it. I¡¯ll simply have to get strong enough that it doesn¡¯t matter. And if I treat her well, she will be a reliable ally for what comes next, whatever that looks like.

    Getting Tem out of prison is my next priority, but that depends entirely on the rest of the team. I won¡¯t endanger my friends further without their consent. I¡¯m almost certain that we¡¯ll lose Lionel and Rakesh shortly, and I wouldn¡¯t be all that surprised if Mikko and Ava want to tie the knot and settle down when we return to Silaraon. That would make Ma happy, at any rate.

    I force myself to smile at the head of the Orpheus House. ¡°You have yet to steer me wrong. I¡¯ll accelerate my rank up so I¡¯m ready when we get to Modilaraon.¡±

    She smirks at me. ¡°Just like that?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Reckon it won¡¯t be too hard.¡±

    She lets out a low gasp and holds the back of her hand to her forehead, pretending to be shocked. ¡°A prodigy in our midst! To think I¡¯ve lived to witness such talent.¡±

    I roll my eyes.

    ¡°Well, good thing we have a contract for mutual benefit. Stay profitable, young man,¡± she says briskly.

    I promise that I will. Apparently, that satisfies her, and she abruptly departs in a fast rickshaw to head back to her work, leaving us to make our own way to the Orpheus by slower means. As we check in with our [Inquisitor] friends, I mull over her words.

    She must have broadcast the fight to select figures in Gilead¡ªwhich means that I am now firmly pitted against the crown. I grind my teeth at the station I find myself in at first, but the more I think about it, the more inevitable it seems. Siding with Tem, as well as Casella and Mbukhe, was always going to put me on this path. Now I¡¯m running a little farther and faster than I meant, but my direction is the same.

    So. Where does that leave me?

    My friends seem to sense my bad mood and keep silent as we walk, which I appreciate. It gives me time to think. Scrying can¡¯t be undone. The recordings exist, so I can¡¯t very well deny my actions. That means that I have to take a page from the politicians and ensure that the narrative is in my favor. Spinning the truth is a time-honored art. Unfortunately, I¡¯m not very good at it. Rakesh will know what to do, I tell myself. He¡¯s a genius at plots and planning.

    Our trip back to our rooms is quiet and uneventful, thank the heavens. Once I¡¯m on my own, I prepare for bed and crawl under the covers with a sense of dread. What will my dreams be like tonight? I brace for difficulty sleeping, expecting to be haunted by all the faces of the dead, but the next thing I know, it¡¯s mid-morning the next day and I feel refreshed and ready for a day out with the team.

    I don¡¯t know what¡¯s worse, I muse as I do my morning absolutions and dress for the day. Crippling guilt, or none at all? Shouldn¡¯t I feel worse for what I¡¯ve done?

    At the city hall, our team is formally acknowledged by the [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote himself, whose arrival in town is strangely well timed. Braying trumpets almost deafen me while parties erupt all around us. Parades flood the streets, even if the average citizen barely knows why we¡¯re celebrating. Streams of bright magic fill the air, marking the beginning of a week-long gala.

    Through it all, my suspicions only deepen. What¡¯s in store for us next? We can¡¯t seem to shake politics at this point. We¡¯re neck-deep in other people¡¯s schemes, and that makes me uneasy. I long to return to a life of simple adventure and creativity, but glasswork seems further away than ever before.

    ¡°Try to smile, young man,¡± Xharrote murmurs in my ear, breaking me out of my dour reverie as he leans close to pin a gleaming red and gold medal of honor to my chest.

    I oblige, grinning wide and waving at the cheering crowd in the city square. I¡¯m first in line: at the conclusion of the week of celebrations, each team member is receiving a Royal commendation, starting with me, and we¡¯ll be paraded around until we¡¯re sick of celebrations. Truth is, I¡¯m already sick of it. We¡¯re all hailed as the saviors of Gilead, noble heroes who foiled a plot against the [Headmistress] and the [Vice Regent], preventing the bloody insurrections from sowing further chaos and death. Few know the truth.

    I¡¯d like to keep it that way.

    Suddenly, the noise falls away. I look around, suppressing a heavy sigh as I realize the schemes never end. The crowd appears entirely frozen in place, no matter how long I watch the same person for signs of movement, which means a [Chronomancer] much stronger than Melina accompanied Xharrote to today¡¯s festivities. The wily old man came prepared to talk, or worse. I¡¯m not sure which yet.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so glum. I¡¯m impressed with you so far¡ªand with your friend, Rakesh. There¡¯s a true [Inquisitor] at heart!¡± Xharrote nods in approval. He claps me on the shoulder. ¡°Get stronger, lad. You¡¯re swimming with the big fish now, ya hear?¡±

    I nod slowly. ¡°The [King] won¡¯t be happy.¡±

    He frowns and spits to the side. ¡°Who cares about that fop. You still don¡¯t get it, do ya? Peh! I gotta spell it out for you. Typical rookie.¡± He sighs and lifts his eyes to the heavens imploringly.

    I scowl, but Xharrote continues, cutting me off. ¡°Look, you surprised him once, and I definitely want to know how you did it, but the [Viceroy] will neither forget nor forgive. You¡¯re on his bad side now. Prepare for war, Nuri.¡±

    A pit forms in my stomach. Awareness of my surroundings, my ever present companion thanks to my [Arcane Domain], fails me. My thoughts stutter and go completely blank. My entire world shrinks down to the grave lines of Xharrote¡¯s flint-like face. ¡°He¡¯s alive, then?¡±

    ¡°Difficult to say for sure. He¡¯s disappeared for months on end in the past, before reemerging when we least expect.¡± The [Chief Inquisitor] presses his lips into a firm line. He shrugs. ¡°Talk later. I don¡¯t want to push the time dilation right now, but I suspect that he¡¯s anchored his soul somewhere on this plane. I¡¯ll let you know when we have a location; abyss knows we¡¯ll need your unique Skills. We won¡¯t get rid of him without being more . . . thorough.¡±

    Strangely enough, the news doesn¡¯t frighten me the same way it would have a few months ago. In a way, I look forward to growing stronger and having a rematch. Butchering the ancient [Death Mage] like that never sat well with me. If I have to find the source of his power and destroy it, so be it. Then we can have a head-to-head battle, like real men. No butchering a helpless victim for me.

    Cleaner that way, I think to myself. And if I die? So be it. If I don¡¯t get stronger in all this time I¡¯ve bought for us, then I deserve to fail.

    ¡°Gold by New Year¡¯s,¡± I vow, holding Xharrote¡¯s gaze. ¡°Whatever it takes.¡±

    He chuckles. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Train with Nicanor. He likes you for some reason.¡±

    I cough. ¡°He does?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Takes him a while to warm up to people. You¡¯re one of his favorites, though. You¡¯ve done a lot for his men, you know.¡±

    I file that away for later. He¡¯s the best fighter I¡¯ve seen in person, so his help will be invaluable if I¡¯m going to find myself in more battles.

    ¡°All right. Look me up when you¡¯re back in the Capital. You¡¯ll need my help with Tem. Poor fool near killed himself.¡±

    I force myself not to react to his statement, which just sets him off laughing again. ¡°You¡¯re too easy to spook, kid. Gotta work on that if you want to be a full-fledged [Inquisitor].¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll leave the subterfuge to Rakesh or Mbukhe,¡± I say, although I¡¯m finally ready to fully embrace my future as a member of Xharrote¡¯s task force. ¡°I¡¯m more comfortable with traps and favorable fights.¡±

    ¡°You like to cheat, you mean.¡±

    The corner of my lips quirk up. ¡°Always have. Always will. Works so far.¡±

    He chuckles. ¡°So far. Let¡¯s hope your lucky streak keeps up. All right. Time to honor your friends. Don¡¯t slack off, Nuri. I¡¯m counting on you.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Be seeing you, Xharrote.¡±

    He smiles and fades from view as time resumes around us. The din of the roaring crowd washes over us, but somehow his voice echoes clearly in my ears, although he¡¯s invisible even in my empowered Domain. ¡°See ya around, kid.¡±

 Epilogue - End Book Six

    ¡°Wow. So. Many. Books!¡± Avelina says in mock wonder, gesturing around at the few surviving fragments of paper amidst the ash heaps of the Gilead library.

    We¡¯re in the charred-out remains of the vestibule, taking in the devastation. Security ropes block off the burned area. No one is allowed entrance, although they made an exception for the young ¡°heroes¡± of the ill-fated Deathtouch Insurrection, as the populace has named the fateful day Saphora struck a month ago. It¡¯s the last thing on our list to do together in Gilead, which is why we keep postponing the visit. No one seems ready to face the reality of our team changing again.

    Rakesh shoots Avelina a dirty look. ¡°There were more before the rebels burned the place down. If I¡¯d just been a little faster¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know, I know, dummy,¡± Avelina replies, her voice softening and turning the insult into a familiar term of endearment. ¡°You did your best. But cheer up! They¡¯re just bits of dusty old paper. No great loss.¡±

    ¡°No great loss?¡± Rakesh sputters.

    The Linas both let out peals of laughter at his indignation. Their mirth rings across the vast library, earning some strange glances. Our sensitive [Researcher] crosses his arms, glaring at the twins. ¡°Mel. How could you? I¡¯m disappointed that a scholar at heart would be so callous about the loss of the books.¡±

    ¡°All of the knowledge inside is what matters, not the medium,¡± Melina replies archly.

    ¡°That¡¯s . . . true,¡± Rakesh allows, but he looks like the admission pains him deeply. He scrunches his face, grumpy at the teasing as we stand in the middle of rubble and ashes.

    Suddenly he brightens, straightening up and staring intently at a shelf being cleared away by a repair team. He jogs over to them, stopping in the middle of the vestibule, and turns in a slow circle as he squints at the walls and lifts his hands up in front of his eyes, making odd shapes with them and pointing with his fingers as though measuring out the space visually.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a bad feeling about this,¡± I mutter to Lionel, who simply grins and elbows me in the ribs like when we were kids.

    ¡°Nuri! I have an idea. An extraordinary idea. The best idea!¡± Rakesh announces, beckoning me over. His enthusiasm is undimmed when I groan and bury my face in my hands.

    ¡°What is it this time?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Remember when we combined our techniques to allow you to imprint what you saw through your Domain on the scrying sensors?¡± Rakesh says, launching into an explanation as soon as he sees that he has our attention.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see. You memorized the books and you¡¯re going to repeat them for me while I dictate them with my Skill?¡± I guess.

    ¡°Almost, but my memory isn¡¯t that good. I only have a few of the books cataloged, not dozens of shelves. I didn¡¯t have time to get to them all.¡± Rakesh bows his head, sounding a touch defensive as he¡¯s forced to admit that he hasn¡¯t memorized millions of lines of text while also coordinating a counterintelligence initiative and coming up with all our outlandish plans.

    ¡°Only you would look at that as a weakness,¡± I say, shaking my head at my friend in admiration. ¡°You¡¯re pretty impressive, you know that?¡±

    He makes a rude noise with his lips, dismissing me entirely. ¡°You¡¯re forgetting that my greatest Skill just completed its refresh cycle. You can record the entire contents of the Index here, protected by a new [Sanctuary of Glass]! Let¡¯s turn these ashes into the fertilizers of knowledge and dreams.¡±

    ¡°That was a silly line,¡± Avelina objects.

    Rakesh glowers. ¡°I¡¯m a [Researcher], not some daft [Poet]! You come up with a better speech.¡±

    ¡°Easy. Just appeal to Nuri¡¯s vanity.¡± She turns to me. ¡°This is a perfect way to challenge your Skills to grow. See how many of them you can rank up in one go! Set a record on the way to Gold!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s got you there, Rakesh,¡± Mikko says, smiling fondly at Avelina.

    The dreamy look in his eyes is enough to make me gag, but I¡¯m happy he¡¯s happy. It¡¯s just hard for me to think about losing Mikko and Avelina once we return to Silaraon and they invariably want to settle down. I¡¯m already feeling lonely since Lionel is staying in Gilead to help with the Menders. Add in rumors of the new [Inquisitors] base of operations, which is an obvious fit for Rakesh, and soon our little team will be just me and Mel.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    And I¡¯ve already promised to take her to see Padouk, which means she¡¯ll probably race her twin to see who gets to the wedding altar first. Everyone is leaving. They¡¯re finding new ambitions, new paths forward. Me? I¡¯m all alone. Worse, I feel stuck in a rut. Maybe I¡¯ll have to consider Xharrote¡¯s suggestion to train with Nicanor, or team up with Casella and Mbukhe again. At least then I won¡¯t have to bear all the burdens of leadership. But I want to get back to glass, too, and I promised to check in on¡ª

    ¡°Nuri? Nuri!¡±

    I blink, coming back to my senses as Avelina snaps in my face to get my attention. She sends showers of harmless, rainbow-hued sparks from her fingertips with each snap, no doubt inspired by the firework displays during the recent celebrations in her honor.

    ¡°Uh. Yeah. Ranking up sounds good.¡±

    Mikko¡¯s goofy look sharpens immediately. He frowns at me, his brow furrowed, and I¡¯m certain that he¡¯s preparing his best encouraging lecture for later. He¡¯s more and more like his father with each passing day. That brings me to a halt again. I miss the family.

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just homesick,¡± I blurt out, wincing at the ill-timed admission. I¡¯m supposed to help Rakesh restore the library with a never-before-seen combination of amazing Skills, not spill my guts to the team.

    ¡°Me too,¡± half of them chorus immediately. They seem so sincere, so non-judgemental in their acceptance of my statement that it unties the knot that¡¯s been tightening in my chest for the last few weeks.

    ¡°Let''s do this. Together,¡± I say, my morose mood slowly melting. ¡°Then let¡¯s go home.¡±

    Lionel avoids my gaze, but I just smile and pat his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll come visit, Lio. Don¡¯t worry.¡±

    A loud screech interrupts what was supposed to be a touching moment. We all turn to behold Rakesh dragging over a table that¡¯s still mostly intact. It protests as it¡¯s manhandled over the floor, which is cleared out in preparation for the upcoming cleaning work at the library.

    Rakesh is breathing hard by the time he maneuvers the table into position. He brushes off the dust and debris on top of it to make a spot where he can sit down. He crosses his legs and gets comfortable, arranging his black scholarly robes around him with great dignity and deliberation. Once he¡¯s satisfied, he closes his eyes and activates his grand Skill.

    Golden mana rushes in from all around us: up from the ground, drawn from where it pools near the Rift; down from the skies, falling softly like the first snow of the year; in from all four corners of the world, drifting in spirals and converging on our [Secretarial Researcher] in a flash of power.

    As I warm to the idea, I reach out with my own mana, buttressing his Skill and sharing the strength of my Domain. Splitting my focus, I bend down and place both palms on the floor of the library, calling on my [Vitrification] to turn the ground to glass.

    Without releasing the Skill, I connect my Domain to the tables and shelves around us, shifting the mana to a new target. I walk around the damaged wing of the library, turning more and more of the broken pieces into glass. It feels symbolic as I heat up the glass, pulling it into a ball with my Domain and preparing it for creating a [Sanctuary]. Time for a new beginning.

    Instead of merely relying on my Skill, however, I fold the glass over, weaving the molten strands in on each other and creating a complex orb of folded glass. [Sanctuary of Glass] runs alongside my other Skills, but I draw on [Artisanal Acuity] as I work to guide the shape. Instantly, the image of the tree holding up the world in the underwater city springs to mind. The first and grandest [Sanctuary] I ever created.

    Holding the idea of a tree, I compress the glass further, curving it over into an oval and sharpening the bottom until it looks like a giant acorn. All of the borrowed information from the Index will be stored within, but it won¡¯t change or develop in its current state. It needs to grow.

    The higher-order concept makes the mana around us frolic. The energy of the world resonates with my desire, and I impress each concept I¡¯ve discovered related to innovation and growth into my [Glass Animation] Skill in conjunction with [Sanctuary of Glass]. Grinning in pure delight, I push mana into the combined Skills, and impart a new directive to the building-sized, tree-like golem I¡¯m creating.

    Sprout! I shout in the voice of my soul. More than that. Flourish! I admonish the glass tree. Seek out knowledge and blossom as more and more wisdom is added to your ranks.

    Power rushes out of me. By the time the dizzying flood of mana cuts off, I¡¯m panting on the ash-stained floor. Bits of dirt and soot are smeared across my clothes.

    Before me, a pulsing sphere the size of my head instantly draws my sight. Overflowing with power, it blazes against my mana senses too brilliantly to watch, looking for all the world like the core of the Lesser Domain I drained to save the townspeople so long ago. I flinch away and withdraw my Domain, letting only a trickle of my perception through.

    ¡°The seed of potential,¡± I whisper.

    Rakesh stares at it in dazed awe. I shuffle over and squeeze his shoulder. It¡¯s the best I can do as a parting gift. I know he¡¯ll stay in Gilead with Lionel, working alongside the Menders to revolutionize healthcare science¡ªat least, when he¡¯s not revamping the [Inquisitors]¡¯ entire communication network.

    He breaks away at last, wiping a tear from his eye. ¡°Thank you, Nuri. This city needs a sign of hope right now. You¡¯ve given them the promise of a brighter tomorrow.¡±

    No one else seems to know what to say after that. Reverently, we return to our suites at the Menders, where we¡¯ve been staying now that Lionel is their star. We share a quiet dinner, with no talk of politics or future plans. We¡¯re simply together.

    Tomorrow, I¡¯ll set out for home with Mikko and the Linas, but that¡¯s a tale for another time. Tonight, we¡¯re here. We¡¯re family. The moment stretches on, immortal, even though it¡¯s all too fleeting. Sometimes, life¡¯s like that. Adventures will come. New horrors and challenges will arise. But for now, everything is perfect. I sigh in contentment. I don¡¯t want to miss a single moment with my friends.

 Book Seven: Chapter One

    Homeward: my thoughts, my affections, my feet.

    Finally.

    Months of travel, crafting, fighting, and plotting have taken their toll. My team is smaller by two, since Lionel is assuming a lofty position as the second-in-command within the Menders, reporting only to the new [Headmaster of Healing], Uttara. To the surprise of absolutely no one, Rakesh is staying behind to establish the first department of runic-based medical research in Densmore, furthering our work with the improved Azure Rod healing boost.

    When he¡¯s not coordinating communication and clandestine operations for the [Inquisitors], of course. He loves cloak and dagger work too much to abandon it entirely.

    Year¡¯s worth of memories with my friends bubble up to the surface, and I swallow hard to remove the lump forming in my throat. My strides never waver despite my inner turmoil. I refuse to look over my shoulder at the dark smudge on the horizon behind us, all that¡¯s still visible of the city we¡¯ve called home for the last several months. Buzzing in the back of my mind from its mana shields exerting pressure against my Domain is a constant reminder of how recently we departed, but even that will disappear soon enough.

    I square my shoulders, hold my head high, and put on a brave face instead of crying. We¡¯ve said our goodbyes. Each man is walking the right path for him; Lionel and Rakesh are happier this way. This is what growing up looks like, even if it takes us our separate ways. I don¡¯t begrudge my friends their choices. Besides, I¡¯ll get to reunite with my family when I reach home. I have plenty to look forward to, although I wish the trip were shorter.

    ¡°And less wet,¡± I grumble to myself, hunching my shoulders against the rain splattering against my face and matting my hair. Leaving the protective aegis of Gilead¡¯s artificial weather behind us is a shock to the system after adjusting to the warm sun and cloudless skies.

    ¡°Talking to yourself, Nuri? I hear that¡¯s a sign of insanity,¡± Mikko quips from beside me. He¡¯s jolly as can be, despite the chill in the air and the squelch of fetid mud underfoot. It¡¯s not difficult to see why, with the fiery Avelina walking beside him, her arm looped through the crook of his elbow for support.

    ¡°I¡¯d be more concerned if he showed signs of sanity,¡± Melina mutters from the other side of her twin sister. She squints, making her nose scrunch up, and wipes a long strand of ivory hair out of her eyes. ¡°No one else would have trudged along, oblivious to the solution. That¡¯s how we know he¡¯s still himself despite all the medals and accolades.¡±

    Slack-jawed with betrayal, I halt in my tracks. ¡°Mel! You, too? You were always the nice one.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be nicer if you¡¯d use your ridiculously powerful Domain to keep the rain off us,¡± she says. All the while, she¡¯s giving me a once-over with an amused gleam in her eyes.

    ¡°You want me to use my [Arcane Domain] as an umbrella?¡±

    Avelina snickers. ¡°Ooh, he¡¯s mad now. You can tell by how his voice got all flat and he dropped down to a more ¡®manly¡¯ register.¡±

    ¡°An umbrella would be nice, Nuri,¡± Mikko says diplomatically, which earns him a ringing endorsement from his lady love.

    My cheeks flush. ¡°Oh. I should have thought of it earlier. Sorry, just¡ªdistracted.¡±

    ¡°We all are,¡± Melina replies, her voice softening. She meets my gaze and a half-smile quirks up her lips in encouragement.

    I smile back and condense the mana in the area around us, pressing back against the rain and shunting the water sideways. Ensconced within a sphere of perfectly dry calm, we continue marching toward the overland route Xharrote suggested we take to bypass the Barrens. It will add a few weeks of travel to our long journey, but we¡¯ll avoid running into old acquaintances who may be less than friendly after our clashes with the [Hunters] of Halmuth.

    ¡°Eye-catching,¡± Avelina says after a moment, gesturing at the protected area around us. ¡°Maybe Nuri was trying to be subtle and only use his Domain to scout out enemies. Now we¡¯ve set up a banner and played a trumpet, announcing to the world that a [Mage] is heading this way. Great way to travel incognito.¡±

    ¡°I wish I could claim that was my plan,¡± I chuckle ruefully. ¡°Thanks for making me sound smarter than I am, Ava.¡±

    ¡°Much better. Thanks, brother,¡± Mikko says, grinning. ¡°Now, about these waterlogged clothes. Dry us off?¡±

    A wave of my hand raises the temperature in the area. My [Greater Heat Manipulation] goes to work, evaporating the water droplets and quickly steaming the clothes. I¡¯m careful to double-coat the layers of mana carrying out my will, providing a layer of comfortable coolness against their skin while applying more and more heat to the clothes. I stop just shy of setting them on fire, although there¡¯s little danger since Avelina is a skilled [Flameworker].

    ¡°Brilliant. Thanks!¡±

    The twins give me such a heartfelt grin at the pampering that I almost don¡¯t mind that I¡¯m now a giant, walking advertisement proclaiming my identity to anyone who¡¯s been paying attention to the rumors buzzing through Gilead lately. Maybe it won¡¯t be so bad. No one else seems to be around, anyway.

    Lio would have loved this banter, I think. The thought makes me sigh, but it¡¯s not quite the knife to the gut I feared. I pick up the pace to work off my sadness that he¡¯s not here. At least Mikko and the Linas are still with me. We¡¯re going to be all right on our own. Honestly, I can¡¯t ask for better company.

    ¡°Hail, [Glass Mage],¡± a low voice calls out just then, making my friends jump. Three men, cloaked by an artifact powerful enough to hide even from my Domain, emerge from a row of low, prickly hedges next to the road, and fan out to block our path forward.

    ¡°Scanning for threats, huh? You let us walk right into this ambush,¡± Mikko says, giving me a reproachful look.

    I shrug. ¡°It¡¯s just Nicanor.¡±

    ¡°Nicanor and bodyguards,¡± one of the men corrects me. He winks, spinning a knife between his fingers. The weapon whirls and dances like a [Cirque Acrobat] on stage. Clearly, the effects of some sort of Skill or blade art.

    ¡°You heard me,¡± I reply, scowling at him and playing the haughty, offended [Mage].

    He laughs, knowing it¡¯s all an act, and soon fades into the background out of sight.

    I stare up at Nicanor. The tall, muscular [Spear Commander] is holding my spear: the first enchanted weapon I ever owned, however briefly, taken as spoils of war from the greater Rift I delved with Tem all those years ago. I hold back a wince as I take in the enchantments; the scripts no longer look as impressive as they once did.

    ¡°Remind me to fix those enchantments when we break for camp tonight,¡± I offer in greeting, gesturing toward the spear. That thought excites me. I¡¯m not an actual [Enchanter], but with the book of runes Rakesh has been researching, I¡¯m more versatile and skilled than most of the Class-holders. I bet I can make something better than that.

    Awkwardness thickens around us, but I clear my throat and nod at the Second Threshold soldier, hoping to cut the tension. ¡°Glad to hear that I¡¯ve graduated from glass boy to [Glass Mage] these days.¡±

    Nicanor grunts. ¡°Respect is earned.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve grown strong. My misgivings were mostly unfounded,¡± Nicanor acknowledges, falling into step beside me as we continue walking.

    ¡°But?¡± I prompt.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    He grimaces. ¡°Your martial skills are amateur at best. You look like a recruit fresh out of combat camp.¡±

    ¡°Hey! That¡¯s better than terrible, lacking entirely, and so on. You¡¯re getting soft in your old age,¡± I taunt, smirking as his eyes turn stony. ¡°You¡¯re right. I could be better¡ªif I specialized. The time I spend training martial techniques is time not spent understanding how to leverage my Domain, or learning new runes, or uncovering the mysteries of how axiomatic subversion works.¡±

    Nicanor¡¯s gaze sharpens. ¡°Huh. Xharrote wasn¡¯t lying. Twisting higher-order concepts really is how you beat that old monster?¡±

    I groan. ¡°Me and my big mouth. I gotta learn to stop giving away valuable information. Oughta charge you for that kind of revelation.¡±

    ¡°Good thing I have us warded,¡± Nicanor says, patting a slim, densely-inscripted box strapped to his hip. ¡°I trust my men with my life, but that doesn¡¯t mean that they need to be privy to your secrets.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being awfully nice,¡± I accuse.

    ¡°You want to know my motives?¡± He shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you. I am going to train you until I am satisfied you¡¯re not an embarrassment to the Mage Hunters.¡±

    I miss a step at his casual reference, slipping in the mud, and stabilize myself just in time with the help of my [Arcane Domain]. ¡°Wait. Tem never listed you in his books.¡±

    ¡°Because I wasn¡¯t on his team,¡± Nicanor replies patiently. ¡°But Xharrote and I are aligned in our thinking. Tapirs hasn¡¯t dared move this publicly before. He hid in the shadows and exerted his influence, like a [Puppeteer] pulling strings. That he was bold enough to act now and foment rebellion troubles me. I couldn¡¯t piece it together, but [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote believes that he supported the insurrection so that Tapirs can portray the current [King] as weak and unjust, and then sweep in to save the day and bring ¡®stability¡¯ to the country.¡±

    ¡°Plausible,¡± I accede. Unease grips me as more and more details slot into place.

    ¡°Unfortunately, it¡¯s the only thing that makes sense to me as well,¡± Nicanor says. ¡°Which is why the [Inquisitors] must act out of loyalty to Densmore¡ªthe kingdom and its people, not the crown¡ªand I¡¯ve agreed to join them. The Royal Army may not agree, which puts me in jeopardy if I¡¯m court-marshalled. I might lose my Class.¡±

    I cast him a sympathetic glance as my estimation of the man rises even further. ¡°And the combat spear-Skills with it?¡±

    His grim expression is a more eloquent answer than mere words could ever be.

    ¡°Heading to Silaraon? We¡¯d be pleased to travel with you, if you can forgive me for my bad attitude when I was younger. I look back at my animosity during our tower ascension with a good deal of regret,¡± I say by way of peace offering.

    To my surprise, he snorts out a laugh. ¡°I provoked you. Had to see what you were made of before sending you on a mission. You saved us in that tower. A little whining? Nothing at all compared with action.¡±

    ¡°Even so,¡± I say softly, ¡°that¡¯s not the kind of man I want to become. I¡¯ll train with you on the way home if you¡¯re convinced it¡¯s the right move.¡±

    ¡°Home,¡± Nicanor echoes, and the word sounds melancholy on his lips. ¡°We¡¯ve asked much from you already, Nuri. We¡¯re going to ask for far more.¡±

    My fingers find the straps on my pack and wind tightly around the leather to keep from trembling. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

    Nicanor squeezes my shoulder. ¡°Good man. Silaraon first. You can catch up with friends and family, but we have work to do in the capital.¡±

    ¡°Tem,¡± I reply without hesitation.

    ¡°Tem,¡± he agrees. ¡°The three of us will become the core of the new Mage Hunters after he¡¯s released. As I said earlier, I¡¯m not keen on an unskilled teammate. Against all common sense, despite your youth, you¡¯ll be a Second Threshold specialist by then. You can¡¯t bumble around like a self-taught bumpkin.¡±

    That shuts me up for a moment. I cough, compelled to speak up in defense of my friend and mentor. ¡°Ember is a good fighter. She gave me a good foundation.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s solid,¡± Nicanor says. He rubs at his clean-shaven chin, as if he¡¯s scrubbing off a speck of dirt only he seems to see. ¡°But she trained you like a [Soldier]¡ªyes, yes, I know she earned the lesser version of [Devouring Flames]. Good enough for self-defense, or to clear out an infestation, sure. Fighting at our level is a different matter entirely. I can bring out the best of your potential, if you¡¯ll have me as a teacher.¡±

    I bite my tongue instead of making another quip. I¡¯ve seen Nicanor fight; he¡¯s not making an empty boast. Nodding, I clasp my hands in a show of respect. ¡°Greetings, master. I¡¯ll try not to let you down.¡±

    He studies my face for a long time before replying, as though searching for any sign of insincerity or indecision. A grunt is the only indication I get that he¡¯s apparently satisfied with what he finds. ¡°From now on, empower every movement with mana. Each step you take, each bite of food, each roll of your eyes¡ªI expect that will be a favorite of yours¡ªreinforce it with as much mana as you can muster.¡±

    ¡°Lo! A sense of humor appears.¡±

    ¡°Rein it in,¡± he says, then chuckles.

    ¡°Yes, master.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got. We¡¯re going to run ahead for half an hour. My men will guard your team in our absence, and they¡¯re the best in the business, so don¡¯t worry about them. You have a singular goal: outrunning me.¡±

    Bands of condensed mana manifest around his legs as he crouches. He leans forward until he¡¯s almost off balance, feeding more and more mana into his odd technique. Explosive energy erupts in an abrupt flare of power, launching him forward as though shot from a catapult.

    Whooping, I infuse my entire body with mana and take off after him, racing across the mud and gravel without fear of falling. My Domain will pillow my landing if I wipeout. If we¡¯re going to announce our presence so boldly, then I may as well use every advantage available to me.

    Wind whips past me as I pick up speed, creating enough resistance to flatten my hair and make my eyes water. Reflexively, I move Domain ahead of me, flooding it with more mana to create a magical construct akin to a ship¡¯s prow. The sharp mana plow shields my face and cuts through the air with ease.

    Yet it¡¯s not enough.

    No matter how much I strengthen my muscles with mana, I can¡¯t catch up. Straining, I close the gap by a few paces, but soon run into diminishing returns; the extra mana drains my Capacity more rapidly than ever, but I¡¯m not getting much faster. Dark spots tinge the edges of my vision as I push my mana use to the extreme.

    Nicanor glances over his shoulder, waves casually, and springs forward, increasing his lead with ease. He widens the gap even further than before, churning with focused mana that I simply can¡¯t match without advancing. When did he turn into an engine of endless energy?

    I tap into [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], coaxing the Skill to push past Nicanor¡¯s passive mana shield and more closely examine the way he empowers his body. He doesn¡¯t have a [Mage] or magic-adjacent Class to enhance his mana control, but he has far more refined technique than I do despite a similar Capacity.

    Decades of training, no doubt. The effect is evident when he jumps. Instead of gathering himself, or flooding his muscles with extra mana, he simply leaps¡ªand the power is already there, flinging him heavenward. It¡¯s as though his mana is flowing into position and providing energy before he consciously thinks of the next action.

    My feet thud into the ground and fling up clods of dirt. I dig deeper, trying to catch up to the swift [Spear Commander], all while my mind is churning with possibilities.

    How do I copy his technique? Is it even possible without years of dedicated practice? He has an enormous head start, the best instructors, and decades of time on me.

    A grin stretches across my face, making my cheeks ache as I consider the challenge in front of me. I wasn¡¯t making excuses when I told him about the opportunity costs of training my body for physical combat instead of advancing my understanding of runes, but if this pushes my mana-control to the next level, then perhaps it¡¯s worth the time.

    I keep running, considering the dilemma as I go. Without pushing as hard, I settle into a fast pace that I can keep up for some time, and sink into my inner world to watch the flow of mana throughout my body. Pulling energy from my core and feeding it into my muscles is trivial after the last few years of training, but it¡¯s far from instantaneous. Compared with Nicanor¡¯s fluid, easy grace, my manual process is much slower and unwieldy.

    Something about the way I¡¯m forcing the energy into place, like wrestling with a slippery eel in a river, brings back the memories of my first attempts at infusing a glass knife with mana. I was just touching on the idea of sharpness back then, with no real understanding of what I was trying to do, but it laid the foundation for mana imbuing.

    That¡¯s it! Treat this like imbuing. The mana needs an image to embrace.

    Excitement wells up in me. I paint a mental picture of what I¡¯m trying to accomplish as I train. Instead of focusing on my accomplishments, I shift my perspective, recalling the joys of teamwork. Sadness at leaving behind Lionel and Rakesh becomes the fuel for my imagination, and the mana sings around me. Elegy transforms to ecstasy; power surges through my legs and hips and back, propelling me forward faster than ever, even before I realized I wanted to run like the wind.

    Each movement is quick and precise, effortless in a way I¡¯ve never experienced. Shouts of exuberance burst out of me at the sheer pleasure of movement.

    Nicanor grows larger, transforming from a speck on the horizon to a man running just up ahead of me for the first time. He glances over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised at how quickly I¡¯m catching up, and a wide grin splits his face. His own mana rises to the challenge. He soars ahead with each leap, moving so quickly that his body blurs in my sight.

    Laughing, I take off after him, pushing to my limits and still failing to catch him. It doesn¡¯t matter. New pieces of the puzzle have slid into place. I¡¯m stronger now than I was a few hours ago. And, for a few moments, missing my friends doesn¡¯t seem so bad. The joy of unfettered running, free and fierce, folds into the host of emotions within me. We¡¯re all exactly where we¡¯re supposed to be. That¡¯s worth a smile.

    Evening casts its long shadows across the world by the time Nicanor and I return to our camp. I didn¡¯t catch him, but I know it¡¯s only a matter of practice. I¡¯ve figured out the secret to his speed. Practice will turn theory into reality eventually.

    Time to get to work.

 Book Seven Chapter Two

    My protest to Nicanor that physical training takes time away from developing magical prowess soon fails to hold water. The constant exercise on the road shows me the error of my ways as my muscles and tendons are punished, refined, rebuilt. I¡¯m stronger than ever, surprising even my brother the last time we wrestled.

    The memory of Mikko¡¯s eyebrows raised in shock when I flipped him makes me smile. He¡¯d wasted no time pinning me afterward, but I¡¯ll take whatever victories I can get right now. Heaven only knows how long I¡¯ll struggle to win against Nicanor. Fighting him feels like trying to dig up a mountain of solid rock one tea-spoon at a time. At least my Skills are also advancing, no doubt thanks to the constant practice while we run and spar.

    Like every day for the last three weeks, I find myself running after my new trainer with a heavy rock in each hand. Breathe for a four count. Hold for a four count. Release for a four count. Hold for a four count. Breathe¡ªmy thoughts echo Nicanor¡¯s commands as I move, and I refuse to break the pattern no matter how much my lungs scream for air.

    [Vitrification] transforms the rocks as we race up hills and across plains, but I¡¯m manually modulating the magic, limiting the transmutation to a thin layer of glass at a time. Stumbling down steep, rocky ravines and scrambling back up fallen logs slippery with the spray of river rapids forces me to split my attention between running and magic, and I¡¯m falling behind my relentless trainer.

    I set my jaw and pick up the pace. Nicanor won¡¯t be able to outrun me forever. I¡¯ll catch him before dinner. Once I have enough glass, I¡¯ll recreate the last three of my animated flying creatures. I need to replenish the rest of the golems I lost at sea while fighting the terrifying [Death Mage] Tapirs.

    A rock smacks me in the chest.

    ¡°Unsporting!¡± I shout, twitching out of the way of the next pebble the irascible [Spear Commander] throws at me. I avoid the next half dozen flings, but I¡¯m more embarrassed than annoyed about the first hit. I let my focus drift. Can¡¯t afford to slack. No time, not if the rumors Nicanor¡¯s guards were murmuring about are true. Agents among the Royal army are ¡°randomly" testing allegiance, taking over from the [Inquisitors], who have always served the realm and not a single interest.

    Not that the [King] is likely to agree with my analysis, I admit with a wry smile.

    Subdued laughter floats back to me on the breeze, but the barrage of rocks stops. The [Spear Commander] has made his point. My focus sharpens, and I flood my body with as much mana as it can handle, trying harder to catch up again. Nicanor sets a hard pace, upping his speed by nearly half again each week, and my veins burn with the effort of keeping up. I can¡¯t believe I thought I¡¯d outshine the old soldier just because my mana reserves were far deeper and more potent.

    Twenty minutes later, he takes pity on me and settles into a jog that¡¯s still as fast as the average horse galloping. We never stop moving completely. This is simply his version of taking a break.

    ¡°Make the rest of your creatures when we return to camp tonight,¡± Nicanor instructs, nodding down at the half-formed lumps of glass in my hands.

    ¡°I can multitask. Just lost track¡ª¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°This isn¡¯t a reprimand. I need you to make weapons instead. We¡¯re far enough from camp to go through a few forms.¡±

    He¡¯s sparing me the prying eyes of his bodyguards, who like giving me pointed feedback on my losses to Nicanor. The sparring matches are a nightly ritual, which means I¡¯m subjected to their heckling just as frequently. Locked out of my more destructive magic, I¡¯m finding that my martial fundamentals are decent, but inadequate against a trained warrior.

    I nod and unleash the constraints on my Skill, shifting the remaining rock into glass in the blink of an eye. The raw material floats upward as I consider my armaments. Magic pools around me, so thick it almost congeals in the air thanks to my compressed Domain, and I imprint the shape of a sword and shield on the glass. In a heartbeat, weapons emerge, ready to use and sturdy enough to hold up in a fight.

    Unbreakable ensures that the paper-thin rondell shield will hold up to the vicious cuts and thrusts of Nicanor¡¯s spear, while sharpness promises to leave at least a tiny slice on his unnaturally-tough skin if I can get past his guard.

    If.

    Rapid-fire lunges test my stance. I catch each probing attack on the shield I created. My hands sting with the vibrations, but I keep the shield up over my eyes and crouch, bracing. The shock of impact shoves me back a step with each stab. Nicanor hits like a runaway bull, but the worst part is I know he¡¯s just warming up. His body is coiled like a spring, tight and compact, leaving me without a target.

    Not that I have time to counterattack!

    Dancing around me in a graceful semicircle, he tests my defenses with strikes that flash in the late-afternoon sun. Each bone-rattling strike requires mana to withstand; without constant empowering magic to strengthen me, I¡¯d break a bone or tear a muscle. I know from experience. Only a Menders outpost nearby saved me from lingering damage.

    Abruptly, the pressure relents. I gulp in a breath, shifting my stance and sliding into the soft, deceptive movements the footwork of the golden eagle martial style. Floating around my opponent, I find my opening.  l forward explode and strike back with a blur of overhand cuts. Weathering the [Spear Commander]¡¯s opening onslaught of blows marks a new milestone in my training, but I¡¯ll not rest until I give as good as I get.

    [Fault Finder] activates for a split second, piggybacking on the back of my Domain to work at a distance. Mana sings, and I accelerate forward on empowered legs, led toward the potential weak spot in his stance my Skill says might break with enough force.

    The blade clangs off the haft of his spear so hard that it shakes itself to pieces, fracturing into dozens of glittering pieces despite the unbreakable imbuement. I growl in frustration at my Skill failing.

    ¡°You¡¯re holding up suspiciously well,¡± Nicanor drawls. His eyes crinkle, showing off a tiny network of lines brought on by his slight smile. ¡°Stopped training your other Skills while we fight, I take it?¡±

    ¡°Guilty,¡± I admit. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem to be working, either. I should have kept pushing them like you suggested.¡±

    ¡°Sure it¡¯s not working? I¡¯ll need to mend my jacket,¡± Nicanor says, tapping a finger to the rent in his jacket where I¡¯d attacked him.

    ¡°But you blocked it!¡± I say dumbly.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Burned a defensive Skill for the first time in our fights,¡± the [Spear Commander] grumbles. He plants the butt of his spear on the ground. ¡°You¡¯re improving, Nuri. Bleed me twice more and it will be time to head back to camp.¡±

    The words scarcely leave his lips before I lunge forward, striking out with my shield while I try my latest trick. Overcharging [Greater Heat Manipulation], I forcibly melt the entire shield as quickly as possible, holding the glass in place with my Domain so that it doesn¡¯t explode under the intense surge of mana. Blinding flashes accompany the burning heat, like a second sun made manifest between us.

    The remnants of the shield shift into a slender lance, pressed into shape by my Domain as I bear down on the glass. I don¡¯t bother to call on unbreakable, opting only to drench the working in sharpness. I won¡¯t need it again if my plan works.

    Nicanor¡¯s spear whips around to intercept my strike, moving too quickly for my eyes to follow. I track it through my Domain, all too aware that my desperate speed is still too slow. It smashes through the glass spear, shattering it instantly.

    He shifts his weight at the last second as the needle tip continues its furious momentum, borne along by the force of my will. Technically, I¡¯m cheating, using magic to complete the thrust, but it¡¯s only for a heartbeat.

    My gamble pays off. A small starburst of red blossoms on his shoulder, and he hisses in pain¡ªreal pain¡ªfor the first time since our fights began.

    A second later, he rolls his shoulders and grins. It¡¯s the last thing I see before tumbling head over heels and colliding with the ground a dozen paces away.

    Every fiber of my being screams in sure anticipation of agony, but as I draw in a deep, shuddering breath, I realize that I¡¯m relatively unharmed. Oh, the blow stings, but he didn¡¯t break bones or sever joints.

    I got off easy.

    ¡°Risky. Now you¡¯re unarmed.¡±

    ¡°Against anyone else, that¡¯s a killing blow,¡± I venture, knowing it sounds an awful lot like an excuse. I drag a fallen branch closer to me, preparing to cast [Vitrification] on it and prepare a defense against his inevitable attack.

    Ever full of surprises, Nicanor tosses his spear aside and flops to the ground, groaning as he sprawls out and massages his shoulder where I stabbed him. ¡°Wish I could gainsay you, but I can count the number of warriors who¡¯d survive that on two hands. You¡¯ll owe my guards an apology when we return.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Does that have something to do with the pulse of mana that shot in their direction when I hit you?¡±

    He nods, a strikingly heavy look on his face. ¡°They¡¯re [Honorbound Bodyguards]. That¡¯s not for show. We¡¯ll have to find another Mender, or pick up a healing salve in the next town.¡±

    ¡°Damage redirection?¡± I ask, although it¡¯s more of a statement than a question. Nothing else fits his description.

    ¡°A life for a life,¡± he says.

    The solemn statement hangs between us. I shiver involuntarily as fear grips me. ¡°No. I didn¡¯t¡ªthey¡¯re going to be all right, won¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Injured, not dead,¡± Nicanor confirms after tilting his head to the side for a moment.

    I slump back in relief. I¡¯ve got enough blood on my hands lately; I don¡¯t need to add more from my allies. If [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote is right about Tapirs returning and the impending war against the loyal factions, then we¡¯re going to cut through lives like a farmer¡¯s scythe through wheat.

    ¡°Glad to hear he¡¯s not dead,¡± I get out after a hard swallow.

    A hint of a smile. ¡°Same here.¡±

    I smile back at the usually-reserved Commander, who¡¯s climbing to his feet, his spear twirling in his hands. ¡°You know, I don¡¯t feel like fighting much anymore.¡±

    ¡°Fine. You¡¯ll need to hit me four times next bout,¡± he says, scowling at giving up the spar before I reach the requisite number.

    The menace rolling off him is palpable, and I take a step back before firming my resolve and squaring up, lifting my branch up defiantly. It¡¯s sparse and mostly stripped of bark, with only a single leaf still clinging to tenuous life.

    Nicanor laughs. ¡°Put away the stick, boy. Your fighting spirit is improving. We¡¯ll jog back instead of running. We¡¯ve got to discuss your Skills.¡±

    That catches my attention. My voice cracks like I¡¯m a half a decade younger, betraying me in my excitement. ¡°You heard back from Central?¡±

    ¡°Just before we left,¡± Nicanor confirms. ¡°I intended to dangle that discussion in front of you as a carrot so you¡¯d fight harder, but that last attack actually caught me off guard. I didn¡¯t know you could reshape your glass that quickly. Will we have to update your Skill list already?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°No [Glass Manipulation] to go with my [Heat Manipulation], unfortunately. That would be convenient, but I had to freeform the glass.¡±

    Nicanor grunts, sounding impressed. ¡°You melted it down and reshaped it on the fly?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Takes a lot of focus, though. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s viable in a fight other than as a surprise attack right now,¡± I say as I walk faster, breaking into a trot to keep up.

    ¡°Once we rank up your Skills and you break through, then I imagine you¡¯ll have an easier time of it. Save it for a finisher until then.¡±

    I pick up the pace as we hop down a sloped field of shoulder-high boulders strewn about the path, the remains of an old rock slide most likely, and draw abreast with Nicanor. ¡°Acknowledged.¡±

    He grins at my sidelong look, no doubt noticing how twitchy I am. ¡°Getting anxious?¡±

    ¡°Stop drawing things out. I thought Ezio had a flair for the dramatic, but you¡¯re ten times worse.¡±

    ¡°Excellence in all things,¡± he replies, nodding happily. ¡°Fine. Here¡¯s the recommendation from the Skills specialist I contacted. It won¡¯t be easy, and you¡¯ll lose a few minor Skills, but the extra pressure the new ones will exert will more than make up for the trade-off. Take a gander.¡±

    I draw in a sharp breath as a ghostly page hovers in front of my sight. Whatever message Nicanor received must have been highly magical, and likely encrypted for Royal army use only. I¡¯m amazed that the spell is flexible enough to allow him to share an ethereal copy.

    I read through the recommendations in a rush, barely keeping an eye on the path ahead of me as we meander through a forest. Tripping over a root right in front of Nicanor would be an embarrassing way to end this training run, so I slow down a bit and take in my surroundings even though my focus is on the list of Skill combinations and annotations, which opens up possibilities I¡¯ve never dreamed of before:

    <h2>Nuri Shahi Skill List</h2>

    [Greater Heat Manipulation] + [Quick Cool] (Greater control and strength.)

    [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil] + [Fault Finder] + [Legacy of the Scalpel] (Impact the physical and metaphysical world through forcible use of Domain ¡ª attack vectors possible.)

    [Glass Animation] + [Adjuration of the Phoenix] (Explore mana bonds and golemancy.)

    [Sanctuary of Glass] + [Greater Endurance] + [Lesser Resistance: Mental Strain] (Body tempering applications in combat in addition to battlefield shelters. Powerful potential for surviving attacks!)

    [Artisanal Acuity] + [Compositional Analysis] + [A Perfect Prototype] + [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness] + [Vitrification] (Likely to earn a manipulation Skill; extreme combat potential based on classified autopsy reports of the disgraced unorthodox researcher known as Scalpel.)

    ¡°Five Skills seems low to exert enough pressure,¡± I say after we put another mile or two behind us and I have more time to process the information. ¡°Will I still be able to push into the Second Threshold?¡±

    Nicanor grunts in affirmation. ¡°It would be for the average person, but each one will be a greater Skill at the peak of Gold or even crossing the line to Platinum, considering their unique nature.¡±

    ¡°Central didn¡¯t recognize them all?¡±

    ¡°With respect, we don¡¯t usually analyze crafters,¡± Nicanor says, turning to smirk at me. ¡°The ranks are my colleague¡¯s private guess, off record. And no, I didn¡¯t pass along the exact ranks, in case our transmission was intercepted. I¡¯ll bet they¡¯re close.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Spot on. A few are higher caliber. I might be able to hit mid-Platinum with some of these combinations. You know Tapirs already has a dossier on me, though. Why would it matter if he knew my exact rank?¡±

    Nicanor doesn¡¯t answer right away. He picks up the pace, running after all, and we move in swift silence for a time.

    ¡°We¡¯ll mask your strength with an artifact. Best to keep you our hidden blade,¡± Nicanor says at last. ¡°Now look sharp. We¡¯re almost back to camp, and you¡¯ve got an army of golems to create. Get a bird in the skies and scout ahead. You owe us another visit to a [Healer].¡±

    Despite how guilty the reminder of the [Honorbound Bodyguard]¡¯s wounds make me, I can¡¯t help but puff out my chest in pride at my progress. I nod toward my brother and the Linas in greeting when we find our squad set up for camp in a forest glade. A smile twitches on my lips. Today, I cut Nicanor.

    Tomorrow, I¡¯ll make a [Death Mage] bleed.

 Book Seven Chapter Three

    My reckless attack doesn¡¯t seem to bother the wounded bodyguard. If anything, he gives me a nod of respect when we return to camp. Gently tapping the fresh gauze on his shoulder, his eyes crinkle up when he smiles at me. That makes me feel far worse than if he¡¯d been angry. My cheeks burn in shame whenever I catch his eyes on me, and I excuse myself from the evening campfire to gather up some stones to transmute into glass.

    Guilt drives me to work faster on creating a new flying golem to scout ahead. I need to find a Mender outpost so I can help the man heal up.

    To my surprise, Nicanor is the one who stops me before I even get halfway through the first rock. He crouches down next to me and clicks his tongue. ¡°No Skill use without following the plan. You don¡¯t have time to waste with half-measures.¡±

    ¡°You trust the specialist that much?¡±

    Nicanor doesn¡¯t hesitate. No consideration, no arranging his thoughts. His face lights up, blazing with excitement. ¡°With my life. He¡¯s guided me from a raw recruit to my current position. I¡¯ve yet to meet anyone else with such a solid grasp on how the heavens assign gifts.¡±

    ¡°Is that what bestows Skills on us? The heavens?¡± I ask, trying to keep the skepticism out of my tone.

    ¡°No one knows. But it doesn¡¯t hurt to be respectful,¡± the intimidating [Spear Commander] replies. He taps on a brown rock with red striations sitting next to me. ¡°I know you can shift this to glass in a few seconds, but I want you to go slow. Activate all of the recommended grouped Skills together from now on. No [Vitrification] without the rest of them. Ever.¡±

    I gulp at the thought of how much mana I¡¯ll waste, but I¡¯ve committed to this course of action. Backing out now would make me seem weak-willed and double-minded. I firm up my conviction and pull up the list the Skills specialist sent me. [Artisanal Acuity] will do little to help until I¡¯m creating the golem, but I can at least see how [Compositional Analysis] and [A Master¡¯s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness] will improve the process of [Vitrification]. Less clear is how [A Perfect Prototype] will assist the transformation. Only one way to find out.

    Power flows out of me in multiple threads as I start over, this time trying to think of my work not as [Vitrification], but as gaining deeper insight into understanding the way the world is put together. Holistic as that approach seems like it should be, the magic feels disjointed. I¡¯m flailing around, like trying to pick up an object after growing a few extra hands.

    Now that¡¯s a terrifying thought!

    Snorting in amusement at the mental image, I accidentally drop [A Perfect Prototype]. It wasn¡¯t doing anything yet anyway, so it¡¯s all too easy to let it go.

    My wince must have shown up on my face, because Nicanor shakes his head. ¡°Throw out the entire batch and start over.¡±

    ¡°You could tell I slipped up?¡±

    ¡°Your scowl announced it more loudly than a bugle signaling a charge,¡± Nicanor replies with a chuckle.

    ¡°Amusing,¡± I deadpan.

    Mischief sparkles in his eyes. ¡°Happy to help, recruit.¡±

    Old me would have bitten back a snarky reply. Instead, I smile. ¡°Any words of wisdom?¡±

    ¡°Sink into your soul space. Focus only on the Skills on the list. Push them toward each other. Don¡¯t try to activate the Skills as discrete parts, not even at the same time. You have to conceptualize that they¡¯re one entity.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s surprisingly helpful,¡± I say.

    Nicanor hurls his spear into the distance, then holds out his hand, posing heroically until the spear returns to his grasp with a rock impaled on the end of the blade. He tosses the new chunk of rock to me. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. The resistance will be painful.¡±

    His grin almost makes me sigh, but I stifle that childish reaction and catch the gray rock. Time to get to work upgrading my Skills. If I haven¡¯t combined them by the time we return home to Silaraon, I¡¯ll be disappointed in myself.

    My first attempt goes precisely nowhere. The resistance isn¡¯t painful, because I can¡¯t get anything to budge. I flop on my rear in the dirt, my legs splayed out, and wrinkle my nose. ¡°Feels like shoving a mountain.¡±

    ¡°Push harder,¡± Nicanor says.

    ¡°Helpful,¡± I mutter, but it¡¯s probably sound advice, so I give it a shot. This time, I block out the world around me, reducing my Domain to just my core, and fall inward. A jolt of surprise hits me as I realize how much I trust Nicanor to keep watch. After relying on my Domain for so long, not being able to sense the world around me instantly ignites panic in my heart, but I know I¡¯m in good hands.

    I block out distractions, focusing only on the five Skills that I want to use in concert. That might be a good way to think about it instead of just using them simultaneously and hoping they have some sort of crossover. Fundamentally, I have to change the way they interact.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    I¡¯m a conductor, a [Maestro], and the Skills are all playing a singular song. They have different parts to play, but they¡¯re not accomplishing different goals. They¡¯re coming together to create something more, something greater than individual sounds.

    Grinding cracks ring out, like a rockslide rumbling in the distance¡ªlike teeth shattering under a hammer¡¯s blow, I think darkly. The Skills shift, creaking ominously as they slide toward each other. The spike of pain makes me stop shortly after I begin, but at least I have proof of concept now, imperceptible as the difference in distance between them might seem.

    Memories of combining the remains of my old Skills back in Scalpel¡¯s laboratory burst into my mind. The experience was far different. Less pain, more a sense of intense wrongness. But I¡¯ve done something similar before, and I¡¯ll do it again, I tell myself sternly.

    And this time, I¡¯ll cheat.

    [Legacy of the Scalpel] ignites, humming with power, and I move the Skills structures closer together. They shiver and screech, like a metal frame twisted out of true, but I hold the runic arrays in place with my Skill and clamp down harder.

    Warmth spills down my face, thicker than tears, and a distant part of my mind wonders if I¡¯m bleeding. I can¡¯t spare the energy to split my attention and confirm my suspicion, not when I can taste success on the tip of my tongue, so I press onward and ignore the building pain.

    Inch by excruciating inch, the Skills draw closer together, drawn along by the force of my will. Time fades away, seeming to lose its meaning as I haul on the invisible ropes tying me to all the crystalline structures of impossible fractals. Trembling with anticipation and agony, I flood my Skill with more mana, overloading [Legacy of the Scalpel] and forcing it to pull harder.

    Abruptly, the Skills sputters out. I yelp and fall out of my inner world. Srms pinwheeling as I fail to catch my balance, I crash backward, hinging from the hips, and smack my head on the dirt. It doesn¡¯t hurt with my mana-reinforced body, but it does earn a snicker from Nicanor.

    ¡°Shoulda warned you not to try to do it all in one night. Might take a few weeks.¡±

    ¡°You said to push harder!¡±

    ¡°And look how far you got.¡± Nicanor beams at me.

    I peek inside, although my senses feel raw and strained. ¡°Two are touching. The other three are close.¡±

    ¡°Never thought I¡¯d envy a crafter¡¯s talent, but here we are. Take a breather. We¡¯ll do this again tomorrow while we run. Excellent work for your first time. Almost like you¡¯ve done this before.¡±

    I ignore Nicanor¡¯s probing question and stare at the pitted gray rock he threw at me earlier, marveling at the deep, smooth cut he pierced through the center with his spear. With a half-smile, I mentally raise my conductor¡¯s baton and call forth the song of transformation.

    Only [Vitrification] and [Compositional Analysis] activate initially, though all five Skills soon blossom into music. Even so, it¡¯s progress, and I can barely keep from trembling as my heart rate spikes and my blood thunders in my temples. Small steps tonight. I don¡¯t want to undo my victory by pushing too hard and injuring myself. For now, I¡¯ll take any win I can get. Next time, I¡¯ll try to bring another Skill into the cluster. Then another. When I¡¯ve recovered enough from the exhaustion, I¡¯ll shove them all together and use them as one. Let¡¯s hope that will be enough to allow them to combine.

    Eager as I am to try again, I know resting is the right choice. I shift my priorities from merging my Skills to my original task: recreating the glass falcon that I lost in our desperate struggle in Gilead a few months back.

    The glass feels right as it takes shape, like an old friend coming to visit. Working with all the Skills in each group simultaneously drains me more quickly than I thought possible, even with my upgraded Capacity, but it¡¯s good practice. Ten minutes later, the golem blinks and tilts its head, regarding me with preternatural intelligence. Whatever spirit animates the thing feels both utterly foreign and a part of me all at once.

    ¡°It¡¯s like staring into a mirror and watching my reflection wink at me,¡± I mutter to myself. Unnerving. Reaching out along the connection between us with a pulse of mana brings me back to more familiar territory, and I shake off the feeling.

    The finished bird of prey gleams in the flickering light of the campfire when I walk back to rejoin the group. Avelina coos at it and holds out her arm. Falcon leaps over, alighting on a thick bracelet she¡¯s taken to wearing just for this purpose.

    ¡°Hey! Little traitor!¡±

    ¡°Clearly, your creatures are smarter than you are and know how to win the favor of the best member of the team,¡± Avelina says, her smile growing wider as I make an exaggerated show of rolling my eyes at her.

    The [Honorbound Bodyguards] come over to take a look, murmuring to one another as they point out the sharp beak and realistic textures of the feathers. I preen almost as much as the falcon does at their praise.

    ¡°All right, friend. Fly ahead and find a [Healer],¡± I instruct, speaking aloud for the benefit of the bodyguards.

    In a flash, it launches into the air, soaring aloft on outstretched wings, carried along by swirling mana flows visible only in my [Arcane Domain]. All the colors in the world glitter as it flies¡ªa living prism refracting mana instead of light¡ªand I gasp in excitement at the upgrade to its flight capabilities. Moments later, it¡¯s gone, flying beyond the range of my Domain. I¡¯ve never seen such a colorful display. My heart warms within me at the thought that I had a hand in creating something so beautiful.

    ¡°We¡¯ll let it search while we sleep. Maybe tomorrow it will find what we¡¯re looking for, or the day after if we¡¯re unlucky.¡±

    Cheers meet my announcement, and we all turn in for the night on a high note. Sleep overtakes me in a heartbeat as I succumb to exhaustion, and the next morning seems to arrive far too quickly.

    Of course, after my boasting, the glass falcon doesn¡¯t find signs of civilization the next two days. To my chagrin, nearly a week passes before it sends back a garbled image of tents and stalls set up in haphazard rows.

    I¡¯m not quite sure what we¡¯ll find when we reach the bird¡¯s current location, but I send instructions for it to hover high above the bazaar and wait for us. A gathering that large is sure to have a [Healer] or two.

    And even better, we should get a chance to sell some imbued glass and earn ourselves some spending money for the rest of the road, I consider as I rub my hands together in glee. Inns and taverns sound like a luxurious upgrade after all the nights sleeping in shallow caves to keep out the rain, or staring up at the stars from a hastily-collected bed of pine boughs for a little bit of comfort.

    We¡¯ve been pushing too hard for me to create a [Sanctuary] at night, since Nicanor¡¯s training has me scraping the dregs of my energy without fail. I¡¯m all for building a strong body and a strong mind, but surely the doughty [Spear Commander] won¡¯t begrudge us a little bit of luxury, right?

    Right . . .

 Book Seven Chapter Four

    Banners edged with gold and crimson fill my mind¡¯s eye. Two days of forced marches¡ªwith Nicanor, that really means running, not quick-stepping¡ªbring the team close enough to my glass falcon to see with clarity again through our connection. Fluttering in the wind like a company of ghostly dancers, the ornate flags snap and ripple in hypnotic rhythm, drawing me toward the encampment below, a sure sign that an artful advertisement Skill is at work.

    A brief pulse of my cluster of Domain Skills sweeps away the compulsion, but I¡¯m surprised to discover it reached me through the connection to my golem. Clear-headed again, I grimace at the intrusion and wonder if my beloved golems are actually weak points. I scratch my beard in consideration. Distributed casting seems so promising when it¡¯s my attack vector, but I hadn¡¯t considered that connections go two ways.

    Something to shore up later.

    ¡°We¡¯re close. Watch out for compulsions.¡±

    ¡°Enemies?¡± Mikko asks, frowning.

    We slow down to a jog as we talk, and I take my time answering, savoring the chance to breathe more easily after our run. ¡°I don¡¯t think the people running the market are malicious, but they sure seem eager to pull in customers.¡±

    ¡°Show me a [Merchant] who isn¡¯t looking to make a profit, and I¡¯ll send flowers to the family to put on the grave,¡± Nicanor says, chuckling darkly at his own joke.

    ¡°Hey. Don¡¯t make fun of [Merchants],¡± Avelina chides, catching her breath as we relax from the frantic pace. ¡°Mel¡¯s planning to marry one.¡±

    ¡°Apologies for my offense,¡± Nicanor says. His rare mirth disappears at once, replaced by his usual solemn mein. The muscles in his neck twitch briefly, betraying his discomfort, before he masters himself and grows still.

    ¡°No need for that. Even Padouk would admit it¡¯s true,¡± Melina says. An impish smile spreads across her face at the mention of her beloved¡¯s name.

    Nicanor nods. ¡°Ah, the Naftalan.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean? You know him?¡± Mikko asks, a strong undercurrent of suspicion in his tone.

    Nicanor¡¯s professional smile returns, but his facial muscles still strain to avoid a scowl instead. ¡°Naturally. You keep interesting company. From one war to another.¡±

    The color drains from Melina¡¯s already-pale cheeks. Sometimes Avelina teases her that she got a double portion, inheriting all the fire and color that Melina lacks, but it¡¯s not quite true. Peach hues often show through Melina¡¯s complexion. Right now? The scholarly sister looks as white as a sun-bleached skeleton.

    I¡¯m about to intervene on her behalf when she takes a long, shuddering breath. She swallows hard, sets her shoulders, and turns to drill Nicanor with a piercing stare. ¡°The treaty failed?¡±

    ¡°Nothing like that,¡± he assures her.

    She arches her brow. ¡°But war¡¯s coming?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Tenuous as it may be, the peace still holds. I fear that will last only until Tapirs returns to seize the reins.¡±

    ¡°Then nothing changes. We grow strong and return home as soon as we can,¡± Melina replies, her voice as hard and cold as frost-kissed steel.

    ¡°Our mission remains the same,¡± Nicanor agrees. He inclines his head slightly.

    It¡¯s not much of a gesture, but it appears to be enough for Melina. A tremulous smile spreads across her face in response. She picks up the pace, her gaze straight ahead, and soon we¡¯re all running again to keep up.

    By early afternoon, we¡¯re close enough for the rest of the team to feel the charm of the shop-owners and stall operators. It¡¯s potent enough that I have to remain on guard, but I haven¡¯t sensed the blazing bonfire indicative of someone who¡¯s broken through the Second Threshold.

    Huh. A cumulative effect? Then I snap my fingers as a new thought strikes me. Perhaps they¡¯ve come up with a combination Skill.

    That knowledge fills me with a strange sense of hunger, a desire to see the runes and arrays that make the ability possible. Rakesh must have influenced me more than I realized. Even in his absence I¡¯m thrilling to the thought of scholarship.

    How the mighty have fallen.

    ¡°Wards are alarming, Sir. Mental magic detected. Non-hostile for now,¡± the more vocal of Nicanor¡¯s [Honorbound Bodyguards] murmurs behind me.

    The non-injured guard. I still haven¡¯t caught his name, unfortunately. They¡¯re tight-lipped and distant. Polite enough, but they¡¯ve made it abundantly clear that traveling together doesn¡¯t make us friends.

    I would say he doesn¡¯t realize I can hear everything he says within the sphere of my [Arcane Domain], but after weeks together on the road, I doubt that¡¯s the truth. He¡¯s choosing to include me in the discussion. Perhaps we¡¯re closer to grudging allies than I thought.

    ¡°Nuri¡¯s a specialist. Proceed.¡±

    Not a hint of wavering or doubt from the [Spear Commander]. Warmth spreads through me at the vote of confidence. My appreciation for Nicanor is continuing to climb. He trusts me to pull my own weight within my area of expertise and doesn¡¯t interfere. He¡¯s proven himself a strict but informative teacher, demanding excellence from me but never acting heavy-handed or demeaning, no matter how much I might deserve it.

    I feel bad for misjudging him when we first met. He¡¯s loyal and fair. Strong. Good addition to the team. That stray thought lingers as we crest a final ridge and take in the full sight of the sprawling caravan below us, buzzing with sound and a riot of color.

    In only a few short weeks, I¡¯ve left my old friends behind and replaced them in my mind. How cruel.

    No, not replaced them. I¡¯ve simply inducted a new friend into membership.

    ¡°Hey, there¡¯s the market! C¡¯mon, Ko. Buy me something nice before Nuri makes everything awkward,¡± Avelina says. She whoops in delight, dragging Mikko down the hill and shaking me out of my musings.

    ¡°Hey!¡± I protest, but they¡¯ve already run ahead and aren¡¯t paying attention. I turn and put my fists on my hips. ¡°Mel, tell your sister I don¡¯t make things awkward.¡±

    ¡°Wow, Nuri. You¡¯re a bad influence. Lying to family is wrong,¡± Melina replies, giving me a look. She clicks her tongue, then snickers when I sputter in offense. ¡°Race ya down there! I¡¯ve got my own shopping to do.¡±

    I turn to commiserate with Nicanor, but he and his guards have abandoned me in my moment of need. They¡¯re jogging down the slope toward the sprawling market, angling toward a pop-up tent in the back of a particularly large wagon, from which wafts the tantalizing smell of grilled meat. The sizzling sounds of fat on a hot grill makes my mouth water.

    ¡°Traitors, one and all!¡± I call after them. Swirling mana empowers my legs, and I fly by on light feet and powerful strides, beating them to the queue for the grill and laughing at the looks on their faces. I¡¯ve never felt so good about my smug smile before.

    Observing the meat up close only increases my anticipation. Red flakes of some kind of unfamiliar pepper coat the outside of the roast, which is seared to perfection. Just imagining how it will taste almost sends me into an out of body experience. Ten excruciating minutes of shuffling forward in the queue later¡ªthe wait amplified by my growing hunger¡ªI reach the well-worn counter. The wood glows with the sheen of years of oil and fat, which have painted it with a warm brown patina. Gouges and score lines tell the story of countless cuts of meat served up to satisfied customers.

    In a daze, I hand over the money, my eyes locked on the thick slices of meat. I forgo the offered cup of dipping sauce and ignoring the [Cook]¡¯s warning that it¡¯s piping hot, opting to use my [Greater Heat Manipulation] and the connected Skill [Quick Cool] to keep me from burning myself. Activating them simultaneously is easy since they share so many runes, which makes me wonder if I should force myself to merge them together before using the Skills again.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Seconds later, all thoughts of theorycrafting flees as I take a bite. The flavor explodes on my tongue, a simple mix of savory heat that¡¯s all the more delicious for its lack of nuance. All the cold leftovers on the road fade into memory.

    Ah, yes. This was worth the wait.

    Nicanor and his men make it through shortly later. Like me, their eyes seem to linger on the seasoned haunch of beef roasting over the fire, and I wonder for a moment if they¡¯re going to try to buy the grill and roast entire.

    Before I know it, I¡¯ve devoured my generous serving, while they¡¯ve just begun. Casting an envious glance at the happy customers sinking their teeth into grilled meat on a stick, I sigh and promise myself I¡¯m coming back for dinner.

    Unfortunately, the rest of the market is all downhill from there. I catch up with my brother and wander the marketplace, looking for anything interesting, but even cheating and scouting ahead with falcon doesn¡¯t reveal anything worthwhile.

    Browsing the stalls is an exercise in disappointment. Baubles with flecks of mica glitter in the mage lamps arrayed on a table to my left. Across the way, an [Armorer] displays a few plain shields, little more than rectangles of wood with a shield boss in the center. In the next stall over, I run my fingers over the soft weave of fine linens in scarlet, lime, and sky-blue. They¡¯re better quality than the rest of the items for sale, and I like the audacious colors, but I still can¡¯t help but frown. After the wonders I saw on display in the Orpheus house, the wares here lack any lustre.

    Mana is conspicuously absent from everything, even the most expensive of items. They¡¯re all completely mundane.

    ¡°Anything catch your eye?¡± Mikko murmurs under his breath, sliding away from Avelina and angling his body so she can¡¯t hear his question.

    ¡°Nothing suitable for Ava,¡± I reply just as quietly. ¡°Want me to make an artifact?¡±

    ¡°Nah. Just sniff something out for me with that big ole magical nose of yours.¡±

    ¡°My nose isn¡¯t big!¡± I protest.

    ¡°Way to miss my point,¡± he mutters. His lips pull apart into a vicious grin as he drifts back toward his soon-to-be-betrothed. ¡°And it¡¯s huge, bro.¡±

    I chuckle and wave off his blatant lie, continuing through the marketplace to take in the textures and colors. My eyes are far less useful than my Domain sight, however.

    I loose the chains on my perception, allowing my [Arcane Domain] to expand outward like steam rising from a boiling kettle. The energy of the world around me swirls, arranging itself in whorls and loops in the air. Formless, dizzying patterns, ever shifting and moving, phasing in and out of the physical world.

    That is, until the wisps and threads reach people. Whenever life is present, the energy coalesces into tiny nodes, glistening like gemstones arrayed by a [Jeweler]. People in the crowd stand out, pearls on a string, some brighter than others. No one notable other than Nicanor, of course, who feels more solid than the rest. More real.

    Yet in the absence of worthy goods, I sense an opportunity. If no one else is selling high-quality items, then I might as well make some money.

    Mikko might be disappointed by the lack of gifts for Avelina, but surely he won¡¯t complain if I hand over a fat bag of coins. Besides, he can buy her something better when we reach a larger town or trade hub.

    Guided by my Domain¡ªand the bundled Skill, [Fault Finder], I seek out the administrators of the lively market, following the knotted flows of tangled Skills to track down their location. Though not made of mana, whatever binds the sellers and buyers together is still energy.

    Strictly speaking, I no longer have [Manasense] or [Manasight]. Instead, I perceive the underlying truths of the world through my Domain. My Skill even says as much, claiming that my eyes will pierce the veil. I always thought it was a vague and potentially pretentious description, but lately I¡¯m starting to realize that I haven¡¯t been thinking big enough. Significance is energy. Emotion is energy. Connections are energy.

    My powers are too small, limited by what I secretly believe is and isn¡¯t possible. Only by unshackling my imagination will I learn to fully leverage my [Arcane Domain] along with the two other Skills I¡¯m planning to fold into it.

    In the center of the market, surrounded by the tents and stalls of the various sellers, I find the administrators I¡¯m seeking. It¡¯s hard to miss their building, with its gaudy color and ostentatious sign out front that declares them the greatest [Merchants] in all Densmore.

    The door guard eyes me with suspicion, which is probably wise if I¡¯m honest. Every time I go somewhere new, trouble seems to come crashing along soon after. As much as I hate to admit it, I¡¯m a lot like this poor little brown and white spotted dog I once saw as a kid. Bullies tied bits of scrap metal to its tail, which made an awful racket dragging along behind it. The more it ran, the worse the clatter.

    Me, dog? Not sure I like that.

    A flash of coin in my hands earns a grunt from the guard. He pockets the bribe, waves me inside, and resumes his glower.

    ¡°Pleasure is all mine,¡± I say lightly as I step inside the surprisingly simple office. A long desk to the right is the only nod to customers. Several workers lean over a maze of desks shoved together in the center of the room, wading through piles of paperwork, but they don¡¯t look up when I enter.

    I pay them no mind. [Fault Finder] is pulling me toward the desk, anyway. I haven¡¯t used the Skill much since acquiring it, but empowered by my Domain, it¡¯s applying to situations that I never would have expected. More proof I need to practice harder.

    Behind the long desk, a thin man with curly hair peers at me through spectacles that are in need of a good cleaning. He hunches forward, adjusts his tweed vest, scrunches his nose, and fiddles with the frame of his spectacles until I apparently come into focus. A weak Skill pings me, and I let it through.

    His face lights up immediately. ¡°An honored guest! Buy or sell, my good sir?¡± he asks, pulling out two forms from a drawer and sliding them both across the counter, one in each hand.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to sell.¡±

    ¡°Excellent! Fill this out and we¡¯ll get you sorted by tomorrow.¡± His gaze flickers over to the workers drowning in mountains of paperwork, and he winces. ¡°Or perhaps the next day.¡±

    ¡°How much to sell today?¡± I ask, plopping a leather bag down on the counter on top of the remaining sheet of paper.

    His eyes dart back and forth, and he leans to the side, looking past me at a backroom. Sudden sweat beads on his brow. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t say this, but more than it¡¯s worth. You won¡¯t make back the investment, not in a week of selling.¡±

    I frown, crossing my arms, and push on the [Clerk] with a tendril of my Domain. ¡°Day after tomorrow¡¯s no good. I¡¯ll be gone by then.¡±

    He pales and gasps. ¡°But, uh, perhaps I can waive the fee! For such an, ah, esteemed guest as yourself.¡±

    Gotcha.

    The man coughs into his fist, straightens his vest again, and composes himself with a shaky smile. He slides his spectacles back up his narrow nose. Without any further commentary on the cost, he fills out the form in an instant, his pen skittering like a spider across the page and leaving behind far more ink than it should from the simple pass.

    Clerical Skills fascinate me with the way they warp what¡¯s possible. I peek into the man¡¯s inner world as he works, trying to memorize the patterns of one of the runic arrays. They¡¯re too unfamiliar for me to pick up more than the basics, but I¡¯ll dutifully transcribe it later and send off my findings to Rakesh and Ezio.

    ¡°Silas! Get in here!¡±

    A booming voice interrupts our proceedings right before I snatch the filled-out form from the rattled [Clerk]. He flinches and pulls his head down into his shoulders, looking for all the world like a turtle retracting into its shell.

    ¡°Coming, sir!¡± Silas calls.

    I tag along, despite his frantic gestures for me to hang back. We duck into the back room I noticed earlier, where an imposing desk dominates an office that¡¯s sparse on paperwork but full to the brim with expensive decorations. Finally, enchanted items.

    ¡°What in the five abysses is going on out there? Skill¡¯s telling me you just cut our day¡¯s projected profits by a third. This ain¡¯t a charity, Silas! Stop giving away day-of licenses at cost,¡± the man behind the desk rumbles, his brow furrowed and his fists clenched.

    He notices me a beat later, and the thundercloud of his scowl dissolves into a rough approximation of a smile. A weak charm flutters toward me, but I crush the social Skill like a bug ground beneath a boot heel.

    ¡°Happy to help you obtain your license, of course. We simply have to follow protocol. I¡¯m sure you understand. [Merchants] live and die by our bottom line, after all!¡±

    His forced laugh is even faker than his smile. I ratchet up the pressure on the room, and he swallows hard.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a [Merchant],¡± I reply flatly. ¡°I¡¯m a master glass smith, and I¡¯m in a rush.¡±

    He sits up straight in his seat at that revelation. His fear evaporates on the spot. Greed practically oozes out of every pore instead, and his eyes grow sharp. ¡°A master of glass? We can arrange something for you. Certainly! Although, a bit of verification may be in order. Need to make sure the books are proper.¡±

    I float Silas¡¯s spectacles off his head, eliciting a small squeak, and pull them into my hands to examine their flaws more closely. My Artisanal bundle of Skills, which include all my analysis, prototyping, and vitrification abilities, combined with my Domain specialties, zeroes in on the problem almost immediately.

    I meet the timid [Clerk]¡¯s gaze and pulse my mana through the spectacles, correcting the optical design and clearing out impurities from the original creation process. Whoever made the spectacles was the very definition of mediocre.

    Without melting them down and starting fresh, I can¡¯t imbue them with unbreakable and innovation, but perhaps that¡¯s overkill, anyway. Maybe I¡¯ll leave him a gift on my way out of the market if sales go well.

    ¡°Try these on now,¡± I suggest, handing the gleaming spectacles back to the harried man.

    He sets them on his face, and his eyes immediately go wide. He turns in a slow circle around the room, staring in slack-jawed wonder at everything around him.

    I chuckle. ¡°Better?¡±

    ¡°Perfect!¡± he yelps. ¡°I can see . . . everything now. How did you do that?¡±

    ¡°Trade secret,¡± I reply, winking.

    Silas grins, passes the selling form to his boss with one hand, and twirls his pen through the fingers of his other hand. ¡°The world¡¯s never looked this clear and vivid before. Thank you! He¡¯s for real, sir.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I can see that. Unlike you, my eyes work just fine,¡± the boss replies wryly.

    ¡°Now, about that vendor license. Let¡¯s put this song and dance behind us. How much to grease the wheels?¡± I ask him.

    The number he quotes in reply almost makes me faint. Truly, avarice knows no bounds!

 Book Seven Chapter Five Book

    ¡°Robbery!¡± I laugh to myself.

    Stalking down the street with my selling license in hand, I can¡¯t help but wonder why I¡¯m so determined to grace this backwater market with my wares. If I had to source rare materials like most workers, I¡¯d never turn a profit with the price they charged me.

    Annoyance and amusement churns within me, frothing my dense mana into an agitated, foamy state that¡¯s primed for an explosion. Taking a deep breath, I let out the mild frustration before I scare off half the marketplace with my emotions leaking through my Domain. Chuckling at the mental image of everyone in a mile radius screaming and running about like stampeding cattle, I take a breath and let go of the complicated emotions.

    Still. The price of renting a stall is downright criminal. There¡¯s no way that the vendors are making enough off their meager sales to be profitable at those prices. Plenty of customers wander through the marketplace, but I haven¡¯t detected any snarls in the flows of significance that usually indicate a significant transfer of value, so something else must be up.

    Half a year ago, I wouldn¡¯t have noticed anything other than mana through my [Arcane Domain]. That brings a surge of joy to me. Many months at the Orpheus practicing advanced mana imbuing and observing other crafters at work bore fruit: I¡¯m able to track more than mana, and any give and take of value, emotion, or magical potency now lingers in my Domain.

    My awareness has expanded to incorporate all forms of energy, whether the underlying animating powers of the world, or the more ephemeral connections that blossom between people when emotions run deep. The more casual the interaction, the more tenuous the link that forms. It¡¯s little wonder that nothing major shows up based on the quality of goods and services I¡¯ve observed in this market.

    Unless the quoted price for a stall is incorrect, I realize with a groan. Like an idiot, I paid it without thinking, so incensed by the boss¡¯s mistreatment of his customers and employees alike that I just wanted to get out of his presence. Maybe I¡¯ve gotten used to the absurd prices at the Orpheus without noticing how far I¡¯ve strayed from my original conception of normality. Ember would die of embarrassment on the spot if she saw how I didn¡¯t barter the marketplace administrator down to a reasonable price.

    Pride spikes through me at that, replacing my earlier irritation. Huh. Maybe I¡¯m just really good at earning money, I realize, strangely pleased to find that I no longer care about how much I paid. It¡¯s just a pile of coins, in the end. Evidence I¡¯ve moved up in the world. I¡¯ve even got bodyguards in my retinue, I think with a chuckle.

    Right! That reminds me. I need to find a [Healer] for the injured guard.

    Quick as thought, my connection to the falcon overhead snaps into focus. I map out the market through its sharp eyes. In the north-west corner, the familiar sigil of the Menders shows up on the banners of a stone-and-mortar building that¡¯s more ornate and well established than the temporary stalls surrounding it.

    Typical Mender grandiosity.

    Spreading out my Domain with a light touch, I locate the [Spear Commander]. He blazes like the sun compared with the flickering candles of less powerful individuals. He¡¯s at a weapons stall, giving off a miasma of disapproval that¡¯s thick enough to choke on in my Domain.

    I direct the falcon to fly down toward Nicanor, who notices it instantly, and circle the bird around him twice before alighting on the injured [Honorbound Bodyguard]¡¯s shoulder.

    Well, his non-injured shoulder.

    Falcon tilts his head, gesturing the direction of the Mender facility. Watching through his eyes is disorienting, since the overlapping images from my real eyes, the falcon¡¯s eyes, and the sensory overload of my Domain all vie for supremacy, but I figure it¡¯s a good training exercise.

    Thankfully, my request to follow seems to come through after a time. The trio trails after the glass bird as it leads them toward the [Healer]. My guide work complete, I release the active sensory connection to the falcon and resume my search for the stall I¡¯ve retained.

    Referencing my vendor¡¯s license again to remind myself of the stall number they allotted me for the day, I chart my path based on the map they provided to find my location. I can make artifacts that would beggar that administrator anytime. Why worry what gnats like him think? That puts a smile back on my face.

    Actually following the map to the empty stall soon erases the smile, however. Navigation should be one of my strong points, given my Domain, but things aren¡¯t adding up. Perhaps the boss is messing with me in petty revenge for scaring him. In hindsight, I probably shouldn¡¯t have been so heavy-handed with my Domain.

    The buzz of conversation softens around me, giving way to relative silence, and I glance around at the dwindling crowds in suspicion. Fewer people shift out of my way, nudged aside by the subtle pressure of my Domain. The goods for sale are simpler here, on the outskirts of the market, and I¡¯ll have to hustle to gain customers.

    I examine the passersby more closely. Clothes are threadbare. Faces seem pinched. Did they send me on a fool¡¯s errand? This isn¡¯t where they should put a master of a craft. For what I paid, they ought to put me in a prime sales spot. Honestly, most places would pay me to set up shop in the middle of the market and draw in a crowd, not demand payment to shove me to the fringes.

    Come to think of it, I¡¯ve passed nearly half a dozen empty stalls without a vendor selling anything. Something strange is definitely going on here.

    Ten minutes of confused switchbacks later, I arrive at my destination. It may be out of the way, but it¡¯s spacious enough for a few tools. I unroll the closed awning and pin my temporary selling license to the side like they requested, then head to the low foothills behind the market and start gathering rocks to transmute into glass.

    Half an hour later, I have a respectable pile of stones almost as tall as I am, proof that I am far stronger and faster than I used to be. Nicanor¡¯s training is clearly paying off.

    Satisfied, I clap the dust and dirt off my hands. The stage is almost set for my show. I¡¯ll need a lot of glass to make a mock crucible and workbench, which will be necessary for the Linas to work with me.

    I want to make a tidy profit, but I¡¯d rather not do all the work myself. Plus, I need to help them both improve their imbuing.

    Most people wouldn¡¯t be able to make a studio built out of glass, but if I treat the glass for heat resistance and fold the concept of unbreakable into its conception, then I can mimic ceramic or metal just fine. Crucible, benches, even a marver should work well once I¡¯m done. Magic can overcome almost any material deficiency, and it¡¯s high time I develop as a [Mage].

    Imbuing one or two top-tier items will raise the prestige of my shop. Free-forming glass with nothing more than my willpower will set off enough rumors to keep people coming long after I¡¯m ready to take a break.

    Perfect. Word of mouth will advertise better than anything else.

    Anyone who knows glass will realize how unusual my impromptu studio is when I get my crucible up to temperature in minutes, rather than days. That alone might draw some attention, but I¡¯ve got far bigger plans.

    No one is nearby, according to my Domain. Mindful of the artifact Nicanor¡¯s bodyguards have that can hide their presence from me, I glance through my falcon¡¯s senses, confirming with the bird¡¯s-eye-view that no one is lurking. No audience yet.

    Well. I can fix that.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Mana surges within me, boiling and bubbling as I rotate the energy faster and faster, purposely letting the excess leak. My Domain expands, washing over shoppers a few avenues away. Even those without mana sensitivities should feel a strange prickling sensation with the amount of power I¡¯m venting.

    Before long, a few worried individuals show up. Most are confused, but one well-dressed man with a monocle¡ªan oddity on the fringes of the market¡ªis staring at me like I¡¯ve grown a second head. He¡¯s squinting at me, looking half intrigued and half terrified, which tells me he¡¯s likely got a [Mage]-adjacent Class, or at least decent magical training.

    I meet his gaze, grin, and begin the spectacle. Brimming over with mana, I activate my new bundles of Skills, while also combining runic elements from several unrelated structures. It¡¯s more difficult picking and choosing this way, but my legacy Skill from Scalpel helps. Only a few of the runic arrays from [Vitrification], [Sanctuary], my [Arcane Domain] are necessary for what I have in mind, though every Skill in my arsenal is working in concert for this performance.

    Tendrils of mana plunge into the ground¡ªten, twenty, fifty of the twisted braids of raw power¡ªas I pour more and more of my immense Capacity into the working. Lifting dirt and rock through the power of my Domain isn¡¯t what I usually use it for, but it¡¯s good practice imposing my will on the world.

    Pushing even harder, I reshape the earth beneath the stall I rented, excavating it and transforming the compacted dirt, loam, gravel, tiny worms and insects, and chunks of rock into glass. Levitating this much mass through my Domain makes my legs tremble and my teeth grind together, but I pour more and more mana into the effort, hollowing out a basement over the next five minutes as an audience begins to grow around me.

    If I¡¯m relegated to the outskirts of the market, then flashy advertising seems like the best retaliation. By the time I¡¯m done, this will be the new epicenter of the market. The administrator won¡¯t know what hit him.

    Once there¡¯s a hole in the ground twice as deep as I am tall, I shift more rocks into place, [Vitrification] working as I go, and build steps leading down to the next level. Glass is shockingly sturdy in large amounts, especially the tempered version I¡¯ve been experimenting with lately, so I have no fear the staircase won¡¯t bear up under the weight of my entire team.

    The steps cool quickly thanks to the heat-related Skills I¡¯m training together. Soon I¡¯ll be able to descend into the second level. It will have to wait until I¡¯m done with my demonstration, but I don¡¯t need it yet anyway. Right now is about shock and awe¡ªand advertising.

    I¡¯ll store completed items downstairs, and maybe the team can sleep there, too, if no one can find any vacancies in the nearby inns. It won¡¯t be as comfortable as a real bed, but at least it should be dry and relatively safe, which is a step up from sleeping on the hard ground like we¡¯ve been forced to do on the road.

    I¡¯m panting from the exertion by the end of the basement construction, but I press on, creating jacks and pincers, punties and paddles, mandrels and marvers¡ªeach tool of my trade reinforced by unbreakable as well as imbued with innovation now that I know how to double up on imbuements.

    ¡°Glass! Any shape, any purpose!¡± I bellow at the crowd milling around after catching my breath. The amount of mana I¡¯d just spent on the project would make most [Mages] weep, but I still have a little left, and I¡¯m gathering more by the second.

    The man with the monocle steps up to the stall first. He regards me with the wariness usually reserved for a wild animal, but places both hands on the counter top and meets my eyes nonetheless.

    ¡°Heard a rumor that masters of glass can make cooling circlets. A few are circulating in the Barrens, but I haven¡¯t been able to get hold of any yet. If you¡¯re not a master at your young age with that display, I¡¯ll turn my badge back into the academy.¡±

    I shrug. ¡°Sure. How many?¡±

    ¡°F-four circlets?¡± he stammers.

    When I raise an eyebrow, he mops his forehead with a handkerchief. ¡°Two is fine! One is enough, really, if it¡¯s too much trouble. I¡¯m fascinated by magical artifacts.¡±

    ¡°Four it is! Relax, friend. I don¡¯t bite,¡± I say with a chuckle, but he still looks squeamish, as though he¡¯s expecting me to snap at any moment.

    Rude.

    He manages a smile that seems more genuine this time. His unease is still there, but it¡¯s muted, like small ripples on a lake after the inciting breeze dies away.  ¡°My company leaves next week. Will that be sufficient time for an imbued artifact?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have them ready for you soon. Let the next customer through; I¡¯ll make sure you get what you need before dinner,¡± I promise.

    Surprise  flickers through him, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up as a sinuous ribbon of suspicions bleeds through. The ugly sensation slithers through his emotional tableau like a water moccasin swimming across the current. When I pick up a melon-sized chunk of rock and transmute it into glass, grinning at him the entire time, he sighs and inclines his head, as though coming to terms with my flair for showmanship.

    [Greater Heat Manipulation] resonates with the runes in [Quick Cool], and acting on instinct I push the Skill structures closer together, shoving until the harmony borders on turning discordant. Releasing the pressure, I turn back to the circlet and try not to worry about how slow the progress has been in my pursuit of combining the Skills.

    Despite their opposite purposes, each Skill uses elements of heat control, which explains why they overlap so much. While [Greater Heat Manipulation] is my go-to for adding heat, and [Quick Cool] is ostensibly about removing heat, they use the same runic arrays, but simply inverted. Have I ever seen such a close match in the core structure of my Skills before?

    Hm. Gotta be a clue in there.

    The circlet continues to take shape, but my attention is elsewhere.

    Regardless of the additional meta-magic runes, the formation is almost identical between the two Skills. How have I never realized before that this is a priceless opportunity to explore the effects of the extra modifiers? The core design is the same, even though the effects differ. That points to the modifiers holding the secret to how time flows.

    Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice when the glowing glass reaches the perfect working temperature. Instinctively, I move on to the next steps, forming the elastic material into a circlet through sheer force of habit, and imbue it with the image of relaxing around a chilled, shaded pool to escape the harsh sun of high summer, then add unbreakable on a whim, managing to hold the indomitable image simultaneously to cool relaxation. I might as well give him something good while I''m in such a generous mood.

    Calling on the weight of my Domain to levitate the remaining pile of small rocks, I spin them in a slow circle around my head, transforming them before the watching eyes of the crowd. Melting down the glass until it''s malleable takes no more than a spare thought. All of my focus is on observing the runes and the flow of mana through their fractal arrays. The ebb and flow of energy captivates me. Again I offer up an irresistible image of coolness on a hot summer day for the ambient mana to embrace. Immediately, the energy of the world rushes into the projection I''ve painted in the ether, infusing the structure with life.

    The entire time, my attention is locked on the process, searching for commonalities to my Skills. Swelling energy surrounds me, vibrating around my [Arcane Domain] as I push it further than ever, willing the mysteries of the world to reveal themselves to me. With a surge of power, the Skill advances, shifting in color slightly as the runes twist and deepen, taking on new dimensions.

    In an instant it hits me: the way mana enlivens the material is eerily reminiscent of [Glass Animation]. Before I can examine that glimmering nugget of potential truth any further, however, monocle-man gasps.

    Beaming from my sudden good fortune at ranking up my Skill, I watch in amusement as the man before me stammers and adjusts his eyepiece, which glimmers a ghostly blue-white with mana. The flow of power intensifies, and he peers at me more intently. His lips purse, but he seems more perplexed than annoyed.

    "Everything all right?"

    He shakes his head slowly after studying me for a moment. ¡°What are you doing all the way out here? That much mana¡ªyou could name your price in the capital.¡±

    I can''t resist a small smirk. ¡°What makes you think I haven''t?¡±

    While his brain seems to melt trying to process that information, if his strangled look is any indication, I activate my heat-related Skill bundle and accelerate the annealing process. This time, the two Skills ignite together at the same impulse of will, showing that they''re closer than ever to merging. A little more practice, and I might merge my Skills into an evolved form sooner rather than later.

    As I watch through my improved Domain, a snarl of dense, midnight-black energy catches on a cluster of runes that I''ve never noticed before in [Quick Cool].

    On a hunch, I charge up the strange, convoluted runes with a concentrated surge of mana. The glass doesn''t change temperature or look any different to the naked eye, but the annealing process definitely accelerates. The change is obvious to [Compositional Analysis], showing that the runes are definitely time-related.

    A crooked grin stretches across my face. So that''s what temporal-magic looks like. I''ve watched Melina activate [In the Blink of an Eye] hundreds of times before, but I''ve never been able to follow the dizzying flow of magic. The mana ties itself in intricate knots that my Domain couldn''t parse before. I can''t wait to see what Melina''s Skill looks like now that I''ve upgraded my [Arcane Domain]. Maybe we''ll uncover the secrets of time together.

    I laugh softly at my own eagerness and put aside the grandiose ideas for now. Raising my voice, I call out to the crowd. ¡°Who¡¯s next? Let¡¯s have some fun!¡±

    Customers surge forward, clamoring to put in their orders, and a satisfied smile spreads across my face. After all the training on the road and politicking in Gilead, a return to my roots is just what the [Healer] ordered. It¡¯s good for me to work with my hands, shaping the world around me with a symphony of my mind, will, imagination, emotion, and artistry.

    The glass seems to sing in agreement.