We walk aimlessly along the busy, snow-covered streets. I chose the alleys around the train station, because it’s a good place to talk, and a bad one for him to murder me. We stopped by a food kiosk, and we’re eating steaming synth burgers with fries to warm ourselves.

“You use way too much magic,” Daravoi says - that’s the name he gave me, at least. He speaks slowly, sounding like he has gravel in his mouth. At first I thought he was acting tough, but by the way he struggles for some words, I think he doesn’t speak Vorokan that well. He said he’s Kalestran - Mama always said all Kalestrans are thieves, and while I’m pretty sure she was being racist, Daravoi fits the bill.

“When you did… something to the woman and her son, today,” he says, “I felt it from three blocks away. ThauCon will catch you.”

He says it matter-of-factly. My skin clams with sweat. The problem is, I’ve no idea how much magic I can get away with.

So of course I make a confident smile and shrug, as if everything were under control.

“They won’t,” I say. “I’m good, and take precautions. I’m not too worried about the ThauCon Agency.”

I am, in fact, scared shitless by the Agency. My hope is that even if they catch me - when they catch me - they’ll let me go with silver tattoos on my arms and a slap on the wrist. But that gets less likely with every crime I commit.

Daravoi looks at me, cocking his head, as if trying to understand if I’m serious. Finally, he nods.

“You’re so full of shit,” he deliberates.

“Hey!”, I say. “You don’t even know what I can do!”

“Told you,” he says, “I watched you. Uh, sorry about that. Anyway, you’re a mind-mage. You can make people do things for you. And use that in the most stupid way possible, to get free food.”

I make a sweeping gesture with my arms, and look down at him.

“Clearly you’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, going for my sister’s tone when she’s dismissive, but in a fancy way. “I’m not a mind-mage. I’m a practitioner of the Path of Lies. The way of illusion, of perception, of possibilities. If you’re really a mage, what’s your path in the Art?”

He looks down, abashed. Apparently, he knows even less about magic than I do, which is a mixed blessing.

“I’m good at breaking stuff?” He says. “And at telek… telech… moving stuff with my mind. But I don’t really know about the Paths. I didn’t have a real teacher.”

Neither did I, of course, or I wouldn’t be half-starved and homeless. But at least, I have a book. He doesn’t need to know more about me, though, not yet.

“So you don’t have a teacher,” I say, putting the most confusing emphasis I can think of. I’m not a mind-mage, but I’m naturally good at fucking with people. “But obviously you think you know how the Men in Silver hunt.”

I make it sound sarcastic, but I really really hope he knows, and can tell me.

He nods. “I know something. I spoke to another rogue mage, she gave me some hints. And anyway, if I feel your magic when you use it, Council mages can feel it too. The Men in Silver work with the Council. So, if you go on like this, they’ll catch you, sooner or later.”

For all my bullshit, I don’t have an answer for that. I thought about it, of course, but so far, I wasn’t even sure mages could sense each other. My book has a short section about magical perception, but it’s sparse, and I never met another mage before.

I take a long bite of my burger, then lick my fingers one by one, to gain time and gross him out, but he doesn’t look disturbed. This boy is way too patient, most people scream at me after ten minutes of conversation, even when I’m being just mildly annoying.

“So why did you want to talk to me?” I ask. “Did you want to warn me of the risk, out of the goodness of your heart?”

I smile, with too many teeth. Maybe I should be nicer, and part of me wants too, but I feel desperately out of my depth - I’ve no idea what he wants, I never met another mage before, and I’ve no good answer to any question he might ask.

Also, being pointlessly annoying and weird is just fun, and it’s been some time since I had any chance to do it.

“Honestly? I was curious,” he says, sounding confused, and maybe hurt. “I mean, why do you do this? You’re good. You scam people with impossible lies and they don’t even remember about it. But you just get some food and the like, and you live in an abandoned tube stop. Also… you’re a Vorokan citizen, right? Why did you go rogue at all?”

“And how would you know I’m a full citizen?” I ask, sounding outraged by his suggestion. “You know nothing about me.”

“Oh, please,” he says, finally sounding annoyed. “I bet you’re a citizen. Rich, too. Are you… kind of slumming?”

So, he’s not a citizen. Probably an illegal - Kalestran merchants run most airship caravans, and boring politicians always complain about illegal immigration.

I know it’s the most common reason for mages to go rogue here in Vorok - illegals are deported after getting their silver tattoos.

“Rich?” I say, raising my hands. “How would I look rich? I stole second-hand clothes and you know I live in the subway tunnels!”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He shrugs. “You stink of rich kid.”

“Well, my family is fairly well-off,” I admit. “But I’m not slumming. I ran away.”

“Why?” He asks, frowning. “Are you veil-mad already? You had money - why not just get your silver tattoos?”

Veil-mad. I wince at the very words. I feel the broken moon, just below the horizon, even if I can’t see it yet. I know it pulls at my sanity, and that’s something else I really don’t like thinking about.

“Why, by Fallen Earth, should I tell you?”, I snap, taking a step forward. I’m really angry now - fuck, I ran from home to get away from people who judge my every choice. This is the first time I can talk openly with someone, and it’s like talking to my moms.

“You spied on me,” I say, “you followed me, and you behave like I have to explain anything to you?”

To my surprise, he takes a step back, pressing himself against the carriage wall. I immediately feel bad - it’s just that it’s weird for anyone to be scared of me, I’m a scrawny nineteen-year-old and I look even weaker than I am.

“I… sorry,” he says, looking away. “Listen, I’m not good with words, really. People always get the wrong idea. I’m sorry. I just thought we could help each other. You had a teacher, or something like that? Because I’ve seen you do advanced magic. But… maybe I can help too? You don’t look really good at… you know… surviving?”

He winces as he says the last word, and my anger deflates.

You shouldn’t be a mean smartass just because you can, sis told me all the time. And back then, at least I could afford to be a mean smartass.

It’s hard for me to drop the bullshit. It’s just that when I tell the truth, people usually get even madder at me, and when I try to be nice, they find me even weirder.

But beside some creepy stalking he kind-of-apologized for, Daravoi was nothing but patient and straightforward with me. I should at least try to reciprocate.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to be that aggressive,” I say. “I just… look, to begin with, I don’t have a teacher, either. I have a book - a shitty one, because it’s meant for Council students, who have teachers, and are forbidden from learning the Path of Lies. But it’s a true book of magic, with the Else woven in the pages. You touch it, and you see what you must do in the Else. I still don’t understand most of it, and that’s all I have, really. I don’t know anything about ThauCon, I don’t know how to get by except making people buy me stuff, and honestly, I don’t really know why I went rogue at all.”

He nods and claps. He actually looks happy.

“So you could show me your book? I know a couple things about ThauCon. I can help you stay hidden. And you know what I’m really good at?” He smiles. “Crime. Fake IDs, gray accounts, all the tricks to live off grid. I can teach you.”

His grim tone must be only his accent, because he looks pretty enthusiastic. And Lost Stars, I do need his help - even if I’m getting better with magic, I’m barely scraping by, and true winter hasn’t come yet.

“Sweet!” I say, “I’m Korentis, by the way. Nice to meet you! You can call me Kore. We can be mage-buddies! Also, if this is some kind of setup and you’re turning me to the Agency, know that I’ll tear your soul from your body, slowly and painfully!”

He looks worried, and I briefly worry if I am going veil-mad. But then again, my moms complain that I’ve been saying weird shit since I learned to talk. Whatever is wrong with me, it was wrong long before I touched the Veil.

I smile at him, doing my best impression of a sane smile, and he returns my smile, tentatively.

“Partners in crime?” I ask.

“Partners in crime,” he answers.

We bump fists, in solemn agreement.

***

We agree to meet again tomorrow, and I sneak back to my hiding-hole in the tube. I make sure he’s not following me. He could take my book, or worse, see the mess I live in.

I’m exhausted, physically and mentally, but as I crawl inside my sleeping bag, I find myself lying awake, staring at the darkness.

I dismissed my Else-lights, and it’s pitch dark. Or so it should be. But I still see something, looking up: a faint network of jagged blue lines, like an afterimage that doesn’t fade.

It’s the Moon, of course. Or more accurately, the Crack in the Moon. I see it as soon as I close my eyes, more clearly every day.

Is that normal? Do all mages see the Moon all the time? One more thing I should ask Daravoi, except I’m too afraid of the answer. When I ask if anything about me is normal, the answer is usually no, it’s not normal and it’s bad.

What am I really doing with Daravoi? He’s not wrong in saying I’m slumming, in a way. I’m good at lying to myself, but the truth is, I thought I’d be caught very soon. I assumed Big Sis would bail me out, and I’d go home with silver tattoos and moms furious at me.

I tried to learn magic, but the way I tried so many things in my life - assuming I’d fail and give up. So I’ve gone rogue a month ago, and I don’t really know what I'm doing, except waiting to be caught.

But what if Daravoi really can teach me how to hide from ThauCon? What if together, we can learn real magic, learn the secrets of the Else?

Is it worth it? It will probably end in a re-ed camp, or with a silver blade through my neck, or worse, with Else-madness.

And yet.

I take a deep breath and reach for a direction that shouldn’t exist. My fingers find a slight resistance, as if pushing against a barrier of silk. But I barely need any effort to break through.

I’m no longer in the darkness, I’m in the endless, beautiful blue of the Else. Walls and objects are faint, translucent outlines, but the book of magic glows, as if its pages were crammed with stars, and far above me, I see the dull sparks of the people walking around the city.

The Crack burns above me, searing and beautiful like the sun, but more vivid, more real than anything in the Here could ever be.

I smile, close my fingers around a bit of the substance of the Else - it feels warm and tingly. I take it back through the Veil, and find myself in my small, dirty room, but with a marble-sized sphere of perfect blue light floating over my palm.

My hand has changed, too: my fingers are made of smooth, sky-blue glass, of a hue so pure just looking at it makes me cry with joy.

I make the small glowing sphere float higher, and I change its shape - a cube, a ring, a star. I just have to want it, and it changes, flowing like molten glass.

Finally, I cut my connection to the Else, and a five-point star falls to the ground with a clink, still glowing a soft blue. Else-glass - solid and smooth and full of swirling light. It will dissolve in a few minutes, but it’s cool.

Why should I give this up? I’m not harming anyone. Yeah, demons rain from the sky, a mad, immortal mage rules the moon, and the hidden magical factions go to war now and then - but none of that is my fault.

And there’s so much to learn - what kind of cool shit can a really powerful mage do?

I did fine so far. What’s the harm of trying a little harder?

I hear a distant, distant whisper. I can’t make out the words. But it sounds like approval.