Before too long had passed I was declared 'Eh, good enough.' and released into the continuing care of my people. After all my bones were mended to an extent that I wouldn't be in immediate danger and Isha knew some basic healing, at least enough to slowly fix the rest of them.

I quickly headed towards my lab, for I had quite a lot of work to do.

“Where exactly do you think you're going?” Isha asked from behind me, looking quite displeased.

“To work, did you not hear that we need weapons?” I retorted, not willing to be given grief over this.

“We do, but you need not to overwork yourself,” she chided.

“Isha,” I began.

“No, you'll go down there and not wash or eat properly, or come back up to be healed at any kind of safe rate,” she interrupted.

“I... well probably.”

“Good to see you understand it,” she gruffed poking me in the still sore ribs. “I'm going with you.”

“You're...”

“Going with you, to make sure you stop every now and then. Can you take care of things?” she said, turning to the others in the house.

Atie chuckled but nodded, Chien did much the same. Off to one side Ida too made a positive gesture. It surprised me that none of them tried to intervene. Then again when Chien began laughing too much Isha fixed him with a glare that made him stop. It seemed she'd taken to keeping the lad in line while I was away.

“Are you not worried there might be trouble?” I inquired to my aunt, since I knew Chien wouldn't be and Ida wouldn't say anything about it if she were.

“Hmm? No dear, Ian came by yesterday, told me he's been assigned to help keep an eye on things. With his new strength he's being considered much more important.” There was a sly smile on her lips, the cat who'd caught the canary indeed.

“Try not to distract him too much then,” I gruffed before going to my lab, girlfriend in tow.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I had queries about that, but they could wait. How did Ian gain strength? What was the mechanism and timing? I of course knew that almost all elves would experience some magical growth by their hundredth year, but not why. Was it related to the hair or something else? Maybe they were even symptoms of something deeper.

There was a lot of research to be done on that front but I could ignore it for now. After all I wasn't a biologist, or magical theorist, but a tech guy and not knowing wouldn't hurt me. If there was a chance to start awakening power in others safely that might be one thing, but based on what I'd seen that might be off the table.

In my lab I alternated between projects. Some, like the hammer, required massive quantities of sheer raw power. There was nothing like slamming all your energy into a tiny space just to build a little to drain your magic in a hurry. These I switched between with my much lower cost ones, like making chemical weapons.

I'd been hesitant about bringing out the nasty things, but if Cino was coming, and he was, and he wanted to wreck our city, and he did, and potentially kill hundreds of kids, fuck him. He was getting the worst of the chemistry I could manage, and I could manage a lot. Large sealed steel or clay amperes would do as a delivery system, and with the materials I had on hand they weren't too tiresome to make.

Any chemist, science teacher, or international observer would have been horrified at what I was doing. It was unsafe, there weren't nearly enough vents, or fume hoods, or protective equipment anywhere. Even then just the actions were borderline mental, but I was desperate and the only thing I could come up with was to turn the Geneva Conventions into a bingo card.

For her part Isha mostly sat in a corner, watching. She didn't bother me when I was working, or ask what I was doing, or why. Her only real input was to interrupt every hour or so, declaring that it was time for a break.

“Food,” she said, pointing to something she'd summoned onto a small plate I had in here, from earlier, more peaceful days. “And drink.”

“Thank you,” I told her, hoping to assuage any displeasure that might be lingering from the fact that I refused to stop and let myself enjoy a few days off.

That seemed to work as I wasn't poked or glared at while I ate. The food was simple, basic, but filling and probably nutritious. That thought made me wonder how good eating nothing but summoned food was for you, another question for later. It probably wasn't worse than eating the almost fake chemical stuff Earth had.

“I have a question,” she asked as I finished, before she let me go back to working.

“Oh?” I answered, raising an eyebrow.

“This stuff you're making, can't you just use your fire like you do with the hammer?” she asked, referring to magic in the really old way they had back in the village.

“Yes and no,” I answered. “I could make some of it, particularly the fluids and gasses.” At her confused look I clarified. “The stuff that looks like smoke. However, that would be really hard, and I find it a lot easier to break it down with my power and put it back together like I want it.”

I'd asked myself the same question once. Water was simple enough to summon, so were a few other things whose chemical formulas I knew, so long as they were either a liquid or a gas. Solids on the other hand were a very different beast. I didn't know why, as the change in state didn't really matter much to me, but that's how it was. Metals were the worst, being nearly impossible to simply magic into the world. Only making the magical crystal was worse, and it was its own difficult problem.

She accepted my answer and before long I got back to work, our schedule continuing well into the evening. Eventually though a more sizable interruption came.

“Alright, you're done,” she declared as I put one of the vessels to the side. “It is time to wash, eat dinner, and sleep.”

With a shake of my head I did as she asked, enjoying the quiet end to my day. She even joined me when I went to bed, cuddling up, but turning her back when I tried anything more.

“I'm tired from having to watch over an overgrown child all day,” she pouted.

“And how long are you planning to continue doing that?” I asked. A day or two more of her supervising would be funny, but it would also get old fast.

“Until he can learn to keep a schedule.”

“Need to build a clock,” I grumbled, thinking back to my terrible work habits in my previous life.

“Whatever that is.” She didn't even bother to ask.