Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

His immaterial chisel hammered into the summer hues and bounced off.

Kosta nearly cursed as his Projected tools failed to make a dent in the phaetra. The slate grey chisel and hammer flickered (nearly faded entirely, in fact) as the cherry-red stone sat cheerfully untouched by his magic. That was the problem with phaetra! It was the problem with all magic-infused stone, really.

It resisted.

Even marble and harder natural rock would succumb to his cutting touch without issue. It may take time, it may leave him exhausted, and it may lack the precision he could reach with softer materials, but it inevitably yielded.

The phaetra twinkled merrily as it reflected the dull magical glow of his workshop lights. Kosta glared down at it, but couldn’t remain frustrated for long as he admired the sheen and deep-seated pulsations.

“What a beauty you are!”

Its inner flame danced at his words, seemingly pleased at the compliment. Just a trick of the light.

Kosta wished Clymere was here to admire it with him, but he’d visited the barracks on his way home from Papa’s workshop and found that she’d already left. Headsman Linus had not taken the threat of the manticore (and particularly the dead Hesperians they’d found) lightly, and he’d marshaled Clymere and a dozen other members of the militia to carry out a survey of that territory.

Headsman Linus led the mission personally. Kosta pitied whatever unfortunate monsters ran afoul of him. His presence was why Kosta wasn’t more worried about his sister, although he knew that she couldn’t be in good shape after the day they’d had. She'd burned everything she had. It took time for her to recover. That was one edge he held over his sister: his magic held longer and firmer, and strength returned to him more swiftly.

Still, all Kosta could really think of was all the beautiful, beautiful phaetra that would soon be his. The town would take its more-than-fair share, naturally, but Clymere did not take her promises lightly. He would receive more phaetra from that gorgeous blooming field than he could use in a year.

Kosta fought down a giddy little squeal. That would be quite unbecoming.

“How should I shape you?” Kosta allowed the Projected tools to fade away into motes of grey light. He placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the untouched phaetra core. It twinkled cheerfully, the light of summer ensnared within.

His attempts at a light touch had failed. Phaetra often rejected the impact of physical tools, but it was delicate enough when cut that he’d hoped his purely Projected chisel and hammer would do the trick.

He just wasn't strong enough! It galled him, but that was the truth. Kosta's work was skillful, but he hadn't yet grown to the heights he dreamt of. Phaetra was tough, its inner magic potent enough to wash away lesser workings, and Kosta grumbled as he reached for the metal chisel on his belt instead.

Kosta didn’t mind the labor, but his pride was stung. He just wanted to create, damnit! Was that really so much to ask?

The sooner this was done, the happier Headsman Linus would be. The happier Headsman Linus was, the faster his pockets would be filled to the brim with jingling coin. This keystone was essential to repairing Dytifrourá’s frayed protections, so Headsman Linus’ bounty reflected that.

They would all sleep easier with this task completed.

Clang.

As expected, his chisel simply bounced off the phaetra core as well. Kosta sighed, allowed his power to stir slowly and steadily, and fed an even drip of magic through the apeironic bronze which adorned his chisel. The divine metal glimmered softly with slate-hued light, grew sturdy and strong, and Kosta carefully hammered the tool into the phaetra yet again.

Victory!

A tiny, tiny piece broke off. It retained the phaetra’s warm glow, although the tiny fragment of summer’s light hidden within couldn’t fuel anything more significant than a candle. Kosta brushed it to the side nonetheless. Someone would find a use for it. The phaetra pieces would make a nice decoration if nothing else.

Kosta hammered the chisel in again. His magic nearly broke upon the phaetra’s innate resistance, but was just potent enough when amplified with the apeironic bronze’s conducive effect to stretch past the hard exterior and render it vulnerable to his strikes. Both his chisel and Clymere's spear had been gifted to them by Papa and Mama as they chose their paths. Their parents knew better than any other the importance of wielding the proper tools.

More chips fell.

Again and again he hammered, careful to take only the tiniest pieces off, and Kosta grinned as he saw the faintest imaginings of the keystone appear after an hour’s work. He’d planned this out ages ago and it was so, so satisfying to see it finally take shape! It was only the material that had limited him.

Just as he truly fell into the swing of things, the door to his workshop cautiously opened and the faint alarm he’d had installed sang its chime. He managed one last strike before a tall figure cautiously slipped into his work space.

“Kosta?” The newcomer trilled. Kosta fought down a surge of irritation as he set down his tools. Just as he’d begun to make progress!

“In here,” Kosta called. It took some effort but he managed to hide most of his frustration as he gently placed a small linen cloth over the phaetra core. His project was hardly secret, but he didn’t want to deal with a hundred incessant questions from anyone who wandered in.

People were frustrating like that.

He rose and the aching of his shoulders from the incessant hammering finally made itself known. Kosta rolled one shoulder to stretch it, then turned to face the intruder. His eyes softened as he saw his mother, eyes wide and hands wringing as they always did, step cautiously forward.

“What are you doing here?” Kosta asked, not unkindly. Mama rarely ventured outside of their home, often wrapped up in personal projects. When she did emerge, it was to rub shoulders with various influential figures around town to expand the family business. She was clever like that and had a head for numbers and plots that Kosta never would. Her tutelage had ensured he wasn’t helpless in negotiating contracts, though she’d practically had to beat the lessons into his head. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

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“I thought that some fresh air might be good for me,” Mama said easily. Her eyes scanned every inch of the workshop curiously, never lingering on any one thing for more than a second or two. “You’re well? It’s been some time since you’ve stopped by the house.”

“Well enough.” Kosta ignored the light accusation in her words. Instead, he pulled back the white cloth which veiled the phaetra. He hoped the warm glimmer of summer captured within the lattice might ease her worries. “I’m working on a project for Headsman Linus, see? A wardstone for the gates.”

That caught her attention. “What price did you charge?” She hurried over, taking some care not to knock over any of his other half-finished works, and peered down hungrily at the lightly cut phaetra. Even a sliver of phaetra was worth a good sum, and this one was the size of a man’s fist. “This core must be worth a small fortune!" Mama marveled. "How did you ever acquire it?”

Kosta froze. This was not a conversation that he’d intended to have today. Mama would have conniptions if she heard about their duel with the manticore—she always worried when they ventured outside the town, and this would make her apoplectic. It wouldn’t stop Kosta or Clymere, but life would be easier if she wasn’t ready to pull her hair out every time they took a single step beyond the safety of the walls.

“One of the militia found a field of phaetra out in the mountains,” Kosta said hurriedly. He leaned forward conspiratorially and carefully watched his mother’s face for a reaction. “Apparently it was guarded by a manticore! They had to kill it on their own to take its hoard.”

“Madness!” His mother cried. “See, Kosta, this is why I’m so insistent that you not go on those foolhardy adventures. Just wait for a fair price like the rest of us! Imagine if that would have been you and Clymere! You’d be in a manticore’s belly now!”

Kosta nodded sagely. He considered it a small miracle that he didn't roll his eyes.

“Of all the foolishness… killing a manticore for a chunk of stone,” Mama hissed. “Absolute foolishness! You didn’t answer my question.” She realized. “What did you end up paying for it? I hope that the Headsman will cover it!”

“He’s paying me fairly. The phaetra was a generous donation on behalf of the militia.”

“I wonder if Clymere knows what idiot attempted to slay a manticore on their own…” Mama muttered. “Headsman Linus should have their heads. All for a bit of rock!”

Phaetra was hardly ‘a bit of rock’, but Kosta held his tongue. Mama would rant for hours when irritated, and this just showed that he’d made the right decision in not telling her. He’d just have to stop Clymere before she could speak to their mother and brag about their glorious victory over the man-eater.

“This keystone will be a valuable asset to the town, yes?”

“Essential. The wards are still strong, but time’s worn them down and they’ve begun to fade. This will secure the walls for the next decade.”

“And they chose you for the task!” Mama smiled. Her evident pride warmed him. “Good. That speaks well of you. You know that I have little knowledge of what goes into your father’s work,” she admitted, “but I’m glad they see your potential. If you do well, then Headsman Linus will surely request your help again. If your talents are essential, leverage that!”

“Leverage?” Kosta blinked as he rubbed his sore shoulder and took up his tools again to cut the phaetra as he talked. This task was important, but he was only shaping its roughest edges at the moment. He’d save more precise work for when Mama had left and he could devote his full focus to the job at hand. “This is for the town, Mama.”

She sighed. “Yes,” Mama said, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. “It’s for the town. They need it. And when there’s a need, there’s coin. Don’t let them take you for granted. Squeeze everything you can out of them.”

“It’s a little late for negotiation. I can’t exactly hold the keystone hostage,” Kosta said drily. “Headsman Linus might take my head for that.”

“Then keep it in mind for your next project. Never work for free, Kosta. You can’t imagine how many merchants and hagglers have attempted to take advantage of your father. They see an artisan and assume they know nothing of how the world works. They’ll fleece you without a second thought.”

It was something that Kosta had already encountered, unfortunately. The local merchants and traders knew not to run afoul of the craftsmen, but the foreigners and those who ventured to Dytifrourá from the great cities to the east were out to cut the sweetest deal they could find. They cared little for building relationships—they were here as part of a long route to acquire raw material and curiosities from the west to bring home and sell at exorbitant prices.

They trusted that memories were not half as long as their trade circuits. Perhaps it was true in most cases, but Mama never forgot.

The locals knew that Dytifrourá held potential: the masters of the Dipoli had set their eyes upon this little frontier bastion town. Headsman Linus had secured the territory from lingering Hesperians and made it safe for trade and settlement, and as a result the leaders of Argyropolis and Khrusopolis saw it as ripe for investment. The cities of silver and gold smiled upon them.

It would be a bustling city one day, and the lives of skilled practitioners was long indeed. The locals saw it better to sow the seeds now and build the relationships needed to ascend high in the future order of the westernmost city.

Perhaps it would take decades. Some traders were patient and powerful enough to prepare for the next century. But their efforts would pay off one day.

That was just what his parents had done, after all. Mama’s silver tongue and eye for gold and influence had no doubt played a part in that, only adding to Papa’s own motivations.

“Your father told me that you’ve expressed interest again in leaving for Argyropolis,” Mama’s lips thinned. “You should reconsider.”

“Absolutely not!” Kosta was normally steady, even like the stone he worked, but a little of Clymere’s flame leapt in his breast. “My future is there, not Dytifrourá. I will learn, I will grow, and I will become great.”

Mama eyed him. “Ambition is well and good, but even dreams should have their own logic. Dytifrourá is rising. Stay here. Learn from your father. It's better to be the big fish in a small pond, believe me.”

Kosta had no doubt that she wished the best for him, but he recoiled at the path she offered.

“You should save your breath! There’s a path to the Silver City, and I will take it. I know it won’t be easy,” Kosta said more lightly, “but it’s the road I’ve chosen. I know in my bones that it’s my time to leave. I will go my own way.”

Mama sniffed. “Very well,” she said disapprovingly. “Finish your work. Meet your father’s expectations. Receive his blessing. Just know that you already have a path here. You’ve built a reputation, you know the land, the people…you’ll crave that stability one day, Kosta. I promise you that. It’s not a glamorous life, but it is a good one. Happiness can be found here in Dytifrourá if you'd just let yourself seek it.”

His hammer came down. A little sprinkle of cherry stone dust drifted down from the phaetra. Kosta glanced at his mother, who watched with a face of stone. Her eyes were so hard that Kosta doubted his chisel would even scratch them.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Kosta allowed. He chiseled yet another flake off the phaetra core. The pile of phaetra dust was slowly accumulating. Surely someone would pay a fine price for it. Phaetra was beautiful above all else, even its magical properties. “I could have a good life here. But I will make my own mistakes. I’ll find out for myself.”

She lingered for a moment, perhaps considering whether to continue their argument or simply give it up for now, and eventually she chose the latter. Mama offered a stiff nod, spun around on her heel, and stalked out of the workshop to reemerge back into the crowds filtering through the gridded streets of Dytifrourá like ants through a mound.

Kosta cast her aside, irritated, and turned to back to his phaetra. A small stack of the red flakes had grown near the base, and he looked forward to watching it continue to pile up as he did his work. Tangible evidence of his progress was so, so satisfying.

And if his hammer struck harder and more furiously after his mother had come to visit, who was here to notice?