“There!”

Evanthe, as always, made for a striking sight in the morning sun. The brilliant rays bent around her tall figure, seemingly desperate to bathe the Myrtle in their radiance. The soft light matched the golden hue of her long tresses and seemed to infuse her hair with an incandescent flame.

Such a sight made Kosta wish that he were painting, not sculpting.

Her dark eyes stared back at him steadily as she effortlessly held the contrapposto pose atop a small dias. Evanthe was relaxed, her weight held on one leg as she leaned to the side. She was garbed in a peplos dress which covered her fully save for her arms, neck, and face. It was dyed a vibrant fuchsia today, although it would shift with Evanthe’s whims.

Kosta had seen it morph from dandelion yellow to rose red to violet blue in the span of a few minutes during a ceremony. Evanthe’s gown could flicker through the entire spectrum of the rainbow when her emotions ran hot.

It was a fascinating piece of magic, intricate and flowing enough that Kosta had asked Evanthe for its secrets many months ago during a previous commission that she’d assisted him with. Such a working was beyond the humble artisans of Dytifrourá.

“Feel,” Evanthe had said, offering Kosta a fold of the stark white cloth to touch. It was soft to his skin, but occasionally seemed coarse or wiry to his hand. He’d rubbed the violet fabric between his fingers, fascinated by the shifting sensations. “You won’t find its like in Dytifrourá! A relic of old times, a gift from a legendary weaver of Khrusopolis…”

The shifting fabric had been woven from countless ekatomorph hairs. Each would fetch a fine price at the market, so Kosta could only imagine what fortunes had been spent in its production. It was impossible to argue with the results, though.

Now Evanthe clutched an aspis shield in one hand and a polygnosis tablet in the other. Though Evanthe was tall, the great circular shield appeared massive in comparison. It would appear like a normal shield on Headsman Linus’ arm, so on Evanthe it hid nearly half of her body from view.

Normally it might have proven an irritant, but Kosta found the contrast between the great shield’s bulk and Evanthe’s willowy build fascinating.

The shield was a heavy thing, a brutish instrument of war, and Kosta would have struggled to keep it upright for long. Its lopsided weight would have left his arms and shoulder aching beneath the strain.

Evanthe had hefted it for two hours now. She hadn’t broken a sweat. While Kosta’s gifts lay in creation, Evanthe’s lay in her body. The long lines of her dancer’s physique didn’t boast of great power, but her magic had been trained for… well, that was a great question, wasn’t it? Evanthe’s age was a mystery.

She appeared perhaps thirty at a casual glance, but a practitioner like Evanthe might be a hundred before time managed to scratch her youthful facade. Kosta had never dared to ask, although he thought Clymere might be bold enough to question the Myrtle next time she indulged in a bit too much wine.

While Evanthe wasn’t one to indulge in great feats of power like Headsman Linus, she carried the vast current of her magic everywhere she strode. Evanthe’s cheerful whistle stoked Dytifrourán spirits and beckoned all to sing, dance, and live lightly. A peal of tinkling laughter and the easy grace of her movements inspired even the shiest of children to peek out from behind their mothers’ legs and join in the revels during Dytifrourá’s festivals.

Evanthe’s bright spirit was infectious. Even now the swell of her power lapped at Kosta like a soothing summer breeze, warm and radiant as the sun itself.

“I do enjoy your work, Kosta,” Evanthe murmured. Her melodious voice was soft so as to not distract him, but the relative silence of his workshop meant that it was easy to catch. A light buzz composed of merchants hawking their wares, the thrum of conversation, and the normal bustle of Dytifrourá filtered in past the windows, but he was accustomed to it. “I have no head for such arts.”

Kosta scoffed as he chiseled away a bit of the marble block that sat ahead of him. The first thing he’d done was sculpt a sample model from clay to use as reference whenever Evanthe’s duties prevented her from making a session, but it was always so satisfying to make the jump to marble.

It had been a simple process to mark the basic lines and contours that he would follow throughout the process, though without his years of experience it might have seemed arcane. Kosta had no doubt that Evanthe had found herself on a sculptor’s plinth many, many times.

“Your gifts simply lie elsewhere… and far outstrip my own, besides.”

Evanthe smiled, but she allowed a moment of silence as Kosta focused his grey magic upon the chisel in his hand. Veins of low-grade apeironic bronze laced into the mundane metal easily conducted his magic and were soon imbued with grey light.

It was easy to sculpt idle fancies from clay or soft variants of sandstone with his magic and imagination, but Kosta always preferred to use physical tools when it came to serious projects. Sacred apeironic bronze allowed his tools to channel his magic and more easily enhance his creations, but Kosta never wished to grow lazy or sloppy by relying on a crutch. He refused to develop bad habits!

A certain level of refinement could only be achieved by time, proper tools, a lot of sweat, and even more love.

Evanthe’s green eyes were intent upon Kosta as he worked. She seemed fascinated with the process and trailed every little motion. Each tiny movement caught her attention. It didn’t bother him. She’d modeled for him frequently enough that he was used to her rapt gaze.

He fell into his own routine. The clink of the chisel’s tip as hammered into the rough surface of the marble was entrancing as ever, music to Kosta’s ears, and he soon fell into the steady rhythm of that familiar melody.

Kosta worked tirelessly. His gifts didn’t lie in fortifying his body and extending his stamina, though he could do such in a pinch, but he was strong and lean from his work and his long trips outside the city to gather special materials. He had a few more hours in him before the familiar burn in his arms and shoulders grew too uncomfortable and his body demanded a break. .

While Kosta took pride in remaining faithful to his subject, he already envisioned small changes that would come in the project’s future. They were minute adjustments, really. Evanthe was perfect for this work, but Kosta had a hard time sticking to only the reality of things. He took pleasure in exaggeration. Amplification. His touch was subtle, but channeling the spirit of his imaginings into an idealized form was everything to him.

“Have you been well, Kosta?” Evanthe broke the easy silence. “I spoke with dear Clymere the other day. She mentioned that you’ve rarely left your workshop as of late.”

“What else is new? I’m fine, as I’ve told Clymere many times. Just busy,” Kosta said as he bit his lip and chiseled away at a particularly stubborn bit of marble. His fingers wrapped more tightly around his tools as he shaped the rough beginnings of a face. “Commissions, personal projects, the keystone… I’ve time for little else. Clymere worries too much.”

Evanthe’s lips curled upward. The workshop seemed warmer and the sunlight brighter with her pleasure. “It’s her sisterly right, I suppose. She’s a good girl,” the Myrtle added fondly. “Too stubborn and likely to burn the town down by half, but a good girl.”

“It’s part of her charm.”

Kosta closed his eyes to focus a bit of his magic through the chisel in order to shatter off a little chunk of stone just so. His power flowed, infused the stone, and allowed the chisel to strike true on its next blow. The marble clinked to the floor and Kosta smiled as another little step toward completion was made.

He’d be absolutely covered in fine white dust by the end of it, but nothing left Kosta more satisfied than tangible evidence of what he’d done. What he’d created. Inhaling the fine particulate could prove dangerous over time, but Ademia could heal such damage with a touch. Otherwise he’d have a mask on at the moment to filter the powder.

“I have no clue how you can carry that shield for so long,” Kosta remarked, unwilling to return to the silence. “Doesn’t it tire you?”

“This little thing?” Evanthe hefted the enormous aspis high with ease, though she immediately dropped it back to its previous position lest Kosta correct her. “I’ll be fine for a few hours yet. Don’t worry about me, my dear.”

It was just another reminder that the Myrtle was far more than she appeared. Evanthe eyed him with something unknowable in her gaze.

“I’ve spent a long, long time learning myself,” Evanthe said. She appeared ageless in the sun’s radiant light. “Power comes neither easily nor swiftly. You walk your path one step at a time, and one day you look back and realize how far you’ve traveled.”

The chisel bit into the marble yet again.

“I feel as if I’m stumbling every other step,” Kosta grumbled. He didn’t mind speaking of such things to Evanthe, but he did keep his attention trained entirely upon the statue as he worked.

Clink, clink, clink.

The marble began to have something resembling the approximation of a face. Kosta couldn’t wait to see it slowly shift and soften into Evanthe’s features. “I try again and again and am met with failure. Every time I find myself satisfied with a work, I look at it a second time and realize how imperfect it is. Every step forward just reveals another flaw for me to correct.”

Evanthe kept her expression flat and stern, the perfect representation of a determined sentry, for a time as Kosta worked. When he shifted down to scrape away stone to reveal the sculpture’s delicate collarbones, she broke her facade.

“Perfection is a fine thing to strive for, but chasing it is like trying to grasp smoke between your fingers. You sink your feet into the lake, thinking you’ve found the bottom, but find that it goes deeper than you ever imagined. Look!”

She gestured at the hundred projects scattered around his workshop: ceramic pots and wooden figurines for the market, random trinkets that had been a product of restless hands which he might give to Clymere to hand out to the town’s children, unpainted statues that needed the proper ornamentation to become whole, and even his prize: the incomplete keystone commissioned by Headsman Linus.

“See what you have already made? These are only your beginnings. You’ve a long way to go, yes, but have faith in yourself. You’re a fine young man, Kosta. Be proud!” Evanthe smiled beatifically, her kind eyes nearly glowing in the sunlight. Kosta reddened, his face growing hot. “Dytifrourá is privileged to number you amongst its sons.”

He squeaked out some jumbled words of thanks, unused to such open praise, and hoped that he hadn’t mangled the whole thing. Kosta continued his work quietly for a time. Evanthe seemed content to let her words linger in his mind without interruption. They drifted off in comfortable silence.

The statue’s torso grew more defined over time. He’d already hewn out a rough approximation, but it soon began to have the beginnings of her peplos’ fabric folds and a hint of true texture. One of Dytifrourá’s benefactors in grand Argyropolis had commissioned this work, and Kosta expected that he would be pleased.

Evanthe’s lovely face and striking expression made the piece, of course. It was meant to symbolize Dytifrourá itself, a delicate figure of beauty and civilization standing guard against the westward menace. She sold her part perfectly. Kosta would have liked to give her a spear - Clymere would have leapt at the chance to equip the Myrtle with her own treasured weapon - but apparently that wouldn’t fit the commissioner’s ideal.

So shield it was, with a tablet clutched in her other hand.

Defense rested in one hand and the light of knowledge in the other. A pretty concept, though overly idealistic in Kosta’s eyes. As much as he itched to model it based on his own imaginings, the commissioner had been rather specific in this regard. He’d been an admirer of Evanthe once upon a time, it seemed.

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“I hadn’t expected you to show up on my doorstep the other night,” Kosta broke the silence again. “Let alone with a writ of Argyropolis in hand.”

Evanthe’s stern mask slipped away. “An old friend sent me the missive. Quite unexpectedly, I might add. I thought you seemed up to the task. Your style seemed best suited for the work.”

A touch of pride welled up in his chest.

“I—I actually hope to seek an apprenticeship in one of the great workshops of Argyropolis one day,” Kosta admitted after a moment. It felt odd to speak so plainly of his dream. Only his family knew, and he only spoke regularly of it to Clymere. “Sebastian Ariti’s, perhaps, or maybe Georgios Drarg. My father learned there.”

Part of Kosta reflexively expected Evanthe to admonish him for silly dreams or foolish thoughts. Instead, she nodded at his words. “You’re young. You should follow your dreams, dear. You’ll outgrow this little pond soon enough.” Evanthe briefly tossed him a considerate look. Her mouth opened again—

The workshop door creaked open. Dytifrourá’s midday ruckus spilled in and shattered the spell. Kosta pulled away just before he could hammer down upon the marble again. He didn’t dare risk an imperfection. Most would be simple enough to smooth over with magic, but…

Heavy footsteps. A long shadow passed over Kosta and landed upon Evanthe.

“Myrtle,” Papa’s tone was bland, but Kosta detected a faint undertone of genuine surprise. It was as much as Papa ever betrayed. “I didn’t realize that you posed.”

Evanthe smiled sweetly. Too sweet, really. Saccharine. “Only rarely. I will only sit for a sculptor of sufficient vision.”

Papa arched an eyebrow, unconvinced, but shrugged it off. He was never one to care for banter. Once his nerves had settled, Kosta picked up his hammer and chisel again and set to work, but Papa lingered like a miasma over him. His brilliant gaze watched every motion like a hawk.

No doubt Papa had already cataloged a dozen mistakes and anticipated a hundred more.

His palms were damp. Kosta did his best to blot out Papa’s presence as he worked, but flaw after flaw began to pile up. Dread filled his gut as Papa hummed, shook his head, and left his side to explore the workshop and the hundred projects within it.

Kosta did his best to correct the sudden onslaught of flaws, lost in his own thoughts as his tools filled with magic and smoothed poor cuts and angles.

“You’re doing very well,” Evanthe murmured. “Take your time.”

Papa scoffed at Evanthe’s reassuring words. Kosta smiled thinly, nodded, and set back to work. Evanthe tried to spark conversation several times, but he was far too aware of Papa’s presence to entertain her. He tried not to be rude—Evanthe did not deserve that—but his thoughts were far from the workshop now.

Kosta was hyper aware of his father’s presence. Every footstep was magnified in the workshop’s new silence. He drew taut as a wire when Papa’s wanderings finally led him to a half-finished aspen carving of Mama, animated as if she were in the middle of haggling a deal. It was to be a gift for her on Liberation Day, the date of Dytifrourá’s founding, in a month’s time.

For a moment his father simply observed the incomplete sculpture. He scraped it raw with his hawk-like eyes to pick apart the whole of it.

“Imperfect…”

That one word left Kosta fumbling. He muttered out an apology to Evanthe as his chisel struck off a piece of the statue’s face and sent it tumbling to the floor. It was simple enough to reattach it with a swell of magic, but his face was red for an entirely different reason now.

He heard the scrape of tools on wood behind him. Felt the rush of Papa’s own power. Knew that his unfinished project was now complete.

Evanthe’s eyes widened.

Her jaw dropped.

Her nostrils flared.

Her dress shifted from fuchsia to the orange of a summer sunset to the crimson of blood. The sunlight blazed until the workshop was sweltering, choked by heat and fiery radiance.

Papa hummed, satisfied, and moved onto another project. This one was complete, a simple stone replica of the warded keystone that Kosta had been asked to shape by Headsman Linus. He wouldn’t be able to really begin on it until Clymere took him outside the walls to gather sufficiently powerful materials, but Kosta had at least prepared a basic structure to save time later.

He grit his teeth as Papa held it between his hands. Magic flared again as Papa prepared to reshape it—

The aspis clattered to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Evanthe hissed with no trace of her normal warmth. What had once been a fierce mask adopted for the sculpture’s ideal was now reality. Power coiled within her like a serpent ready to strike. Its enormity forced the breath from Kosta’s lungs and pressed down upon his shoulders like a tangible weight, just like Old Isidora’s.

Only this wasn’t targeted at him.

Papa finished smoothing out whatever errors he’d discerned and placed the keystone back upon the workbench with a thud. He looked oddly at Evanthe, blankly bewildered. “I’m fixing them.”

“Are you mad? They’re not yours to fix!”

“They’re imperfect.”

That was enough explanation for his father, but it infuriated Evanthe. Papa seemed immune to the enormous power gathering within her, stirred to life by her anger, and simply watched her as he might a particularly curious insect. She might as well have been a hundred miles away.

“You—” Evanthe snarled, only to be cut off by Kosta.

“I’m sorry, we should continue this another day. My thoughts are scattered. I can’t do you justice like this.”

For a moment Evanthe looked as if she wished nothing more than to sit here and scold Papa, but she relented at Kosta’s pleading look. Sharp words wouldn’t bother him… honestly, Kosta doubted sharp objects would either. They’d only break against his stubbornness. Kosta doubted that Papa cared one whit about the argument, if he even recognized it as such in the first place. All he cared about was his projects.

“Very well.” Evanthe said stiffly. She gently returned her polygnosis tablet to the unoccupied workbench beside her dias, then easily picked up the great aspis and returned it to its hanger. Kosta nodded gratefully at her. Her dress shifted from crimson to a gorgeous, roiling orange laced with black that reminded Kosta of the descriptions he’d heard of lava from distant volcanoes.

Evanthe took a deep breath and it softened to a flamelike hue, the core molten orange while the edges of her dress flickered red.

“It is always a pleasure, dear.” Evanthe inclined her head to him and pointedly ignored his father, who had already returned to surveying Kosta’s myriad projects. She patted Kosta on the cheek as she walked by, then paused just before she swept out of the workshop. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your trip. We will meet in three days, then?”

“That will be perfect.” Kosta offered up a strained smile. She returned it, then vanished out into the town.

He was alone with Papa now.

Kosta laid down his chisel and hammer.

Papa drifted around, toying with whatever caught his eye: a sandstone statue of a woman sealed against the elements, various faces hewn from linden and aspen and sturdier creations from oak. It was difficult to carve with mundane tools, but magic made it an easy task.

He finally settled upon a plain oak carving of a bear. Kosta’s jaw clenched.

“I heard you speaking to the Myrtle. You still wish to go to Argyropolis?” Papa turned the bear over in his hands. A light frown passed across Papa’s face as he discovered some unpleasant aspect to Kosta’s work. It could have been a minor misalignment, a section left unshaven, or even just a displeasing quirk of form. Any imperfection could draw such a reaction. “I thought that you had given up on that dream.”

Part of Kosta wished to lie and shake his head and push Papa out of his workshop as soon as possible, but this was something he wouldn’t bend on. He gave Papa quite a bit of space, well-aware that nothing he said would ever change him, but he wouldn’t compromise on this. Couldn’t.

“I hope to leave within two years,” Kosta said, rising from his station to stand straight and tall. He was several inches taller than his father - Kosta and Clymere had Mama to thank for that. Apparently size ran in her bloodline, though she said that Kosta was still a good bit shorter than Theíos Cyril. “I’ve been saving every coin I can. If it’s not going to food and shelter or materials, it’s saved.”

Papa hummed as he considered Kosta’s words.

“Your quality is… acceptable,” Father managed to pry the words out. His long fingers traced over one of Kosta’s carvings, reshaping the wood wherever they went. Knots smoothed. Features sharpened. Proportions perfected. Kosta’s jaw tightened. What made it even worse was that it was better now. “You could do much more, however. You have some talent.”

He blinked and froze.

That was the greatest compliment that Papa had ever given him.

Papa didn’t spare him a glance as he reworked the wood. “A little talent isn’t enough. You aren’t ready for the great workshops. They would laugh you out if you came begging for an apprenticeship.”

“And why not?” Kosta threw his arms up, though he was careful not to disturb any of his work. “I spend every day in this workshop! I devote every moment to my craft!”

Papa wasn’t impressed by theatrics. He didn’t even blink. “So do a thousand village sculptors all across Seltgi. What makes you any different from them?”

“I—”

“You can be better than Dytifrourá, but you are not. This display?” Papa gestured at Kosta’s workshop. “No master would be impressed by this. But I am willing to offer you the benefits of my citizenship. I will even offer my recommendation to Master Drarg as a former apprentice.”

“But?” Kosta bit out, overwhelmed. He’d begged Papa for his blessing for years now. He almost felt a little faint. It was so, so close. He could nearly taste his victory. “Why now?”

“Not now. In the future. You are not ready.” Papa tossed the remade bear, its fur newly defined and its eyes practically alive within its wooden skull, back onto the workbench. “Nothing here is worth exhibiting. Create what you imagine to be a masterwork. Then will you have my support.”

He could do that. He could do that.

“Meet me at my workshop in two days. I have work for you. Standard fee.”

With his piece said, Papa had no more time for him. He hurried out of Kosta’s space, no doubt eager to return to his own work. No doubt that abrupt statement at the end was what Papa had originally darkened Kosta’s door for. The rest had been sparked by Kosta’s overheard conversation with Evanthe.

Papa was absolutely frustrating, but Kosta brimmed with hope and looked at his gallery with fresh eyes. So many flaws. So many imperfections. Nothing truly beautiful. Nothing acceptable.

He had to be better. He had to be perfect.

Kosta sighed as he glanced down at the commission that he’d been working on. It itched at him to leave it in such an incomplete state, although he’d already planned for it to be the work of many sessions. Magic allowed him to work faster than he could with mundane tools, but quality took time.

Perfection took even longer. Kosta knew all too well that it was what Papa demanded. Even with Evanthe lending her talents to the project, he doubted that Papa would accept this commission as proof of his ability.

But it could be a step in the right direction.

For the first time, Kosta had a direction. Or, rather, an idea of how to take a first step other than the satisfying monotony of improving his craft and saving every spare coin.

He could do this!

But first…

Kosta spent a moment gathering all the pieces that Papa had reworked and hurled them into his kiln, any affection he had for his creations besmirched. They formed a neat little pile of superior carving, marked by a true artisan’s hand, and Kosta allowed the anger he’d bitten back to rise to the surface.

The bear sneered at him. The sample keystone galled him with its perfect angles and the precise cuts that marked it. Even the carving of Mama infuriated him - Papa had spent the most time on it, and it stood out like a jewel amongst the other fine works. Every part of her had been rendered in loving, obsessive detail: each lock of hair had been defined, the angles of her cheekbones and the curve of Mama’s lips crafted a smile that was devastatingly real. Even her chiton appeared to flutter in a nonexistent wind!

Power filled his hands. Heat bled off in rippling waves that distorted the air. Smoke curled from his fingertips.

Despite himself, Kosta smiled as a dull red torrent of flames engulfed the creations that had been stolen from him and set them ablaze. His fires only burned with a tiny fraction of the brilliance and intensity carried by his sister’s, but no brother of Clymere’s would have lasted long without learning this trick of hers.

They’d spent the month after their Dòrognosis running through the hills and resting in meadows as they found ways to demonstrate their new talents to one another. It was such a thrill to find new ways of working their power, to explore the magic awakened. To let the light of their souls bathe the waking world.

And in those days, they’d taught one another their secrets.

The dream-dwelling Demiurge offered a foundation, spilling knowledge gleaned from countless dreamers into the Myokipos’ minds to provide them with its gift. It was difficult to branch out beyond the origin it gave them, but not impossible. They had persevered: Kosta could cast his power into the world as sparks and fire, and Clymere learned to cut, to mold, and to construct.

Neither were very good at their disparate arts, but Kosta treasured those memories nonetheless.

Kosta mainly used it to light his kiln or conjure light rather than slay monsters, but he was satisfied all the same to ignite his magic. Besides, it let him understand Clymere for a time.

It really was a pleasure to watch those three pieces burn.