Mairi practically slides out of the sky like a shadow, her small frame practically vibrating with contained energy. Her playful demeanor is gone, replaced by a tightly wound tension that immediately draws everyone’s attention. Without preamble, she makes her way to where Rhona, Calum, Iain, and I are still discussing our next moves, her eyes dark with barely suppressed rage.
“It’s much worse than we thought,” she says, her voice shaking, but just low enough that the other children won’t hear. “I followed him back to an old warehouse near the tannery district. There’s at least twenty kids in there, maybe more, but they’re not the ones in charge.” Her fingers absently trace the outline of her shiv as she continues, a habit I’ve noticed she falls into when particularly upset. “There’s adults running the whole operation—mean-looking ones, with proper weapons. Thieves, mercenaries, or… worse. They’ve got the children organized like some sort of twisted militia, sending them out to take control of every group like ours in the city while they sit back and count their profits.”
The disgust in her voice is palpable as she recounts watching a boy barely older than herself being struck across the face for suggesting they target the merchant district instead of other street children. “They’re not even letting them keep what they steal,” she spits out. “Everything goes to the adults, and the kids get whatever scraps they’re deemed worthy of.”
“Some of the kids seem to think they’re part of something special, like they’re going to own the city,” she explains, her voice trembling slightly. “They pick out the strongest ones, the smartest ones, and give them special treatment—better food, cleaner clothes, maybe even a few coins—but only as long as they keep the others in line. Those seem almost worse than the adults.”
In the pause as Mairi catches her breath, Rhona whirls on Calum, her face flushing red as blood rushes to her cheeks. “You sent Mairi?!”
Calum plants his feet and meets Rhona’s burning stare head-on, his shoulders squared. “Who should I have sent? Eilidh is otherwise occupied, and Mairi is the next best. I could have sent someone else, but they’d likely just end up dead.”
My eyes track Rhona’s tightening jaw as she wrestles with Calum’s logic. “She’s 8! She’s supposed to be one of those we protect!”
Mairi, feeling ignored, pipes up “Rhona, I’m right here. And I can protect myself. See, I’m still alive.” She gestures at her untouched body. Their heads snap toward her, guilt flashing across their faces as they realize they’ve been talking over her head like she’s some village idiot.
Well, fuck me sideways. That means they’re not some gang of grubby urchins—some clever bastard’s got himself a proper business going, using street rats to do his bidding. That scrawny little prick who tried threatening us wasn’t working for himself or even represented other hungry kids. No, some grown arsehole sent him our way. Gods below, this is going to be a headache. I thought we were just dealing with some uppity street kids, but no—that would be too simple, wouldn’t it? Someone’s gone and made things complicated. Again.
Rhona’s fingers drum against the worn table surface, her intense blue eyes fixed on some distant point as she processes this new information. “This doesn’t really change our end goal,” she says, her voice carrying that peculiar mix of youth and weathered experience that still catches me off guard sometimes. “We still need them to leave us alone. But knowing there are adults pulling the strings…” She trails off, a flash of frustration crossing her features. “I almost wish we hadn’t sent that boy back bleeding. We could have played weak, made them think we weren’t worth the trouble.”
Her jaw sets in that familiar way that tells me she’s formulating a new plan. “But that’s done now,” she continues, her voice hardening. “They know we can bite back, and adults won’t just let that slide. They’ll see it as a challenge to their authority, especially coming from street kids.” A bitter smile plays across her lips as she adds, “We’ve backed ourselves into a corner where we have to be either strong enough to make them back off, or clever enough to make them think we are.” The grin transforms into a small smile. “No more middle ground.”
Mairi shifts uncomfortably beside me, her confident demeanor faltering slightly. “There’s… there’s something else,” she says. Her small hands twist in her lap as she continues, “When I was watching their warehouse, I used the juice to get more time, and I saw one of the men doing something. He was making runes appear in the air, just like Emma described seeing at the city gates with those wagon channelers.” The revelation hangs heavy in the air between us, and I feel my stomach drop as I realize the implications.
My mind races through the possibilities, each more alarming than the last. If these people have access to channelers, then Mairi’s indication that it’s much worse than we thought is that much more true.
They’re not just some opportunistic criminals exploiting street children—they’re connected to something much bigger, much more dangerous. The timing seems too perfect to be coincidental: troops massing at the border, some channelers randomly appearing in the city, an organized group suddenly trying to establish control over the streets. I exchange a worried glance with Rhona, seeing my own concerns reflected in her eyes. The implications behind having the backing of channelers are too significant to ignore.
Iain’s quill pauses mid-stroke, his normally confident demeanor giving way to visible confusion. “That doesn’t make sense,” he mutters. “Did you see anyone," he turns to Mairi, his voice taking on an urgent edge, “did you see anyone with black hair among them? Someone that looked like they must be from the Empire?” When Mairi shakes her head, his frown deepens, and he begins scribbling new notes with increased intensity.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Calum scoffs. “Not everyone in the Empire has black hair. It’d be dumb for them to send people that couldn’t possibly blend in.” He glances meaningfully at me when he says that.
My fingers trail through dark strands that now brush past my ears. Each morning I eye the knife on my bedside table, but can’t bring myself to hack away at what’s finally grown back. The scarf still covers everything, so why bother? Stupid to care about something as frivolous as hair length, but here I am, treasuring every inch while trying to forget that day I took the sword to it in a rage.
Iain flushes red to the tips of his ears, crushing the quill against the parchment hard enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. “Right,” he mutters, clearly mortified at missing something so basic. “Of course they wouldn’t…” He trails off, scratching out whatever he’d just written with quick, aggressive strokes.
I bite back a smirk. It’s not often our resident strategist gets caught in such an obvious oversight. Usually he’s the one pointing out what everyone else has missed. Still, there’s something endearing about watching him try to recover his dignity while pretending to be deeply absorbed in his notes.
“It’s just,” he starts again, his voice barely above a whisper, “everything’s happening too fast. Too many variables changing at once.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving it standing up at odd angles. “I don’t like it when things don’t follow the expected pattern.”
Calum’s grows a bit more subdued as he ponders the implications. “Fighting off street kids is one thing,” he says, his voice grating, “but trained adults that were possibly sent by the Empire? With weapons and magic?” He lets out a shaky breath, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I see genuine fear in his eyes. “I’m good with a blade, I can pretty much guarantee I’m better than anyone else on the streets, but I don’t think I’m professional soldier good.” He looks at the entrance to the hideout, as if mentally calculating how an invasion would unfold. “Definitely not against multiple opponents who know what they’re doing.”
Rhona’s expression shifts, a subtle change that draws everyone’s attention. She looks at each of us in turn, her blue eyes bright. “We’re forgetting something important here,” she says, her voice taking on that particular tone she uses when she’s about to turn a situation on its head. “They might have a channeler, but they are just as hampered as we are. They really can’t openly use their power. Not without giving their presence away, and informing the League of their plans.”
“That would definitely be something they want to avoid,” Iain mutters, as he stares down at his notes, deep in contemplation.
Her gaze sweeps across our gathered faces, lingering particularly on the younger ones playing in the corner. “Between Emma, myself, Mairi, and those three little ones who’ve had the fruit, we’ve got seven channelers. Seven,” she repeats, emphasizing the number. "Even if their channeler is more experienced, they can’t match those numbers. If we practice, we might well overpower them.”
Rhona’s idiocy threatens to make my head explode. I didn’t give them those fruits so that they could turn around and get themselves killed! My hands slice through the air, punctuating each word. “Are you hearing yourself right now? Mairi’s the only one besides me who’s managed to channel a single damn rune, and fingers still twitch from her brush with death right after! Sure, we’ve got eight runes now, but seven of them might as well be chicken scratches for all we know about them. Gods, they could turn us into toads or set our arses on fire! The only thing any of us can reliably do is speed our mind up, and while that’s handy enough, it won’t mean shite when we’re facing proper soldiers who’ve trained since they could lift a sword.”
Iain and Calum stare at me like I’ve grown a second head, clearly not used to such an emotional outburst from the usually sardonic outsider. Their shocked expressions would be comical if the situation wasn’t so damn serious. Calum’s mouth actually hangs open a bit, and Iain’s quill has stopped its constant scratching entirely.
Mairi, the little shit, breaks into peals of laughter. “Your face gets all red when you’re angry,” she manages between giggles, “just like when Rhona gets mad at Calum for doing something stupid!” She clutches her sides, clearly delighting in the tension-breaking moment. “Though you swear a lot more than she does.”
I shoot her a half-hearted glare, but it’s hard to maintain my anger when she’s cackling like that. Still, the reality of our situation weighs heavily on my mind, and I can’t help but think about how quickly things could go wrong if we’re not careful. These kids might be street-smart and tough as nails, but they’re still just that – kids.
Rhona meets my gaze steadily, that familiar determined glint in her blue eyes refusing to dim. “We still have time,” she says, her voice carrying that quiet certainty that usually means she won’t be swayed. “Those adults won’t risk exposing themselves by making any big moves right away—they’ll want to establish their presence gradually, make it look natural. That gives us a chance to learn, to practice. And seven people who can potentially learn how to use those runes? It’s not nothing, Emma. We just need time to figure out how to use them properly.”
I let out a long breath, my shoulders slumping in defeat. “Maybe," I admit, watching the younger children play in their corner of our hideout. “If we can figure out how to use these abilities effectively, having seven people who can blow shit up with those runes could give us a fighting chance. Even if all we can do is slow things down, that’s still better than what most people have access to.”
“That said,” I continue, eyeing the trio of children tossing scraps into the air. Their small hands fumble and grab, competing to snatch the most trinkets mid-flight, their high-pitched laughter echoing across the yard. “Are you really going to pit them against a full mage? Trained soldiers?” My finger jabs toward their improvised game, where bits of wood and metal arc through the air between their tiny figures.
Rhona’s expression softens as she looks at the children, and I can see her maternal instincts warring with her practical side. “You’re right,” she says finally, running a hand through her tangled blonde hair. “I won’t put them in direct danger if we can help it. But…” She trails off, watching as one of the younger ones nearly trips over their own feet while trying to catch a piece of cloth.
“But you still want them to learn how to use the runes,” I finish for her, already knowing where this is going. I’ve seen this protective streak of hers before—it’s what’s kept most of these kids alive this long.
“They need to be able to defend themselves, Emma. If something goes wrong, if we fail…” She swallows hard, and I can see the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders. “I can’t bear the thought of them being helpless.”
I massage my temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Rhona, we’re talking about giving a five-year-old access to potentially deadly magic. What happens when little Aileen gets angry because someone stole her favorite rock and decides to use it to get back at them?” I truly have a headache now. “Kids that age can barely control their emotions, let alone mysterious magical powers we barely understand ourselves.” I sigh deeply, trying to meet her halfway somewhere. “I see where you are coming from. You want them able to protect themselves. I just worry that the cure is worse than the disease.”
I rub my face and sigh. Rhona’s got that look in her eyes—the one that says she’s not backing down, the same she nearly always gets when she’s talking about anything related to keeping these kids safe from the world. Never mind that it doesn’t keep them safe from themselves. It’s the look that usually ends with me conceding because I feel it’s her prerogative to decide these things. I already know I’m going to regret this.
“Fine,” I growl, pointing a finger at her. “But I’m not teaching them anything immediately lethal. Nothing like fire, if that’s a thing.” I pause, “The burst is fine I suppose, you need to really put your all in it if you want to hurt someone.” I mentally add that that only goes as long as they don’t decide to stick them in the walls around us.
I watch a grin slowly spread across her face when she realizes I’ve given in, and narrow my eyes. “I mean it, Rhona. Defensive stuff only. Shield runes or something, maybe healing if such a thing exists. The kind of things that’ll keep them alive without turning them into tiny merchants of death.”
She nods eagerly. “They’ll need to start with the basics anyway,” she says, trying to sound reasonable. “Just like you did.”
“Yeah, and look how well that turned out,” I mutter, remembering my own early disasters with the runes. At least I was old enough to know better than to experiment randomly. I definitely knew better anyway.
Mairi grabs my hand, and stares up at me in amazement. Something I said before? “There’s runes that make fire?” she asks with entirely too much glee in her voice.
Oh my god. She’s also a little arsonist is she?
I look sternly at her, and try to imitate Rhona’s tone the time she told Mairi to not take the shinies. Gods that seems like such a long ago. “No, there’s no fire runes.” I admonish. Not yet anyway. “And even if we did, I would not teach it to you. Don’t get your hopes up, and definitely don’t set anything on fire!”
“Let’s not forget,” Iain says with the only sense of humor he has, gesturing at the timber frames looming over us, “we’re essentially living in a massive pile of kindling. One stray spark…” He trails off meaningfully, his eyes flickering briefly to Mairi, who suddenly finds her feet incredibly interesting.
“Regardless,” Iain’s voice returns to business as usual. “You’re both missing something crucial,” he says, his fingers drumming nervously against his ledger. “Every time we use these abilities, we risk exposure. Seven people using juice means seven times the chance of someone noticing something odd, seven times the risk of drawing attention. Since we don’t know if they have a way of detecting it’s usage…” He lets the implications hang in the air, his expression grim as he stares down at his carefully maintained records.
Calum shifts his weight, the practice sword hanging loosely at his side as he interrupts. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves there,” he says. “In the past month, Emma has been using that who knows how many times, and nobody has come for us. Given how paranoid you said everyone is about channeling, there’s no reason to believe anyone will.” There’s a hint of his voice wavering when he says it, but it firms up near the end.
Iain looks up from his ledger, his quill pausing mid-stroke as he fixes Calum with a stern gaze. “There’s going to be a moment when we slip up,” he states flatly, his voice carrying none of its usual hedging. "And when we do, it won’t be some street urchin showing up here.”
“Regardless,” he says, “Our channeling won’t help us fight them at all.” He taps his pencil against the ledger he’s holding. “They’ll come prepared, probably at night, when visibility is poor and most of us are asleep. That’s what I would do, if I were planning this." The matter-of-fact way he describes our potential doom sends a chill down my spine, especially since I know his tactical assessments are rarely wrong. He raises his head, and his eyes lock onto each of us in turn. “We’ve already proven we’re going to fight back, quite competently too. Why risk losing anyone when you have better options?”
Calum’s face drains of color as the implications of Iain’s words sink in, and I watch a visible shiver run through his body. His fingers tighten around his sword hilt until his knuckles turn white. When he speaks, his voice carries an uncharacteristic tremor. “You really think they’ll go that far?” he asks Iain, though his expression suggests he already knows the answer.
Iain doesn’t even look up from the ledger he’s turned back to as he responds, his voice carrying a cold certainty that makes my blood run cold. "With adults running the show? The Empire? It’s practically guaranteed. They won’t just want to beat us—they need to make an example of us. Can’t have other kids getting ideas about standing up for themselves, after all.”
Rhona rises from her chair, her posture straightening. “Look,” she says, running her fingers through her tangled blonde hair, "I understand the Empire might be involved somehow, but we can’t let that influence us. Whether they’re connected to what’s happening at the border or not, it doesn’t really matter to us. These people are trying to take what’s ours, and we’re going to stop that from happening, whoever they are.” Her eyes grow distant for a moment. “What does it matter to us who sits on what throne or rules what city?”
Her blue eyes flash with determination as she places both hands on the worn table, leaning forward to emphasize her point. “We can worry about empires and armies after we’ve made sure these bastards understand that they can’t just walk in here and mess with what we’ve built.”
I can’t help but notice how Iain’s shoulders tense at Rhona’s words. He sets his quill down with deliberate care, the kind of movement that screams ‘I’m trying very hard not to slam this.’
“That’s exactly the kind of thinking that’ll get us all killed,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. “We can’t just pretend the Empire doesn’t matter. If they’re involved, charging in like it’s just another territory dispute would be suicide. We’d need completely different tactics.” He picks up his quill again, twirling it between his fingers. “Think about it—if it’s just local thugs, we can intimidate them, maybe bloody a few noses and they’ll back off. But Imperial agents?” He shakes his head. “They’ll have resources, training, and they won’t stop until they’ve achieved their objective or we’re all dead.”
“Besides,” Iain continues, his voice growing stronger as he warms to his argument, “knowing who we’re really up against might tell us what they’re actually after. The Empire doesn’t waste resources on random street operations—there has to be a bigger picture.”
I watch the tension build between them, remembering all too well how imperial powers operated back in my world. Different time, different place, same bloody playbook. Efficient, ruthless, and potentially genocidal. The kids might be used to dealing with street toughs and local gangs, but this is a whole different game.
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Iain clears his throat and spreads out a fresh page of his ledger, his quill poised with practiced precision. “These people, they’re organized, yes, but that organization is their weakness too. They’ve got a chain of command, schedules to keep, reports to make—and every single one of those things is an opportunity for us to gather information or disrupt their operations.”
The scratching of his quill pauses as he looks up at the group, his eyes bright with calculated intensity. “But the most important thing is understanding their real objective. Adults don’t waste time organizing street kids unless there’s something bigger at stake. Whether it’s connected to the troop movements or not, they’re after something specific—and if we can figure out what that is, we might be able to use it against them. Or at least, make our actions irrelevant to their plans so they leave us alone.” His fingers drum against the page as he speaks, a nervous habit that betrays the weight of what he’s thinking about.
Iain’s methodical mind kicks into gear as he sketches out possibilities in his ledger. “Think about what we know,” he says, drawing lines between different points on his rough map. “The Empire is massing troops at the border, and suddenly there’s an organized attempt to control the street children in the city. If they’re planning an invasion, having eyes and ears throughout the city would be invaluable. We’d be perfect for that—children are invisible, we can go anywhere without raising suspicion, and no one expects us to understand military matters.”
“Or maybe they’re after something specific,” Rhona interjects, her face tight with concentration. “Maybe they are looking for some new recruits? Emma said children seem to have an easier time learning how to channel, and I can guarantee you none of those kids holds any warm feelings towards the League." She glances at me, probably wondering if I have any feelings on it, but I barely know the political unit they’re describing. “It would explain why they’re so interested in organizing us rather than just clearing us out.”
I think that sounds far fetched. If they wanted children they’d just get them from their own cities. Find the ones that are already patriotic, or just indoctrinate them until they are.
The silence that follows is broken by Calum’s bitter laugh. “Could be simpler than that,” he says absently. “Maybe they just want chaos. Think about it—if the street gangs start fighting each other, the city guard will be too busy dealing with it to notice whatever they’re really doing.” His words send a chill down my spine, because it makes a horrible kind of sense—even if they have no other plans, having chaos reign throughout the city could hardly hurt them.
Iain closes his ledger with a decisive snap, his analytical expression shifting into something more determined. “Whatever their ultimate goal, we need to make our own preparations,” he states, scratching out a quick list in fresh ink. “We’ll need constant surveillance of their warehouse, rotating shifts to watch them at night, and most importantly, we need to work on understanding every advantage we can bring to bear.” He very deliberately looks at me as he makes this last statement, clearly hinting at the as of yet undeciphered runes. His voice carries the same methodical precision he uses when planning our more elaborate heists, breaking down overwhelming challenges into manageable tasks.
“I can help test the runes,” Mairi pipes up eagerly, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. Before she can finish her sentence, four voices ring out in perfect harmony: “No!” The force of our unified rejection makes her jump slightly, though the rebellious set of her jaw suggests this won’t be the last time she offers. I fix her with a stern look, remembering all too well how close the girl had come to killing herself with just one rune.
Rhona runs her fingers through her tangled hair, a habit that surfaces whenever she’s trying to organize her thoughts. “We’ll split into teams,” she says, naturally falling into her leadership role. “Calum, you’ll organize the watch—make sure everyone knows their positions and signals. Iain, keep tracking their movements and patterns. Emma…” She pauses, meeting my eyes with a mix of trust and concern, “you focus on understanding those runes. Just… please be careful. We can’t afford to lose anyone right now.” The unspoken ‘especially you’ hangs in the air between them, acknowledgment of how much they’ve come to rely on me for this. I may have only a small handful of weeks more experience with the channeling than them, but it’s enough to make a difference.
Mairi shifts her weight from foot to foot, her small frame practically vibrating with nervous energy as she looks up at Rhona. “I could help watch them,” she suggests, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant, as if expecting the rejection before it comes. “I already know where their warehouse is, and I’m better at not being seen than anyone else here.” Her fingers unconsciously trace the outline of her shiv as she speaks.
Rhona’s reaction is immediate and fierce, her protective instincts flaring to life. “Absolutely not,” she snaps, her blue eyes flashing with barely contained worry. “You’ve already risked yourself once following that boy. I won’t have you-” But Calum’s quiet voice cuts through her protest like a blade through butter. “Who else can we send?” he asks, his tone carrying the weight of painful practicality. “Eilidh’s gone, and none of the others have Mairi’s experience with staying hidden. We need those eyes, Rhona, and you know it. It might be the difference between life and sudden death.”
The tension builds as Rhona and Calum lock eyes, their silent battle of wills playing out in the space between them. Finally, Rhona’s shoulders slump in defeat, though her face remains tight with worry. “Fine,” she concedes, turning back to Mairi with a stern expression. “But you don’t take any unnecessary risks. No getting closer than you need to, no trying to be clever. If anything feels wrong, you get out of there immediately.” Mairi’s answering nod is solemn, but I catch the flash of triumph—and something that looks very much like mischief—in her brown eyes as she promises to be careful. Somehow I’m not all that worried though. Mairi might be a little devil, but she would never do anything that could compromise her family.
image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]
The evening light casts long shadows across our hideout as Calum approaches me, practice sword in hand and an expectant look on his face. Despite the exhaustion weighing down my mind after I spent the day trying to figure out the remaining runes, I find myself nodding before he even asks the question. The familiar weight of the wooden blade settles into my palm, and I can’t help but smile—my thoughts may be sluggish, but there’s something oddly comforting about returning to these precise movements after a day spent wrestling with the unpredictable nature of magical runes.
As I settle into the basic stance he taught me, I realize I’m actually looking forward to this. My old life was always a juggling act of deadlines, meetings, and personal projects—this isn’t so different, just trading programming bugs for magical mishaps and code reviews for sword forms. There’s a certain peace in having your day structured by necessity rather than arbitrary office schedules, even if that structure involves dodging Calum’s increasingly creative attacks.
The practice sword whistles through the air as I attempt to replicate the defensive form he demonstrated earlier, my muscles protesting but my mind clear. Trying to figure out how to teach others how to channel while learning swordplay myself creates a strange symmetry—in both cases, it’s about breaking down complex procedures into manageable pieces, about understanding the underlying patterns that make everything work. The thought makes me snort softly—leave it to me to find parallels between medieval combat and software development.
image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]
The morning sun filters weakly through the perpetual haze of the city as I gather our would-be channelers in the most secluded corner of our hideout. My stomach churns with anxiety as I watch them all settle down—Rhona with her characteristic grace, Calum fidgeting with nervous energy, Iain clutching his ever-present ledger, and the three younger ones trying their best to contain their excitement. The gravity of what we’re about to attempt weighs heavily on me, knowing that one mistake could have devastating consequences.
I start by having them draw the burst rune in the dirt with sticks, correcting their work with the same methodical patience Ronain once showed me when explaining about his herbs. It’s strange being on this side of the teaching process, watching their faces scrunch in concentration as they try to replicate the precise angles and curves of the symbol. The younger ones, surprisingly, seem to grasp it faster than the older kids—their minds perhaps more open to accepting new concepts without questioning the underlying logic.
As they practice drawing the rune, I explain the theory as best I understand it—how you can make the juice bounce around by moving your second body, how this is actually the worst way to use it, and how there’s a second… brain, that governs the usage of magic. It’s not like a separate consciousness, just a different processing unit. This processing unit has to will the juice into the runes to make something happen. Without it the juice will never leave the confines of the body in which it’s stored. I’m really not sure what the meaning of this sensation of a second body and brain is. Maybe it’s like a metaphysical thing you can attack, or see in other people, if you get skilled enough.
I demonstrate the burst, how the effect radiates outward from the center point, how you can control the amount of power fed into it. I find myself falling into a rhythm reminiscent of my old programming days, mentoring my junior, breaking down complex concepts into digestible chunks, using analogies they can understand. “Think of it like throwing a stone into a pond,” I tell them, “you’re controlling how big the ripples are by the force with which you throw it.”
I’m still not sure it’s a good idea to teach them this rune, but we don’t have anything else yet, and it’s safe enough as long as you don’t put the rune in anything solid. After Mairi’s misadventure, I’ve been dying to stick a rune inside a block of stone from a safe distance, but I can’t figure out how to do that without attracting a massive amount of attention, or depleting all my juice in a single go. We don’t have any extra fruits, so we have to be extremely conservative in both training and usage.
The actual channeling practice is nerve-wracking, each attempt making my heart skip a beat as I watch for signs they are sticking the runes where they’re not supposed to go. We start with the tiniest amounts of power possible, creating bursts no stronger than a gentle breeze. Even these small successes bring grins to their faces. Rhona picks it up the quickest, her natural affinity for the juice evident in how smoothly she channels. Calum struggles with the precision required, while Iain’s analytical mind seems to both help and hinder him—he understands the theory perfectly but second-guesses his execution. The younger ones alternate between frustrated failures and occasional bursts of surprising competence, their control still raw but promising. None of them show the instinctual understanding that Mairi displayed however.
Now that there’s so many people channeling in front of me, I have a chance to really see other people’s runes being formed for the first time. There’s a little bit of a blur in the sky, like I saw with the channeler on the wagon at the gate, but everyone is now so close that it doesn’t really hinder me. I can see the runes taking shape in the sky in front of me. Depending on who shapes it, they’re not actually drawn, more like the wavering lines just appear in midair and slowly stabilize. Occasionally it’s immediate, when one of the kids has an unusually clear mental image.
I really need to get a grasp of how and why this all works the way it does, but the meaning eludes me like the proper usage of the other runes. I attempted to use all the simple ones yesterday. Just to get through them all. Set them somewhere in the sky, and channeling some juice into all of them, but nothing really happened. The only one that did anything at all seemed to just take all the juice I fed into it. That was cool, but I haven’t figured out a way to get it out again. Apparently now that it’s fed with juice, it’s content to just keep hanging there in midair for anyone using juice mode to see…
As I have that thought, I suddenly feel a need to have a better word for all of these things.
I pause in my instruction, realizing we need better terminology for what we’re doing. “What do you all call it when you drop into that state where everything slows down?” I ask, gesturing vaguely with my hands. “It’s not really slowing time, more like speeding up our thoughts, but saying ‘juice mode’ sounds ridiculous.” The younger ones giggle at that, while Rhona and Iain exchange thoughtful glances.
“Ghost-walking,” Iain suggests, his quill hovering over his ledger as if ready to record whatever term we settle on. “Since it’s like we’re moving between moments, like spirits.” Calum shakes his head, arguing that it sounds too mystical, while one of the younger ones pipes up with “fast-thinking,” which earns several half approving nods. Rhona, however, remains quiet, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Rhona suddenly sits up straighter, her face taking on a serious cast that immediately draws everyone’s attention. “Wait,” she says, holding up her hand. “Before we go naming everything willy-nilly, there’s something you should know.” She glances around nervously, an unusual expression for her typically confident demeanor. “My teacher… she always said that it was important to call everything by its proper name because names have power. She never explained exactly why, but she was adamant about it.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. After everything we’ve been through, mystical naming conventions seem like the least of our worries. “This is the one that could not actually channel herself was it?” I ask. “Did anything actually happen when someone used the wrong term?” I ask, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice and failing miserably.
Rhona shifts uncomfortably. “Well… no. But she was very insistent about it.”
Calum snorts, returning to his practice sketching. “Sounds like she just wanted to make it all seem more important than it was. Like those merchants who make up fancy names for regular things to charge more.”
“Yeah,” Mairi chimes in, bouncing slightly where she sits, “and besides, we’ve been calling it all sorts of things already and nothing bad has happened. Emma calls it ‘juice,’ and she’s the best at it!”
I watch as Rhona’s concern visibly deflates under the weight of our collective dismissal. She shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I suppose you’re right. It does sound a bit silly when you put it that way.” She reaches down to draw another practice rune in the dirt. “So, about these names then…”
The discussion quickly expands as I bring up the other terms we need. “What about when we place a rune somewhere? Or when we feed juice into it? And this second body and brain we feel—surely there’s better words for those too?” The questions spark a lively debate, with suggestions ranging from the practical to the absurd. Mairi particularly seems to enjoy throwing out increasingly outlandish names, each more colorful than the last.
Finally, Rhona speaks up, her voice tinged with a hint of regret. “In my lessons, they called it ‘scribing’ when you place a rune, and ‘feeding’ when you push juice into it.” She pauses, a wistful smile playing across her features as she glances at the various symbols scratched into the dirt. “Though I have to admit, ‘ghost-walking’ has a certain charm to it that ‘quickening’ lacks.”
Her fingers trace abstract patterns in the air as she continues, “The second body was called the ‘vessel,’ and the other mind was the ‘will.’ Simple, practical terms.” She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head at some private thought. “My teacher would have been horrified at how casual we’re being about all this.”
The memory seems to darken her mood slightly, her blue eyes growing distant. “But then again, she also said that channeling was a gift reserved for the nobility, that common folk couldn’t possibly grasp its complexities.” Her lips curve into a defiant smile as she looks around at their makeshift classroom. “I suppose we’re proving her wrong on that count, aren’t we? Maybe we’ve earned the right to name things our own way.”
A wry smile tugs at my lips as I listen to Rhona talk about ‘scribing’ runes. The term feels absurdly permanent for something that vanishes the moment your concentration wavers—like calling a shadow puppet a sculpture. These aren’t writings or etchings; they’re more like mental projections that need constant attention to maintain. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to redraw the same rune because I got distracted by something as simple as a sudden noise or movement.
My eyes drift to the corner where we’ve stacked boxes around that experimental rune from yesterday—the one that seems to devour any juice fed into it. It’s still there, floating invisibly among the crates and barrels, proving itself to be the exception to every rule I thought I understood about how these things work. The makeshift barrier doesn’t completely hide it from juice-enhanced sight, but it does make it harder to spot, like trying to see a candle flame through frosted glass.
If one rune can persist without constant attention, what else might be possible? Are there other runes that could stick around indefinitely, or is this juice-eating one unique? And more importantly, if someone else discovered this property before us—the likelihood I can’t even begin to guess at—how many permanent runes might be hiding around the city? The thought sends an uncomfortable shiver down my spine as I turn back to the question at hand.
I shake off my wandering thoughts and clear my throat. “What about ‘holding’?” I suggest, gesturing vaguely at the air where we’ve been practicing. “Because that’s really what we’re doing when we maintain these runes—holding them in existence through sheer mental effort. It’s like… juggling, almost. The moment you stop paying attention, everything falls apart.” I pause, considering the juice-eating rune hidden behind the crates. “Well, usually anyway. And when we first create them, when we’re picturing them in our minds before they appear, maybe we could call that ‘forming.’ Simple, descriptive, and it doesn’t sound like we’re trying too hard to be mystical about it.”
Calum nods vigorously at my suggestion. “‘Holding’ makes sense,” he agrees, demonstrating with an outstretched hand as if physically grasping something invisible. “That’s exactly what it feels like—like you’re trying to keep hold of something that wants to slip away.” His enthusiasm draws a small smile from Mairi, who’s been unusually quiet during this discussion, though the gleam in her eyes suggests she’s filing away every word for future reference.
Rhona lets out an undignified snort at their eager acceptance of the new terminology, but there’s no real opposition in her expression—just fond exasperation as she watches Calum and Mairi practice ‘forming’ and ‘holding’ their runes with renewed vigor. The terms carry a practical simplicity that seems to resonate with everyone. Iain has already started updating his ledger with the new vocabulary, his quill scratching quietly as he makes careful notes in his precise handwriting.
Mairi wrinkles her nose at both suggestions, her fingers tapping restlessly against her knee. “Ghost-walking sounds like something dead people do,” she complains, “and quickening sounds like something fancy people say when they’re trying to sound important.” Her brown eyes narrow in thought as she watches Aileen attempting to draw another practice rune in the dirt. “We need something that’s just about our thoughts going faster, yeah? Like when you’re thinking so fast everything else seems slow?”
“Oh!” Aileen pipes up, her small face lighting up with sudden inspiration. “What about ‘thinking-fast’? Because that’s what it really is—we’re not actually moving faster or anything spooky like that, we’re just thinking faster than everyone else!” The simplicity of the suggestion draws appreciative nods from several of the others, and even Mairi tilts her head in consideration, a slow grin spreading across her face as she tests the phrase out under her breath.
I can’t help but laugh, memories of my own world’s version of “think fast!” flooding back—those moments when someone would toss something at you without warning, usually resulting in fumbled catches and mild embarrassment. The irony isn’t lost on me that we’ve essentially discovered the perfect counter to such pranks. I can just imagine the look on Johan’s face if, instead of dropping whatever he’d thrown at me, I’d simply slipped into this state and plucked it easily from the air. Of course, explaining how I’d managed such superhuman reflexes might have been problematic, but the mental image of his jaw dropping is still immensely satisfying. It’s funny how some things translate so perfectly across worlds, even if the context is completely different.
“That just leaves ‘vessel’ and ‘will’ then,” Rhona says, her fingers absently combing through her tangled blonde hair. She glances at Aileen, who’s practically glowing with pride after her ‘thinking-fast’ suggestion was so well received. The younger girl has been unusually quiet during their lessons, so having her contribute feels like a small victory in itself.
Rhona wrinkles her nose slightly at the formal terms, shifting her weight on the worn floorboards. “They’re not bad words, exactly, but they sound like something those stuffy nobles would use—all proper and important-like.” Her blue eyes scan the group, a familiar spark of mischief dancing in them. “We should come up with something that’s more… us. Something that makes sense to people who actually use these abilities, not just talk about them in fancy rooms.”
The discussion that follows is animated, with suggestions ranging from “ghost-body” (quickly vetoed by Mairi as being “too spooky again”) to “magic-mind” (dismissed by Iain as too simplistic). Finally, we settle on “shadow-self” for the second body and “spark” for the other mind—terms that feel both descriptive and natural in their mouths. Even Rhona seems satisfied with these choices, though she notes she can’t help but imagine her old teacher’s horrified expression at their casual renaming of such “sacred” concepts.
I lean back against the wall, feeling the rough texture through my worn clothes as I gather my thoughts. “Right, so let’s make sure we’re all clear on these terms,” I say, unconsciously falling into my old teaching rhythm from debugging sessions. “When we speed up our thoughts, that’s ‘thinking-fast.’ When we create a rune with our minds, we’re ‘forming’ it, and when we maintain it, we’re ‘holding’ it. The second body we feel is our ‘shadow-self,’ and that other consciousness that controls the juice is our ‘spark.’” I pause, watching their faces for any sign of confusion. “And when we push juice into a rune, that’s ‘feeding’ it, though I still think that sounds like we’re trying to raise a particularly hungry pet.” This draws a few chuckles, especially from Mairi, whose eyes are practically dancing with amusement at my commentary.
Despite their best efforts, no one manages to come up with a better alternative to ‘feeding.’ The suggestions range from ‘juicing’ (quickly dismissed as sounding ridiculous) to ‘powering’ (which Iain argues sounds too mechanical) to Mairi’s increasingly creative combinations of ‘force’ and ‘push.’ Each new suggestion seems to fall flat, either too fancy or not descriptive enough of what they’re actually doing when they channel juice into a rune.
Finally, after watching Calum mime increasingly elaborate gestures trying to describe the sensation, Rhona throws up her hands in defeat. “Maybe this is why they kept calling it ‘feeding,’” she admits with a resigned smile. “It really does feel like you’re feeding something, doesn’t it? Like the runes are hungry for the juice, and we’re just… giving them what they want.” The others nod in reluctant agreement, and even I have to admit that despite its slightly pretentious origins, the term captures the essence of the action better than anything else we’ve come up with.
“Right,” I say, “Let’s keep trying to form this rune then! No feeding it yet please. Just hold it.” I start thinking-fast, and realize that, as much as I want to grant Aileen the win there, it’s missing the crucial component that conveys that you are thereby able to see what other channelers are doing. I also realize that it’s weird they call the people ‘channelers’, but the process ‘feeding’. Shouldn’t we channel juice into these runes? Maybe they just figured it would be weird to call the people doing the feeding ‘feeders’. The reverse could have worked though.
I consider mentioning my reservations about ‘thinking-fast’ to the group, not wanting to diminish Aileen’s contribution but feeling the term misses something crucial. The ability to see what other channelers are doing while in that state seems like an important aspect to capture in the terminology. It’s the difference between just having quick thoughts and actually being able to perceive the magical workings around us, but I’m hesitant to point this out after seeing how proud the young girl was of her suggestion.
“Actually,” Aileen pipes up before I can voice my concerns, her earlier pride morphing into a defensive determination, “what about ‘quick-sight’? Because that’s really what makes it special, isn’t it? We’re not just thinking faster, we’re seeing things nobody else can see—like Emma’s floating rune over there.” She points toward the crates, and I have to admire how quickly she picked up on my hesitation and adapted her suggestion. The girl might be young, but she’s certainly perceptive.
There’s a general murmur of agreement as ‘quick-sight’ settles into place, the term capturing both the accelerated thinking and the enhanced perception that comes with it. Even Iain, usually so particular about precise terminology, gives an approving nod as he adds it to his notes. The younger children seem especially pleased with the compromise, proud that their input helped shape something that feels both accurate and uniquely theirs. I have to admit, it’s a good fit—better than anything I could have come up with, managing to be both descriptive and simple without sounding pretentious or overly mystical.
I slip into quick-sight, watching as my impromptu students attempt to form their runes. The familiar sensation of time slowing to a crawl settles over me as I observe their efforts, each ghostly symbol floating in the air before them with varying degrees of stability. My earlier theories about proximity and visibility are proving true—from just a few feet away, I can make out the burst runes they’re attempting to create, though they still have that peculiar blurred quality I remember from watching the wagon channelers. It’s like trying to read through a gossamer veil, but far clearer than what I could see from across the street at the gate.
The clarity of their attempts allows me to better gauge their progress, noting how Rhona’s rune maintains a near-perfect form while Calum’s wavers at the edges like a candle flame in a draft. Iain’s methodical approach shows in the precise, if somewhat rigid, lines of his symbol, while the younger ones’ attempts flicker in and out of existence as their concentration waxes and wanes. It’s fascinating to watch their different approaches manifest in the ethereal shapes before them, each rune bearing subtle marks of its creator’s personality and method.