[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

This is insane. I’m going to die! I scream internally.

Outwardly, I don't say a word—not in a rare sign of restraint, but because my teeth are chattering too hard with the mad speed of our flight. We hurtle along, Smoke carrying me on her back. I can’t get a word out edgewise. Instead, I’m panicking on the inside, praying that against all odds, I’ll survive this dash of death. She’s cackling like a madwoman as she sprints along pell-mell, deeper into the Rift.

I never should have listened to a thing Smoke said, I admonish myself for the tenth time. She is burning through mana at an alarming rate as we make use of her very best movement Skill: [Reckless Flight: Touch of the Fleet Footed Thief]. As she explained it to me, the Skill lets her steal the speed of an entity she’s recently touched. The monstrous, brown-spotted hyena apparently counts, since she stabbed it, even though it’s dead now.

Boulders the size of a wagon zip under us as Smoke leaps, enhanced by stolen physical attributes, and my stomach lurches. A few scattered monsters startle as we fly past them, but none of them appear strong enough to warrant a detour from the core. We can deal with them later if they’re barring our path back to the portal.

I thought I was the crazy one for entering a Rift, I moan to myself. Turns out Smoke is completely nuts. Not only did she keep exploring after her team died, but she cooked up this crackpot scheme. Maybe we’re mirror images of each other.

Once my mana recovery kicked in enough, and I hit the minimum threshold to activate my [Manasight] in brief busts, I told her which way to go. We’re heading there now, and I scan the Rift to confirm our trajectory. We’ve drifted a bit, but that’s not surprising at this speed.

A brief tug to the left of her cloak corrects course, and I direct her toward the strongest mana signature I sense. Whenever I have enough mana to fuel [Manasight], I check to see the signature: it looks like a raging bonfire compared with the candles of the Crimson Crabs or the unknown hyena creature. It’s the core. It has to be, the way it’s blazing many times stronger than the rest of the Rift. I just hope we make it before I pass out.

For a short while, we’re going to fly across the Rift. My only fear is that the Skill won’t last long enough to reach the core, destroy it, and then make it back to the portal. What if it runs out halfway, and we’re stranded in here? Looking back, I should have told her not to use the Skill until we were fleeing. Ah well. Too late for that now. I’m not always the best at planning.

Wind howls in my face with the speed of our passing, drowning out the whimpers of pain I’m unable to hold in any longer. I dig my fingers deeper, clutching fistfuls of Smoke’s cloak as I try to hang on, but I’m running out of strength as we speed along. My broken ribs are throbbing with pain, and it’s all I can do to stay conscious right now due to the buffeting winds and lurches each time Smoke leaps. Even Casella didn’t fly any faster than this.

The glowing sun of power in my [Manasight] grows nearer, and I tug on her right side three times, the signal we agreed on previously to signal our arrival. Holding on with my injuries while moving at these speeds is nauseating enough already. Talking feels impossible. I’m not sure I trust myself to speak right now, anyway.

Smoke swerves to the right, almost losing her balance under the extra weight of bearing me up on her back. She leaps over a twisted tangle of dead branches, blackened and withered with extreme age, and dashes into a desiccated forest devoid of leaves.

The trees are twisted, horrid things, like the gnarled hands of elderly ghouls with arthritis. They seem to reach out for us as we dash between the tree limbs. Smoke narrowly avoids their grasp, and I shiver at the thought of ending up in their clutches. We’re close now; I don’t want to die just as we reach our destination.

With a final surge, we break through the treeline and emerge into an empty circle of bare rock underfoot. It’s smooth and black, like obsidian polished until it shines. Glancing down, I see my panicked reflection staring back at me in horror from the mirror-like surface of the ground. I hastily look away.

We’re ringed in by the dead trees now. I shiver; it feels like we just stepped into a prison with bars of wood and rot. An eerie silence descends over the empty clearing. Without warning, my [Manasight] goes completely dark.

In the center of the open space, an orb the size of my head glows, wreathed in spectral flames of silver-white. I point toward it, but Smoke is already dashing closer. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the Rift’s core. Clearly, it doesn’t take an expert to figure it out, since she’s come to the same conclusion.

Not that I’m as much of an expert as I wish!

“Now what?” she asks, slowing down from her frantic pace and skidding to an awkward stop. She shifts me over to the side of her back, shimmies so she can loop an arm under my shoulder, and helps me to the ground.

I clench my jaw in pain, enduring the movement until I can lie down. I groan, hesitating as the world spins around me. When I stabilize, I lift myself up to a sitting position and give her a weak shrug. “No idea. We have to break its connection to this plane. That’s all I know.”

“Hit it until it breaks. Got it,” Smoke replies, a hint of mirth in her voice.

I nod in response, refusing to let my embarrassment at the lack of a real plan show on my face. “Yep. That’s about the sum of it.”

She brandishes her sword, steps forward, and slashes at the pulsing orb anchoring the Rift’s transdimensional magic. Grunting like an [Axeman], Smoke swings with both hands, like she’s chopping down a tree. Her plain sword hits the core and shatters, sending shards of the blade flying in every direction.

Yelping, Smoke twists between the sharp splinters of shrapnel, shifting like her sobriquet in the wind, and avoids taking a cut. When the shower of steel stops, she gives me a wry smile, holding up the broken sword. “Looks like plan number one is a bust.”

“Looks like,” I reply, swallowing a sarcastic reply. That’s just her bitterness talking since she lost her sword. “I have a knife we can try instead. Here, you do it. I’m not sure I have the strength right now.”

I slip my glass knife from my belt, hesitating for a moment to glare at the notch missing from the tip of the blade, and hand over the weapon. “This sliced apart those Crimson Crabs. I’ve got a hunch it will do better than a mundane sword.”

Smoke hisses in a sharp breath. She takes the glass knife from me reverently, cradling it in her hands. “My thievery Skills are going off like crazy. Do you have any idea how valuable this thing is? Peh! You probably do.”

I bite my tongue. I’m not going to tell her that I made it on the road on my way into town, without access to a workshop. Oh, and I created the glass itself from thin air, relying on nothing more than the raw power of mana creation! Neat party trick, huh? I’ll show you sometime.

Nah. I don’t want to look like a jerk. She’s nice to me, but if I start bragging—particularly about things that could connect ‘Zeb’ to Nuri—then who knows how things will turn out. All that assumes we survive, of course. I’d rather keep my friendly getaway runner.

“Here goes!” Smoke announces cheerfully, quick-stepping forward and driving the knife down on the core like the descending fang of a snarling beast. My mana-strengthened knife hits the core and skitters off to the side, scoring a shallow groove but not biting further.

She tries again, cutting into the glowing globe with my knife. Twice she slams it down to no avail. On the third time, the knife punctures a half inch deep, but the victory is short lived. My heart constricts painfully as I watch my little masterpiece crack in half, leaking mana so potent that it’s visible to the naked eye.

“So . . . what’s plan number two?” Smoke asks. Silence stretches on for a time, and she finally nudges my foot when I don’t respond. “Zeb? What’s our play?”

“I don’t know anymore. I need to think for a while,” I mumble, closing my eyes and trying to remember everything I’ve read about Rifts. Nothing specific comes to mind, but it’s hard for me to think while I’m mourning the loss of my favorite knife. I gently slap my cheeks a few times as I try to focus. I can’t seem to recall much other than vague impressions about mana.

“That’s it,” I say, snapping my fingers and looking straight at her in excitement. “We just need mana!”

“That’s all, huh?” Smoke pressed her lips together for a moment. “Your plans are getting worse the longer I know you, Zeb.”

I mutter a defensive response, but Smoke snickers and waves me off. “Just messin’ with you, buddy. We’re on a crazy adventure. Anything goes. So, what do we do next?”

“Mana is the key,” I repeat, my excitement rising. “I think that I can overload the core and cause the spellform to unravel if I feed it enough energy.”

Smoke’s eyebrows raise. “You can do that? Whoa. You really are a big shot.”

“Er, no,” I admit. “That’s entirely theoretical. And I’m pretty much out of mana right now, anyway. But it’s possible to disrupt Skills by under- or over-powering them, or by warping their matrix. I’ve done it plenty of times by accident. It will be fun to try to do it on purpose for once! Either approach should work, although the scale might be beyond me. I’ve never worked with this level of complexity, or tried to handle the power needed to sustain a Rift.”

“Sounds like a good way to cook yourself. You lookin’ to fry?” Smoke asks sardonically.

“It might not be the smartest idea I’ve ever had,” I say, gritting my teeth as my cracked ribs remind me that we’re running out of time to get out of the Rift. “I’m not sure we have a lot of options at the moment.”

“Have I mentioned that all your plans stink? ‘Cause your plans stink, Zeb,” Smoke says.

“They’ve gotten us this far,” I say with a cheeky grin, which earns me a wry half smile from Smoke in return. I puff up my cheeks, then let out a slow breath. “I’m not sure we can face another monster if we wait, though. That tells me that we don’t have enough time to sit here doing nothing while I regenerate my mana. And, no offense, I’m not confident that you have the requisite external mana control for this kind of complex operation.”

“No offense taken. I don’t even know what that means,” Smoke says cheerfully. “So, it’s a good bet that I don’t have the skills you need. That’s why a team is essential. Everyone has a role. Mine is to run like all the terrors of the abyss are chasing us.”

I snort a brief burst of laughter. “That’s a pretty good role. I’m glad I’m on your team.”

Smoke ducks her head, her long hair obscuring her face as she blushes. Then she lifts her head and winks. “Me too, Zeb. Now, what are you gonna do to fix up things? You said that spells break down if they’re either over- or under-powered. So if you can’t pump mana into the core, can you take it out instead?”

I splutter. “You want me to drain it dry?”

“Can you do it?” Smoke asks, her brows knitting together seriously. “Or does that bring us right back to you frying yourself like a flock of chickens at a barbecue festival?”

“Do you have any idea how painful it is to take in non-native mana like that?” I mutter, shuddering as I recall the mana-control test. “Once it’s aspected to something else, absorbing mana feels like drinking a jar of whiskey full of razor blades.”

Smoke elbows my arm. “You got experience with that?”

“No, but I’d take the whiskey over sucking in mana that’s not my own. Besides, if I do try this cockamamie plan, there’s one big problem. The mana has to go somewhere. I really would explode if I tried to store it all internally. That’s just asking for all sorts of trouble.”

Smoke twists her lips to the side, her eyes rolling up into a strange expression. She taps a finger to her lips as though she’s trying to think of a plan. It’s somehow both ugly and cute—an oddly un-self-conscious gesture that makes me glad we ran into each other. She doesn’t seem to care what people think about her. Or, if she does, then she hides it pretty well.

She grins suddenly, her lips pulled back from the teeth on the left side due to her scars. “Hey! I think I’ve got it.”

“Oh? The escape artist and also the brains of the operation,” I tease. “What’s the plan? And make it good—if there’s an explosion, then you might go up in, ah, Smoke.”

She snorts. “Jokes aren’t your thing, huh?”

I give her a flat look. “What tipped you off?”

“So, to destroy the core,” Smoke says, switching back to planning mode without missing a beat. “Can you send the mana back out as an attack? Whatever you did to that big ol’ dog was totally amazing! I’ve never seen a beast torn apart like that. Could you attach yourself to the core like a big fat leech, suck out the mana, and then use it to do your explodey magic?”

“My . . . ‘explodey’ magic?” I repeat slowly, utterly dumbfounded.

Smoke’s eyes light up. “Yeah! You stomped that dog. Blew a hole in its chest. Can’t you do that to the core once you’ve recovered some mana? Better yet, steal what you need from the core, and use that to blow it up! It’s poetic, like a mirror image. Hey, you know, I’ll bet you’re a pretty talented thief, and you don’t even realize it yet.”

I laugh, incredulous that I’m actually considering what she’s suggesting. “I think the only ‘explodey’ magic in that scenario would be me going boom. I’d be human paste! I’m not sure you have any idea what kind of mana capacity a core is capable of accessing.”

“And you do?” Smoke asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.

“I . . . I, uh, well. It’s probably a lot,” I finish somewhat lamely, shrugging. I wince as the casual movement shifts my ribs and jagged, white-hot pain stabs into my chest.

“Sounds about right,” Smoke says, nodding agreeably. She squats down and looks at the core with a critical eye, humming to herself. “But as you said, you don’t have to hold it all inside. Let it flow through you while you do cool [Mage] stuff! Take in mana from one side, and push it out the other. Easy as breathing in and breathing out, yeah?”

“I’m not actually a [Mage],” I say quietly. Instantly I regret giving away the information. If she talks with the townsfolk outside the Rift, she’ll realize that I haven’t exactly been forthcoming with them. Plus, I’ve already told her that I know an ‘Ember.’ If anyone ever comes digging, then it won’t take much to put the details together and figure who I am.

“So? I ain’t a [Guard], officially. I can still do the job without the Class,” Smoke says. She turns to give me a sidelong look as though I’m the dumbest person she’s ever met. “In fact, not having the Class lets me do things the other [Guards] can’t do. It’s useful to be multitalented.”

Mulling over her words, I reach out toward the Rift core. I hesitate, and snatch my fingers back as though I’m about to touch a hot stove. “I’m not sure I can do this job.”

“Time’s awasting. My Skill won’t last much longer for the run back. Unless you’ve got any better ideas, Zeb, then I say we try this,” Smoke says. “A few minutes ago, you were ready for me to leave you here, to sacrifice yourself in order to save us all. So why are you suddenly shy about trying something that might hurt you? Big talk, small walk.”

“I guess I just don’t want to die in the end,” I admit. I flick a little pebble away from where I’m sitting, watching it bounce and skid across the ground. I avoid her piercing gaze.

“No one wants to die, Zeb,” Smoke snorts. “But your offer was brave, even if it was kinda stupid. Maybe you should try it this way instead. What have you got to lose?”

“My life!” I sputter, sitting up and glaring at her with indignation.

Smoke shakes her head. “Nah. If it works, then I carry you back out and you’re the hero of the whole town. If it doesn’t work, well, then we’re right back where we are right now: stuck in the middle of a Rift with no way to live. Seems to me that when you’re choosing between dying and maybe dying, you choose the maybe every time. So, what’ll it be?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I rub my forehead with my fingers. “You’re insane, Smoke.”

“Yep. Now, are you gonna get started, or do I have to kick your butt until you agree?”

“Fine. Let’s do this,” I growl, trying to work up my courage. I glare at the core, imagining that I’m going to drain it to the last drop, but I can’t help but whimper. This is going to hurt worse than the mana-control test, likely by an order of magnitude. I just hope this works.

I drag my battered body closer to the core, questing out with my [Manasight] as I try to comprehend its composition and purpose. I don’t have enough mana to use the analysis portion of my [Architect of Unseen Worlds] Skill, which seems like a squandered opportunity. Ezio will be envious when I tell him about this later.

I hope he forgives me for not providing more robust analysis that could advance our understanding of the world, I think to myself, chuckling darkly at the thought of his outrage.

After a few moments of watching the Rift draw from the core, I reach out and place my right palm on the pulsing surface of the globe. It reminds me suddenly of my glass mana orbs that I created for improving my mana control and practicing [Heat Manipulation]. An irrational part of me latches on to that comparison, and I tell myself that this is just more training. There’s nothing to fear.

The lie is too bold to truly comfort me.

“You may want to stand back,” I warn Smoke. “I will do my best to vent off the mana as quickly as I can, but I don’t have the control or the strength to guarantee your safety.”

“What about yours?” Smoke asks, looking at me askance.

I rub my eyes, fighting off a headache. My voice cracks when I finally reply. “Chances are extremely high that I’ll end up splattered across the ground as it is. I’d hate for you to turn into paste, too. You’ve lost enough already. You deserve to get out alive.”

Smoke gulps and glides away in a blur of speed. I hope her Skill lasts long enough to get us back to the portal, assuming that I survive. She hunkers down near the edge of the clearing, but doesn’t seem keen on hiding among the trees. I don’t blame her. Their gnarled branches creak and sway ominously, reaching for her even now.

With a deep breath, I begin the insane work of draining an entire Rift dry. I focus on the pain in my side when I breathe, hoping it will bring me clarity in the middle of the mana-induced haze that I’m plunging myself into momentarily. Nothing happens at first, but I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember how the mana-control test worked. All I need to do is replicate it here, and the mana should flow into me—

Overwhelming torrents of vigorous, turbulent mana roar through me in the next instant, inundating my already strained mana channels with caustic power. I scream and writhe under the torture, but I refuse to let go. If I stop now, I won’t have the courage to try again.

As the pressure builds up within me, I direct the raw mana through my pathways, point my left hand away from the core, and will the mana to rush forth in as many threads of energy as I can create. A dozen, a hundred—and then thousands—of strings of mana explode out of me in the most complex lattice pattern I’ve attempted so far.

The entire Rift groans, and the light flickers as though someone is blowing out the only candle illuminating a dim room. The energy fluctuations extend far deeper than mere lighting, however, and I heave up the contents of my last dinner on the road. The power courses through my body, sending me into agonizing convulsions.

Intent is important, I scream internally. I grasp ineffectually at the endless sea of mana gushing through me and slam my mind and willpower against it in a vain attempt to shape it to my will. The power writhes like a living thing—a shock eel made of raw energy—and it bucks out of my command in a spume of explosive, untamed potency, spiraling out of my control as more and more energy surges from within the Rift’s living core.

My back arches. I scream in agony, an endless string of ululating sound and fury. The mana burns into me in an unrelenting deluge, raging through the Rift’s core and into my right hand. It’s too much, too fast. Trembling with the effort, I drag aside some of the mana, directing it toward my central mana pool instead of venting it instantly.

The pressure abates, although the throughput is still blasting away at my channels. It’s less painful if I let some of it accumulate, storing the latent potential and coiling the mana up within my pool. The mana lattice I’m building snaps back into place, under my control once more now that the rush of power isn’t obliterating all thought and intent.

For a few blessed minutes, I’m able to keep the entire system in balance. Mana roars into me from the Rift core, swirling into my overtaxed channels with turgid power. The energy flows split in two at my command, rushing along my channels. Within me, depending on the mana’s destination, the energy either vents into the Rift in the form of a gigantic lattice and raw gouts of power, or packs into my inner world and fills my formerly-dry pool to overflowing.

The pool swells up like a balloon, pushing my Capacity to new heights. Ezio’s eyes will bug right out of his head when he sees my new results!

“I’m doing it!” I shout at Smoke, craning my head to give her a manic smile.

“Keep it up, Zeb,” Smoke says, gesturing encouragingly. Her eyes are wide, however, and she keeps shuffling away as the mana blooms from my fingertips in visible arrays of light and heat.

In mere seconds, I’m fit to burst, and I try to pump more mana into the rapidly-solidifying lattice I’m creating. As soon as I finish the structure, I’ll dump more of the core’s mana into the formation and hope it’s enough to hold it all, however much that may be. If only I could see what I’m doing, then this would all be far easier.

My eyes fly wide open as a thought suddenly strikes me. I couldn’t analyze the core with [Architect of Unseen Worlds] or watch the process in my [Manasight] previously. With the raging mana of the Rift’s own core powering the Skills, however, I can diversify the mana’s flow. My skills will act like a release valve to relieve the pressure. I’ll use my array of Skills to shunt the flow in more meaningful ways.

Gritting my teeth against the strain, I pour mana into each of my Skill structures, knowing without looking that they’re lighting up brighter than the forge. I dip into my first and most reliable Skill, [Heat Manipulation], creating multiple layers of cold barriers around my body. I unleash the hottest wave of power I can produce once I’m relatively sure I’m not going to combust.

The heat energy washes over the clearing with a wave of visible power that hurts even through the double-layer of cold I’ve built around myself. It’s enough to make the black stone at my feet ripple and waver.

A fierce, wild joy curls my lips back in a feral snarl. I push [Heat Manipulation] further and hotter than ever before, watching in wonder as the swirling heat ignites even the air itself. With a growl of disgust, my hand points toward the hateful trees of the terrifying forest, and I pour even more mana into my Skill with vengeful delight.

The roiling flames hit the dark, twisted limbs and set them ablaze. They shriek in agony, writhing in the orange flames. I shudder at the screams; I have no idea how they make noise since they don’t have mouths, but I don’t want to find out.

Leaving [Heat Manipulation] running to burn through the disturbing forest, I turn next to my [Manasight], thinking I’ll observe the flows of power. It flares to life, and I scream in terror as power assaults me. There’s far more mana in the area than I’ve ever seen in one place before, luminous and beautiful—and stomach-churning. Every sight is a spike of pain through my head, and I scream again as [Manasight] burns out before I can release the Skill.

Panting, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to get rid of the white-hot afterimages of mana seared into my mind. My ears are ringing, but I push on, although I’m afraid that I’ll throw up. My gut clenches in sudden fear that I’ll never be able to use [Manasight] again. I never should have activated it with so much interference.

I’m sobbing, wild with the grief of a lost Skill. My mind can’t handle the terrifying strain of so much power. I’m quaking with disquiet, certain that I’ve done irreparable damage to my mana senses. I’d have better luck staring at the sun and trying to figure out how it works.

I struggle to hold on to my control of the external mana, fighting against the rising tide of too much power for me to handle. I need to use every Skill! Now! I urge myself. But I’m afraid of losing them all. I’ve worked too hard for the few I have.

Yet what choice do I have? I reflect bitterly. The mana is tearing me apart. I don’t have any recourse. [Architect of Unseen Worlds] is my most mana-intensive Skill. I’m scared to pour mana through the elegant structure of the fractal-covered Skill, suddenly sure that survival will mean saying goodbye. If [Manasight] is already obliterated, how much worse will it hit me if I use the Artisan Skill?

Yet if I don’t act now, I may not make it out of the rift. If I never take a peek at how things work, my unsated curiosity will eat at me for the rest of my life—which will assuredly be short if I don’t use everything I have, as much as I hate that conclusion.

My chest heaves with effort. Each breath is a knife-thrust to my ribs. My tears are freely streaming down my face now, matting my beard. As my control stutters, I run through my list of ideas. It’s all bad options and worse options. I need stability. I need something familiar. I need to work with glass.

I draw more mana internally, away from the fizzling lattice, and turn to my newest Skill. I push [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach] as hard as I can, testing my theory that the distance limitations are intrinsically tied to my lack of mana Capacity and the quality and density of my internal energy. I’ve never had a way to transcend those restrictions, but now I do.

Forcing the mana from the Rift’s core into my forge Skill, I begin to create. A fresh batch of glass extrudes up from the rocky ground a few paces to my side, springing into existence out of nowhere. The extra power is readily apparent; I finish creating the pile in half the usual time, and there’s two or three times as much glass as I expected.

With a flex of my will, I draw on more mana, pushing the distance farther. As before, I hit a wall. This time, however, it feels permeable, as though it’s not a hard limit. Managing all of the various streams of mana at once is dizzying, but I force myself to focus on the task at hand. The Rift will give me as much mana as I can ask; now is the time to seize the power and harness it for my own purposes.

I turn my head, my attention and intent drawing to a point on the ground next to Smoke. I redirect as much of the mana flow as I can from the lattice without allowing the mana matrix to collapse. It’s not enough; I pull back from my other Skills, rerouting the mana and using the raw energy as a bludgeon against the previously unassailable wall.

Faced with the battering ram of the Rift’s mana, the resistance shatters. More and more mana courses through my Skill. Pillars of multihued glass spring up around Smoke, hemming her in with glittering bars of rare materials and making her leap back with a yelp.

If I had the energy left, I’d grin at the composition of the glass. On a whim, I went for the fanciest metals and minerals I’m familiar with, creating glass composites that sell for ten times as much as regular glass. If I survive this, and Smoke can carry the batch of glass with us, then I’ll be rich once I reach Grand Ile. I just have to live that long first.

The pillars reach their final height, and the Skill expends itself. I sag forward, leaning on the core for balance. My legs are wobbling like a newborn colt trying to stand for the first time, but I’m not ready to give up yet. I’m not done draining the core. I need to use my most costly Skill if I want to finish the job, even if it means tearing it apart with the terrible flow of power.

My tenuous control over the internally split streams of mana teeters on the brink. I shout and let go of my fear. Enough wavering! With a flex of my willpower, I finally activate [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds]. I turn my analysis toward the functions of the Rift’s core rather than the flow of mana gushing forth from it, hoping that the glimpse behind the curtain won’t tear my mind into pieces.

Mana flows through the Skill structure, and in my inner eye the crystalline tower flares to life with silver-and-gold vibrancy. I divert as much power as I can from the core, pushing the Skill to its limit as I turn my attention to the Rift itself.

The world flashes silver-white. The trees, the rocks, the pain—it all falls away. My entire consciousness is drifting in a liminal existence, subsumed by the power of the Skill. Sound and touch have no meaning. I have no eyes here.

I see nonetheless, and the sight is glorious.

The core buzzes and vibrates with unparalleled intensity. No longer a small orb, it’s vast and inscrutable, endless rings of interconnected silver honeycomb stretching off into eternity. Each of the rings pulses like a beating heart, moving and overlapping, sharing form and intent. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

The Rift’s living core is nothing like my Skill structures: they are strict, gleaming edifices, crystallized mana that harness mana efficiently. Yet for all their power, they are brittle and inflexible, fit only for a narrow purpose. The Rift’s wild beauty looks like silver flowers against a velvet black background. The interconnected rings are growing, organic, adaptable. Alive.

Trembling, I withdraw my awareness with a sense of solemnity. I am not meant to see the face of such alien beauty. I am not made for comprehending infinity.

I am just a man.

I don’t belong here. The thought hits me with sudden clarity. This is madness. I should have waited, should have asked that [Demolitionist] to join me once he was recovered. Or better yet, I should have sent word to the army, and kept moving so I don’t miss the competition in Grand Ile. I’m just a [Glassworker]. I’m not an adventurer. I’m not—

My concentration shatters.

Screaming, I lose control of my Skills. [Architect of Unseen Worlds] falters. Fails utterly. [Heat Manipulation], my old standby, gutters out, leaving me shivering in the sudden cold. I stare dumbly at the Rift’s core as it continues to pump out liquid mana, an endless river of potential, with nowhere to go anymore.

As more and more of the vast energy courses through me, my head spinning, I release the strands of mana that formed the latticework. I can’t remember where I was in the pattern, but it looks more or less finished. It’s a relief, since I can’t keep up. It’s too much, too much for me to handle!

I dump raw mana into it, forcing it through the lattice formation and into place. The liquid power compresses as it fills the mana mold, condensing down into rough slabs that remind me of mana crystals. Vaguely, a greedy thought whispers that I will be rich if I bring the solidified mana with me.

Without my Skills running, there’s still too much power burning through me. I have to turn something back on. I growl in frustration, reach for [Architect of Unseen Worlds], and transmute the batch of glass at my feet that I created with [The Eternal Glass Forge], crafting a sword to replace the one Smoke destroyed.

I’ve never used it at such a far distance before, and the mana leakage is immense, but for once I’m happy that it’s difficult. I simply need to sink mana into something, and the waste of pushing my Skill at such a far remove is perfect. I don’t have time for precise imbuing or mana soaking, but I still cram as much power into my creation as possible.

“Take the sword!” I shout at Smoke once it’s finished, my voice raw and strained. I don’t know if she hears me. I don’t have time to find out.

My blood is roaring in my ears. I drop to one knee, unable to keep up with the throughput any longer. Panic sets in as my channels burn and fray with the overload. Ezio’s words echo through my mind, distant and full of terrible pity: Mana is like water in a way. It’s necessary for life, but too much drowns you. Take care not to overreach, my young friend; you aren’t meant to swim in deep waters yet.

Mana begins to back up in my channels by the time I rouse myself from my stupor. I grasp for my Skills to vent the awful pressure before I burst apart, but the crystalline structures groan and twist under the onslaught of too much power flowing through me as fast and wide as a raging river. I fight, trying to force the issue, and a massive shockwave ripples through me from the inside out as mana pushes my Capacity beyond the breaking point.

My mind stutters as a new form of pain lances through me. I vent mana out of my body as fast as I can, no longer caring where it goes, but my mana pool is tearing apart, overflowing with the mana I thought to steal for myself. I sink inward, examining the extensive damage, and for a brief moment the chaos of the world suspends, as though time itself grows still.

Fractures appear across the surfaces of the Skills I pushed too hard earlier: my first and only friend for so long, [Heat Manipulation], is larger and more intricate than I remember—it may have ranked up when I unleashed the maelstrom of fire against the forest. Nonetheless, it’s all cracked, and I’m fairly sure it will take weeks to heal with mana soaking.

My heart sinks as I regard the rest of my Skills. My increasingly-useful [Manasight] looks like lightning struck it, slagging the edges and melting it down to scrap metal. Is it gone? Just as badly off is [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach], wrenched apart, inverted and laid open, sizzling in my inner sight like a funeral pyre.

Even my precious Artisan Skill is twisted. I curse myself for going back to it to transmute the glass into a sword. I was right the first time to back off from using it quickly, and I tried hard to keep it under control despite the raging influx of mana. Even so, scars disfigure the entire Skill structure. It’s pitted, covered with hairline cracks. It might recover in time, if I soak it in mana like my [Heat Manipulation] from so long ago, but I can’t count on it for my competition in Grand Ile.

Abruptly, my introspection ends. Time resumes its inexorable march. I slam back into reality.

My overstrained mana pool fills up faster and faster, swelling and stretching, leaking into my body as everything falls apart. I can’t keep up with the influx of energy. l can’t see it anymore, not with my damaged [Manasight], but I can feel the bulging pressure as my mana pool exceeds its Capacity thrice over. My inner reservoir ruptures—a horror I never knew possible—and the backlash sears through my channels like poison in my veins.

I desperately try to shove the mana out of my body before it kills me, but my control is a broken, limping thing. I drag the virulent power out of me by sheer force of will, venting it through my left hand, but it’s not heeding my command.

My right hand is still touching the Rift core, welded in place by the primal magnetism of the magic. Pulling the mana out of me is agonizingly slow. My connection to the mana feels distant, feeble, and faint, as though I am trying to drag a heavy wagon through knee-deep mud with a three hundred foot rope.

“Zeb! Are you okay?” Smoke calls, her voice frantic and ragged. She sounds far away.

I can’t spare enough focus to answer her. My world shrinks to a pinprick. Survival has a single path forward: I have to get the rampaging mana out of me before it eats away my heart and lungs. I strain, pushing the mana toward the connection between my right and left hands, toward the deluge of mana rampaging right through my chest.

My nascent control over the flow of power still exists, thanks to my last few weeks of practice with external mana manipulation, but I’m running out of strength. Every inch of me is shaking with exhaustion and pain. I use the pain as a mental anchor, seeking it to sharpen my focus, and heave on the free-floating mana within me one last time with all my willpower.

Stinging like fiery nettles on bare skin as it scrapes through me, the mana finally connects with the main flow from the Rift core. All at once it latches on and mingles with the rushing river of the Rift’s mana, whisked away like it never existed.

Sobs wrack my body. All my work, all this pain, for nothing. Handling the flow of mana is like trying to drink in the ocean. I only have one chance. “Run, Smoke!” I shout, and then I drink deeper than ever, abandoning all pretense of trying to safely route the power through my frayed, disintegrating channels.

The torrential rush savages me, opening up a brand new channel through my ribcage, straight through me from hand to hand. The ocean washes through me in a flood. I am torn apart, burning out, a weak and wounded wretch.

“I’m sorry, Smoke. I can’t do it!” I scream. I vent more and more mana out of my hand. It heats up, bursting into smoldering flames. The sheer amount of energy exploding out of my left palm sears my skin and sets the air on fire. The heat and pressure begin to dissolve my flesh, melting away ligaments and bone, and my thoughts fuzz into incoherence and torment.

All that’s left is the desire to destroy the core. With a final, desperate howl, I twist my body and point my mangled claw at the core itself.

Mana seeks guidance. The words reverberate faintly in the far recesses of my mind. So I give the mana intent: the air vibrates with sharpness as I push my last fragments of willpower against the suffocating, all-consuming mana, mastering its flow. A blade of pure power emerges from the smoking stump of my left hand.

The sharp-as-fractured-glass edge of the mana blade severs the core in half. My world explodes in silver-white light and pain. Unending pain.

And, like a broken mirror, I shatter.