My days in the studio settle into a rhythm. Formulate a new theory. Test the new theory in glass. Fail at yet another armor attempt. Sigh, throw up my hands, or mutter an oath. Repeat. My early fervor for the project is dying out. No matter how many great ideas Lionel, the Linas, Ezio, or I come up with, the plans always end in failure, and there’s only so much disappointment that a man can take.
Somewhere in the middle of the third week, as my excitement sours like a glass of milk left out too long, I take an unscheduled break to go speak with Ezio again. Originally, I planned to keep the Rift prediction device—the PPP, I think with a chuckle—to myself. It doesn’t seem right to share the secret with anyone until Tem comes back. But if I’m going to make any progress at all with the glass armor, then I need to see what I am working with—and to afford a microscope, I need a bargaining chip. I could build up hype about the Rhodium, but it’s not in hand. An artifact from a labyrinth, already in my possession? Oh yeah, this thing has to be valuable.
As I walk toward my little cabin, detouring to pick up the PPP on my way to the SCA—the Silaraon City Academy—my body slowly relaxes and unfurls. The tense, hunched-over posture from the last several weeks of constant work in the studio seeps away, and I stand taller and breathe more deeply, savoring the fresh, warm air. Summer in Silaraon is redolent with fresh herbs from the many gardens and small farms scattered nearby, and I already feel better inhaling their sweet, earthy scents.
Overhead, the sky is a crisp, bright blue, unperturbed by clouds or pending Incursions from the void. Birdsong occasionally reaches my ears, uncaring about the troubles of men or wraiths. “Why have I been in such a foul mood with so much tranquility only a few short strides away? I need to get out more often,” I tell myself.
By the time I show up at the SCA, where the guards now recognize me on sight and usher me inside to Ezio’s office, I’m positively beaming. I think the sight of contentment on my usually-scowling face unnerves my mentor and friend, the [Scholar Nonpareil]. He raises his eyebrows and gestures up and down with an open hand. “Nuri! What a surprise. Should I test you to see if you’re a [Doppelganger]?”
“Hmph, that’s the second time someone’s accused me of that since I've returned,” I say with mock petulance. “Can’t a fellow simply be in a good mood?”
“Young man,” Ezio replies sternly, “no one comes to my office because of a good mood. Something is bothering you, and I’m not interested in prevaricating about the bush today. Out with it!”
I laugh good-naturedly at his scholarly outrage. “I’m not going to make you work for any information, Ezio. I’m practically an open book! You’re right, though, I did come here initially due to frustration. I feel better after some fresh air.”
“I’ll resign from the SCA on the spot if you’re here for fresh air,” Ezio teases.
“Right,” I say, suddenly squirming in my seat as I shift my travel sack in my arms. I have a hard time meeting his eyes. Sharing the existence of such an exquisite artifact seems wrong without Tem here to see Ezio’s reaction.
Ezio glances at the clock pointedly, and settles back with a sigh. “I know we need money to get a microscope. I brought back something from the Labyrinth that I think is valuable, based on the way Tem’s eyes bugged out when he saw it, but I don’t really know if it’s mine to give away or sell. It doesn’t seem fair to profit off it while he’s still out there, fighting for his life.”
“With respect, that’s a load of rubbish. It does him precious little good at the moment. Our friendly [Scout] approves of using whatever resources you have on hand. He’s not the type to begrudge you taking advantage of a potentially valuable artifact. Don’t constrain yourself because of his imagined feelings on the matter,” Ezio admonishes, though not unkindly.
I nod slowly. “Fine, but if it’s as valuable as I think it is, let’s set aside some of the money for him if he gets back. When he gets back.”
“Very well, let's see it,” Ezio says, settling back into his comfortable chair. He hums to himself while he rummages through his desk drawer, and a look of triumph flashes across his face as he withdraws an elaborate set of glasses with several eyepieces. He fits it over his eyes, resting on his ears, and twists a small dial. The extra lenses on the top of the glasses swivel down to change the view in front of his eyes.
I plunk my travel sack down on top of the desk, unwrapping it with deliberate care. I can’t help it. Despite what’s at stake, giving Ezio some payback for the way he unveiled the mana control test is an opportunity I’ll never pass up, so I make the PPP reveal as dramatic as I can possibly get away with.
With a flourish, I pull away the last scrap of linen hiding the gleaming artifact, proudly pointing as I present the PPP to Ezio. I’m hoping for a spark of excitement, or a loud shout, or something to demonstrate just how emotionally invested my favorite scholar is in the marvelous discovery. Instead, Ezio’s face screws up in confusion.
“Well? Does this solve all our problems?” I demand.
Ezio leans forward, frowning as he cycles through a few lenses with a quiet, precise click of the knob on his glasses. “Unsure. What is it, exactly?”
“A portable portal prognosticator!” I declare, going with Tem’s made-up term since I can’t find a better one. Besides, it rather rolls off the tongue, albeit in a pretentious way.
“Shiny, but I have no idea what that means,” Ezio says wryly.
“Tem said it could predict when a Rift will open. There’s probably a small market for that among adventurers and treasure-seekers, right? Do you think it will be enough?” I wring my hands together, suddenly convinced that it’s too niche to command much attention or money on the open market. The microscope will still be out of reach, and I’ll never make new armor or earn a new Skill or find Tem or—
Ezio has gone dead silent. His face blanches, dark eyes locked on the PPP with a sort of wary fascination. I’ve seen similar looks in the steady, determined gazes of [Beast Tamers] who work with dancing snakes. One wrong move, and the venomous serpent has the last laugh.
“Problem?” I ask, my gut clenching in sudden worry.
Ezio glances around wildly, as though startling awake from a terrible dream, then taps a glyph on his desk that closes the curtains over his windows. He activates a second control rune. A hazy, blue-grey curtain of bent light springs up around us, cutting off the desk from the outside world. Sight, sound, smell—it disappears in an instant.
The casual display of advanced anti-eavesdropping magical barriers has me goggling, but it’s Ezio’s next words that hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
“Now we are able to speak freely, away from prying eyes and ears. Nuri, wrap that back up and hide it somewhere safe. Tell no one that you have that . . . that device.” His forehead is beading with sweat, and his breathing comes fast and choppy, but his eyes never leave the PPP while he speaks.
“If someone finds out that you have such a dangerous artifact in your possession, and you didn’t turn it over to the royal army, you’ll likely be drawn up on charges of treason. It’s far, far more important than Tem probably let on in the Rift. That artifact could be the key to winning this war—or losing it forever.”
=+=
“A little more filler for this next test,” I mutter to Lionel as I monitor the overall shaping with my [Lesser Manasight]. He nods and adds more with his precision measuring Skill. We’re back in a groove after I’ve returned from Ezio’s office, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to focus on the project.
“Any new leads?” Lionel asks as he finishes the task, his Skill guiding him unerringly.
I shake my head, staring at the floor as I try not to think about the dire implications of the PPP hidden under my bed at home. “The longer Tem delays, the less and less comfortable Ezio’s [Merchant] cousin is with the thought of a loan. We’re on our own.”
“The Linas offered to assist us again next week. They’re almost caught up with all the recurring orders for the month.”
I grunt in a general approximation of a noise of approval, earning a funny look from my friend. I ignore the unspoken question in his eyes and latch onto talking about the twins instead. “Can’t hurt to try something new. Glass isn’t exactly straightforward sometimes. Abyss knows we’re not getting anywhere on our own. They’re smart and talented, so maybe they’ll figure out something we overlooked.”
“They’re pretty remarkable,” he says agreeably, seeming to sense my mood.
“Can’t exactly fail worse,” I grumble.
Lionel crosses his arms, giving me a side eye gaze of skepticism, but he doesn’t push the issue. I appreciate that about him. I have enough burdens to deal with right now already.
=+=
After Ezio’s grand announcement of my grim future as a traitor to hearth and home, the next several days of work in the hot shop don’t just dampen my enthusiasm for creating the new speciality glass—they shatter it into a million little pieces, throw it on the floor, and stomp on it with heavy boots until every last shard and splinter is utterly annihilated.
I’m never earning a Master’s honor at this rate!
Every single attempt at creating the armor shatters when we hit the composite sheets of glass and filler with a light smack from a broom. It’s not a particularly rigorous test, but it doesn’t have to be. If the hybrid compound can’t hold up to a gentle blow, then it will never stop a sword or turn aside a spearhead.
As yet another unsuccessful week drags on without any hope in sight, I let out a ragged scream, throwing down the broom as the latest piece of glass armor cracks under my probing. I stomp back to my workbench, sweep my arm across the tools, and send the wooden paddle I use for shaping the hot glass clattering to the floor.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Nuri!” Ember roars, striding across the studio floor like an avenging spirit. Her hair is standing on end, fire crackling around her like sparks in a storm. “I’m shutting you down. Take a day off and get your mind right.”
Heaving with frustration-fueled adrenaline, I glare at Ember, daring her to reprimand me further in front of all of the workers in the studio. “I’m not done,” I growl. “I still have two more recipes to try this week, and I’m not giving up yet. I’m not a quitter!”
Ember squeezes her eyes shut, and the halo of flames visibility recedes. She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and smiles tightly. “No, but you’re also not helping. Cool down, stop beating yourself up, and come back with a clear head.”
“My head is fine!” I snap in embarrassment, more defensive now that I see how hard she is working to try to be reasonable. I’m not a baby anymore; she doesn’t have to coddle me.
“Get out,” Ember spits, her fire flaring back up. “Go now and you keep your pay for the day. If we have another problem, or you break anything, we’re docking your wages for a week.”
“That’s not fair,” I snarl. “I have to keep trying! I’m so close, but nothing—”
She clenches her jaw “Not gonna happen today, Nuri.”
“Nothing is working!” I shout. “No matter which materials I mix in, no matter what I do in the formative stage, it always breaks!”
Ember stalks closer, and an ominous nimbus of black fire spreads out around her head. The weight of it is oppressive, and all of a sudden, I find breathing more difficult in her presence. “That’s exactly why you need to cool off. Go home. Try again tomorrow. Or better yet, in another week. You haven’t been quite yourself since you’ve come back from the Rift. Fix your stuff, or find a new studio.”
The fight goes out of me like a vanishing storm, and suddenly I’m a ship becalmed, adrift at sea without a wind to bring me into port. With a heavy sigh, I lean down and pick up the scraps of the broken glass from my latest failed attempt, stuff the shattered pieces into my pocket, and drag myself out the door.
I barely notice where I’m going until I reach the path to Reijo’s house. I glance around in hesitation, then back away. I’m not a baby. I don’t need a father-figure! I can sort through this on my own. Hunching my shoulders, I stuff my hands in my pocket and turn toward my little home.
I trudge into the cabin, slam the door, flop down on my bed, and stare at the wall, lost in a seething roil of conflicted emotions. Returning to the studio today isn’t an option. Ember might not let me back all week. I lift my clenched fist, staring at the shaking ridges of the back of my knuckles, and stifle a sob. I’m supposed to be too old to cry like this, but the endless failures and the weariness of falling right back into the same old groove of my boring existence crashes over me, and I break like shattered glass.
My fingers twist the covers of my bed into knots as I sob, letting out all the built-up fears and frustration of the last several weeks. I let out a ragged scream, and tension I didn’t even realize I’ve been carrying melts away. My shoulders droop, and my breathing falls into a steady rhythm. Escaping the Rift took a toll, and I’ve been avoiding dealing with the fallout. The weeks of repeated failures in the studio simply brought everything to a head.
As the turmoil in my mind and emotions recedes, I dig my hand in my pocket to find the shard of broken glass from today’s latest failed batch. The edge slices my finger, and I yank my hand out with a muttered oath. Sucking on my finger, I roll off the bed, mosey over to the desk, and rummage around for a strip of linen to bind the wound. Once that’s sorted, I pull the piece of glass out of my pocket and examine the jagged lines. It jabs into my calloused palm, but I cradle it more gently than before, and I’m not cut.
“I already know what it should look like. So why can’t I make you match?” With my other hand, I rub my temples, thumb and forefinger splayed wide to reach either side of my head. As my headache clears, I get up and shuffle over to my desk. I fish around in my drawer, pull out the little seashell, and place it side by side with the glass pieces.
“What’s your secret?” I ask in a whisper, as though it can hear me and answer. Activating my [Lesser Manasight], I scan the surface of the mother of pearl in an attempt to glean new information. Waves of mana wash over the mother of pearl in increasingly intrusive scans as I push the limits of the Skill to the extreme.
No secrets of the universe reveal themselves, however, and I’m left feeling more than a little foolish as I squint down at the little pieces of glass and strips of mother of pearl, so I let go of my second Skill. I’ll probably have to upgrade it before I get more meaningful details.
“If only I could see what it’s made of,” I mutter. But without Tem’s money, I don’t have an easy way to procure a microscope, and there’s no way in the abyss that I’ll give up control of the PPP. Not for the first time, I groan at how limited our magic is: no one in the glassworks seems to be able to figure out much in the way of the composition of a naturally-occuring material while using Skills that are glass-centric. I’ll just have to do it myself.
I run my fingers over the materials, eyes closed, trying to absorb as much information as I can through the sensitive edges of my fingertips. Every little crevice or crack, every notch or imperfection, etches into my mind . . . but tells me nothing. I give up with a soft, embarrassed laugh. A little nick or scratch on the surface doesn’t actually tell me about its structure any more than a new hat or a festive scarf tells me about a person’s true nature. There’s an entire order of existence beneath the surface that matters far more than the exterior.
“That’s it. I have to look deeper,” I tell myself, trying to manufacture some enthusiasm, although I’m having trouble believing that it will matter. But my feelings won’t change things; the only way forward is to put in the work, so I commit myself to the task at hand. Once again, I activate my [Lesser Manasight], but this time I try to push deeper into the inner workings of the nacre rather than scanning the top layer.
As before, nothing happens. There’s no latent mana left in the piece of shell, probably since there’s little to begin with in non-sapient species. Plus, this sample might be years old, for all I know. Perhaps a fresh catch might have some mana for me to latch onto and trace through the structure of the shell, but this is dull and lifeless in my [Lesser Manasight].
All I can see are the lines of connection between me and the bit of mother of pearl, and they’re only extant while the Skill is churning. As soon as I cut the flow of mana, the strings that bind me to the scrap of seashell turn to mist and fade away.
“What if I’ve been thinking about it all backward?” I ask aloud, staring up at my ceiling as my mind whirls through new possibilities. I reach out with my mana, straining to reestablish the connection between me and the mother of pearl, but without relying on a Skill. The tendrils of mana waver as soon as they leave my body, lacking both shape and intent, but I draw more and more deeply from my mana pool and force the intractable mana into thin, threadlike strands that bind me to the broken bit of shell.
I engage [Lesser Manasight], observing the free-form process of mana manipulation to see if I can find where it’s breaking down. The weak, quivering lines of mana keep veering off to the sides or recursing back on themselves, but as I watch the process I’m able to guide the way the mana flows and twists through the air.
“I’m too far away,” I whisper under my breath, leaning closer until I’m almost touching the mother of pearl. Now that the mana doesn’t have to travel so far from my body, the glowing lines grow more stable, forming more and more quickly as I increase the connections. My muscles are shaking with the effort, and I’m halfway out of mana, but I push onward, certain that I’m on the verge of a new understanding, teetering on the brink of enlightenment.
A chime echoes in my mind as the connections snap into place, blazing with potency, as though they want nothing more than to reach out and connect. Trembling with excitement, I flop backward on the bed and enter light meditation. My consciousness sinks into my soul space, and I hiss in a sharp breath through my teeth when I see not one, but two new Skills gleaming in pristine magnificence. I drift closer with a pulse of willpower, examining the gilded banners hanging from the sides of the Skills.
Obtained Skill: [Composition Analysis]
Obtained Skill: [Micro Manipulation]
Synchronicity detected! Combining all compatible Skills.
Golden swirls of energy wreathe the Skills within me, blinding in their intensity. I blink, and I’m ejected from my meditation as my concentration shatters like glass. I groan, my head pounding, and fetch a drink of water from the well outside before sinking back into a light state of insensate internal investigation.
The overwhelming pulses of system light have dissipated, and in the place where the two Skills resided a moment ago, a singular statute now dominates the space. Far larger and more intricate than any of my other Skills, the fractal-covered structure gleams with faint echoes of the golden light that eclipsed the silvery sheen of the other Skills. Instinctively, I know this is no lesser Skill—and maybe not a typical rank or rarity, either.
A feeling of reverence washes over me as I read the title emblazoned on the structure of the new Skill: [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds].
Hot tears sting my eyes. All my years of complaining and frustration over my lack of new Skills fall away in an instant. I have the first part of an Artisan Skill set. That means I’ve been officially recognized as eligible for an entire series of Skills related to creating and crafting. I didn’t just earn a single skill; I’ve stumbled upon a long, hard path to greatness. These Skills are far more than lesser or greater variants; this is the stuff of legend!
Shaking with awe, I circulate my mana again, making sure that my [Lesser Manasight] is activated so that I don’t miss a thing. I hold up the little piece of mother of pearl and focus on my intent to analyze it—no, to embrace it and to truly understand it. An explosion of mana gushes out of me as [Architect of Unseen Worlds] hums to life for the first time.
My perception rushes forward toward the mother of pearl like a bird of prey dropping from the skies. Down, down, zooming closer until the pearlescent surface fills my entire consciousness, and I plunge into the sea shell. Miniscule details I’ve never seen before stand out, and in a flash of insight, I realize what I have been missing. Infinitesimal, interlocking blocks like tiny bricks comprise the entire structure. Lionel is right; the mother of pearl does gain its rigidity and strength because of the way it’s grown together organically.
As I pour more mana into the Skill, the details grow larger and more precise in my mind, and I realize there is more to the mother of pearl’s strength than interlocking bricks. There are actually cracks running through the striations. Imperfections from breaking, or part of the design that allows it to absorb impact? I wonder. Perhaps force disperses along the pre-existing cracks, thus allowing it to—
My attention wanders, and I lose my grasp on [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. Panting, I shake out my arms and legs, retrieve another cup of water, and wait to recover some energy for another go at the incredible Skill. The mana cost of keeping the Skill active is shockingly high, so once I feel ready, I switch my attention to the broken glass from the shop. I don’t want to drain my entire pool before I can see what’s missing from the glass I’ve created.
Even with the little filaments Lionel and I added as bonding agents in the glass, it doesn’t hold up to a hit the way that it should. I take a breath and embrace [Architect of Unseen Worlds] as I hold the sharp pieces of broken glass. Mana threads spool out, forming connections to the glass I’m holding.
Instantly, I see the differences, and I grasp the implications with a sort of preternatural certainty of conviction. Despite minute fluctuations and minor imperfections from where my wooden paddle hammered the glass flat, the surface is smooth and fairly uniform. There are no cracks, no micro-structures to create pockets of strength or miniature crumple zones. Ezio was right about imperfections, although none of us knew how to implement them.
The analysis portion of the Skill is a resounding success, but I know that there has to be more to it than simply the ability to see small things writ large. The very name of the Skills says that there’s more: it’s the [Architect of Unseen Worlds], after all. Architect, not simply observer. I can make things, I know it!
I sink my perception into the glass, envisioning the same structure and shape as the mother of pearl, and push. Mana surges out of me like water from a broken goblet, and half of the little shard of glass flickers and transmutes before my eyes, stretching and bubbling as it ripples, reconstitutes, and is remade. The heavy draw on my mana cuts off abruptly as I empty my entire reserves before the transformation is complete, but the change is shocking. I stare at the new composition of the glass, gawking at how closely it mirrors the mother of pearl.
This is it! This is the difference that I’ve missed. Part of me feels a tad disgruntled, like I’ve cheated by using a Skill to fill in the missing knowledge that I could have gleaned from more research and study, but the feeling is overshadowed and subsumed by a far larger part of me that’s cackling in ecstasy. I leap off the bed, dancing around the room like a madman. At last, a Skill worthy of renown!