My muscles are surprisingly stiff and sore when I drag myself out of bed the next day, considering I hardly engaged in any physical activity in any of my meetings. Nonetheless, my knees creak on my way to the kitchen, and I stub my big toe on the left foot against the bottom edge of where the door jamb and the threshold meet. Breakfast lacks its usual savory goodness, although maybe that's because I'm too caught up in sulking over my toe to notice. Colors appear muted—even the usually vibrant yellows and deep, full-bodied oranges of the fruits I'm eating are so desaturated that they’ve shifted toward grayscale. The act of thinking itself is sluggish and ponderous; my mind is a river dammed up, no longer flowing properly.
Mana-drain headache, I realize belatedly. It all makes sense now. I haven’t suffered through this particular skull-splitting sensation since I fractured the core housing my mana pool. Truth be told, I am more or less in a perpetual state of mana deprivation these days. Over ninety-five percent of my mana use since closing the lesser Rift has relied on external sources. Energy in, energy out. Nothing is retained, not even residual mana, when I try to harvest it from the ambient magic around me. Until now.
A shiver runs through me. I grip the edge of the kitchen table with my right hand to steady myself, squeeze my eyes shut, and turn inward as my heart thuds faster.
Aside from the gleaming surface of my manually-crafted Skill, [Vitrification], the rest of my Skills are still in various states of disarray. Nothing new there. To my surprise—and excitement—the second Skill I ever earned, [Manasight], is starting to repair itself thanks to my constant practice. It’s still not perfect, but I’ve noticed more activity over the last week than I have since the Rift, albeit in fits and starts. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. I started to sense the flows of mana by practicing it when I didn't know what I was doing yet. That was prior to actually learning the Skill, which didn't teach me something new; it just made tracking mana flows easier. The flickers of energy, present around us in wisps and dreams, unveiled themselves to me first, and then I earned the corresponding Skill, which certainly made the process more efficient.
Reinvigorated by the leap forward in progress, but still harboring fears of what I’ll find, I turn my attention to my core. As I expected, my channels are a mess. The mana pool itself, however, where latent power is stored within the body, ready and waiting to spring into action and shape the world around me, shows a polished sheen along the substructure of the basin. The unbroken area is small, barely enough to hold a thimbleful of drops, but the cracks are gone at the base. Now that the foundation is showing promise of recovery, all I have to do now is build back the walls.
I drift among the tangled wreckage in my liminal soul space, committing the damage to memory. Scalpel claimed it would take me a decade to repair the devastation wrought by channeling the overwhelming force of the Rift’s raw, unrestrained power. I aim to do it in half that time. Or less, if I can find a dedicated [Healer].
“Now, are my glass pseudo-cores a help, or a hindrance?” I mutter around a bite of sweet roll as I return to my body and leave behind my delve. The answer to that question will decide my course for the next several years. I hate the uncertainty of not knowing. Are my recent advances a mere coincidence since I've been soaking myself, body and soul, in mana? Or are they a byproduct of the workaround I created thanks to my improvements in mana-imbuing—that is, the glass pseudo-cores? I rest my chin in my hand, lost in thoughts. Without a baseline against which I can measure myself, I still feel like I’m simply fumbling around in the dark, lost in indecision.
“Look at you living the dream! Rising in time for lunch,” Mikko shouts as he stomps into the house in his big boots, scattering my concentration and killing my self-reflection. He claps me on the back so hard that a bite of food flies out of my mouth, which sets him off laughing as he rounds the table to face me. “I don’t know how you get away with it, Nuri. Ma would have my hide if I’d grown so lazy.”
“Envious? Wait until you see me nap the entire day away tomorrow,” I taunt him, tossing an apple at his head.
He snatches the apple out of the air, makes a show of polishing it on his leather forge apron, and bites it in half, chomping as loudly as a horse. “Not in the least bit envious. I’m concerned for your wellbeing, my frail little brother,” Mikko corrects me.
I wince at the obnoxious crunch as he gnashes and gnaws with abandon. “Must you?”
He tosses the last bite of fruit into his mouth, chews noisily, and swallows. “What kind of hurtful question is that? Of course I ‘must’ look out for you. That’s what brothers do.”
“That’s not what . . .” I trail off and make a rude noise with my lips. “You’re insufferable. But I suppose it’s a good thing to have you on my side. After all, you’re the most durable person I know, other than the Iron Lunk. Even so, it’s a tossup at best given how hard your head is. If I run into any problems, then you can be a living shield to ward off trouble.”
He chuckles, knocking his knuckles against his skull with one hand. With the other hand, he taps against a silver pot on the table, which rings like a struck bell. “What do you know? Hollow, just like you’ve always said!”
I find myself joining Mikko’s good-natured laughter. He’s always been goofy and dramatic in equal parts. I’ve missed my brother terribly during my time away.
“Besides, Ma thinks you need someone to keep you on track,” Mikko admits. “You languish when you don’t have an impossible task in front of you.”
“I do not! Take it back,” I say, sitting up in protest.
“Ha! You wallow, bro. Don't even try to deny it. Anyway, I dropped by to see if I could issue a challenge compelling enough to pique your interest.”
“Tall order. Sure you’re up to it?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
A mischievous glint sparks in his dark eyes. “I know you’re busy teaching advanced stuff at the shop and schmoozing with those scary [Inquisitors], but any chance you can take the day off tomorrow?”
“For you? Anything,” I say, my voice uncharacteristically solemn.
“Missed you, too,” Mikko says after a pause. He downs a glass of water, wipes his sleeve across his eyes even though he’s too late to hide the glimmer of tears, and nods at me sharply. “See that you wake up on time tomorrow, yeah?”
I pour water into the other glass at the table, and raise it to him in a mock toast. “No promises.”
“I mean it, Nuri! If you try to sleep in again tomorrow, I’m flipping your mattress.”
I groan as the memories of his favorite wake-up technique come flooding back. “Don’t you dare. I’m too big for that now.”
“Seemed to work pretty well when you were twelve,” Mikko teases. “And let’s face it. Not much has changed in the last decade, except you’re still scrawny, and I’m way bigger and stronger than I used to be. ‘Too big,’ peh!”
I sigh, resolved to rustle up my old alarm clock before Mikko can make good on his threat. He’s a big softie at heart, but that doesn’t mean he won’t cheerfully dump me right out of bed if he thinks it’s funny. I know that from experience. “See you tomorrow, then. I best be off for now. Busy day and all.”
“Ooh, look at you! All important. Well, don’t let me keep you from your grand designs. See ya around, bigshot,” Mikko says, waving as he leaves. He snickers the whole way out of the house.
=+=
As is his trademark, Lionel chooses the most inopportune time to interrupt my plans for the day. On my way to the neighboring town of Peliharaon to check on Ifran and visit the old [Gaffer], as well as continue my discussions with Casella, Mbukhe, and Ezio in a more secluded setting, I make the mistake of stopping by the Silaraon Glass Works to pick up supplies. My old buddy Lio accosts me as soon as I walk through the front door.
“Nuuri! Just the man I’m looking for. Get over here and help me make this big ole vase more profitable with some of your secret sauce,” Lionel calls out without even turning my way, startling me.
I saunter over. “I would, but my cores aren’t recharged, yet. Hey, how’d you know I was here, anyway? Don’t claim you’re suddenly attuned to my mana signature after all these years of practically being blind, Lio.”
Lionel scrunches up his nose while he puts the finishing touches on his vase. “What, you don’t think I’m talented?”
I give him a flat look.
“Ha. I saw you out the window, and I figured no one else was opening the door, so I called out as soon as the bell rang. Simple logic. Not everything about you is special, Nuri.”
I clutch my hand to my heart and stagger back, feigning that I’m deeply wounded. Before I can snap back some witticism, however, Ember shows up out of nowhere. She gestures at the vase. “I’ll put your piece in the kiln for you, Lionel. Give it here. Nuri, teach him something useful.”
“Yes, boss,” we chorus, which amuses me to no end. Old habits are too deeply ingrained to disappear, I guess, even if I don’t technically work here anymore.
“I’m heading to Peliharaon,” I announce. “Lio good to come along for the day?”
“As long as you follow through on your promise to teach him mana imbuing, I don’t care if you go all the way to Grand Ile and back. Another Master in the shop is more valuable than a dozen normal workers. Teaching us is still on the table, correct?”
I nod. “I’ll walk them all through the steps together. Ifran doesn’t have the mana Capacity or control for it, but he can at least learn some concepts that I hope will help him when he hits the First Threshold one day.” I stroke my beard, considering the other [Glassworkers]. “Bijan might lack the imagination, and the old [Gaffer] probably doesn’t have enough ambition these days, but Calix and Lionel might end up earning Skills for imbuing if they practice hard over the next year or two.”
“Fair enough. Good luck out there, and watch out for cats.” Ember winks and walks off to the annealing kiln, leaving me blushing.
“It’s been almost two years,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
Lionel just laughs at me. “What kind of friends would we be if we let you live it down?”
“It’s no laughing matter! I could have died,” I say, glaring at him.
“Yep. But you didn’t. So. You know.”
“No, I don't know.”
“Nuri. C'mon. It’s funny that you got jumped by big ole cats. Hilarious, even.” Lionel gathers up his personal effects while I pretend to fume at his ill treatment. He whistles a jaunty tune, slings his knapsack over his shoulders, and gestures toward the door. “Let’s go, yeah? Daylight’s burning.”
We make good time on the pathway to Peliharaon. It’s more built up than the simple dirt trail that I remember, which speaks to the increased trade between the two towns. As payback for Lionel’s teasing, I stop abruptly and yell “Monsters!” right in his ear when we reach the place the Shadow Jaguars attacked. Watching him jump in fright is well worth all the embarrassment I’ve endured over the unfortunate encounter, and I laugh all the way to the town gates.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Lunch break is already winding down when we show up at the studio, but I insist on taking a few extra minutes to eat before we begin my lessons. “You won’t want to grapple with the extreme demands on your systems on an empty stomach, Lio. Mana control alone is complicated enough to make us sweat for months, but marrying control with all the conceptual falderal is a good way to pass out from overload.”
Something about my serious tone catches Lionel’s attention. He scarfs down more than his usual share of food, going so far as to borrow some leftovers from the studio stash to fill in the cracks. I follow his lead at a more sedate pace, since I don’t want to get sick to my stomach. Besides, he needs the energy more than I do. All I can manage right now is guiding the workers through the motions, since my mana-deprivation headache is too severe for me to harvest much more mana. Until my glass cores recharge, I’m out of commission.
Lionel belches in satisfaction as he finishes his food. “I’m gonna limber up in the yard. Call me when you decide to get down to business.”
“Five minutes!” I announce to the assembled crowd, waiting for acknowledgement from each of the crafters in turn. Once I’m satisfied everyone will be ready to go shortly, I slip inside the studio on my own, grateful for a quiet moment.
I seek out the poster of my father I hung in the studio as a parting gift for the old [Gaffer]. A strange lump is building up in my throat. Standing at attention in front of the only extant picture of my father, I can’t help but compare my progress to the golden standard of a talented [Glassworker] I bear in my mind. There he looms on the poster, bearded and glorious, standing a head taller than the other workers in the shop, yet somehow commanding an even more disproportionate presence and respect.
Glory. That’s the only word that makes sense to me when I try to capture the essence of what set my father apart. He burned bright and furious, like a bonfire drenched in lantern oil, but his brilliance was all too short. I hope I’ve done you proud. I lean forward, resting my forehead against the celebratory image of the graduation party, and choke back a sob. I don’t dare speak the words aloud, unable to bear the weight of expectations. What if I don’t measure up?
I don’t know quite how long I stay there, wrapped in shadows and memories of the past. The shop bell above the front door rings, announcing that I have company, and I wipe the vestiges of tears from my eyes, turning to face my friends and former coworkers.
The old [Gaffer] catches my gaze and gives me a kindly smile and nod. I nod back at him gratefully, and the knot of emotions and expectations within me seems to loosen at last. I have nothing to fear here. I’m among family. I’ve already become a Master. The rest of my story isn’t written yet, but I've already achieved more than I dared dream of only a few years ago. I don’t have to keep worrying about measuring up, because my father wouldn’t have compared the two of us that way. Present or absent, he would have cheered me on, spurring me toward the heights not out of compulsion, but for the sheer joy of discovery and creativity.
I take up my old, familiar place by the first workbench, square my shoulders, and project my voice to fill the entire shop. “Who’s ready to begin the journey to mastery?”
Ifran cheers, but he stops uncertainly when the others just nod in response. Bijan rolls his wrist, a sour expression on his face, as if to indicate that I should get on with it, and I find myself grinning. I always do best when people doubt me, after all. A little antagonism only serves to fuel the fires of ambition, stoking them to burn all the brighter.
“Please line up in a single file,” I say, withdrawing a pair of large glass globes from my travel sack and setting them on the workbench. I smile to myself in satisfaction when I see the raised eyebrows and hear the curious murmurs. “One at a time, you’ll feed your mana into the first orb, interact with the puzzles within to imprint the pattern, and draw a replica of the pattern on the surface of the second orb in real time. Don’t worry, the mana is unaspected and unattuned, so you don’t need any specific Skill or affinity to use these training devices. You won’t take in the mana, either, so it shouldn’t hurt like a true mana control test.”
Blank stares meet my pronouncement. I shudder at the memory, then shake my head slowly. They have no idea how easy they are getting off compared with my first introduction to codified mana control. “Bijan, this is your studio. Would you do us the honor of going first?”
Belligerent arrogance shines forth from his eyes. He straightens his plain blue frock, gestures for the other workers to watch, and stalks up to the workbench and puts a hand on the glass sphere closest to him. Wariness is hiding behind Bijan’s customary bluster, however, unless I miss my mark. I’ve gotten better at reading people over the last years, thanks to my time among the [Inquisitors]. No wonder they’re recruiting me to carry out their dirty work; I think far too much like them for my comfort.
Similar in shape only to the crude heat-transfer glass spheres I created back when I first began to take my mana training seriously, these balls are a far more complicated and refined mana training tool, requiring both sensitivity and coordination to complete the increasingly-difficult puzzles. I commissioned them from Melidandri before I left the capital, and I’m excited to see someone else give them a try after the weeks of frustrations I've had training with them on my return journey.
An uncharitable part of me can’t wait to demonstrate my superiority. Then I remember I am too drained right now to complete even the first level, and I grimace wryly. My recovery is going well, but there’s no way that I’ve harvested enough energy since this morning to power through this test, not with my meager mana regeneration. The puzzles are too demanding, requiring rapid dexterity, complete dedication to the task, and a deeper pool than I have available to me without the assistance of the glass pseudo-cores.
Bijan grunts as he begins, and I instinctively draw on my ruined [Manasight] to track his progress. A flicker of color and energy flits across my vision, tracing the flow of mana before the recuperating Skill gutters out, and I resist the urge to dance in excitement right in front of them. It’s not a total victory, but the wave of dizziness that accompanies the mana use is absolutely worth it to see my Skill work again, even if just for a few heartbeats.
After a moment of concentration, the pattern from the first orb swirls across the surface of the second orb, skittering about like little fireflies at night, transferred by the manifest will of Bijan. When the labyrinthine puzzle is complete, a light on the top of the glass orb winks on.
I clap my one hand softly against the workbench to celebrate, although I’m trying not to throw Bijan off his game. “Level one is already complete? That’s incredible for your first try. Way to set the bar high! I’m not sure if the rest of us will meet the same success today. Roll up your sleeves, Master Bijan, and get to work. Let’s see how far you can go.”
Beads of sweat stand out on Bijan’s forehead as he moves on to the second level of the orb puzzles. Immediately, the difference in difficulty stands out: this pattern is multilayered. He sucks in a sharp breath, focusing harder to keep up with the branching pathways and endless potential pitfalls and dead ends. All of the other [Glassworkers] have abandoned my request for queuing up in a single file. They cluster around the bench to watch and cheer as the Peliharaon Glass Works boss powers through another of the mana-transfer puzzles, marking the glass orb with the double pattern he sees. After a frantic few minutes of perceiving and painting with mana, the second pip on top of the sphere illuminates, signaling his success.
“Blasted puzzles,” he growls, starting to shake as the mana costs spike precipitously. “Whichever demented mind came up with this shattering game—and I know it’s not you, Nuri, since it’s far too complex—ought to be flayed alive. In public. While the rest of us jeer and throw angry fire ants.”
“Hey! I commissioned all these puzzles myself,” I protest. “Who says I’m not brilliant?” I can’t keep up the haughty veneer of affronted dignity for long with Lionel laughing at me, however, so I shut up and let Bijan keep working. It’s rude to break his concentration, anyway.
He glares at me, his eyes narrowing until they almost disappear into his fleshy cheeks. He pushes onward to the third puzzle, which moves faster and takes up four layers, doubling the difficulty once more. For a tense few moments, the wisps of energy scrawl across the recipient orb as Bijan pours everything he has into the test, and I find myself leaning closer, caught up in the drama of his unexpectedly excellent progress. The lines of light sketch themselves across the surface of the glass spheres, moving as fast as the eye can follow, building up in layers and looping in gorgeous, disorienting motifs.
With a cry of disappointment, Bijan loses control of the third layer among the four weaves, and his mana vents out into the air in a thick, visible cloud. His thick shoulders slump. He cocks his head to the side, staring at me coldly, as though he thinks I set him up to fail.
“Three cheers for Master Bijan!” I roar, and the crowd erupts in excitement. I squeeze his shoulder with my right hand, smiling as genuinely as I can. “Impressive showing, Master Bijan! The exponential difficulty curve is intense. Level three is too much for most people to handle without significant practice. It took me half a week before I beat that level, and I drilled it daily. Your skill is undeniable!”
Somewhat mollified, Bijan leans heavily on the workbench and puffs hard, trying to catch his breath. He nods at the glass spheres after he’s stabilized a bit. “Challenging little blighters. I’ll give you that. But you’re sure this is practical? I agreed to let you teach us what you learned abroad. Playing games isn’t exactly gonna pay the bills.”
“Absolutely practical,” I reply without hesitation. I shift my posture, angling my body so that I’m facing all of the workers. I want them to see and hear me, since I’m addressing them even while I answer Bijan. “Imbuing requires exquisite mana control to create a retention system to hold the mana in place. As you just saw, mana control becomes more and more difficult when you have to split your mind and focus on different tasks simultaneously. Imbuing might require you to concentrate on a dozen different details all at once—while also making glass and holding the proper concept in mind. Believe it or not, that’s the difficult part. But we’ll get to that later.”
Susurrus surrounds us. Already I can tell I’m in danger of losing my audience. My goal is to inspire them, not to crush their spirits. “Don’t worry, the spheres aren’t a requirement for mana imbuing, my friends. They’re good practice, but ultimately they’re just a challenge. A true master makes more out of less.”
Ifran sniffs, sizing up the glass globes. “How far can you go, Nuri? Betcha I’ll beat your record before long.”
I smile slyly. “I practiced most of the way home from the capital. I still haven’t mastered the sixth puzzle.”
Whoops and hollers break out. Lionel pounds me on the back. “That’s my boy, Nuri!” he shouts in my ear, carried away in his exuberance.
I blush and admit the full truth: “Master Melidandri, who made the puzzles, can best level eight. No one can do nine, as far as I'm concerned.”
“Me next, me next!” Ifran cries out, his face flushed and his eyes wide.
“Wait until they reset,” I tell him, waving my hand to signal for silence. The workers calm down by degrees, shuffling back a half-step at my urging to give him space to think.
He snatches up the glass orbs as soon as the previous patterns fade and the lights on top go inert, showing that it’s ready to go. His mana threads into the first orb, and he jolts at the sudden, electric connection. He grits his teeth, grinding them together in a way that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and tries to keep up with the dancing lights on the glass.
Halfway through the puzzle he runs dry, completely out of mana. He grunts in effort, trying to force himself onward, but his eyes roll back, and he loses control as he goes limp. He staggers. Falls. The glass globes slip out of his hands, and half a dozen pairs of hands reach out to catch him before he hits the ground, buoying up the precocious boy amidst a round of ragged cheers.
They're too slow.
Ifran’s head hits the edge of the bench as he collapses. The sharp, polished stone gashes deep, tearing open skin and flesh. Blood paints the side of the workbench, impossibly bright as it sprays out under the mage lights, and then darkening with awful finality as it pools, rust-red, on the concrete floor.
“Send for a [Healer]!” I bellow out in a panic, rushing around to the other side of the bench and crouching down next to Ifran. I clutch his hand, as if there's anything I can do to help, and glance around wildly to see who's running to fetch a miracle worker. Terror burbles up in my chest, burning like acid. I let out a soft whine—low and tremulous, the piteous whimper of a trapped, desperate animal.
Lionel darts over and shoves me aside. He kneels down next to Ifran, holding out his hands over the young [Apprentice], palms down. He hums quietly to himself, and threads of mana follow his bidding as they scout down into his patient and report back. The healing power dances between the two of them, gathering and intensifying with every return trip as their energies merge momentarily, and an exchange of vitality begins.
A potent working of mana builds up in Lionel, and he frowns in concentration. His Skill ignites the gathered power, and mana surges into Ifran, knitting muscle back together and remaking skin, stitching it like a magical tailor at work until not even a seam remains.
Ifran gasps and sits up. He coughs once, puts a hand to his head for a long, agonized groan, and looks around with confusion.
At the same time, my old friend Lio, the goofy prankster turned saintly [Healer], sags against me in exhaustion and relief. “About time that Skill finally showed up. Auntie was about ready to kick me out if I didn't learn to dress wounds and heal sudden trauma to a satisfactory level.”
I throw an arm around Lionel’s shoulder and squeeze gratefully in thanks for his sacrifice. Sharing his health pool with Ifran could be risky, particularly for a novice like him, but he showed no fear at all. There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation. I swallow my own worry. “Maybe imbuing is a waste of your talents, Lio.”
He gives me a curt nod, then yawns so wide and with such single-minded commitment that I fear his jaw might pop off. “Well, duh, Nuri. Healing is more impressive than glass, my friend. Admit it.”
I laugh, shaking my head “After that display, I'm not sure I can disagree. I’ve been so caught up in dreaming about shaping your future in glass that I haven’t seen the incredible potential right here in front of me. You’re talented, Lio.”
“Sorry about the puzzles,” Ifran groans, interrupting the moment. He’s still touching his head, feeling at the slight bump where he had a cut.
I pat his arm gently. “No worries at all, my young friend. Thankfully, Melidandri enchanted the glass for durability. The glass spheres probably bounced off the concrete floor without incident. We’ll collect them as soon as we make sure you’re safe. Anyone see where they went?”
“I think they rolled under workbench number two, if I’m reading the label right. Mind if I try them next?” a new voice asks.
I leap up to my feet. “Ezio! Welcome to the Peliharaon Glass Works. You're going to put us all to shame with your monstrous control. I can't wait!”