As I take the blowpipe from Avelina and pour the hot glass into a mold I’ve prepared for the rod, I’m struck by a stray memory.

Artisans see the world differently.

My mother used to tell me that. I remember those words, though I recall little else I learned from her since I was so young when my parents passed. Our perspective is vitally important, she insisted: it helps prevent the world from losing its soul. I click my tongue. It’s a nice sentiment, but I’m not so sure that I agree. Beauty may be subjective, but to claim it’s the exclusive purview of crafters? Hubris.

I almost freeze up and let the glass flow down in a glob to the ground, but years of training save me from embarrassment. I keep the pipe spinning while I ask myself, why now? What prompted that old thought of artistry versus function?

“I’ll use a mold for simplicity,” I announce, changing tactics and moving over toward a simple metal mold. The glass will come out with gentle fluting along the sides as the only nod to decoration. I’m trying to save my best friend, not compete with the Master who crafted the original Azure Rod.

I’ve met plenty of [Soldiers], [Merchants], and even a certain surly [Smokeborn Pathfinder] who all saw things I didn’t. They weren’t soulless or overly utilitarian because of their Class. Even Azariah was full of surprises, like when he recounted stories of the Phoenix he met, or when he showed off the power of his smoke-based illusions and scrying magic.

Perhaps everyone is an artist at some level, deep inside, I muse. There’s nothing unique about it, but that doesn’t mean it’s meaningless.

At the raised eyebrow from Avelina, who no doubt intended to help me make something that will look far more impressive, I can simply offer a shrug. I don’t feel like explaining myself. Maybe it’s not fair to her, but my sudden bout of melancholy makes me feel more introverted than usual, even if I’m making an attempt lately to trust my friends and rely on them more often.

“You gonna take all the credit for yourself?” Avelina grumbles.

“Sorry. This just seems easier for now. If we get it working, I want you to help make it beautiful,” I reply, finishing up the pour and moderating the local heat to aid the glass as it cools in the mold.

Mikko glares at me. “You better.”

“She’s our best flameworker. I wouldn’t leave her out!”

“Ava, why don’t we check out the auction floor while my selfish brother plays hero again?” Mikko suggests. “We’ll be back in time to help with a barrier in case of a backlash.”

“Buy me something pretty!” Avelina says, switching from a scowl to a happy smile. She wags her finger at me. “Don’t start without us, Nuri.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I deadpan.

Avelina snickers, but shrugs after a moment. “Who gets things right on the first try, anyway? This way I get to skip the boring parts!”

I wave goodbye as the two take off for the upper floor with the more extravagant display cases. A frown creases Melina’s face, but she doesn’t advocate for her sister to stay. Instead, she settles down to wait for the glass to set, casting a time-dilation around the mold to hasten the process.

Rakesh clears his throat. “It’s for the best this way. Avelina’s right. Our first attempt isn’t likely to succeed, so there’s no need to hold everyone hostage to suspense.”

“I guess,” I reply, less certain of my actions than I was before. “I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings.”

“Not a chance,” Melina assures me. “You promised her that she could make the final result look beautiful. It was a good call; there’s no point wasting her talents on a non-working prototype.”

I nod at Melina’s words, but I still feel bad. I should have given her an option before switching to the mold. Just because I was dealing with an unexpected bit of nostalgia doesn’t mean that I should have decided for everyone unilaterally. We’re supposed to be a team, after all. The two scholars in the room will obviously want to note down everything that happens, regardless of success or failure, but I didn’t really give Avelina a chance to express her opinion or help with the project.

Before I lose myself in wallowing, Melina claps her hands together in satisfaction. “Done! Let’s get the glass out and start engraving.”

She lifts the solid glass rod with [Object Manipulation], hovering it over to the workbench near me and laying it down on the marver. A mana pen coalesces in her grasp, and she whistles nonchalantly as she begins transcribing the first minuscule rune at one end of the rod. Her gaze is locked onto the golem table I created with the scrying magnification on its back, relying on the visual feedback to guide her script.

Rakesh smirks at me. “Better close your mouth before one of my birds flies in and makes a nest. Or don’t. It’s an amusing mental image.”

I snap my jaw shut with a click, tossing a glare at my favorite [Researcher]. The sight of Melina’s irrepressible grin makes me whoop and jump into the air, pumping my fist in victory. “That’s awesome, Mel! When did you learn to make your own mana pen?”

“A few days ago.”

“And you didn’t show me?” My voice squeaks with my indignation.

“What, and give up the chance for this kind of reaction?” Melina asks innocently. She never once looks away from her inscription, but the corners of her lips keep twitching up. “I’ve been waiting for just the right moment to show off—and it was so worth it!”

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“All right. I admit it. You got me. You got me good,” I say, chuckling. Melina really loves her pranks. “Promise me that you won’t keep it a secret when you learn to mana-imbue? I’ve been waiting to celebrate with you all year.”

“You have my word,” Melina says. There’s no hint of teasing or mockery this time, and I relax at the sincerity in her voice.

I pull up a chair next to her, sitting still so I won’t bump her as she works on the runes. “I meant what I promised last year about helping you become a Master. I’m taking all of you with me. What’s the point of reaching the heights if I’m all by myself?”

We fall into a companionable silence after that. Melina meticulously inscribes each rune, while Rakesh advances the papers of written runes across the scrying sensor in synchronization with her work. I don’t have anything else to do other than hold the intent in mind and coax mana into the entire runic array.

Hours flow by like water. At some point, Mikko and Avelina return from their shopping trip to show off our [Flameworker]’s new jewelry collection. I barely notice, although Melina pauses her work to make appropriate noises of approval. Drowsiness almost claims me twice, but Rakesh is on the spot, prodding me awake each time so that I can continue to supply energy into the rod.

By the time we finish the work, everyone’s too tired to return to the [Sanctuary]. Despite our impatience to test out our version of the healing rod, we turn in for the night, sprawling out on the floor in front of the furnace for warmth.

No one sleeps right away. Rakesh coughs loudly, catching our attention. “In our rush to complete a working prototype, have we ever stopped to ask the question of how we’ll test the rod? None of us are [Healers].”

“Let’s hope that it doesn’t simply amplify healing Skills,” Melina replies from her spot on the other side of the furnace, where the two girls have set up a hanging blanket to act as a privacy divider for the evening.

“Good point,” Mikko says. “We don’t want to make things worse. This should work more like that miracle potion than a standard healing Skill, right?”

“As far as I know,” I say, but the lack of certainty makes my stomach churn. If we end up hurting Lionel instead of helping, all because we didn’t have a way to test the rod properly, then I’ll never forgive myself.

Rakesh lets out a heavy sigh. “We don’t have much of a choice. I hesitated to even bring up my earlier question, since I doubt we will be able to find a Mender who’s willing to help.”

“Why don’t you test out the rod on me before trying it on Lionel?” Mikko suggests. “I’m as tough as they come, so there’s little chance of harming me.”

“Not a bad idea. Mender Uttara will probably agree to help. Rakesh and Melina will have to analyze the runic activations in my absence. My [Arcane Domain] can’t see what’s going on through the scrying spell.”

“Have you tested that?” Melina asks.

I snort in amusement. “Typical question, Mel. And, yes, I have. The scrying is visual only. No magical transmissions.”

“Guess it’s up to us. Rakesh and I will do our best,” Melina promises.

I close my eyes, content with her answer. They’ll figure out a plan. Tomorrow will be a day of reckoning, one way or another. Nerves have me jittery, but I’ll just have to trust my team to take care of everything. I hope Avelina is wrong and it works on the first try, I think as I finally succumb to exhaustion and slip into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Waking up is hard the next day. I’m still groggy, and my friends are talking way too loud for the early morning hours. A quick glance at a clock informs me that I slept in far longer than I thought. I still wish they were quieter, but I no longer have an excuse for acting grumpy. At least breakfast is tasty; the fried potatoes and well-seasoned eggs improve my mood considerably.

My friends take a golem paired to the scrying table with them when they depart. I don’t let them leave until they each promise to remind the others to set up the scrying sensor before they give the rod to Mender Uttara. Mikko rolls his eyes, but he goes a step further than the rest and writes down the instructions in his notebook, assuring me that he’ll do his best to remind the others not to get swept up in their excitement.

I bid them farewell with a heavy heart, sad that I won’t be able to be there for Lionel. He deserves better; I can’t let my emotions get me in trouble like this again in the future.

Rakesh folds a paper bird and leaves it with me so that we can confirm verbally that I see the feed. Between Rakesh and Mikko, I trust that I won’t be forgotten. It’s nerve-wracking not to be there in person, but I remind myself that I couldn’t do anything to help either way.

Pacing back and forth in the studio is all I can do while I wait for them to make the trek over to the Menders Campus. Technically, I owe Ozana another masterwork, but today I don’t care much about quota. I suspect she won’t hold it against me if I take a break. She knows it’s because I’m worried about Lionel, and not because I’m slacking.

That’s one of the reasons I like working with her; our arrangement feels like an actual partnership, even with the imbalance of favors, power, and connections. After the disastrous encounters in the Barrens, I’m tired of letting people take advantage of me. From now on, I’m determined to only work with people I trust.

“Nuri? Can you see us?”

Mikko’s voice echoes through the studio, startling me out of my reverie. I yelp and barely keep from jumping back in fright, fumbling the bird and dropping it on the floor. Good thing they can’t see me, I think in embarrassment as I scoop up the paper bird. By the time I check my golem, confirming that I can see Lionel, my heart rate is almost back to normal.

“Uh. Yeah,” I say shakily.

He arches an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yep! You’re good to go.”

In the image on the back of my table-golem, Mikko flashes a smile and waves. He turns to Mender Uttara, whose arms are crossed, and hands him the glass rod. Skepticism is plain to see on the Mender’s face, but he’s studiously trying to keep a professional demeanor.

Mikko gestures toward himself, puffing up his chest, but Mender Uttara shakes his head. He looks more and more uncomfortable the longer my brother talks.

Eventually, Rakesh draws a small knife and stabs Mikko in the arm. Thanks to his [Iron Skin], he takes hardly any damage, though the sudden burst of violence draws a shout of alarm from the gentle Mender.

“Go on, heal me! I’ve got a scratch from the fragile [Researcher],” Mikko says in between peals of laughter. His jovial nature and lack of actual injury mollifies Mender Uttara somewhat, although the man gives Rakesh an extremely peeved side-eye.

“Very well. I will try your artifact, although I must warn you that the Azure Rod is a very popular target of counterfeiters. I hope the scammers didn’t charge you too much.”

The team is tight-lipped about where they got the rod, which doesn’t seem to reassure the one friend we have among the Menders. Still, to his credit, he sends a spark of mana into the glass rod, powering up the runic arrays etched across its surface.

A flare of blinding light obscures the scrying feed. By the time I blink away the tears in my eyes from the blazing white burst, two things become instantly obvious: the cut on Mikko’s arm is gone, and Mender Uttara is lying motionless on the floor in a pool of his own blood.