As the months since the monster attack fly by, I spend more and more time submerged within the confines of my soul space, working on my battered Class Skill as though my life depends on it. And who knows? Maybe it does. I’m no soul expert; I don’t want to risk unknown side effects. Despite the upgrade in title, my [Heat Manipulation] Skill is still afflicted with small cracks from the abuse I put it through, looking like a glass chandelier that didn’t survive the annealing process intact. Despite all that, it works.
I make a mental note to check with Lionel’s Aunt Althea later. Maybe she’ll know how to treat the tiny cracks, assuming they won’t fade over time.
Gentle mana use seems to help with recovery. Pushing too hard strains the Skill again, causing the cracks to spider web across the crystalline structure. It’s the most terrifying balancing act I’ve ever done: just enough to heal, not enough to harm.
My mana moves through my channels more slowly than I’d like, but it chafes less now than it did in the first few weeks after the overstrain. The good news is that my mana pool is deepening consistently with each day of practice.
Sweat beads across my forehead, dripping into my eyes and stinging, but I refuse to let it shake my concentration. I visualize crisscrossing, red-orange bands of the heat above me, and intricate blue-white circles of cold beneath me. My haggard breathing remains steady, no longer impaired by the injuries to my ribs and lungs, which have finally healed.
I draw the energy from the lower patterns into my body, guiding the Skill so that only the lines I’ve drawn on the floor of my room are affected. The ambient heat doesn’t change—much, at any rate—although minor fluctuations show that I still haven’t attained complete mastery over the ability. The heat leeches from the circles and into my mana channels directly, transforming into a purer form of energy, before I send it into the fiery swirls overhead. Pull too much, and I scorch myself from the inside out, but I haven’t found a more efficient method for manipulation than allowing my body to serve as a conduit between the opposing patterns.
Without innate resistances granted by the Skill, I can’t survive such intense temperature extremes. Previously, I always flexed my Skill in tiny, inexpert ways to deal with the heat from the furnaces. All that ever accomplished was cheating myself from gaining any level of mastery over true hot and cold, although it was certainly far more comfortable.
I grit my teeth, pushing the Skill a little further before the burn in my channels signals the end of today’s session. I release my grip on [Heat Manipulation] with a slight smile, satisfied with the day’s progress. I’m close to completing the full energy transfer between the two patterns.
That makes my spirit sing. I can practically taste the glazed honey on the sweet roll I promised myself as a reward for mastering the complex process. Training is hard work, but I finally feel like I have a clear path forward.
I squat down and catch my breath, not as concerned with regulating my air intake now that I don’t need to concentrate as hard. Not for the first time, I’m glad for Ember’s challenge to run the studio in Peliharaon. Even though it didn’t turn out the way I expected, I’m growing again. Exploring the world and the mysteries of magic is invigorating, and I’m flourishing if I do say so myself.
“Thanks, boss,” I whisper. It doesn’t matter that she’s not here to hear me. Gratitude is still worth cultivating.
It’s tough to temper my enthusiasm, but I suspect that I’ll gain a new Skill soon. Thanks to my intensive methods of training, I’m touching on mysteries I’ve never considered before. I’ve been observing the senior [Artisans] and [Gaffers] around the studio while they work, trying to get a sense of how they use mana. So far, this hasn’t produced any fruit, but I have a plan.
Whenever they’re at work, I sink into the strange void of my inner space to see if I can catch a glimpse of the movement of mana. Observing without sight is slow-going, but I’m certain I’ll get somewhere if I keep circulating mana while they engage their glassmaking Skills.
Watching isn’t enough on its own. I’m convinced of that. I’ll have to make as many new glass objects as I can—tools and basins and jewelry and animal sculptures; all sorts of things, from the mundane to the utterly fantastical—while I try to coax the mana within to assist the process.
It will work. It has to.
Mana exercises complete for the day, I turn my attention to the basic combat forms book Ember loaned me. Unlike my younger days, when Ember only taught me self-defense, she’s been putting me through the ringer lately. Ever since the jaguar fight, she’s realized she can’t baby me anymore. No longer do I have to complain, cajole, and cut deals to put in extra work hours just for some basics; she’s finally ready to teach me how to fight properly, like a trained [Soldier].
I let out a soft laugh as I thumb through the dog-eared pages until I find my bookmark, marveling at how much I still have to learn. No matter how much I insist on jumping ahead to the fun parts, Ember is unbending. She insists on laying a strong foundation, and I’d be a fool not to follow her methods. Instead, I have to study a dozen different manuals and prove my competency before she’ll even let me touch a weapon again.
Steady, slow progress is better than no progress, I tell myself as a shield against disappointment. It may take a few years at this rate, but that doesn’t really matter compared with a lifetime of ability. Besides, I won’t take a secondary Class until after my First Threshold, even if I have the option. Trying to gain another Class and rank up combat Skills before I upgrade my current Class seems foolish. My goals should include improving as an artist first and trying to earn another Skill second, now that I think about it.
Without any other recourse, I dig into the reading for the evening. Might as well study with a good attitude. I commit as much theory and tactics to memory as I can. Stances, spacing, how to take initiative and understand tempo—which kind of footwork to use against which types of opponents. The problem is that it’s all targeted toward soldiers: marching drills, shield work with overlapping tower shields, how to communicate via trumpet patterns on a large battlefield, and so on. None of it seems applicable to fighting off the mana-empowered monsters in the surrounding regions. If a Rift disgorges a horde of monsters nearby, I won’t be able to stop them. Yet.
Inevitably, my mind wanders. I need a target, or a sparring partner, if I’m ever going to inculcate the martial treatise. That’s why I’m so excited about Mikko’s automaton project. Visualization is only going to take me so far.
Maybe I can dream about fighting, I joke to myself as I transition to getting ready for bed. All I need to do is hold the ideas in my mind from now until I pass out. In the washroom, I jab my toothbrush in the air like a spear thrust, accidentally spraying flecks of foam and water droplets from the toothpaste onto my mirror.
Wincing, I wipe off the mirror and let out a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle. At this rate, I think to myself sheepishly, the only monsters that need to fear me are bad breath and tooth decay.
Bedtime preparations complete, I shrug on a clean shirt and tuck myself under thin covers, shivering mournfully. I cross my arms and rub my hands across my opposite biceps, hoping to create enough friction to warm up. “I’d love a good, thick pelt from a Shadow Jaguar about now,” I murmur into the darkness.
Several moments later, tired of the cold and misery, I pull in heat from the corners of the small room and redirect it into my body, cursing my stupidity for forgetting—again—to practice my foundational Skill. How am I going to progress if my mindset never adapts? I can warm myself at any time. My default behavior needs to update. Instead of fear, I need to reach for my Skill before anything else. Neglecting magic is like trying to walk without limbs. Equal parts warm and annoyed, I drift off for the night.
Alas, I do not dream of fighting.
=+=
Mikko comes to visit me in the hot shop the next morning. My childhood best friend, self-proclaimed expert pot-stirrer, and adopted brother, he always brings an enormous amount of energy—and chaos. He and Lionel are definitely made from the same batch of glass. How I ended up with two friends who tease me constantly is a mystery, but surely I’ve done nothing to deserve the persecution.
Strangers to Silaraon have no trouble identifying Mikko’s profession. Few things in life are as obvious. He works in the blacksmith forge nearby, and he looks the part: all bulging muscles and fiery hair, with permanent semi-circular soot stains on his face where the eye pieces don’t protect him. His father is one of the [Gaffers] who took me in after my father died, so we’re more like blood brothers than mere acquaintances.
Mikko elbows me in the ribs as I try to scooch past him to get a fresh batch of glass, chuckling when I grimace at him.
I bump him back. “Oho! Ko, you’re in the way, you great lummox. Some of us have things to do around here.”
“Nuri, Nuri, Nuri. Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?” He snickers at my sour expression and follows me back to the workbench I’ve commandeered for the day. “Heard you’re popular with the local wildlife.”
“Old news, Ko, but you’ve got it wrong. Those cats couldn’t stand the taste of me. Too tough for those monsters! That’s why they spit me back out.”
Mikko rolls his eyes. “Not the Jaguars. I know that was ages ago. You really think my head is made of iron ingots?”
I simply spread my hands wide, shrug, and give him a smarmy grin.
He sighs dramatically and tries to gently punch my shoulder, but the impact is hard enough to bruise muscle and make me stagger. I groan, although it probably doesn’t register to him that he hurt me. Mikko has [Strength of the Forged Gods], [Iron Skin], and [Greater Endurance]. He can bend an iron bar in half with his bare hands—I’ve seen him do it as a trick to impress girls at the tavern. He has to expend mana to activate the burst of power. Over time, however, the constant process of soaking his muscles and bones and ligaments and tendons in mana seems like it’s passively strengthened his already massive frame.
I rub my tender shoulder, hissing a sharp intake of air through clenched teeth to keep from crying. “Wanna walk that one back, Ko? You’re making it even easier than usual for me to point out your advanced stupidity.”
“Listen, flux-brain,” Mikko responds with a laugh, falling back on an old favorite insult, “I’m talking about the birds roosting on top of your cabin all night, not you running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Imagine running from those shadow furballs! Nah, I’m concerned about the wildlife in the surrounding countryside. Do you even realize you’re throwing off the local ecosystem because birds aren’t migrating during winter any more?”
“You’re making that up,” I scoff, but the look on Mikko’s face is too sincere to be a joke. All at once, it clicks into place for me. “The heat transfer drills! My rooftop must be cozy. Why leave the area if they can enjoy the lap of luxury here?”
“See? I’m a caring person. You’re ruining a delicate balance.“ Mikki leans in, his brow furrowed. “I hate to admit it, but I think I envy the birds. Dad keeps the house too cold. That’s why I spend extra time at the forge lately.”
“Is this your way of saying you miss me and you want me to move back home? I’m touched.”
Mikko makes a face. “Only for the winter. I finally got my old room back to myself.”
I laugh. “Fine. I’ll drop by and say hi to Mom. But what do I get out of it?”
“The satisfaction of knowing your best friend is safe from freezing to death. Or do I truly matter so little to you?” He staggers back, a hand clutched to his heart dramatically.
I roll my eyes. “You know my Skill isn’t [Heat Generation], right? It’s [Heat Manipulation]. The energy has to come from somewhere. If I heat up one part of the house, it means freezing the rest of it. Guess whose room will become the new icebox.”
Ember walks by just then, fixing me with a stare that promises she’s going to start docking my pay if I loaf around for much longer. I wave back impishly, but she doesn’t dignify me with a response.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Of course I know about the cold,” Mikko says, returning to our conversation as though Ember never stopped by. “Dad says he’ll butcher one of the cows and freeze a side of beef with the side effects of your totally awesome, not lonely at all, only child of a Skill.”
Somehow, when Mikko makes fun of me, having only one Skill to my name doesn’t sting at all. The joke isn’t quite as funny as he thinks it is, but it still makes me laugh. My brother’s infectious that way, always spreading mirth while I brood but put on a brave face.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve just been a bit dour lately compared with my regular self. I like teasing and laughter as much as the next guy. Meditating on my future has made me more contemplative than usual.
Apparently sensing my mood shift, Mikko pulls out a rolled-up sheet of paper and unfolds it, flattening it out. Holding it with both hands, he presents it to me with an uncharacteristically serious expression.
“Heard through the grapevine that you need a weapon and a training dummy sooner rather than later, so I accelerated our plans for the Iron Lunk. Look over my sketches and diagrams and let me know if you like the proposal. I still think you’re crazy to try to pick up a combat Class after your advancement, but I wouldn’t be much of a brother if I didn’t try to help you.”
“Iron is a little tougher than glass at my level,” I admit, somewhat grudgingly. My throat is too tight with sudden emotion to say much else.
Mikko snickers, knowing how much it costs my pride to make that kind of admission. I’ve been rambling for years about how much I wish I could develop a mana-imbuing Skill someday so I can transform glass to my liking. Metal already does the job better for this purpose.
“Love you, too, bro.” He claps me on the shoulder again—thankfully, not hard enough to send me flying into the furnaces or nearly break my bones this time. Mikko salutes Ember before stomping away on his huge booted feet on his way back to his own workshop, a jaunty whistle on his lips.
I tuck the paper into my pants pocket, safely hiding it behind the sturdy leather apron I always wear when I’m in the glassworks studio. I’ll never hear the end of it if I burn up Mikko’s designs in a moment of inattention, although I try to actively use [Heat Manipulation] all around the clock these days to keep the fires from affecting me. Speaking of the clock, I glance over at the tyrannical time-keeper, gauging how much longer I have until I can dash home and go over the schematics. Mikko might lack some delicacy, but that doesn’t mean he’s not inventive. The big musclehead is highly competent at metal. We’ve planned for years to make this iron automaton, and it could be exactly what I need to push my abilities to the next level.
Lionel waves a hand in front of my face a moment later. “Daydreaming will get you killed, buddy. Come give me a hand with the spiral water clock order. You’ve got the steadiest hand in the studio for applying a secondary color.”
I grunt in acknowledgement and follow Lionel to his workbench. My own orders are backed up, and now I have other plans for the day, but flattery is nice. What are friends for, anyway? I’ll help Lionel when he asks. He’s always had my back when I need help.
The approach to his workbench is littered with cracked, cast-off shards of blue and green glass, in greater volumes than I regularly see. I arch an eyebrow at Lionel. “Cleaning crew off for the day? Or are you just making more of a mess than usual?”
“I can’t seem to get this to work right,” Lionel sighs. “Compatibility should be fine, but as soon as I enable [Quick Cool], the artwork cracks. I think I need your temperature control to fix a problem with the coefficient of expansion.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” I reply instantly, killing Lionel’s hope. “I can’t break all the rules of glassmaking by manipulating heat, not like Ember does. Merging our Skills isn’t going to get around the fundamental problem. You need someone with expansion or compression Skills to get around the difference in elasticity—or a glass creator. Good luck finding a living legend.”
“Shatter that,” he grumbles, falling back on the most popular invective in the glassworks studio. Ember doesn’t like swearing around the shop, so we swap out the coarse language for glass-related expletives. “You’re sure there’s no way around it?”
“Seriously, Lio? How did you graduate before me?” I ask, laughing. “You have to use different glass. Check in the back storage room for additives to change the melting point; that’s the easiest way around the problem. You’re just being lazy.”
He grimaces like he bit into a sour lemon. “Ugh. Help me prep a suitable batch and colorize it, at least? Please, Nuri?”
I snort. “Fine. What are friends for?”
“I wouldn’t know. I only manipulate chumps into helping me,” Lionel shoots back, grinning as we set off to find ingredients.
The teasing doesn’t stop, but we get to work sorting through soluble salts and various glass types to find a suitable match for the base. I pull a few bags of ingredients from the back of the storehouse, relying on the charts we have posted on the walls to give me a general idea of material compatibility. Ingredients suited for the work are more expensive than the glass Lionel wanted to match, but he should still make a tidy profit on the finished order.
I flare my [Heat Manipulation] to speed things along while Lionel fetches the brightly-colored chips to dip the hot glass into once we recolor the new batch of glass. When Lionel is ready with his desired color, I keep the temperature consistent so he can turn the rod and pick up the chips off the marver. Slowly but surely, the mixture deepens into a royal plum. I always find this process hypnotic.
I have to stay focused on my own personal task at hand, however: practicing mana manipulation every second of the day with the goal of unlocking a new Skill. No longer feeling down about my single Skill, I’m nonetheless determined to acquire more. They will be proof of my dedication to the craft, not just a badge of honor.
While we work, I gaze inward at my Skill, trying to follow the flow of energy, but nothing appears visible no matter how much I burst or restrain my mana. I simply lack the mana senses to follow what’s happening.
Lionel frowns at me whenever the temperature in the area fluctuates, but I explain what I’m doing, and he grudgingly nods along with a bit more sympathy. My motivations are shifting, deepening. I’m serious about self-improvement. I want to master magic and glass in the pursuit of beauty. I’m still driven to work hard, but not by some need for an impressive-sounding list of new Skills. The end result might look the same, but the process and purpose are radically different.
“I suppose this is what it means to become an adult,” I muse, straining to see the mana as it swirls around within my soul, imprinting my will upon the world around me.
“I’m tempted to make a joke right now about your maturity, Nuri, but I’ll let that one slide. You’re welcome,” Lionel says with a flourish and a bow. “I am a gracious taskmaster.”
One of the assistants comes by with a punty when Lionel is done with his project, and I slip away while they’re busy detaching the abstract glass art. I’m way behind now on my own orders for the day, but Lio’s in good spirits, so it’s worth the time. We've always been thick as thieves.
I reach for mana as I pick up my tools from the workbench, trying to pull it up into my eyes by sheer force of will. In order to manipulate mana, I first have to learn to sense different types of energies and Skill structures. The hours grind by in an uncomfortable, unfruitful rhythm. Melt the glass, check for energy flows. Shape a blob of nothing into an elegant horse with wings, check for energy flows. Watch a [Lampworker] draw glass into a fine spiral and [Quick Set] it into a fancy chandelier, check for energy flows. Blow through the rod and meticulously expand a bubble of glass? Of course. Check for energy flows.
Sweat builds up on my forehead throughout the day, despite [Heat Manipulation], but I don’t see anything. My eyes burn by the time I finish helping Lionel, and I barely have the energy to wrap up my own specialty project: two perfectly round globes, one red and one blue, made with a temperature-resistant variant of glass that requires three times the heat to melt. They’ve taken all week to craft in my spare time, since we only get to requisition materials for one free custom piece per season. I’m pushing the limits by creating two objects, but Ember will probably let it go since they’re training aids to help with my [Heat Manipulation].
Lionel stops by my workstation on his way home to congratulate me for my success, and for once his praise is completely sincere. Not ruining the notoriously difficult-to-work-with glass type is a sign my fine control is improving. He looks them over, making appropriately impressed noises of approval. He’s my only friend still working past dinner time, so he’s the first to get a short demonstration of the massively increased challenge I’ve created. Moving heat and cold between them is exhausting.
He claps sarcastically at the end of the show, since nothing terribly impressive happens visually, and calls goodnight over his shoulder as he bolts for the door.
Utterly spent, I finally bid farewell to the glassworks studio and stumble home. I haven’t succeeded in unlocking mana sight yet, but my eyes still itch with a weird form of mana-burn. I take it as a sign that I’m definitely on the right path.
“Mana,” I grumble, kicking off my boots and flopping down on my bedroll with a scowl. Whose bright idea was it, anyway, to try to grasp hold of that strange and boundless energy? The power that binds the whole world together is as mysterious and intractable as ever. An entire day of hard work, and I have nothing to show for it.
My internal flow of mana when I engage my Skill is all I can ever see, and even then it’s inconsistent. Most often, the Skill simply takes over, and I do nothing more than provide a nudge. Manually activating and guiding heat transfer and temperature exchanges from start to finish is borderline impossible below the First Threshold, although my fine control is slowly improving. But anything more? Forget it. External mana feels as far away as the moon itself.
After a few more extravagant minutes of allowing myself to indulge in complaints, I roll back to my feet and scrounge up some dried bread crusts for a plain dinner. I have no room in my schedule to cook anymore, since I need all the time I can get when it comes to studying and fighting. I mentally kick myself for moving out from Mikko’s place last year, even if it shortened the trip to Peliharaon. It wasn’t some desperate attempt to prove my independence.
I sigh. I could be sinking my teeth into a juicy steak right now if I’d stayed. Ah well. Sacrifices had to be made. Now I’ve grown used to life on my own. Moving back home seems awkward. I appreciated that Ember opened the way for me to gain experience and become a better artisan, but now I’m paying the culinary price.
Mikko’s schematics pop back into my mind right then. I’m ashamed to admit that I momentarily forgot about his new design, too caught up in annoyance at my failure to lay hold of the secrets of the universe. I slip out the piece of paper, thread a little heat into a slim steel stylus I keep handy, and smooth out the folds and crimps like a [Laundry Worker] ironing a shirt.
“What crazy scheme have you gotten yourself into this time,” I mutter, poring over the surprisingly dense and sophisticated sets of circuitry and ideas for enchantments. As the puzzle pieces slowly fit together, I let out a long, low whistle. When did he get so good! The level of sophistication in the servo design looks like it will grant the automaton flexible movements and explosive power, while the weapon slots promise a world of pain if I misstep while training with the moderately-sized metal murdering machine.
“Now we just need to sell more to earn the money for an [Enchanter],” I say while tapping my finger on the schematic.
The longer I read the second page of notes, the more the idea takes root. I want it. I need it! This training partner will help me bridge the gap between my current capabilities and the limitless potential I want to unlock. Painstakingly, I decode the technical jargon, trying to separate Mikko’s functional devices from Mikko’s flights of fancy. It seems solid, to my surprise. The full scope of Miko’s plan hits me, and I can’t help but grin. Maybe my brother is the more talented craftsman, after all.
Doubt creeps in when I look at the estimated costs of the plan. Mikko may have hit the First Threshold earlier this year, but did advancement really make such a huge difference in his earnings? I tap my chin with the end of the steel stylus—which I reset to its regular temperature to avoid burning myself—and ponder where Mikko gained the skills to pull off this masterpiece of design. I'll have to work harder if I want to keep up with him. That’s what brothers are for, anyway, spurring each other on to greatness and helping each other along the way.
“This seems like patterns for enchantments, but at a higher level than I’ve ever seen. Has Mikko secured a sponsor? That might explain all the talk about how it’s a gift to me.” I pace while I continue thinking aloud.
“Good thing he and I are making excellent money from Lord Garman, or else I don’t know how we would pay for the advanced enchantments, let alone all the parts, labor, and forge time. The only way we can afford this is if a benefactor is footing the bill. How do we get on a permanent payroll!”
I walk back to my table and tap the note with my stylus. “Or perhaps I'll keep picking up extra commissions in the shop. No sense making my brother do everything by himself. Mikko has always been there for me, so it’s time for me to return the support.”
I’ll have to visit my foster family on my next day off. In the meantime, I have to try to complete the entire sequence of energy transfers tonight before running and conditioning. I’m growing so close to a breakthrough in mastery with my [Heat Manipulation] Skill, but I’m still flubbing the sequence. Something is going wrong.
Maybe I should just swallow my pride and ask Ember for advice. She could put me on the right track in seconds, I’ll wager. I can already hear her scolding me in my imagination; I never pay enough attention to the finer details of the Skill. I need to practice with precision and consistency, not brute-force my way to a favorable outcome. Be creative!
I flip the schematics over, pick up a grease pen, and start scribbling out ideas the old fashioned way. If I do gain enough strength, then I can brute-force whatever I want. Until then, I need to get clever about how I utilize glass. Surely there’s a way to advance in combat power through glass-making Classes and Skills. A few moments later, my furiously writing grinds to a halt. I review what I have so far:
1. Surround enemies in giant ball of molten glass to burn, crush, and suffocate them to death
2. Transmute trace alchemical elements within target’s bloodstream into glass, bleeding them from within
3. Master mana-imbuing, create my own versions of Hellfire and Brimstone (but spears for reach?) and become a famous fighter
4. Flash-freeze an entire battlefield with a snap of my fingers, then channel the heat transfer into a ball of glass and fling it at my enemies so it explodes
5. Create an army of glass golems to do my dirty work for me
None of these seem like viable options in the next couple decades. I sigh, put away the big dreams, and pull out the two glass orbs I made earlier at the studio. It’s time to push my Skill to the next level, no matter how hard it is. I grit my teeth and activate [Heat Manipulation]. As usual, the mana burns through my channels. My eyes feel like someone took sandpaper to the surface of my eyeballs. Undaunted, I push against the natural heat resistance of the shimmering glass globes. What’s a little pain compared with a lifetime of power?
The more I grow, the more I can help my friends. I’m sure Ember will approve of that sentiment.