Spell thread was a strange thing. Invisible and undetectable to most, it was the power behind magic, it was magic itself. The thicker the thread the more power it held, but it could be stretched and that power stretched out with it. It formed within a person and they could reach out with it. As long as it remained connected to the caster the caster would have control over it. If spell thread came into contact with other spell thread the weaker spell thread would break at the point of contact. However, spell thread was a slippery thing, it was energy, power and movement. It would not stay still unless forced to. This made using it to draw patterns which would cast a spell tricky as the caster would need to fight with the spell thread's need to move and shift to draw the pattern. Some people had such control and mastery over their spell thread that they could cast simple spells without assistance. Control depended on a variety of factors, shorter width spell thread was easier to control, compressed or stretched spell thread was much harder to control. Practise and discipline could also play major roles in it as control could be learnt But most people needed some help to keep their spell thread in line. So they used focuses, objects with channels in them to contain the spell thread and force it into the right pattern.

The first focuses were simple things; they used channels but no gates, nor did they have any spooling reservoir to protect the caster from mana hungry spells. There was no versatility, each could only be used to cast a single type of spell with no deviation. You simply passed your spell thread down the single path offered and the focus would guide it into the shape of the same spell each time. Times changed and the old focus types were supplanted by more advanced forms, though there will always be some call for the straightforwardness and simplicity of the first focuses. Newer focuses used gates. Once gates were invented focuses changed as focus makers began to make focuses that could be used to cast more than one spell. Designing the channel layout of this more flexible type of focus is difficult. There is a massive array of potential spells and regardless of how well planned the internal layout of a focus is it cannot support all of them. Additionally, each gate slows the casting speed down a little. Complex layouts need more space, slowing casting speed down but increasing the number of spells the focus can be used with. The challenge is to maximise the number of spells, that the caster wants, that can be cast with the focus while minimising size and gate numbers. All this while tailoring it all to the user's spell thread width.

It was an art and a difficult art at that. Had it been easy Elise wouldn't have gained such satisfaction from it. She couldn't help smiling as she used her the tiny sliver that was her spell thread to 'burn' channels into the wand she was making. Spell thread couldn't move objects and some objects resisted spell thread entering them. But when you forced spell thread into an object, in this case, a wooden stick that would become a wand, it caused a change in the structure of the material. This was known as 'burning' and should not to be confused with anything involving fire. Spell thread could flow much easier through material that had been 'burnt' than material that hadn't. By burning paths through the wand you formed channels that would hold the spell thread. By shaping those channels correctly you could form gates. Burning channels into something was a slow but surprisingly mana efficient process. It wasn't a full spell, it was simply forcing your spell thread through an object that rejected it. Even the most simple and basic spells use up more power than that.

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Her fingers worked on the exterior of the stick as her spell thread burrowed deep burning channels and expanding them for us by someone with wider thread than her. It required precise control of her spell thread and all of her attention and so she lost herself in a blissful world of channels, gates and wood. Hours slipped by without her noticing their passing. Until at last her meagre reserves of power were almost depleted by even this power-efficient task. But she had managed to complete it.

She felt it, she felt it any time she completed something, that surge of pride, that sense of overcoming obstacles, of doing something beyond most people, of changing one very small part of the world into something else and the knowledge that she can still do better. Even after all this time, she can still do better. That thought brought a grin to her face.

It had been so long since her six-year-old self had discovered the craft. Even then she knew she fit the profession perfectly, she was made for it. She was a child born in the slums surrounded by people who looked at her with pitying eyes. Too much depended on how powerful you were. Magic was everything and she was the weakest child any of them had ever seen. When they had looked at her, they looked at a child they did not think could ever survive on her own. Yet this child without a future had outlived them all.

Her moment of elation at another successful build of a wand was soon chased away by bitter memories of the past. Regrets, words that had been left unsaid, emotions that had been bottled up and left to ferment, all of it bubbled up. It had been lurking waiting for a moment of vulnerability as it always did. But she the medicine for this. Pulling the bottle of spirits from under the counter, she hobbled over to the table on the customer side of the shop, slumped down into one of the chairs and took a long slow swig from the bottle.

"To the future," she toasted to the empty table and the silent shop. She looked down into the bottle. The liquid sloshing about inside it was the only thing moving. Everything else was still. Everything else was...empty. The bustle outside seemed a world away. In a flight of fancy, she pictured her long-dead friends sitting across from her.

"Well, I did it. I got what I wanted in the end. Everything I said I needed to have to be happy. Well, I got it," she told them, they did not respond.

She took another long, slow, swig from the bottle.

"I'm not going to ask when this stops. I already know the answer to that and it's not one I like,"

Another swig.

"The people here believe in an afterlife. I do not. You know me. Always the contrarian, always the outsider, always the one with strange ideas," she chuckled to herself "I guess I don't change much. But I couldn't help wonder if this whole thing would be easier if I did believe in an afterlife? But no, no that'd make things harder actually wouldn't it?"

Another slow swig and the bottle was empty

The shop remained still and silent. The cluttered workbenches sat unmoving and unattended. They sat there waiting. Waiting for her. Her fingers tapped the lip of the newly empty bottle thoughtfully.

"I suppose I should do something productive. I have spent enough time moping,"

She eyed the fresh wand on the workbench. It was still too soon to start another wand, she needed time to for her expended spell thread to replenish. But she could wrap up a wand and deliver to the client, something which needed no magic.

She limped over to her workstation and the spectres of everyone she had lost followed her. They never left.