The sudden appearance of Sol wasn’t surprising to anyone, not with the entire top of the elongated picnic table covered in design sketches and blueprints. Everyone had finished eating lunch—or was it more brunch? Either way, Sol’s raven swooped down from gliding over the canopy, exploding into a puff of smoke and feathers to reveal the inquisitive Mystic.

“You’ve been busy,” she said to Luka and Eve.

The pair stood beside one another, Eve holding the tome of glyphs up for both of them to read. And while both acknowledged the newcomer’s presence, neither felt like stopping.

Luka pointed at a section of chalk drawing—gears of various sizes sat beside unfinished rotational glyphs and spilled pizza sauce. “Unless these glyphs can generate a lot of torque—enough to rotate heavy stone—I’m not testing it until I have better materials. Steal, mainly.”

“’Torque?’” Sol asked. “Is that one of those fancy music words?”

Eve shook her head, glaring at the woman. “He’s already explained it. If you were here—” She bit her tongue. “Torque is how much strength is needed to rotate something.”

Luka bobbled his head. “More or less. Heavier the item, the more torque is needed to rotate it.” He turned thoughtful before flipping the tome’s pages. “Unless there’s a lack of friction. Is there a glyph for that?”

“Yes,” both Eve and Sol said at once.

Eve gritted her teeth and said, “I don’t know them, though. I don’t think they’re in the book.”

Her aunt nodded along. “I know of one, but the more powerful anti-friction glyphs are property of the Guilds.”

“A glyph can be property?” Luka asked, ending his blind thumbing of the pages.

“If they research and create new, modern glyphs, yes. Why would the Guilds tell the public of their accomplishments when they could sell their services or contract their clusters?”

Eve added, “Selling ‘custom’ glyphs is a large industry.”

Luka understood that, at least. But still, at least on Earth, contractors usually worked closely with engineers—at the very least, they formed partnerships. He asked, “So I can buy a glyph from someone?”

“No. When buying a glyph, they don’t teach it. Someone from the Guilds has to inscribe it for you physically. Full-on buying a glyph is rare and mostly unheard of with regard to the Guilds. You’d have to find an independent glyph trader.”

Sol scoffed. “Those accursed Guilds… glyphcraft is an art! How they could make ‘trade magic’ into an industry is beyond me.”

Eve rolled her eyes and explained, “’Trade magic’ is when magic is outsourced by commission work by the Guilds.”

“Trade magic is not magic,” Sol slurred.

“It is when it works! And! There’s no headache involved trying to figure the missing glyphs out!”

The niece and aunt glared at one another.

Luka cleared his throat. “What about magnetic repulsion and attraction glyphs?”

Like a switch had been flipped, Sol’s hard demeanor softened smoothly. “Those are easy. In the tome.”

He took the tome from Eve, sitting down at the table, and—splat. Cursing, Luka held the book up, finding tomato and raw flour coating the front and back covers.

“Sorry,” he muttered, wiping it off with his shirt.

Sol waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. The blasted thing is enchanted to be indestructible.”

Eve’s eyes lit up. “To a point,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t try to destroy it, please, Luka. Last time, Aunty almost destroyed an entire grove.”

“Bah—” Sol raised a hand, showing off a pulsating orb of dark magic resting casually in her palm. “We could try again. I augmented my explosion spell to be more contained. The shockwave won’t be—”

Luka’s breathing lurched, his vision went fuzzy, and his mind spun.

He remembered the shockwaves—the devastating ripple that sundered even the air. It tore through camp and blew apart tents, the ridge that sat between the camp and testing explosion not so much as slowing it. Beside Luka, scientists took notes, but that wasn’t what he was thinking about. No, he was thinking logistics—how to build more bombs and be ready to protect themselves—

The tome of glyphs fell from Luka’s hands, landing on the table with a dull thud. It was dirty as it was, but not so much as a single page was stained. The same couldn’t be said about Luka. Sweat poured from his forehead and pits, staining his divine-enchanted shirt. The wetness faded as quickly as it came, the enchantment working as intended, but the enchantment could do nothing for his clammy jaw and white-clenched hands.

“What—”

Franky was there in an instant, guiding him to the ground. Luka didn’t know where he came from. Last he saw the orc, Franky was slipping down the slides, attempting to stay on his feet.

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Sol was beside him next, leaning over him as if space itself shifted to accommodate her. She pressed her hand to his forehead, a faint green hue radiating from the connection. She grunted, and the colors came to an end.

Tram and Ben were beside Eve, rushing over from overseeing the children. They spoke in hushed but aggressive whispers, demanding answers for Luka’s sudden collapse. But Eve didn’t know anything; how could she? She couldn’t see Luka’s memories.

Closing his eyes, Luka went over the memory. Bombs? Efficiency? War? He figured his dream last night was induced by the hallucinogenic prismpuff. Obviously, he was wrong. Did he create bombs?

“—ka?”

His eyes focused and he found Sol’s hand glowing deep emerald on his chest. “What’s that?” he asked, his droopy hand and fluttering.

“Healing magic. Now quiet,” snapped Sol. She moved her hand to his neck, then drifted slowly back to his forehead.

“Luka,” Eve whispered, “are you alright?”

He glanced at her, rocks scraping against his cheek. “I—I think I remembered something.”

He didn’t explain what. How could he explain he used to be a monster?

“Quiet,” Sol snapped again. “I’m working.”

Luka watched the green glow pulsate in rhythm with his heart. Wub, wub, wub… it was soothing—like Goddess Tippy’s own glow.

Eventually, Sol backed off, saying, “You’re fine. My magic found no issues, physically at least. Mentally, that’s another story. Mind sharing what you ‘remembered?’”

Luka thought about it, but shook his head. “Not right now.” He sat up, groaning. “And thanks for healing me… I don’t really know what that means, but you acted quickly. So thanks.”

Sol looked toward the lake, her gaze falling on a specific ridge along the far edge of the water. “Don’t mention it,” she said distantly.

Tram clapped her hands. “I think that’s enough action for the day. Why don’t you go rest? Take a nap, find a nice bed to lay in. Not everything needs to be done today, especially this ‘carousel’ of yours.”

Franky whistled, calling over the dire-beasts from where they lounged with their front paws in the water. A half-dozen kids climbed all over them, leaping from their backs like personal fuzzy diving boards. Olive, the emu, was off doing bird things nearby.

Soon, the two orcs and one human said goodbye to the elders and were off to the bar.

***

Luka lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Little light seeped between the dark curtains and wall, the noon sun still high. Mr. Todd’s bar was connected to an inn through a single rock pathway. Inside was nothing special, just square undecorated rooms in a rectangular three-story building. It was a place meant for drunkards to rest from their hangovers or travelers and merchants to stay on the cheap—city inns were exuberant compared to what Mr. Todd’s inn cost to rent a room.

Luka’s room was no different than the others. A cot sized for an orc pushed against the wall, and the paint where the frame touched rubbed clean off. A single pillow and scruffy blanket was all there was—no bed sheet, no pillowcase, no comforter. Three small steps from the foot of the bed, a wooden desk the size of a modest book open wide collided with the room’s door. If swung open, the door and desk would hit, providing each with a dent.

Trying to take Tram’s advice to “take a nap,” Luka instead found himself alone for the first real-time since coming to this world. He wanted to sleep; he sure was tired, and his head sure did hurt… but he couldn’t. He was like this on Earth, too, he remembered. Sleepless nights were common. Unfortunately, his mind just never wanted to rest.

Maybe we were testing the safety of a project? Maybe we weren’t creating bombs— He cursed at himself. Close your eyes and fall asleep. The shockwaves… they aren’t me anymore.

Someone outside the inn yelled something, a patron no doubt arriving for the evening. The clop of horse—or perhaps a dire-beast’s—hooves trotted across the grass, each step echoing in Luka’s room. He heard the rider flick their reigns, dragging the beast and a full cart of wares about. Within minutes, more voices appeared, along with the grunts and moans of laborers moving crates and boxes.

Maybe Mr. Todd is getting a delivery? Boxes and barrels of alcoh—

Luka gritted his teeth, there he was again, his mind stirring at nothing. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep…

“Gah,” he slurred, flipping off the scruffy blanket and letting it fall to the dirty floor. He flung his legs over the edge of the bed and stopped.

Bombs, shockwaves, war… that’s not me, Luka thought. It can’t be.

He eyed the tome of glyphs sitting on the much-to-small table. It seemed to loom, mocking him, its countless pages of alien knowledge. Luka sucked on his bottom lip—he wanted to read it. To study it. To learn the secrets of his magic and how to produce something that was better than his dreams—or memories—of death and destruction.

Little Ren and Nicole came to mind. Mr. Sticky’s owner and the prodigal chef. What about the others? Were they as innocent as Nicole? Were they as opportunistic as Ren?

Luka stood from the bed and pushed it three small steps to the table. The room didn’t come equipped with a chair—though Eve assured him he could request one.

The bed will work just fine, he thought, opening the curtains slightly. Light spilled in, illuminating spots on the tome where he missed clearing pizza sauce.

The beginning of the book was boring, supplemental information to the lesson Sol, and Eve, had given him. He skipped around, stopping on a page that described a glyph that secreted a type of wyvern venom. He stopped reading partway down—medical practices were not his specialty. Another page was blank other than a crude drawing of a glyph with no title, explanation, or given description. There was no way he was testing that one.

Soon he found the water glyphs. Fresh, salt, pure, and the many, many accompanying fixtures and symbols that dealt with pressure, volume, speed the water was created at, or even color and transparency.

Glyphs worked like hamburgers.

First you pick what the bun needs—water, fire, etcetera—then you add the meat—a singular large variation that dictated the rest of the toppings—then everything else you wanted on it—the smaller things, the things that make the meal.

He continued reading, looking for alternatives to supplement Earth’s large-scale engineering. Mimicking electricity would be a problem but with glyphs and magic? There was no doubt in his mind the sky was the limit.

The sun began to set by the time Luka finally stopped reading. He had blueprints in his mind, but that’d come tomorrow.

First, he had to make sure Leo was fed dinner.

And as he escaped the small, square room and checked on the dire-wolf, an idea formed.

“Smash burgers… the kids would love ‘em…”