Modran wrinkled her nose at the tang of copper that hung in the air. Chickens cackled inside the confines of their wire-pen in the corner of grandfather’s backyard. She struggled to keep herself from pinching her nose to block out the heavy stink of blood that dripped from the coat of red that clung to her gloves and black clothes she wore.

“Keep it steady, keep it steady.” Grandpa instructed firmly as she kept the plucked chicken’s skin taut for Theo to cut an incision along its side. They had sedated the chicken with a mix of drugs that’d knock a horse out, only grandpa’s archetypes kept it alive, but they’d need all of it after they tested the gambit of talents at their disposal. She was impressed with how much control Theo had over his body now that he manifested his talent. “Good. Nice and neat, perfect.”

“Should I go first this time?” Modran asked. At grandpa’s nod, she gathered up the dark flow of her talent in her mind until she nearly threw up from the clamor of people walking in the streets, the clucking chickens, and especially the aroma of blood and death.

Then she forced it out in an exhale.

A cloud of red streamed out of her mouth. It drifted as she willed it to billow towards the prone chicken, but for every inch she propelled the cloud, the weaker she got. Her hands shook, her eyes dimmed bit by bit, and thankfully, so did the stench.

But the more her life dwinkled in a cloud before her eyes, the harder she had to fight the yawning void inside of her that demanded she tore the life from everything around her until she was satiated. She doubled her focus on keeping the cloud of red light tight as it began to settle over the chicken.

Life welled up from the chicken instantly as it started to evaporate at the touch of her talent, but she guided the cloud closer to the chicken’s skin. It tightened and condensed bit by bit until a puddle of dark light floated on top of it like a second skin of blood.

Her arms and legs rattled in time with her chattering teeth. Her lungs wheezed, swept dripped and poured down her face. But she kept the cloud from snatching the vital lifeforce it detected on top of the skin, in the slow inhale and exhale, deep inside with every heartbeat that declared the animal was alive.

Modran had dusted the last three she’d attempted this on, but she balanced it so far.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she gently guided the puddle of light towards the chicken’s lifethread that pulsated before her. It was a beautiful tap, tap, tap of life. Simple, but so powerful.

The pool of red light dripped onto the lifethread and her whole body twitched as the simple tap-tap became a symphony. It sang and pleaded for her to let it fill her up cell by cell, they longed for each other. Life wanted to throw itself at her feet so she could devour every drop of it.

She resisted.

Even as her muscles achingly spasmed, her bones felt like they were caught between the jaws of a vice, her mouth was as dry as ash and tasted like it too. Shivers sawed her body one way then another, even as sweat streamed off of her.

Still, she resisted.

Red seeped down the chicken’s lifethread as it saturated it. She felt something like a ghost through it, as if it were a part of the anchor for the soul to the spirit. Light crackled as she pulled the lifethread as taut as she could, as she submerged the ghost and body both under the red cloud of her talent.

Modran was dimly aware that she’d collapsed, even as her attention remained on the chicken’s lifethread. It felt almost as if she had an axis of choice. She could twist her talent one way to consume every bit of vitality it had, more than she ever could before or she could twist another to suffuse it with as much life as she wanted.

That was one axis, but she sensed another less familiar to her.

She felt as if she could squash the chicken’s soul into the chicken’s body and make it nearly incorporeal… or she could perhaps reverse it and make it more solid? Remove the soul entirely, but keep the body alive? Somehow?

Modran nearly lost her focus entirely the moment she watched a few bubbles of the red cloud of her talent, her life, dissipate as they deteriorated away. She couldn’t maintain this endlessly.

Maybe if she just drained the chicken's life and soul then she’d be recovered well enough to maintain her composure for the next one?

No! She refocused as she tore a section of her life free and gave some of it over. Then she reeled her talent back to herself. She groaned as her nerves, sight, hearing, smell and taste all sharpened. Strength flooded back into her body.

Yet, there was a profound sense of loss. Every moment she lived, she was aware of how she inched bit by bit closer to her death, and doing what she had marched her forward several steps.

“Congratulations! You did it!” Grandpa crowed as he helped haul her back to her feet. A spark of energy leapt from her into him as he healed her with his talent and skills. It dulled the edge of what she’d done, but they couldn’t heal death. At least, not yet, only she could do that.

She smiled at grandpa then turned to look at Theo before she inwardly winced at the coldness in his eyes as he studied the still sedated chicken on the table. Anger and hurt spiked through her heart, was he upset that she actually succeeded? Was he disturbed that she finally took a step towards independence?

If she mastered her talent, she wouldn’t be as dangerous as everyone from her family always feared!

“The chicken’s heart is beating so strongly now,” Theo murmured as he bent over the table to peer closer at it. The wound closed with only a faint scar that gleamed in the afternoon light. Small bristles of feathers began to poke free from its skin as its plumage slowly regrew.

“Yes, your sister did a good job. Was it hard, Modran?”

“Incredibly so. I had to fight tooth and nail to do it.” She beamed as she wiped the cool sweat from her forehead.

“But you did it.” Grandpa nodded at her then turned to Theo. “Can you do the same?”

“I’ll try.” He nodded grimly while he narrowed his eyes at it.

Modran’s hands shook while she watched grandpa repeat the same process for Theo as they cut another line into the sedated bird. Red light glittered as Theo’s nimbus wrapped around him in a haze.

Theo held his hands above the chicken as he grunted and swore. He sweated and gritted his teeth as if he strained against an immense weight that he was trying to push down on it.

Modran watched excitedly at first, then dully, at the dozing chicken with a straight cut that leaked a lazy pool of blood. It was very much still not healed.

Minutes passed punctuated with Theo pushing so hard his face was almost purple, the veins in his forehead bulged and pulsed. Modran shared a glance with grandpa who shrugged at her.

“Please stop! You’re both being so distracting.” Theo complained as he pulled back to glare at both of them. “The harder I push at my talent the more I can sense the small twitches of your eyes as you look from me to this fucking chicken.”

“It’s alright, Theo. It’s only been what? Two or three days since you manifested your talent? You’re doing fine, great even. It can take time to use talents externally.” Grandpa said as he patted Theo’s shoulder.

“I guess.” Theo rubbed at his neck, he looked oddly chargined. “I need to learn though.”

“Healing is a gift. It’ll come in time.” Grandpa shrugged as he waved his hand, the chicken suddenly pushed to peak health in a flash of red. “Keep practicing with your talent on yourself and eventually you’ll be able to use it on others.”

Theo grinned as he took the knife from the table and slashed it across his palm. Blood pooled in his palm before he used his talent to seal it before either her or grandpa could react.

“Theodran!” Modran shouted as she lunged for the knife, but he danced away from her reach.

“Did that help?” Grandpa asked nonchalantly. “It seems your talent healed you better than I could with my talent or skills, even with the influence of my archetypes.”

“No. It happens so fast.” Theo frowned as he raised the knife again.

“Stop! Wait!” Modran shrieked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Practicing how to use my talent?” Theo raised his eyebrows as if she’d declared the sky was green. “How is this any different from you dying? You started being able to drain life from things after you died a few times.”

“That was different!” Modran protested as she reached for the knife again.

“How? Because it’s you? Other people are allowed to take risks too.”

“It’s just wrong!” She snapped as she tried to take it again, but grandpa clicked his fingers, igniting then stretching out a bar of flame between them.

“Enough. If you can’t contain yourself then you’ll have to leave to cool down.” Grandpa warned before he let the flame break apart in a series of sparks. Modran smiled in self-satisfaction at Theo. Thank Aleyr grandpa put him in his place.

“You have the [Mage] archetype?” Theo asked in abject surprise and curiosity. “I thought that was really rare outside of the Romadan Chalice?”

“It is rare, and no, I only have a few basic elemental skills. After your birthday I can start teaching you some, if you like, but it’d be far more helpful to have a major talent instead of a minor one.” Grandpa nodded at him before turning to frown at her. “And by the way, I meant you need to calm down.”

“I am calm! He’s the one hurting himself.” Modran crossed her arms.

“The best way to use talents externally is to stretch what it can do individually,” Grandpa shrugged. “Watch or leave. You did well with your talent, but you’re at the next stage where you may stretch what you can do both individually and externally. Take it easy and be careful if you decide to continue experimenting today.” Grandpa dismissed her as he held his hand out for the knife.

Modran reeled in surprise and wanted to argue, but Theo had already handed the knife over while grandpa grabbed his arm and gently poked and squeezed at his veins from his hands to the middle of his forearm, right at the elbow. Then he took the knife and sliced carefully at the vein he had selected.

Blood welled around the knife instantly then squired as it slid deeper in Theo’s arm. Modran’s face and arms went numb as she swayed at the crimson jets of blood that already coated Theo’s arm and fell in a rain that soaked the grass.

She yanked at her talent as Theo swooned. His skin was gray-white in stark contrast to the sheet of red pouring from the small rent in his arm. He collapsed in a tangle of limbs even as she darted forward to heal him, but grandpa held her back.

Crimson light seared down Theo’s arms, the veins visible in his arm glowed red. In slow spurts, the bleeding slowed until it stopped entirely. Theo tried to sit up dazed, but his arms and legs collapsed beneath his weight.

“Why didn’t you let me help him?” She snapped as she broke out of her grandpa’s grip as she turned to glare at him, but he moved past her to check on Theo.

“He’s fine, Modran. I know what I’m doing.”

Modran stared at them flabbergasted as he wiped the blood from Theo’s arm with a rag he pulled from his pocket. She shook. Her stomach churned with the refuge of breakfast.

“Thanks, let’s go again..” Theo nodded limply at grandpa, even as color bled back into his pale skin. He took the knife out of grandpa’s hands as he held it eagerly over his own arm.

“No, no, no. I can’t watch this. Good luck.” She shouted over her shoulder as she swept out of the courtyard to escape her family’s madness. She’d been reckless countless times, but never like that.

Modran stormed out of the house in a whirl through street after street where she barely paid any attention to the constant stream of foot and carriage traffic. Storefronts and trade buildings all screamed for attention, but she ignored them all as she pressed forward in search of the Restful Roost.

It bothered her how willing they both were to harm in the pursuit of Theo’s healing talent. Theo might call her a hypocrite for caring about him hurting himself in order to practice with his talent, but their situations were entirely different. She didn’t choose to die, but he sure chose to suffer in order to practice.

Modran stopped as a flash of silk caught her eyes through a window across the street. Modran rushed through the throng of traffic so she could press her nose right up against the glass. Dresses with petticoats, dresses for riding and for dueling and everyday life flowed elegantly from mannequin after mannequin. Suits and robes and tunics draped from taller more masculine mannequins.

“How may I help you?” Asked the matter-of-fact clerk who raised her head from a bolt of cloth on the workbench where she sat in the back of the store. She had her bun pinned with sewing needles, and seemed to ignore the procession of needles and thread that moved under the control of her deft Skills to create what piece of clothing she was working on.

“I…” Modran gaped, dry-mouthed as she belatedly realized she had walked in without noticing it. “Will you be taking any apprentices in a few weeks? I’ll be twenty then.”

The woman’s eyes moved inch by inch up and down Modran’s gangly body and her neat, but heavily worn clothes. Including her gloves and trouser-stitched skirts. She wished that she’d had fancier colors to work with instead of drab grays and browns.

“Are you currently apprenticed to anyone?” She asked as she stood up so she could move closer to study Modran. The bolt of cloth floated behind her in a constant stream of motion.

“No. I’m self taught.” Modran raised her chin with a false sense of bravado. As the woman stalked around her in a narrow circle to view her from every angle.

“Without a talent for stitching, I see. What is your talent, girl?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Then I have no need for you. Farewell.” She spun on her heel, but stopped when Modran called out.

“Wait! I can’t quite die, but I have a passion for needlework. My family couldn’t spare enough chips to fund me in doing this, but it’s been one of the few things I could do since I was a child.”

“How do you mean ‘you can’t quite die’, child?”

“I just come back? I grow very ill and then just die and then come back.” She shrugged embarrassed. A small, distant part of her screamed at her for saying any of this at all, but she silenced it every time she glanced over at the stunning dresses and suits. They were as fine as the ones Isidora wore, better even. Brocades with silver and gold embroidery sparked on them that’d have an artist weeping.

“Join the Order then. I’m sure they’d love to have you as a scout or some such.” She sat back down at her workbench so she could pull out a periwinkle bolt of cloth to feed it to the dress that was growing before Modran’s very eyes. “I have no use for you without formal training, a talent, or even any Skills, yet.”

“What if I do have skills and even archetype when I turn twenty?” Modran marched forward as she narrowed her eyes. “Aleyr knows I’ve done little else.”

“A newly-twenty year old’s skills will be pale aids compared to the true mastery I’d require. If you can stitch anything at all without touching it, I’ll consider it. I create full dresses, suits, and outfits in less than a day. This is my fourth dress of the day, and it’s not even noon. How could a tradePage-elect who can’t die be of any use to me instead of a hindrance? Do you even have any chips for your Accounting, yet? ”

“I…” Modran stuttered out, but was cut off before she could continue.

“Come back if you’re skills or archetype are of any use then, but otherwise don’t come back to bother me with this nonsense unless you wish to buy real clothes. Good day.”

Modran’s ears burned with shame while she walked out the door and took a half dozen steps so she could hide in an alley next door. Her hands shook in rage, despair and longing in the folds of her dress’s pockets.

Lifethreads twanged all around her in a chaotic wail as her emotions built under the dam of her self control.

She longed to scream and rave.

To lash out.

Modran took a deep breath as ghosts formed in banks of faint red mist all around her. She ignored them even as the void inside of her panged for a fresh meal.

“Oy, look who we have here. A tradePage-elect! It’s our lucky day.” Screeched a reedy voice from the recesses of the alleyway. Modran’s head darted up as she realized that she had gone farther than she had thought. Two boys dressed in dirty rags stained with countless meals, soot and mud crept towards her.

“I bet she has loads of chips to spare for the less fortunate. Look at how well dressed she is.” Said the shorter one in an ungainly lisp.

“Leave me alone.” Modran snapped as she turned to leave, but blinked in surprise. She didn’t recognize the barely lit street that filtered through the narrow gap between the roofs above her. Where was she?

“We will, we promise… once you pay us.” Reedy said as he pulled a knife out from somewhere. It was an even uglier tool than the hideous garments he wore. The surface of the blade was as pitted and scarred as the pores of his face.

“Yeah!” Lispy shouted in approval as he lofted a makeshift club that looked suspiciously like a broken table or chair leg with his old rags, or more likely his old clothes, wrapped around the handle.

“Please go away. I don’t want children’s lives on my conscience.” She rolled her eyes as she watched and smelled them get closer. A part of her wished she had taken her sword back from Theo, but she hadn’t yet. Like a dumbass, she hadn’t thought she’d really need it.

“Miss, we’re the ones with weapons here.” Reedy chuckled as he took a hesitant step forward.

Modran flexed her talent as she hesitantly prepared to reach for their lifethreads. As she did so, she noticed that it was oddly already full somehow. Or at least as full as ever could be.

“Gram, Cobble, stop! She has a talent!” An older boy close to her age screamed as he leaped down from the roof to roll in front of her to put himself in between the three of them.

“How do you know?” She squinted at the barely visible nimbus around him. It seemed oddly weak, but she wasn't necessarily the best judge after all.

“The rats told me. They started screaming that you were the Blight and that you’d kill us all if I didn’t stop you.” He said nervously as he shifted from foot to foot. “So… are you?”

“No I wasn’t going to kill you or these boys.” She lied as she crossed her arms to contain any trembling.

“Liar. You didn’t want to, but you were about to.” He sighed, but then waved her towards the street. “Leave and we won’t bother you tradePage-elect.”

Modran started to walk away then turned to call back to him, interrupting his whispered presumable lecture, “Where am I anyway?”

“The Outermost Ring, why? Want to pay for a guide somewhere?” He snickered as she turned away to ignore him and walk towards the street.

Fear hammered at her heart.

Grandpa’s clinic and that shop had been in the Innermost Ring. How had she gone so far and how was she so full of life? Had she drained the life of something or died?

What had happened?