[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

The [Messenger Boy]’s dire declaration accomplishes a miracle I’ve never seen before: the entire studio stops working.

Stunned silence descends for a moment. Ragged gasps from the exhausted messenger punctuate the eerie calm, ruining the otherwise perfectly frozen scene. He lifts haunted eyes and seeks out Ember, even though her adventuring days are over. A pained spark of hope flares to life, quickly snuffed out at the sight of her clenching jaw and narrowing eyes. She has responsibilities here. Although he appears too tired to speak any longer, the desperate question in his gaze is unmistakable.

“I’ll go!” I blurt out before my mind catches up with my mouth. I don’t wait for a response, already dashing over toward the long-coveted swords. As dangerous as a pack of Shadow Jaguars is to a midsize settlement like our little city—truthfully, a threat rating far beyond anything I’m equipped to handle—this may prove my only chance to grasp hold of a better future for myself. I make a point to shy away from saying something as grandiose as “taking hold of destiny,” even in the privacy of my own mind.

Still, as my fingers close around the smooth, cold handles of the translucent swords, the jumble of emotions flooding through me are more akin to elation than fear. This is it! This is the moment I am looking for!

“Nuri, I swear by all that is sacred, if you don’t put down my swords, you’ll be drinking soup through a straw for the rest of your short, miserable life.”

Ember’s irritable growl jerks me back to reality. I sheepishly hand the weapons to Ember, and make my way over to the Lina twins. We stand shoulder to shoulder, watching Ember with wide eyes as she tucks the blades into her waistband and springs into action, ghosting out the door like a bolt of lightning and leaving an afterimage in the air.

“Some people have all the luck! How did she hide peak quality movement Skills?” Avelina squeaked.

“The more important question is why,” Melina says, her voice uncharacteristically shaky.

“She fought in her younger days,” I say stupidly, as though it’s not common knowledge. The senior [Gaffers] love telling tales about her wild life before settling down at the shop and turning “respectable.”

Melina’s arching eyebrow tells me all I need to know about her analysis of my blabbering. I throw up my hands in protest, and once again state the obvious, my tongue seemingly moving on its own accord. Treacherous little mass of muscle. “Maybe she was better than we realized.”

A snicker from Lionel cuts right through the awkward atmosphere. One of the older [Lampworkers] picks up the undercurrent of amusement. He wheezes, tries to hold in more laughter, and utterly fails, tears streaming down his cheeks in merriment. “Did you all see the look on Nuri’s face when he had to give up those pointy-stickers? You’d think Ember poisoned his cat or something.”

We all chuckle, even though I don’t have a cat. I do not like cats. Pets in general are too much work, but I hate cats in particular. Animals are a big waste of time, as I am eager to inform anyone who will listen. It’s not a popular opinion, for some strange reason. People must derive some bizarre sense of satisfaction from inconveniencing themselves. Maybe they like to feel needed? Anyway. Cats. Hate ’em.

The [Lampworker] finally claps twice, in mimicry of Ember, and the studio workers obediently pivot away from an exciting emergency they can do nothing about to boring glasswork that secures an income.

I appreciate the lifeline of the humorous diversion, but part of me also wants an answer to the question Melina raises. A grand Skill like the one Ember just displayed is inextricably linked to a Class. To be fair, I have heard of people occasionally picking up a secondary Class, sure, but at massive rank disparity. A side Class is just the mark of a hobby—a level 15 [Glass Smith] who performs regularly at a nightclub might become a level 1 [Singer], for example. The downside is that a secondary Class may take months, or even years, to reach level two, however, barring truly extraordinary circumstances. Ember is one of the highest-level crafters in the region; she can’t possibly have a hobby that powerful.

Unless, of course, crafting is the hobby.

Melina meets my eyes, her lips pressed together as though in deep thought. She seems to arrive at the same fascinating, impossible conclusion, and whispers, “Talk later,” before scurrying back to workbench three.

She’s nothing if not industrious. I can respect that level of commitment. But it’s simply not for me. I nod curtly to the head [Lampworker], who is restoring order with admirable efficiency, pick up the biggest metal rod from the crucible, and willingly commit the greatest sin of the hot shop: I stop turning the glass, letting it harden into a useless pile of glop, and abandon my post to hunt monsters and seek glory.

I hate cats, after all.

=+=

Fifteen minutes later, my heroic sprint is now an undignified hobble. My left hamstring cramps up, and I can’t seem to stretch it out or loosen up the muscle. I lean on my makeshift metal rod weapon, eyeing the crusty bits of dried glass covered in caked-on mud and grass clippings, and rethink my life. I’m a delicate artist, not some brute [Warrior]!

Thankfully, the terrain between the glassworks studio and the city center is relatively flat—all rolling grasslands and parcelled-off farmland, now paved over to facilitate commercial traffic. A few mansions dot the otherwise bland landscape, set back from the road and hidden from the common rabble by rows of flowering bushes and stately trees.

Up ahead, beyond my limited visibility on this fine, misty morning, the screams from the attacking monsters intensify. The faint answering cries of the harried city folk transform my admittedly wavering resolve into steely conviction. I may lack the required conditioning for long distance running, but I’m not a weakling. Or a coward. I heft my metal rod, resting it over my shoulder, and resume running, albeit at a slower pace as I try to ignore the stabbing pain in my left leg.

Pushing through the discomfort, I break through the thinning fog at last and catch my first glimpse of the mana-empowered shadow beasts. “What am I thinking?” I murmur to myself, skidding to a stop and sizing up the invading pack. Each Shadow Jaguar is bigger than a horse, and twice as fast. They leap onto rooftops without needing to crouch or gather themselves! Their muscular bodies ripple and twitch under glossy, sable fur, propelling them past fleeing civilians too quickly for my untrained eyes to follow the carnage. Three of the enormous creatures surround a young family, roaring with gaping jaws and long, yellowed teeth.

Like a spark leaping free from the furnace, Ember flashes down from a nearby house to interpose herself between the Shadow Jaguars and a mother with a babe in her arms. Ember’s translucent glass blades sing through the air, trailing faint grey-black smoke, and a monster loses its head. Two more slashes, and the threat is eliminated; three upper Brass-ranked beasts dead in the blink of an eye. How?

I lift my hand to hail her, but she’s already in motion, blurring toward the next group of interlopers, Hellfire and Brimstone in her hands.

I jog toward the family to see if they need help, quite pleased with myself over my impromptu nickname for the swords. All good weapons have names in the bards’ stories, after all. Why should these be any different? They’re clearly powerful, if Ember can cut through the monster’s necks with such contemptuous ease.

The father barely acknowledges me, but I guess I can’t blame him for not exchanging pleasantries in the middle of an attack. He’s too busy herding the children toward steps cut into the stone street. Underneath the dark, low archway, the stairway entrance is covered by a thin membrane of magic. The portal is keyed to only allow sapient species through, not beasts like the Shadow Jaguars. Once inside, the family will be safe from the attack.

I wave at their retreating backs as they disappear through the shimmering portal. Idly, I wonder why a barrier of this quality can’t envelop the entire city, but I suppose the mana costs for such a potent security measure is probably exorbitant. Maybe I could erect a set of glass spikes or something once I discover how to imbue with mana. Surely I’ll learn, someday. I am destined for greater things than basic heat manipulation; that truth resonates in my bones and marrow, down to my innermost soul.

Undeterred by my lack of success so far, I head to the next street over, accessing my one Skill to lower the surrounding temperature and superheat the end of the metal rod in my hands instead. By the time I round the corner and find a pair of the Shadow Jaguars patrolling down the street, the tool itself is in danger of melting, glowing almost white-hot with the transfer of heat, while my breath is visible in the shallow pocket of cold around me.

One of the Shadow Jaguars turns toward me, its amber eyes instantly locking on mine. Immediately, I break the connection, staring instead at its claws, not daring to test its reported mental attacks. I need a clear mind for what’s coming next. Paranoia will only get me killed, and I have big plans. This is a stepping stone into my future.

The massive Shadow Jaguar lunges forward, claws raking sideways at my face. A faint sheen of sickly green mana coats the claws, and I instinctively know that I do not want to let the putrefying attack touch me. I fling myself flat onto the dusty cobblestones, stabbing the glowing metal tip of the rod at the monster’s face. Sizzling flesh and tormented howls reward my blind thrust, and my heart practically vibrates in my chest with the excitement of scoring my first hit as I roll to my feet and swing at its exposed underbelly with both hands on the staff.

Thrashing about, the monster smashes its shoulder into my gut before my wild slash can connect. The blow sends me sprawling, tumbling across the street to smack into a stone wall. My vision flashes white, and I clutch at my chest, scared that I broke a rib. A gurgling wheeze escapes my throat. I can’t breathe, sucking air to no avail.

I’ve had the wind knocked out of me before, but the agony in my chest feels more like my lungs are popping. Once again, I siphon the ambient heat into the metal rod, but this time I intentionally draw it away from my cracked ribs and screaming lungs. The sudden coat of rime on my skin probably isn’t good for my health, but the numbing chill saps away the pain and snaps my mind back into a state of clarity.

I force myself into a vaguely martial squat, thankful that I’m still clutching my makeshift weapon, and flare the heat outward in a dramatic arc. The sudden burst of pseudo-fire makes the beasts flinch back, buying me time to regroup and try to come up with a battle plan, but the terrifying keenness of their gaze tells me that they’re too smart to fall for the trick for long.

Instead of trying to flee on my cramping leg, I double down on my feint and charge them as best I can in my injured state. With a grunt, I swing the rod like a grumpy child beating a dirty rug even though it’s his least favorite chore, a vivid scene from my childhood that suddenly flashes through my mind for some reason.

The Jaguar bats away my crude weapon and hits back, scoring a slash across my chest and crushing me into the ground. My ribs groan in protest at the violence of the impact, but the thick leather apron from the hot shop saves my skin. Literally. If the envenomed, razor claws cut me, I won’t live long enough to find an antidote.The alchemical coating makes the leather far tougher than it could otherwise become through natural means.

Only one of the huge cats has attacked me so far, but when I still show signs of struggle after the latest smackdown, the second Shadow Jaguar launches itself into the fray with a snarl, pinning me to the ground and slavering on my face. Its hot, warm breath reeks of death and decay. My right arm, along with the metal rod, twists underneath me, no longer a factor in the fight. Without the threat of fire, the monstrous cats have nothing further to fear.

I punch ineffectually at its sleek, predatory snout, but it seems more bemused than threatened by me, snuffling as it lowers closer, looming over me with the gloating certainty of a superior beast. Every one of its whiskers is in stark focus in front of my eyes, quivering as its nose scrunches up while it sniffs my supine form. My entire body shakes uncontrollably with a spike of fear-fueled adrenaline.

Deep within me, a spark of defiance comes to life. I slap my left palm to its face and draw more deeply on [Lesser Heat Manipulation] than ever before. I try to flare the Skill even further with my clumsy control, but it resists, as though I’m trying to drink up an entire river through a straw. I strain anyway, until something inside snaps. Mana spools out of me at an alarming rate, and frost radiates across the black fur of the Shadow Jaguar, flash-freezing its eyes in its skull. The monster rears back with an ear-piercing shriek of agony, freeing me from its crushing weight.

But every action demands a reaction. I have to send the gathered heat somewhere. I jab my hand, fingers rigid like a blade, into the massive cat’s soft stomach, and unleash the excess heat. With a rush of power, the supercharged Skill pours forth in blistering heat, charring the beast from the inside out. The oily, rancid smoke of burning flesh assaults my senses, stinging my eyes and choking me as it roils inside my throat.

The incredible energy draw via my solitary Skill drains my mana pool down to the very last dregs, sending waves of nausea through me. A splitting headache blurs my vision for the second time in the last few minutes. I heave up my breakfast onto the street, tears streaking down my cheeks, and fight valiantly to stay conscious.

The other monster roars, but doesn’t attack right away, circling me on its massive paws, seemingly wary after its packmate—or actual mate? I don’t know much about their pack’s social structure—freezes and burns right in front of it.

I fling myself sideways to avoid the death throes of the monster still half on top of me, dragging my increasingly-unresponsive body out of the danger zone. “At least I took one with me,” I mutter as the darkness closes over me, but I’m unconvinced it’s actually a good trade.