[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

I’m still not certain how Mikko scrapes together the money for the automaton. The iron itself is cheap and plentiful at the forge, but enchanting is a rare profession in these parts. Small cities like ours—Silaraon barely qualifies as a big town, if I’m being cynical—simply can’t compete with the demand or the prices that a larger city can provide for skilled enchanters. I refuse to insult his generosity by prying into Mikko’s secrets, however, so I accept his gift without further comment.

Part of me itches to ask how to get on the money train. For purely scientific reasons, naturally.

Today, after weeks of waiting, Mikko’s finally ready to put the training dummy to the test. The deepening chill of winter proves an effective motivator, and his dad joins the project with zeal, eager for me to come by more often and keep the house comfortable. I’m fond of spending time with him, since he always acts suitably impressed by my [Heat Manipulation] applications. What can I say? I’m easy to flatter.

Mikko is already in the backyard warming up when I arrive at their house. Despite the cold, he’s stripped down to just his black pants and boots, swinging around a rod twice as tall as I am that probably outweighs me by a factor of two or three. His muscles are covered in a sheen of sweat that’s half-frozen in the winter chill, and he’s breathing out a warm fog in the frosty air.

In front of Mikko, a roughly humanoid iron statue rotates on a short, blocky pedestal, and at random projects a beam of red light onto the snow-encrusted ground. As soon as the colorful light hits the ground, Mikko surges into action, heaving the massive pillar and burning mana to fuel his otherworldly strength. A patch of dirt explodes in front of him, sending ice and bits of rock and sand in all directions.

Before the debris fall back to the earth, the automaton pulses out two more lights in a precise sequence of alternating colors: first a blue rectangle, and then a red circle. Mikko turns the pillar into an oversized spear, thrusting into the center of the rectangle, and swiftly shifts his stance to power another two-handed swing at the circle.

“I’m very glad that I’m not a geometric shape,” I call out, warning him of my presence before I advance into the backyard and inadvertently get flattened by a wayward backswing of the absurd weapon Mikko is wielding.

He halts in the middle of another attack, twists a bracelet on his wrist that I hadn’t seen previously, and the automaton powers down.

Linked control. Neat.

“Hail, my frail brother. Come witness your inferiority!”

Mikko casually tosses the pole down next to the automaton, and it clangs against the icy ground with enough force to leave a three-inch-deep divot. It looks more like a lamppost he’s ripped up than a spear or a staff, and I’m sure that most [Weapons Masters] would blanche at the thought of a beginner practicing combat forms with such a ridiculous implement. There’s no denying its sheer smashing power, however. Mikko could probably bash through the city wall with that thing.

I simply yawn in exaggerated fashion and drain the heat energy from the area with a pulse of my mana. The glistening sweat on his muscular torso flash-freezes, and he yelps as the film of ice shatters in the intense cold. I’m not too worried for him, since his [Iron Skin] is more than up to the task of warding off any damage I could inflict, but it gets my point across. Magic always beats muscle, at least at a distance.

If an enemy catches me, I’m a dead man, but it’s hard to move when your world turns into a block of ice. All I have to do is keep an opponent or monster at bay, and I’ll be able to whittle down a threat without putting myself in danger. Or, at least, that’s the plan.

“Do I look like a side of beef to you?” He snickers. “Don’t answer that! Our agreement is that you keep the meat frozen and the people warm. It’s a very simple arrangement. Don’t get the details switched up!”

We clasp hands in greeting, and Mikko gestures toward the automaton. “Want it to put you through your paces?”

I snort. “Isn’t that backward?”

“Nope! You think you’re in control, but it’s got a mind of its own,” he says with an air of mystery, crossing his arms over his burly chest and wagging his eyebrows. His right forearm twists at an odd angle as he surreptitiously tries to activate the control ring to drive his point home, but he’s never been one for stealth since I can still see the bracelet. He misses the activation rune with his sausage-fingers, fumbles around for a few awkward moments before admitting defeat, and sheepishly slips off the bracelet to hand it over to me.

“Surprisingly smart move for a man who struggles with thinking,” I commend him.

“I hope you trip during training,” he rejoins cheerfully. “Just don’t dent my beautiful little automaton with your hard head.”

I slip on the control bracelet and salute the automaton. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, my voice growing thick with emotion as gratitude for Mikko and his gift wells up. He briefly squeezes my shoulder in acknowledgement, then steps away to give me room to train.

I touch the activation rune, and a rush of mana siphons out of me into the bracelet, more than I’d like to give up in a single go.

In my mind, an interface flickers to life, with clear instructions for attack, defense, or color sequences. I pick up one of the wooden staves next to the automaton—a normal sized one for normal sized people, like me—and mentally select the color sequence that Mikko has already demonstrated. The training device whirs to life, projecting circles and rectangles at a far slower pace than it did moments earlier. I slash and stab each one with ease, then pause to touch the activation rune again and select a higher level of difficulty.

Fifteen minutes later, the flashing lights are giving me a tension headache. I deactivate the iron automaton, sprawl out on the ground, and gasp for air, fluttering weakly like a fish out of water. Mikko can’t stop laughing at me and my “frail little frame.”

“Fine,” I groan. “I’ll increase my cardio like Ember wants.

Mikko hauls me to my feet with one hand, and offers me a knapsack. “Come by the forge on your off days. We’ll put you to work pumping the bellows and swinging a hammer the size of your head. Boom! Instant muscles.”

I ignore him, tearing open the bag once I realize it’s lunch. I devour the scones slathered with jam that his mom packed for us. “I almost forgot how good you all eat around here. Only thing I miss, although moving away from your snoring is worth the trade off.”

“Figured since your head is already stuffed with sand, you wouldn’t even hear anyone snoring. I should have realized you were delicate like that.”

I ignore the needling; strawberry preserves cover a multitude of sins, after all.

“Sausages for dinner,” Mikko reminds me. “You staying? Ma always loves having you around, probably because you compliment her cooking.”

“Would it hurt you to tell her thanks once in a while?”

He scoffs. “I eat three plates! What better compliment to a chef than to go back for not only seconds, but thirds?”

I don’t answer, too busy scarfing down the final scone, so he rubs his palms together and nods. “I’ll let her know it’s a yes. Ready to go again?”

After I wipe off any crumbs of scone that are too small to eat—the larger pieces I’m not ashamed to admit that I pick off my shirt and stuff into my mouth—and slake my thirst from a barrel of water Mikko dragged over, I work up the nerve to do something difficult. It feels good to stretch my body, but I need to improve my mana control, too.

I pull out the two glass orbs that I’ve been training with before bed. I’ve made small strides at overcoming their inherent heat resistance, but I have a long way to go if I ever want to upgrade my Skill again and gain a “Greater” title. “I’m going to try its defensive routine while I practice heat transfer. Training my body is good, but I need to push myself mentally.”

“That would be a first!” Mikko snaps his fingers like he just got a great idea. “I’ll tell Ma that she can toast the sausages over here in the excessive heat.”

“Nice try. If anything, it’s going to get freezing cold. Make sure your important bits don’t freeze right off, dearest brother.”

A look of pure horror crosses Mikko’s face, and he scuttles away from me, making a great show of wrapping his lower body in a thick, fur cloak. Only once he’s several dozen paces away does he holler for me to begin.

“That’s not enough to save you!” I cackle maniacally, lifting my hands and pointing in his direction with wide, crazy eyes. He yelps when the temperature plummets, and the strain on my channels at forcing the Skill to operate at such distance is totally worth the discomfort. I’m forced to drop the long range heat transfer a split second later as the burning in my mana channels spikes, and I resist the urge to look inward and make sure that my Skill hasn’t cracked open again.

Once I’ve caught my breath, I thumb the activation rune on the control bracelet, scan the magical mental interface, and select the automaton’s defensive routine. I keep the difficulty at level one for now, not sure how robust the later levels may be. I don’t want to embarrass myself with my first try.

“I’ll bet you’re gonna chicken out and only try level one,” Mikko taunts me from his new perch on the porch, almost fifty strides away—sadly, out of my current range to freeze him.

“You’re the one who’s afraid to get too close!” I shout back. “So, tell me, which one of us is the chicken?”

Mikko pulls himself up with a haughty look that I can just make out at the distance. He gives me his most aggrieved expression. “Prudence in the face of losing my valuables is a far cry from not testing an iron dummy and its first-level defensive routine.”

I yawn. “Huh. I’ll be sure to let the creator know that he made level one useless.”

Mercifully, that shuts Mikko up for a few minutes, and I turn my full attention toward the automaton as I begin my combat stance. At level one, the training dummy doesn’t do much more than basic blocks. No counters, no weapon traps, no disarm techniques. Even so, it’s smooth and quick, belying its somewhat clunky exterior, and it’s just what I need to test myself after exclusively relying on book learning.

If I want to “beat” the level, then I have to score at least a dozen hits within the time limit, according to the information in the training interface. I dart forward, slip my spear through its block, and jab the blunt end of the staff into the automaton’s head. A soft chime announces the successful strike, but I’m not interested in lucky hits. I crave dominance.

My staff twirls in my hands as I flow through practiced forms, switching from jab feints to sweeping blows and back again as quickly as I can manage, maneuvering around the stubby but surprisingly effective “arms” of the training dummy.

Thirty seconds flashes in my mind briefly, warning me that I need to pick up the pace if I’m going to make the remaining five strikes required to win while trying to transfer heat between the glass orbs. Adrenaline floods my body as I put more effort into my practiced offensive combat sequence. Inspiration flashes through my mind, inspired by Mikko’s body-strengthening techniques, and I divert a thread of mana from the heat-resistant transfer orbs to warm up my muscles. Perhaps the flow of mana will also speed me up, or put more power behind my blows to break through the defenses.

Time runs out, and I’ve only landed eleven strikes, but I grin in excitement despite my “defeat” at the hands of the iron lunk (incidentally, this is now my favorite nickname for Mikko). Applying [Heat Manipulation] in an entirely new, unorthodox way to fuel my performance has me dizzy with all the imagined possibilities.

Mikko sidles back, snickering at the automaton’s goofy victory dance. “Programmed that one myself. The [Enchanter] was very impressed, let me tell you. Need me to show you how it’s done?”

“Yes, please. I’m testing a theory.”

Mikko scrunches up his forehead, clearly skeptical of my claim. “The answer to your question is that yes, I’m better than you are. No need to thank me for saving you time and energy researching your theory.”

“Agreed,” I say sagely, nodding along with Mikko.

“Well, huh. You managed to concuss yourself against the defensive routine. That takes talent, my friend!”

“I understand how surprised you feel. It’s quite rare that you’re right, after all. Try not to get used to it; it’s not going to happen often. But, you are correct about one thing: you are better than I am at all physical activities. And I think I know why.”

“Intriguing. You say that like you uncovered a secret. What’s the new plan?”

“I’m going to bring mana up to my eyes and watch you activate your strength Skill until I understand the role of mana in body-tempering. Maybe I can mimic it free-form, without a Skill.”

“You have [Manasight]?” Mikko asks, his voice betraying his lack of enthusiasm for the project. “Since when?”

“No, but I want that one, too.”

“You’re always a bit crazy, but sometimes you’re as mad as cracked glass. You think you can figure out how it works and copy my peak quality Skill by just watching?”

I shrug with one shoulder. “It may take a few times, I’ll admit.”

“A few times!” Mikko laughs until he falls over backward, flopping down onto the rime-covered earth. He slaps the ground in his merriment, making the ground tremble faintly beneath my feet. Eventually he slows down, choking from a lack of air, and he coughs for a few moments as he recovers his composure.

“All right, show’s over. You gonna try to pay attention for real, or just gawk? If you want the challenge to be worth anything, I need you to crank the difficulty level.”

“I am trying to see your mana right now, and I think it’s working. I never knew there was such a thing as idiot-aspect mana, but I’m picking up an unmistakable signature from you.”

Mikko hefts his iron pillar menacingly. “We all know an idiot-aspect can only have one source. You must be influencing me, Nuri.”

“You do need a positive influence in your life. It may as well be me. Now, I’m going to max out the defensive routine levels, and you’re going to show me how to cheat on my quest to become stronger.”

Let no one ever claim that Mikko shies away from trying new things. He flings himself into the training with exemplary energy, smashing his terrifying weapon into the barrier shields his automaton summons without flagging, showing off his inexhaustible supply of mana. The training dummy twitches, sputtering as the shields wink in and out of existence in a rapid, rainbow shimmer. With a sad click and abrupt droop of its metal arms, it finally runs out of mana before he does and shuts down.

“You . . . Wow. You’re a monster. I’m glad we’re on the same side, Ko.”

He pounds his chest, grinning. “Tell more so I can bask in my hard-won glory! But, uh, did it work?”

“. . . No.”

“Then why are you so chipper?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? The world is a lot bigger than you can imagine, but I am sure you can come up with some ideas. Knowing you, they won’t be all that clever, but it should be good entertainment nonetheless.”

“How’s this for clever?” Mikko says, giving me a rude hand gesture, which makes me chortle. It’s just like the old days. I miss my family.

“Boys! Dinner!”

The familiar old refrain fills the air, and by unspoken agreement, we turn and race to the house, sprinting without cheating or influence from Skills. Mikko wins, but I’m only two steps behind him—a lot closer than I used to be. All my training is starting to pay off, I note with grim satisfaction.

=+=

“Stay a few days. Right now Ma’s only got a wounded chipmunk and an old cat to feed, so you would really round out her collection. She always did have a soft spot for strays.”

Mikko’s mother, Kirsi, smacks his arm with her serving spoon, but her smile shows her pride. She doesn’t deny any of her son’s accusations, either, only turns to her husband and raises an eyebrow in question. “Look at how starving he is, Reijo. His poor little heart needs nourishment just as much as his body.”

Reijo nods, stroking his short goatee. “Kirsi’s right, Nuri. We’d love to have you around. I’ve seen you languishing around the glassworks lately. You’re doing fine work, but no one ought to be alone. Besides, it’s been too quiet without you to keep things lively. Why, Mikko’s so bored he almost behaves himself these days!”

“Take that back, da!” Mikko growls in mock anger.

“Make me, ya muscle-head!”

Kirsi brandishes her serving spoon again, banging it on the table like a judge’s gavel. In an instant, order is restored in her court, although the mischievous gleam in her brown eyes is a sure sign that we should dive for cover.

“No fighting in my kitchen. Next trouble-maker is scrubbing pots solo. Don’t even think about trying to get out of it! I’ll bop heads until you’re so bruised that you keep the [Healers] in business for the next year. Are we clear?”

Mikko leans over and kisses Kirsi on the cheek. “As clear as glass, ma.”

Kirsi throws up her hands in exasperation. “You know very well that glass takes on any form the artisan desires. Can’t fool me with that line anymore. Reijo ruined that once he showed me the little red glass heart he made for me on our anniversary. Windows might be clear, but the lot of you are dreamers. You aren’t content to make windows, even though I bet it pays the bills just as well.”

“I gotta see the world, ma. You can’t keep me tied to your apron forever, or however that saying goes.”

“Good luck getting away from me!” Kirsi laughs, shaking her apron at Mikko.

“And you,” Kirsi continues in a softer tone, turning toward me, “are you going to run off to see the world, too?”

I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed, and look around frantically for a sweet roll to stuff into my mouth. Nothing like not being able to answer because I’m chewing. My search comes up empty, however, and her eyes narrow as she takes in my distress.

“What aren’t you telling us, Nuri? Are you hiding big plans?”

“Ma, leave him alone. He’s just going through a phase. Nuri ain’t a fighter. He’s got the soul of an artist, you know.”

“I can’t tell whether you’re insulting me or praising me. But I can be both, I know it. And you do, too, or else you wouldn’t have bothered to spend so much time on your iron automaton. I mean, your training dummy; it takes after you, after all.

Mikko smirks and throws me a wink. “Aye, although, truth be told, I wouldn’t wish your pieces of artwork on my worst enemy.”

“They’ll be collector’s pieces one day when I’m the most famous [Artisanal Assassin] in the land,” I protest.

Reijo bursts into raucous laughter. He leans over and slaps me on the back. “You may even get lucky and consolidate your classes into the fearsome . . . [Glassassin.]”

Mikko joins his father, guffawing until the two of them are in tears. “A [Glassassin]. That’s genius, da! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because it takes a genius, like you said,” I offer innocently.

Kirsi smacks me with her wooden serving spoon. “Be nice, boys. Or else I’ll show you how a real [Scrapper] handles herself.” She giggles at her own joke, since her father ran the local scrapyard when she was growing up.

“I see we’re all jokesters tonight. All that wit, and good looks, too. Must be why I married you.” Reijo chuckles, nudging his wife. She catches his eye, and they kiss right in front of us in an exaggerated display of affection that has Mikko blanching under his bronzed skin.

When he comes up for air, Reijo gangs up on me with his wife, hounding me about my plans for the future. I suppose everything has a price. If the cost of a loving, happy family is taking sides with your wife, I can’t blame Reijo too much.

I glance over at Mikko for support, but he’s giving me a huge grin and leaving me up to my own devices. I’ll pay him back later. I lick my suddenly-dry lips. “I don’t really have a plan, to be honest. I have a few goals, but they’re pretty straightforward. I want to improve my glasswork skills. I want to earn more Skills. I want to learn how to fight so that I’m not useless if we get hit by another monster invasion. I want to earn renown for my creativity and talent.”

“Fame and fortune! How original, Nuri. Sounds like everyone else I know. Is that really all you have brewing in that noggin of yours?” Mikko heckles me, despite the glare from his mother. I appreciate the teasing, though. It’s how we’ve always shown each other we care.

“Uh, I guess fame is accurate, and it would be nice to have money. Beyond that? I have no idea. I’ll just see where life takes me.”

“Plenty of time to figure it out,” Kirsi says in an attempt to mollify me. “You’re welcome to stay over anytime if you want to talk about it with us. You’re young. Don’t stress about it. You will go far with your talent.”

“A man has to make something of himself,” Reijo counters, his voice abruptly shifting. He gives me a solemn, level stare. “Big dreams, small dreams—that doesn’t matter—but don’t let life pass you by. It’s about your character, not the cleverness or ambition of your plans. All that we want is for you to carve a path for yourself. Don’t settle for anything less than you’re capable of achieving, just because it’s hard, but don’t chase after the praise of other people. It’s a poor substitute for self-respect.”

My face heats up with sudden warmth, and I surreptitiously activate my Skill to draw the blood away. Words build up in my throat like a logjam. I duck my head to escape the scrutiny, but his words resonate with me, deep in my soul. I do know what I want, at least in vague terms. Respect. Prestige. Recognition. But what about how I feel about myself?

I rub the back of my neck to release the sudden knot of tension. The details are so hard to piece together. What does it actually look like to earn my own respect? How do I get there? Just by being talented? That’s not enough to satisfy the craving deep within my soul. But there’s one more question that lurks, and it’s the one I’m most afraid to answer.

What price will I have to pay along the way?