[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

“Tem Cytakin, [Expert Counterspell Scout], provisional [Instructor], at your service,” the slender, curly-haired man introduces himself with a precise bow.

I return the bow, whistling under my breath at hearing his expert-level specialist Class mentioned in person, even though I know all about the infamous [Counterspell Scout]. No one in the glassworks studio has surpassed the second threshold, not even the semi-retired [Gaffers], which means he’s the highest level individual I’ve ever met. Ember, for all her potency, hasn’t earned the next Class advancement, at least not as far as I know.

“P-pleased to meet you,” I stammer, overawed to finally come face to face with the old legend himself.

Tem clasps his hands together behind his back. “Likewise, young crafter.”

“Thank you for entertaining my request,” I reiterate for probably the fifth time since our correspondence began. We’ve swapped letters over the last month, at Ezio’s suggestion since I won’t give up my dream of combat, although this is the first time I have met him in the flesh. He waves off my profuse gratitude as though it’s nothing, but I can barely believe my good fortune at hiring his services for the weekend. Even though it’s costing me over two month’s wages, it’s a bargain compared with the rate he could command in the Royal army.

“Good to get some fresh air,” he offers amiably, glancing around with a wry smile on his dark, elegant face. His slim frame hides terrifying power, however.

I nod dumbly in reply, too intimidated to speak up again.

Reaching the second advancement already despite Tem’s relative youth—according to his biography, he’s only fifty-something years old—is an accomplishment most people will never match. I want to ask him all about everything. Based on the rumors I’ve uncovered, however, the only reason someone of Tem’s caliber is available at all is due to rising political tensions in the Capital. He’s out of favor currently. Otherwise, I couldn’t dream of shadowing him on the job. He is way, way out of my league to hire as a hands-on instructor. Tem is an absolute genius at stealth and tracking, and an extremely dangerous combatant known for his miraculous exploits in the anti-mage brigade before it abruptly disbanded.

Before the [King] fired them out of fear they would come after him next. At least, that’s how the whispers go. I don’t dare ask Tem if there’s any truth to the reports.

As the silence stretches on, Tem clears his throat and readjusts his travel pack for the third time since we met. “Ready for our expedition? Packed up, I hope, as requested.”

“Yes, sir!” I hasten to assure him, patting my own canvas bag slung across my chest. It’s treated with wax to repel the rain in case we run into any inclement weather, but it’s not very large and holds only a few dried rations and a blanket to wrap up in at night.

“Excellent, excellent. Now, I set a brisk pace. Keep up if you can, lad. If not, I’ll meet you here at this cave, where we’ll camp for the night before our big day tomorrow.” He hands me a map of the wilds surrounding the city. A small red X marks the rendezvous spot in case I get lost or fall behind. If the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes is anything to go off, then it appears my first lessons will be in improving my map craft.

Handoff complete, Tem simply . . . disappears.

I almost drop the map in shock.

He flickers back into my sight a hundred meters away, beckons for me to hurry up, and blurs back into stealth. Thankfully, my legs start moving on their own accord, although my mind is still jumping up and down and cheering like a small child watching a street charlatan pull off a scam. Except, with Tem, there’s no trick. He’s just that good. The weirdest part about it is that I don’t even sense any mana resonance, despite Ezio’s stringent training.

Eight flickers later, I’ve completely lost track of Tem, although I’ve been sprinting as fast as I can toward the old forest. My legs and arms swing naturally, and as I inhale through my nose, hold my breath, and then slowly exhale through my mouth several strides later, I find I’m fiercely glad for Ember’s strong urging to incorporate cardio training into my recovery regimen over the last year. My thoughts drift back to my sad showing during Shadow Jaguar attack—the huffing and puffing, only to pull up lame on the way to unsuccessfully defend the city. I chuckle at the memory of Ember’s face. I think my out of shape butt embarrassed her more than my lack of fighting prowess or Skills. As usual, it seems she was on to something.

I run deeper into the woods, scanning back and forth for danger as I pass under thicker and more foreboding foliage. Every ten or fifteen minutes, I stop by the stream for a quick sip of water and a direction check against the map to make sure I’m on the right track. As far as I can tell, I should catch up with Tem in another few hours at this pace.

It seems suspiciously simple for training with an expert, regardless that this is only my first real time outside the city proper. I may not be a [Tracker], [Scout], or [Warrior], but I’m also not completely unaware of proper procedure anymore thanks to the combat manuals.

I push onward at a steady clip, trying to keep my body relaxed so that I’m ready for action if things go wrong, but inwardly, I’m tenser than a fresh-wound spring. If I’ve learned anything at all reading about Tem Cytakin, [Scout] extraordinaire, it’s that he’s a firm believer in handling the unexpected. He’s probably one of those annoying, successful people who thinks everyone else should learn through adverse experiences, too.

Nonetheless, I keep running at the quickest pace that I can maintain without frequent breaks. The path thins from a well-defined game trail to only the occasional hoof- or paw-print to mark the passage of wild creatures. I squint and try to pick up any traces of mana residue, but my magical senses are still woefully underdeveloped. I keep hoping I’ll unlock a mana-related perception or manipulation Skill, but so far I have no such luck.

The predominant tree type changes the farther I explore. The leafy, broad-leaf trees native to the city of Silaraon give way to tall, prickly pines. Underfoot, instead of flowers, tall grass, and soft moss, now only ferns and thorny brambles stab the thin soles of my light leather boots. I pick my path with more care now, wary of stabbing my feet and laming myself.

My stomach growls, finally announcing the end of my current trek. My legs can keep going, but I want food. Time for dinner, and then I’ll push on for the final stretch on a full stomach, with my energy reserves replenished.

Or, at least, that’s the plan until an all-too-familiar shape from my nightmares leaps out of the bushes. Shadow Jaguar! My mind shrieks in incoherent fear and shuts down, and I stumble back, fumbling for my belt knife as my training completely fails me. The Shadow Jaguars are a lot scarier than the training dummy Mikko made for me.

The hated cat lunges across the clearing, snarling a hunter’s cry, and knocks me to the ground. Sharp claws rake across my arm, drawing blood. Once again I find myself pinned down by a predator, staring up with wide eyes at sharp-toothed death, but this time I don’t plan on being easy prey.

My hand clutches the handle of my knife. I scream in defiant anger, sapping all the heat from over a dozen strides in every direction, and channel the full force of my upgraded [Heat Manipulation] into the tip of the knife as I stab up into the vile creature’s heart.

Blood bursts out through the gaping hole in its chest, but the wound cauterizes almost immediately thanks to the intensity of the heat pouring off me in waves. The cuts in the flesh sear shut, cutting off the viscous flow of black ichor. I shove the heavy, gory carcass off me and scramble to my feet, swinging around wildly as I scan the forest for more of the shadow cats and their stupid, poisonous claws.

Slow clapping interrupts me. Tem saunters over as though taking a stroll in the park. “You’re still alive, so that’s step one. Good, good. Hate to lose a student on the first day. Bad for future enrollment. But what are you going to do about the venom?”

With that, he stretches out next to a squat brown rock that I had intended to use as a table thanks to its mostly-flat top, yawns, and pulls out half a wheel of cheese. He cuts off a still-smoking haunch of the jaguar, whose flesh roasted from my attack. “Good eating on these. I’ll save you some for dinner, if you make it.”

Tem tears off a bite with his teeth. He nibbles on the burnt meat along with his cheese, ignoring me entirely now that he’s checked to make sure that I didn’t die right off, and I realize that if I want to keep living, then I have to find a cure by myself.

My heart sinks, but I start scrounging around for any herbs with healing properties. After a few rather fruitless minutes, I swallow my pride and ask if Tem knows what I need to collect to counteract the venom.

He gives me a considered look, strokes his short, dark goatee, then nods. “I like a man with initiative. A Henbane flower and two parts primrose will help.” He pauses, tilts his head to the side as though listening to something I can’t hear, and shrugs. “Probably.”

“Probably” is still better odds than any plan I’ve come up with, so I take off running through the woods in a low crouch, examining the ground growth for the plants I need to mix up an antidote. I’ve never been particularly religious, but right now I’ll pray to any and all of the woodland spirits if they’ll help me stay conscious long enough to complete the recipe.

I chill the area surrounding the scratch on my arm in hopes that it will slow the spread, but it doesn’t seem to do much good. Already, my movements are turning sluggish and painful, and I haven’t seen anything that looks like the drawing of the plants I’ve seen in the survival handbook I skimmed prior to the expedition.

Cursing my lack of studying, I redouble my efforts, skimming through the bushes in search of the primrose. Henbane is less likely to grow in the shaded areas I’m in right now, if my memory serves me correctly. I will search for it after I locate primrose. Assuming there’s any to find at all, I suspect it will be in one of the clearings I passed moments before the attack.

I try to stay focused, but I can’t shake my irritation. The Shadow Jaguars hunt in pairs or packs, and seldom by daylight unless they’re roving about in overwhelming force. A single, solitary cat? Tem set me up. If I don’t survive, he’s got some explaining to do.

I’ve mostly reconciled myself to the reality of a single Skill, but right now, I’m willing to kill for nothing more than a good [Herbalism] Skill. My jaw clenches. How in the name of the seven skies am I supposed to find what I need in such short order? This is absurd!

I will not stop moving, though. Indignation can wait; there’s plenty of time for that if I survive—when I survive, I vow to myself. Failure means death, so I’ve got no other choice but to push myself forward, moving faster, not caring about the spread of venom anymore.

A few irregular heartbeats later, I strike paydirt. My hands are shaking badly by now, but I harvest the primrose and, after a moment’s deliberation, stuff it in my mouth since I lack the dexterity to undo the straps on my carryall at the moment. I turn toward the setting sun and make a mad dash for the clearing I marked earlier as an option for henbane.

Halfway there, my feet go numb. I stumble, trip over my suddenly too-heavy legs, and smash face-first into the dirt. Groaning in pain and fear, I hunch up my body and wiggle toward the hope of the next ingredient, inching my way forward like a worm until my traitorous muscles give out. Move, you shatter-cursed arms! I bellow, but the limp muscles refuse to obey mental commands. The desperate imperatives of survival are no match for poison.

A clump of flowers hits my face with a soft, wet sound. My eyes struggle to focus on the flowers due to the close proximity, but I vaguely make out the black and white petals of henbane. I strain my mouth toward my unexpected salvation, bite down on the straggly plant, and chew it into a mush along with the primrose. Nothing happens, so I infuse the herbal concoction with heat from my fave Skill. My mana sputters stubbornly, but I focus on the drills I learned from Ezio, and the energy finally transfers. I keep pouring heat into the herbs before [Heat Manipulation] gives out, and a strange sensation blossoms in my mouth as the mana mixes in with the flowers.

A flicker of warm, orange light pulses in my senses along with the churn of mana in the herbal mixture in my mouth, but my Skill dies before I can latch onto the phenomenon. I’m not sure how I can see the light, since it’s directly below my eyeballs, but I know for a certainty that it’s connected to [Heat Manipulation]. The light fades from my perception in a blink.

Gentle warmth floods my mana channels—not my veins or arteries. The foreign power makes me leery, but I will die without intervention, so I relax and try to deactivate my instinctive resistance to the feeling of invasion. As I let the mana-empowered, medicinal brew work its way through my body and soul, pinpricks of hot, itchy pain erupt all over my skin. I can almost see them out of the corner of my eye, unless I’m imagining things.

“Steady, now! Don’t fight it, lad,” Tem’s voice echoes from what seems like very far away. “You’ve got to excrete the poison. No scratching. Just grin and bear it. You’ll make it through, although you’ll never want to repeat the experience again.”

I open my mouth to reply, but only a muffled gurgle comes out. Tem chuckles softly at my misfiring. The worst part is that I can’t scratch myself even if I want relief. While the venom’s danger zone seems to have passed, the paralysis effect isn’t wearing off yet. I am trapped in my own body, at the mercy of the ravaging war between Shadow Jaguar venom and this intensely uncomfortable, intrusive healing process.

“Well, you’ll be out for a while, and no mistake. Wake me when it’s over,” Tem declares cheerfully. He takes the opportunity to nap, stretching out on a soft patch of moss and covering his face with his hat.

I scream internally, just raging for a while, until it gets boring. Then, with nothing else to do, I shut out the soft sigh of the wind through the trees, try to ignore the rosy fingers of an early sunset, and turn my sight inward to try to observe the effects of the mana-empowered herbal concoction. I might as well make the best of things and train my non-existent mana sight in hopes of finally unlocking the Skill.

Excitement drives me. What did I see when the antidote coalesced from random plants to an antitoxin agent? Something odd just happened, and I’m holding out hope that it’s the first solid indication of progress.

But for now, my body and soul just hurt all over.

=+=

“I hear that last time you took on a big cat, you were out of commission for days. Look at you now! Ready to march on within the hour. Rapid improvement.”

I blush furiously at the mocking praise. “I should have been able to handle a single cat. They usually hunt in pairs, you know. Odd that I only ran into one.”

Tem ignores the unspoken accusation that he was responsible for leading the Shadow Jaguar to me just to gauge my reaction, but I suppose I’m not too upset since I survived. I will be very angry if I do not live through the expedition. I’m sad that I wouldn’t be able to tell him that after the fact.

We’re slowly leaving the deep forest behind, making our way toward the cave Tem has marked on the map. The towering conifers thin, giving way to beech trees and wider patches of wildflower meadows interspersed throughout the forest. It’s strangely peaceful, not hearing the constant crackle of flames, clank of metal rods, and tap of tools on glass.

“Why do we have to push on tonight? I’m exhausted from my recovery.” I wince at my whining, but each step feels like torture. I’m not going to die anymore, but the healing process drained my mana completely. I feel wrung out and hollow in a way that’s worse than regular, physical exertion.

Tem glances around, always scanning for danger, although I’m certain he has a Skill that will alert him more reliably than his eyes can. He takes his time answering, not speaking until he is apparently satisfied that we’re not in imminent danger. “The cave will be a better shelter than camping in a clearing. Night is more unpredictable than the day, and this far from the city, a few oversized house cats are the least of our worries.”

I groan under my breath. “That means you expect me to handle any trouble that comes up, because there is no way you’d be concerned about facing them yourself. They won’t pose any real threat to you.”

“Perceptive,” he says wryly.

We don’t exchange any further words until we reach the hidden cave and set up camp. Tem is a stickler for covering our tracks and ensuring that every approach to the hideout is well concealed, so we’re hidden from line of sight but still have some visibility outward. I follow his directions to the letter, but my clumsy hands take far longer than I’d like to draw old branches and foliage in front of the cave mouth, and I fear that I’m earning his ire.

Once he’s examined the obfuscation and declares it may be enough to “confuse a blind bat, at any rate,” we go inside. I lick my lips several times before I work up the courage to ask the question that’s been on my mind since we set out: “How did you know about this cave? You aren’t from around here.”

Tem leans back against the dirt wall. “You sure about that?”

“I’ve read your autobiography,” I admit, my cheeks burning. I sound like one of those fanatics who follow famous people around in hopes of basking in the reflected echoes of their glories. No thanks. I want my own glory.

He snorts. “That trash bit of slander is still in publication?”

“Didn’t you write it?” I splutter, squinting at him in confusion. “Then how is it slander?”

He tuts. “Don’t believe everything you read, Nuri.”

I groan as the truth hits me. “Of course. You’re lying intentionally to throw people off.”

Tem winks. “Misdirection is useful. Hasn’t Ember taught you anything?”

My whole world spins sideways. How does Tem know Ember? I thought he was Ezio’s contact. And how does he know that she’s been teaching me? Has he been spying on my life for some reason? Maybe Ezio wants to get rid of me so that he can claim the glass armor as his own and won’t have to share the profits. Fear flashes through me at the uncharitable thought, but I clamp down on my wayward words and try to regain control of my expression.

“Pity. I’d hoped for more of a reaction when I dropped Ember’s name. You’ve been rather excitable at every other turn so far.” Tem pulls a pipe out of his travel bag, tamps down some tobacco, and snaps his finger to light up. Apparently, he considers that the end of the matter.

I can’t keep myself from staring at the sophisticated, debonair way that he makes even a casual pipe smoke look mysterious. Thrilling, even. Although I could easily copy his little trick and light a pipe with my [Heat Manipulation], it wouldn’t ooze awesomeness. Tem makes it look so effortless and charming that I’m jealous of his abilities.

My curiosity finally wins out. “How did you do that? As far as I know, you don’t have any fire affinities or heat abilities. Does your Class give you some sort of survival Skill for lighting fires? I could see how that would be useful for a [Scout], although it seems low level.”

For the first time since I’ve met Tem in person, he seems genuinely confused. “You can’t follow the mana flows?”

I shake my head. “Only one Skill, remember? Nothing since my Class. I’m hoping that I’ll get another one when I advance, but I haven’t hit the threshold. I feel like I’m right on the cusp of it, though. That’s why I wanted to go on this expedition with you.”

“Ah! Right, we did discuss this in our brief correspondence. I’d forgotten, I’m ashamed to admit. Please forgive my indelicacy in the matter.”

I arch an eyebrow. His entire demeanor and diction have shifted. Is this a glimpse of the courtier behind the [Scout]? My own manners seem flat and clunky by comparison. “Oh, uh, it’s no problem. I’m mostly over the fact that I’m a slow learner. I’ve been trying to see mana, so I’m hoping that I’ll unlock [Mana Sense] or a variant soon. Ezio says I’m close.”

“Mm. I could have sworn you had some Skill for manipulation, beyond your abilities with heat obtained from the glassworking. Apologies. Negligence on my part, expecting you to create your own antidote. Exceptionally lucky that you didn’t die back there.”

“I’ve practiced mana control for a while in an attempt to improve my Skill. I’ve upgraded it once already this year, and I’m gaining more finesse and precision with heat transfers in the hot shop. I built these,” I explain, pulling my energy-transfer orbs from my bag. I toss the red one into the fire to warm it up. “They’re helping me improve my skills at a fairly acceptable rate, according to my boss Ember, whom you apparently don’t actually know in any official capacity.”

He meets my challenging stare without blinking, then shrugs nonchalantly. “Still, I have your notes, and I should have recalled that you only have the [Heat Manipulation] Skill under your belt at present. Unprofessional of me to put a student’s life on the line and not even take a moment to double-check your Skills. Downright unprofessional.”

He seems more bothered by his momentary lapse of judgement than by my brush with death. I try not to take it too personally, although it irks me more than I admit. I clear my throat once or twice before I reply. “I’m not keen on dying. Might have to come back and get revenge if I don’t make it home.”

He frowns and sits up, no longer lounging against the cave wall. “Are you threatening to haunt me?”

“That will teach you some professionalism,” I respond lamely.

To my surprise, he chuckles at my silly comeback. “How refreshing. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to talk with people who aren’t quivering in fear of knives in the dark. A bit of pluck! Very commendable, lad. Very commendable.”

“You do have a reputation,” I point out, my skin crawling at the thought of his knives.

His good humor dries up. He taps his pipe on his knee, knocking some ash into the fire, and looks out toward the deepening gloom of night. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft with regret. “I do.”

“So! Uh, mana manipulation. You have some talent yourself? I assume so, or else you wouldn’t have known how to make the antidote. Maybe you could, uh, teach me?”

“Talent? Let’s not go overboard. I do have some modicum of ability. One learns to use all one’s senses when one’s life is at risk. Nothing like danger for Skill advancement!”

The phrase feels like the last piece of a puzzle, and an idea clicks into place in my mind. “Do you think that’s why I upgraded my Skill after the monster invasion?”

“Invasion?” He raises a brow. “I hardly think a handful of Brass-ranked brutes constitutes an invasion. They’re harmless little kitties.”

“I was going to die unless—”

“Yet you didn’t die,” Tem snaps, cutting me off. His languid demeanor evaporates, and he fixes me with a stare so intense it makes Ember look like a little girl skipping through a field of flowers. There’s a beast lurking in the depths of his usually mild brown gaze.

“I was in danger,” I insist, my mulish streak kicking in.

“You felt like you were in danger,” he corrected. “No one actually died. I’d have heard if Silaraon suffered casualties. As I told you earlier, I don’t forget my roots.”

“Regardless, do you think that’s why I actually made progress?”

“Do I think there’s a cosmic connection between danger and earning abilities or ranking up your Skills? No. You’re likely correct, however, in the sense that the Shadow Jaguars rolling through town acted as an inciting incident that shocked you out of laziness.”

I grit my teeth. “But you said there’s nothing like danger for Skill advancement. That’s why I asked.”

“Right. And now I’m clarifying my statement. We tend to apply ourselves best when we can’t afford the luxury of sitting around on our bums.” He puffs on his pipe, murmurs to himself, and relights the tobacco. A long draw later, he hums to himself, and settles back against the wall of the little cavagain as though his outburst never happened. “You think you’ve had a moment of enlightenment, do you?”

I nod eagerly. “I sensed something when I used [Heat Manipulation] to complete the antidote. I’d hoped it might be my first inkling of mana not already my own.”

“Probably was, lad. You finally had a reason to pay attention.”

“I’ve been working at it for months,” I grumble. “It’s not like I wasn’t trying.”

“Show me,” Tem demands, gesturing toward the glass globes with his pipe. “Go on, lad. Use those shiny oversized marbles. Impress me.”

“You won’t really see anything,” I protest, trying to lower Tem’s expectations before the inevitable, crushing weight of reality shows him just how untalented of a student he’s taken on. “It’s just energy transfer, moving heat from one orb to the other. The red one is, uh, hot. As you can see.” I gesture toward the fire, where it glows like warm honey.

Tem clicks his tongue. “What do you think mana is, lad, if not energy in motion? There is plenty to see, if you know what to look for. Always is. Ah, but I suppose it’s not your fault that no one’s ever taught you how to see. Go on, then.”

Properly admonished, I reach for my mana and coax it into the cracked framework of my Skill, moving slowly to watch every swirl and eddy of my own small piece of the strange energy that animates the universe. The crystalline structure shudders at the first touch of power, but the cracks have largely grown back together over time, so I don’t pay much mind to the momentary instability. Drawing the mana from within my pool, down my channels, and out my fingertips, I reach out to the campfire first, drawing the motes of heat from the red globe and directing them toward the blue, heat-resistant globe.

“Are you always this slow?” Tem drawls. “I’d hate to see the Lesser variety before your upgrade. I’ve met sloths who could beat you in a sprint!”

“Just limbering up my soul before I begin in earnest,” I reply in an airy tone. “Wouldn’t want to set us both on fire.”

“Hmph. You didn’t need to thaw out before you charred that cat earlier. Good thing, too.”

I nod along. “Yeah, it would have gutted me otherwise.”

“Er, yes, that. I was more concerned about the potential loss of dinner.”

I roll my eyes and flick a bit of extraneous fire his way, utterly confident in his tempered body and survival abilities to negate any actual damage. As the heat transfer picks up, I grasp the energy flows and accelerate the Skill, pulling every bit of heat from the glowing red glass globe without snuffing out the surrounding fire. I’ve made huge strides in my dexterity, and now I show off a bit as I truly begin to manipulate the rosy glow.

My control clamps down on the area, refusing to allow any heat loss, and I thread the red-orange heat into the training orb, warming it bit by bit from the core first.

“I added layers of different components and colors,” I explain as I work, self-conscious about how silly it must look. “That way I can gauge how accurately I’m bringing up the temperature from the inside out.”

Tem blows a wobbly smoke ring, scowling at its irregular appearance, and I wonder if he’s even watching me at all. I start to sweat in concentration, not from the ambient temperature, but from the intense exertion of overcoming the resistance and layering my control. Rush the heat too fast, and the outside of the glass will start to glow, but then the inside stays cold. If I want a perfect transfer, then I need to change the temperature and the color from the inside out.

“These temperature balls—an original idea?”

“Yep. I have a lot of them,” I boast. “Ideas, I mean.”

“Clever,” Tem allows. “More accurate way to gauge your control than simply guessing or relying on intuition.”

I nod in agreement, and quote Ember without thinking. “Glass never lies.”

“Ha! A noble sentiment. Maybe I’ll take up the craft. I’ve had enough of liars for a lifetime back in the capital.”

“It probably wouldn’t be too hard for you to pick up, with all your levels and dexterity. All you really need is a willingness to keep trying when the glass has a mind of its own. The good news is that you can always melt things down and try again. Mistakes never feel permanent, just expensive sometimes.”

We share a chuckle, although my laughter is a bit strained. Raising the temperature of the final layer on the blue orb is tricky, and I often fail at this step. I need all my focus to achieve an even color.

Trembling with exhaustion from a long day, drained both mentally and physically, l nonetheless pull off a perfect transfer. “Halfway done,” I announce hoarsely. “Now the other way.”

If adding heat energy to a cold object is an exercise in restraint, drawing the heat back out from the same object is more akin to wrestling an abyssal alligator. Pulling ambient heat from the environment is fairly easy, but once I direct the energy elsewhere, manipulating the world with my Skill, the mana imprints itself somehow. Changing the new, updated template of reality requires exponentially more mana for each iteration.

My efforts redouble, and for a short time, appear fairly successful. The outer layer of glass on the blue globe dims and recovers its deeper, almost purple hues. I squint, even though it does nothing to help with mana sight, and try again to see what’s going on at a more fundamental level. I am so close to a breakthrough that I can taste it like copper on my tongue.

Mentally, however, the strain builds and builds with dangerous, inexorable momentum as exhaustion catches up with me. My fingers start to tremble first, but the shivers spread like wildfire to the rest of my body. Soon, I’m shaking so hard that I lose my balance and crash down on the sandy cave floor with a heavy groan.

“Decent training tool. Execution is sloppy, but if you can improve on the design, then I’ll commission a dozen sets of your glass orbs for my four-year-old nieces,” Tem says, acting as though my spasming, floor-bound form is completely normal. And perhaps it is to him. Collapse is merely a sign of dedication!

“We’ll march on at first light. Get some sleep. I will take both first and second watch, and you can make it up to me tomorrow.”

I won’t get a better deal, but it’s hard to express gratitude with my mouth half-buried in the dirt, so I simply close my eyes and give myself up to the darkness, too exhausted to even wrap myself up in a blanket.