Tem and I swagger back from the labyrinth, dragging sacks full of gold too heavy for me to lift. The rosy gold of sunrise warms our backs, illuminating our heroic silhouettes to the welcoming committee. Ember meets us outside the city walls, stomping through the tall sage grass with a grim smile on her face, an entourage in tow. She’s patrolling a low ridge that snakes past the main river in Silaraon, despite a lack of civilian license for guard work—at least as far as I know. She’s brought my three friends from the glassworks, as well as my sworn brother, Mikko. I’ve never been so happy to see his ugly face. So, in the interest of honesty, I tell him just that.

Mikko rushes past Ember, sweeping me up into a back-breaking bearhug. “Ma was getting worried! Da told her you were blooming into a local celebrity, right before our eyes. Did you really see a wraith lord and defeat a Captain in single combat? What a beast!”

“Put me down, you great lummox-headed git! You’re gonna ruin whatever meager reputation I’ve built,” I complain while raining down ineffective hammer fists on his muscular shoulders. “I’m an important man, not a rag doll!”

Everyone laughs uproariously at my wit and dashing good looks.

“Looking for a job, young man?” Tem asks, ghosting into view next to us. Mikko drops me with a yelp at the [Expert Counterspell Scout]’s sudden appearance.

“Rust me,” he swears, falling back on rough forge talk. I prefer to say shatter me, but that’s because glass is superior. “Nuri wasn’t joking about training with a living legend.”

Tem rubs his closed eyes with his fingertips. “Are you all raving fanatics? Even in the Capital I can go about with less fanfare. Do you all know my face on sight?”

Melina shakes her head. “I’m not like the rest of the loonies. They’re on the official team club. It meets on the first weekend of every month. But anyone can tell you’re fairly overflowing with mana. If you kept Nuri alive despite his best efforts to kill himself—and I’m sure he came up with a hundred creative ways to try your patience—then you have our heartfelt thanks.”

“Can we go back to the part where you offered me a job?” Mikko interjects.

Tem opens his eyes, scrutinizes Mikko, and grunts in approval. “You look strong. I’ve got a rock that I can’t keep in my void storage anymore. It’s just one of my many void abilities! Be a good lad and put those muscles to use. Carry this big ole rock to your foundry for me.”

Mikko’s jaw slackens. “You’re teaching Nuri, but you just want me for my body?”

Tem nods. “You’re built like a packhorse. So, yes.”

I cackle at the sudden inversion of our reputations. “I’ve always preferred comparing him to a mule, since he’s so stubborn.”

“Mule it is,” Tem says. “He looks about as bright as one, too.”

“You’re taking his side?” Mikko squeaks.

I nudge Mikko in the ribs. “I’ve proven myself over the last few months. We’re fast friends now. You’ve been replaced.”

“I like this new version of Nuri,” Lionel chimes in. “He’s found his backbone.”

The chatter cuts off abruptly when Tem pulls out the chunk of ore and lets it thud to the earth. It lodges itself a full hand’s breadth into the soil. Out here in the real world, removed from the chaos of the Rift, it looks bigger than I remember, although still shot through with a reddish hue. It still doesn’t look particularly special in my [Super Advanced Manasight], but I don’t have any metal-related Skills yet, only a variety of superlative glass Skills.

Mikko has plenty of metal and ore Skills, however, and his reaction to the rock doesn’t disappoint. His eyes bug out, and he dashes over to the boulder with more urgency than I’ve ever seen from my goofy brother before. His fingers splay as he reaches out to touch the rock longingly. “What is this? And will you let me work on it? My Skill a [Smith’s Rough Appraisal] is going absolutely insane.”

Tem scrutinizes Mikko, his eyes glimmering with silver threads of mana in a way I’ve never seen him utilize energy before. He nods and strokes his jaw. “You’re half a threshold short of earning the kind of Skills needed to properly work on Rhodium, but I can always use more [Blacksmiths] I can trust. Tell you what: if you can get this to your forge, then I’ll pay the [Master Smith] to provide you with private lessons for a month. Best deal you’ll ever get.”

Avelina drapes an arm over Mikko’s shoulders. “You can do it, Ko! Show him the strength of the most talented young smith in Silaraon.” She plants a kiss on his cheek and saunters off before he can say anything to break the mood.

Mikko blushes, but I can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on her form, or the determined set of his jaw when he turns back to the massive rock. Have I missed an important development while I’ve been lost in my own little world? The months spent in the Rift, chasing down monsters and growing powerful, have cost me time with my friends. I shrug; it’s worth the trade off. I’m stronger now than ever.

Mikko plants his feet shoulder width apart, squats down, and digs his fingers underneath the edge of the rock. He breathes in sharply, drawing on ambient mana so hard that I feel I tug in my own channels. His body swells with power, and he straightens inch by inch, straining to dislodge the edge of the stone from the soil. Shaking with the effort and surrounded by curling wisps of steam, Mikko shouts as he rips the chunk of ore free from the earth.

He staggers under the weight, dropping one edge of the rock to the ground and falling to one knee. I cry out in disappointment, caught up in the spectacle of strength and the excitement of the promised rewards. Yet before it all comes crashing down, Mikko throws his shoulder into the center of its mass, rocking it up and flipping it over on its side.

With a triumphant roar, Mikko seizes the bottom corner of the ore and heaves again, rolling the chunky, oblong boulder across the ground. It tears up great gouges of grass and soil, and progress is slow, but he’s building momentum as he dashes around to the other side of the stone and flips it again.

“Good improvisation!” Tem calls out. “Attempting to carry that much weight was a trap.” He crosses his arms across his slim chest and watches Mikko with half-lidded eyes, seemingly ignoring Ember’s efforts to catch his attention. I’ve never seen her bat her eyelashes before.

Step by grueling step, Mikko advances. He strips off his outer layer, tucking his tunic into his belt, and sweat glistens across his bronzed skin as he wrestles with the enormous hunk of Rhodium ore. He slips, drops to a knee again, and rests on the ground for a moment, his heavily muscled chest heaving. Then he flings himself into the task again, rolling the rock like it’s no more than a small glass marble. Several excruciating turns of the stone takes him to the edge of the bluff overlooking Silaraon, and he lines up his shot before pushing it off the edge.

“Mikko, you idiot!” Avelina screams. “There are houses down there!”

We all go sprinting after him as he whoops and dashes downhill, leaping off ledges and careening off trees at speeds that would break a normal man in half. Incredulous, I watch with my [Super Advanced Manasight] active as he accelerates in a burst of glorious mana, racing ahead of the stone to kick up clods of dirt and create a banked turn right in front of my eyes by punching the ground into submission.

The rock hits the groove and pitches sideways, away from the cluster of houses that Ava seems so worried over. Mikko sprints alongside the runaway boulder, punching it back on track when it strays, each blow accompanied by a huge explosion of mana as he soars through the air like an avenging demigod. He’s heading straight for the forge and armory compound, and now that we’re on level ground, he’s sprinting fast enough that I’m worried the rock is going to smash straight through a wall.

Mikko’s shouts of celebration draw a crowd as we grow closer, and to my surprise, the chief smith sprints out from the gates, his leather apron flapping in the wind. He’s a [Master of the Forge], if I remember, and his form is shedding so much mana that it’s actually blinding my [Super Advanced Manasight]. He dashes forward and slams his hands into the rock, stopping it dead in its tracks and burying it halfway in the ground. The force of it shoves him back several steps, but they both stop moving.

“Mikko, you rust-brained lunk, if you’d knocked over my forge, then I’d have taken my smithing hammer to your thick skull! Again! Does you no good, apparently. Too stupid to know when you’re beat.”

“If you don’t want me to knock things over, then build stronger walls!” Mikko yells back, nudging the chief in the ribs with his elbow. The man doesn’t budge; he’s built like an oak stump, twice as thick as I am and just as tall. And with Skills he’s clearly even stronger than he looks, if he can stop a runaway boulder with nothing more than his bare hands.

I shiver. Remind me never to fight blacksmiths unless I’m a mile away. With an army under my command. And a top grade escape talisman at the ready. But then again, I did take out a Captain all by myself while Tem was indisposed, so a mere mortal like him should pose little trouble to me.

The head blacksmith’s pure white, bushy eyebrows crawl up his forehead like oversized caterpillars as he moves his hands across the massive rock. “I take it back, boy. You’re welcome to knock over a wall or two anytime if you repay me this handsomely!”

“Who said that’s for you?” Tem says mildly, stepping in between the touching reunion of blacksmith brothers.

“And who might you be?” the [Master of the Forge] demands, his eyes narrowing to slits beneath his oversized eyebrows.

“Tem Cytekin, [Expert Counterspell Scout], at your service,” Tem says, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I also happen to be the owner of this here rock. Your employee was simply assisting in bringing it to the shop so that we can arrange payment.”

The burly smith blanches. “Trust a Cytekin to ruin your day.”

“Oh? You’ve heard of my illustrious deeds?” Tem asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“No, but I knew a Inor Cytekin who once blew up my uncle’s shop in a dispute over an item that wasn’t up to his exalted standards. You related?”

Tem’s tension melts away, and he beams at the chief blacksmith. “Never heard of him! I’m sure we’ll get along famously, whatever the faults of our supposed kin.”

“‘Our kin,’ not your kin?” the [Master of the Forge] fairly snarls. “You saying my uncle deserved to have his shop reduced to rubble?”

Tem shrugs helplessly. “Satisfied customers rarely get upset. But I’m sure we can come to an acceptable agreement regarding this lump of rock.”

“That depends on the price you quote me for the Rhodium,” the smith rumbles.

Mikko nods his head toward the forges. “Let’s discuss it over mulled cider, shall we?”

He tosses an arm around the head smith’s shoulders and strides toward the fortress-like walls of the blacksmith compound.

I drag my feet as I follow them, hanging back so that I can ask Tem the question that’s burning in my mind. “You can’t fool me. You’re related to that troublemaking Inor. It’s not the last name that gives it away—it’s your irascible spirit.”

“You wound me,” Tem says with a laugh. He leans over and whispers in my ear. “Just for that, I’ll tell you the truth. Inor is my dad. And the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Hope you packed your flame-resistant apron, Nuri. Never know what might mysteriously combust.”

At that, he throws back his head and laughs and laughs and laughs, his face distending into a grotesque parody of a grin. Rushing out from his mouth like a mad disease burbles the multihued chaos of the void, soundless and yet rushing in my ears with the force of a thousand waterfalls.

Then the dream breaks, and I bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. I stare at the wall, trying to process the jumbled nightmare, and I wish that Tem really did come back from the Rift with me. I hope you’re all right, Tem. For all of our sakes.

=+=

The specter of Tem hovers over me the next morning as I help the Linas finish a general work order for the day, but I fight to keep the horror of his potential death from my mind. I have a project to tackle, and Ember is only too happy to let me switch over to the more lucrative private commission from Ezio. After stuffing a bit of lunch into my mouth—a soft flatbread topped with shredded chicken, grilled peppers, and sauteed onions—I rush back into the hot shop so I can claim a priority workbench for the afternoon.

Today’s plan calls for experimenting with two new changes. First, I’m tracking down a promising lead on an ingredient update, and second, Ezio suggested shaping the glass sheet with a different technique that might help. That means I need to try three combinations in order to isolate which one makes the difference, assuming that I meet with any success. Method one: create the glass with the new ingredient, and shape it with the old technique. Method two: create the glass with the new ingredient, and also use the new technique to shape the project. And, of course, in method three, use the old ingredient alongside the new technique.

I count the variations on my fingers to verify that I have the right number.

I chuckle and nod to myself. Originally, I wrote down four combinations, until I realized that using the old ingredients and the old technique is exactly what I’m already doing. I don’t need to further document it as a control group, because it already exists. That realization was a blow to the ego, but at least I figured it out before telling the Linas about my plan. Melina would have pointed out the problem right away.

I set up my test station and lay out my tools for the day. Lionel is helping me again since the Linas are still tied up on the long, tedious project they started in the morning making matching vessels for a local [Chief Judge]. Lionel volunteered to take notes, and since his handwriting is neater than mine, I’m only too happy to oblige him.

I nudge him in the ribs. “Ready to get started?”

“Lead on, boss,” Lionel says, sorting through my papers.

I appreciate his assistance, although it would be nice to have the Linas to brainstorm with. The twins have taken on more responsibility in the studio lately, however, especially since two of our senior [Gaffers] finally retired. I hear one of them took the [Gardener] Class, while the other is moving toward the capital to spend time with his grandsons. It won’t be long before the Linas are promoted despite their youth; they’re probably the best tandem we have, and they deserve the distinction.

Lionel makes a face as he reads my scrawled notes. “Do you want me to transcribe all of this for you? I may not be an actual [Scribe], but I’m, well, legible.”

“I’d appreciate it,” I say with a laugh. “But my writing is legible to myself. Does that count?”

His flat look tells me everything I need to know, and I raise my hands up in surrender. “I defer to your superior penmanship. Go on, pretty up those notes. And . . . thanks.”

I pace while he works, and soon new ideas spring to mind. “Hm, do you think the interior layer undergoes compression on a hit, or is the impact resistance a function of the material in the outer structure?” I ask, musing aloud. Lionel writes it down, the pen a blur in his hands.

I sigh wistfully. “If I could afford enough mother of pearl to make an entire glass sheet with it, then maybe I could put these ideas to the test. Too bad.”

“I don’t think that would scale very well,” Lionel says.

“Ha! If I had the resources to spend that kind of money, then I’d already have the order in for one of the microscopes Ezio mentioned. In the meantime, I have to figure it out the old fashioned way: trial and error.”

“That’s what I usually do,” Lionel says, nodding along. “I feel my way forward and hope for the best. So far, I’ve still got a job, so how bad can it be?”

I snort. “Maybe we’re all charity cases, and Ember’s masking a heart of gold under that gruff old exterior. You never know!”

Lionel rolls his eyes, then taps his finger on my notes about the new ingredient I want to add to the glass today. “Are you sure this is going to work, Nuri? I’m afraid the flux we’re adding is going to make it too brittle.”

I nod slowly, considering. “Glass strength is sometimes a frustrating tradeoff between rigidity and brittleness. You’re probably right about that,” I say grudgingly, not wanting to start over before we’d even begun.

“Sorry to sound so skeptical,” Lionel says. “I’m sure it was one of the few ways to add strength to the sheet. I’m just not sure that the inner layer is enough to absorb the impact and keep the whole thing from shattering, though. The outer layer has to be able to take some hits, even if we’re dispersing the energy through the inner layer.”

“Right, I hear you. If I knew how to fold mana into the glass, we could harden it without introducing fragility and fault lines. But to compensate, I’m adding more filler this time. I don’t know if it’ll be sufficient, like you said, but that’s the theory behind it at least.”

Lionel rakes his fingers through his short black twists of hair, a far-off look in his eyes. “Remember when we were kids and we’d visit Old Nylar’s barn? We’d swing little sticks around, pretending we were ancient heroes armed with swords from legend.”

“How could I forget you declaring death and destruction on hay bales?” I snicker. “But what does that have to do with glass?”

“Well,” Lionel answers slowly, drawing out his words as though he’s still formulating his thoughts, “if we hit the slats between the stalls too hard, we’d break them, and Old Nylar would demand that we fix the trouble we caused. But when we hit the hay bales that you remember oh so well, they were softer—they had some give to them. We could whale on those all day long and never really cause a problem, other than some stray bits of hay that the horses picked up off the floor. Doesn’t it seem like the outside layer might actually need to be softer, not harder, so it disperses the hit?”

“Huh,” I reply, too surprised to say anything smarter. “That’s exactly the reverse of what I’ve been trying to do. But you might be onto something, since what I’m doing now clearly isn’t working. If we make the outside too elastic, I don’t know that it will have any kind of stopping power. It seems counterintuitive.”

“That’s the trade-off, isn’t it? Have you asked Ember about armor? She might know she used to be an adventurer.”

“Good luck getting her to talk about those days,” I murmur.

“So don’t ask about that. Seek out her professional opinion instead. I’m sure she will give you advice on how to work this particular commission.”

“Might could work. I’ll think about it.”

Lionel chuckles. “It’s too bad you can’t use those glass droplets—you know, the ones we showed the kids at last summer’s faire?”

“Ah, the display when we dropped the globs of hot glass into the bucket of water?” I ask, snapping my fingers as I try to picture the festival.

“Yeah!” Lionel replies. He bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement. “That thing! It’s insane how strong they are on the rounded end. I couldn’t break it with a hammer.”

“Too bad they’re too big to practically fit into armor,” I say with a sigh.

“Plus the other side shatters if you snip it or touch it the wrong way,” Lionel says, his face falling as he thinks over all the downsides. “I don’t think armor would be very robust if you could break it from the inside out.”

“True, true, but maybe we could start there and take some inspiration from the shape of the drop. It is incredibly resistant to impact, and that’s what we’re looking to mimic. I wish I had a Skill to analyze composition so that I could apply the principles to our project.”

“There you go again, pining after Skills. Let’s just get to work and find out what happens. Don’t worry so much, my friend,” Lionel says, his voice soft with concern.

“Thanks for all the ideas, Lio. You’re a huge help. The drops are not a bad idea for the rivets, actually, if we can protect the tail end. Maybe we could use a few small drops for portions of the armor that are able to sustain more bulk?” I frown. “But part of the allure of this type of project is making armor that’s thin and lightweight—something simple to craft and easy to modify without a Master on hand.

“I told you, Nuri, you’re the boss,” Lionel says with a lopsided grin. “You get to make the rules. So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Next page of notes,” I say, flipping over the loose sheaf of papers to show Lionel the grid I made. “We need to test the three different options—and I suppose we should probably note the new ideas you came up with. We can test those tomorrow if today’s efforts don’t pan out.”

A rough plan in place, Lionel and I scurry to the back room, where we paw through the bins of available components and materials until we find the ingredients we need. It bugs me a little that the suggestion from Ezio has so many potential issues, but I trust that he’s got his reasons for trying the rigid but brittle approach. If nothing else, more data points may be useful in the long run.

Items in hand, we get to work making the new batches of glass, leaning on Lionel’s Skills to accelerate the process. Once they’re prepped and warming in the crucible, we take a quick snack break and hydrate up. Even with [Heat Manipulation] to stave off the sweltering heat, the air tends to make me thirsty. It’s oppressive in the hot shop. Besides, I don’t usually leave my Skill running unless I’m working on a project.

“You know, Lio, part of me wonders if I should always blast [Heat Manipulation] all day long. It might be a more efficient way to train if I just constantly moderated my environment.”

He gulps down a glass of water, and nods eagerly as he wipes stray droplets off his lips with the back of his hand. “You’re definitely on to something. Practice is the best way to rank up Skills, so why waste time?”

I feed some mana into the Skill, and soon surround us with an aura of tightly-controlled temperate bliss. “Ahhh, that’s more like it! No more winter bite, no more scorching summer heat. Why haven’t I been doing this all the time?”

“Laziness,” Lionel says without hesitation.

I grimace, but I can’t deny the accusation. “Well, no more. Time to grow up and get to work.”

“Speaking of growing up, I’ve been thinking about picking up some flame work,” Lionel mentions. He squints at the far side of the glassworks studio, where we have display racks set up for prospective buyers. “You ever notice how the fancy sculptures always seem to command a premium? Maybe that’s where I’ll specialize. Good income that way.”

I chuckle. “I thought you wanted to come with me on adventures? Are you already giving up that dream to settle down for some glass sculpture?”

“Not at all,” Lionel says. “You told me yourself that the [Expert Counterspell Scout], Tem Cytekin himself, suggested keeping up with craftwork. I don’t see why we can’t do both.”

“You know I’d be more than happy to have you along any time. I’ve been worried about how lonely it might get trying to follow in Tem’s footsteps. If you and the Linas and Mikko are willing to join me, then we could maybe have our own team. We’ll be itinerant artisans and adventures!”

“Ha, wouldn’t that be something. Quite the odd combination, but I could see it working,” Lionel says, warming to the vision of traipsing around the countryside making things and slaying monsters as we go.

Our chatter continues as we double check the batch using the new glass composition. The crucible is always a good way to jump start the preparation, but with a deft touch of my [Heat Manipulation], I ensure that the first of the two mixtures are ready for testing. “You want to start with the old technique or the new one?” I ask Lionel.

“Let’s start with what we know. That way we’re sure to have a good test. Who knows how long we’ll have to experiment with the new ideas to get things working? If it takes all day, then we won’t have time to get to the other tests.”

“Fair point,” I say, running my fingers through the tangled growth of my beard. It’s getting itchy on my chin, and I don’t like snagging my fingers in the knots. “I need to get some oil for my beard.”

Lionel pauses his pen above his notepad. He gives me a mock serious look. “Sorry, is that part of the test, or should I not write that down?”

“Very funny, Lio. My beard just grew more than I expected while I was gone. I guess that Rift really made a man out of me.”

“Something had to!” Lionel wisecracks, grinning and ducking before I can smack him on the shoulder.

“All right, test number one,” I call out, and we both instantly switch into project mode, our teasing left behind for the moment. I carry over a shovelful of glass and begin spreading the hot, flexible glop around the workstation top to make a flat sheet. Lionel adds his own shovelful to the mix, and once I declare it ready, I put it through the heavy rollers. They’re still calibrated from the last time I rolled out sheets, since I’ve claimed this pair. As the sheet comes out, Lionel and I lean down, squinting critically at the result.

“Hmph. I suppose it’s good enough. Take this to the annealer while I make the second sheet,” I say, turning back to the crucible. Lionel nods and works with an assistant to move the sheet as requested.

I begin with the next glass mix, ensuring that it’s prepped and ready to go. I give the go ahead, and Lionel and I take turns carrying clumps in the big shovel, racing back and forth to the crucible and collecting more of the newly mixed batch until we have enough.

Once I’m satisfied with the size and general consistency, I pull it through the rollers again to press it flat. “Let’s get this in the annealer, too. Then let’s get to work on the filler. I could use your feedback; I think we need more, but it starts to bulk up the project too much.”

“Are you sure we have the right material for filler? Lionel asks. “Maybe we shouldn’t only be concerned with the composition of the outside of the glass. How do we know that what we’re using will compress in a manner analogous to the mother of pearl?”

“There’s no guarantee,” I admit. “But it’s spongy, soft, light, and readily available. Unless we find that the glass is no longer the breaking point, I think we should continue tests using this filler. One problem at a time.”

“Sounds good,” Lionel says, and trots off to prepare the next batch of glass, copying the method I showed him earlier. This time we’re trying both the new shaping technique and the new composition. Instead of rolling the glass thin and pressing it between the heavy metal rollers, I’m going to try gently tapping it into shape with a wooden mallet while using my [Heat Manipulation] to maintain its pliability and temperature. I douse the end of the treated wood hammer in a bit of water beforehand, just to make sure that it doesn’t catch fire or smolder, and begin to gently pound everything into place. Lionel scoops more shovelfuls on top of the desk while I fashion the sheets, using twin streams of [Heat Manipulation] to shield myself from the scorching waves rising from the workstation while also keeping the glass malleable.

“So, remind me,” Lionel says, already sounding skeptical. “What exactly do we gain by hammering it versus precise rolling? Seems like we’ll have a less consistent result.”

“Yes, exactly. Ezio theorizes that since nacre, or mother of pearl, is an organically found compound, then it’s grown rather than manufactured. And that means inconsistencies and irregularities are part of its structure.”

Lionel scrunches up his nose. “That doesn’t make any sense to me. If you build a bad foundation and make everything irregular, then the house just topples over.”

I go back to running my fingers through my short beard, pleased that it’s starting to grow so well. Before long, I’ll look properly like a man, not just another assistant in the studio. “I see your point. Maybe it’s not just irregularities; maybe the fact that it’s grown together gives it an increase in strength? Hmm. Maybe we need something to hold the glass together, like little fibers or threads. Maybe that would mimic the organic nature.”

Lionel starts pacing excitedly. “Yes! When we built the new shed out behind the main house, the [Mason] did something similar with the concrete. He said adding little bits of stone, or tiny filaments of metal, made the composite stronger than if he just used the pure cement mix. Do you think that maybe that applies to glass, too?”

His enthusiasm is infectious ,and I find myself nodding along, a sudden spark of hope in my heart. “You might be on to something! Maybe that’s what we’ve been missing. We’ve already started this process, though, so for the sake of being thorough let’s go ahead and complete the batch and test it out. Tomorrow I will come back and try the threads or little bits of metal, as well as a softer shell for dispersion. Maybe I can get some shavings from the forge from Mikko.”

Lionel snickers. “Just make sure to buy it off him upfront. Otherwise, he’ll claim a portion of the revenue once you get your glass armor going.”

Our new plan in mind, we resume our work on the third test of the day while waiting for the two test projects to anneal. This time, we’re using the old composition with the hammering flat technique, although I have my doubts about its efficacy. Nonetheless, Ezio will be impressed if I keep meticulous records. I think it will appeal to the [Scholar] in him.

We finalize the third test and then step outside for a quick breath of fresh air and a much needed stretch. Although Ember runs a tight shop, she always encourages us to take time to care for our bodies when we need a break. She thinks we will get more done if we’re rested and at the top of our mental game, instead of tired, hungry, hunched over, and losing focus—I can’t argue with the results. We pump out more products than a studio our size should be able to handle. We may not be located in the downtown district, but we’re still the most prestigious and prodigious glass shop in Silaraon.

“What if none of these methods work?” I say suddenly, breaking into Lionel’s quiet contemplation of the clouds. We’ve walked all the way to a small bluff overlooking the stream—it’s a popular spot for lunches, although we didn’t bring any food and it’s getting closer to the dinner hour, anyway. We’re just lying in the grass, staring up at the sky while we kill a few minutes of time. Soon, we have to go in and collect our glass, but it’s cooling in the annealer and we need to regroup and prepare for our next steps.

“Then we’ll move on to the next one. Don’t worry so much. You get paid either way.”

“I don’t care about that. I need this armor,” I say, urgency bleeding into my voice.

Lionel blows a stray floating dandelion seed away from his face. “Mikko could make you armor. Something else is eating at you.”

“I was hoping it would be enough,” I admit after a long moment of silence.

Lionel arches an eyebrow. “Enough for what?”

My words come out soft, but Lionel seems to hear me nonetheless. “Official recognition.”

“You mean validation? You’re hoping to get a new Skill out of this, aren’t you!”

I hunch my shoulders forward defensively. “So what if I am? ”

“It’s fine, Nuri. You deserve a few more Skills. But don’t let that motivate you. Just do this because it’s interesting. And you’re getting paid. You’ll end up with a great suit of armor to help your adventures. Don’t get greedy, or lose your focus. Skills will come in time.”

I nod slowly. “Well, we should head back. Time to check the first batch.” An uneasy truce settles over us as we trudge back in silence, Lionel’s words churning in my mind. I square my shoulders as we enter the shop, determined to focus on learning and improving. I know he’s right; Skills will come in time. And when they do, I’ll be ready to take full advantage of them. For now? I roll up my sleeves. “It’s time to get to work.”