Between our combined efforts over the last few months, Mikko and I finally scrape together enough money to commission the enchantments for the automaton we’ve designed. The iron itself is cheap and plentiful at his forge, but enchanting is a rare profession in these parts. Small cities like ours simply can’t compete with the demand or high prices that a larger city provides for skilled [Enchanters], so we had to send off an order and wait for someone to reply.

Despite my civic pride, I know that Silaraon barely qualifies as a big town rather than a true city. If I’m being cynical, a single district of the vast cities in the capital region would swallow up my hometown and not notice the difference. The population increase would be nothing more than a rounding error. It’s no wonder why, either: people tend to flock to safety. Rifts don’t open up in the center of Densmore, not after decades of work from the [Mage] guild—which is the primary reason behind their rise to prominence. Out here, in the borderlands, we’re still at risk, but we’ve learned to fend for ourselves.

Still, the thought makes me gulp as I glance out the window of my little cabin, craning my neck to look over my shoulder. Azure skies meet my gaze. A few soft, fluffy clouds float high above. Winter is here in earnest, but today is bright and clear—almost blinding, since the white snow is such a good reflector. No storms of interdimensional chaos loom over our little slice of the world.

Thankfully, it’s been a few years since the last wild Rift opened spontaneously, and that was a half-day’s journey away from Silaraon. Ember helped the city guards quell the monster horde, but she’s never talked about it. Maybe she’ll be more open to sharing what happened now, since I held my own when we fought together against the jaguars. Maybe she’ll even let me join her for a future delve if a new Rift threatens the region.

“Focus, Nuri,” I remind myself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Training first, daydreaming of future glory another time.”

Containing my excitement is hard. Mikko said the enchantments arrived yesterday, but I was busy with work and couldn’t help him assemble the pieces. Today, now that I’m off from the work week, I’ll have a chance to test out the automaton. I haven’t received word yet that each of the custom pieces are fully integrated into the Iron Lunk that he built. Waiting is getting on my nerves, so I throw on my winter gear and trek over to his house.

While I walk through the light, ankle-high snow, I wonder if Mikko can tap into a recurring revenue stream based on his mana-infused armor. He still hasn’t told me who bought it, though; For now, I assume it’s an acquaintance of Lord Garman’s, since that’s how I got the referral for the huge, room-sized, color-glass bestiary. Of course, I refuse to insult my brother’s generosity by prying into his secrets, so I’ll accept his half of the gift without further comment.

Still. Part of me itches to ask how to get on that sweet, sweet money caravan. For purely scientific reasons, naturally. It has nothing to do with completing Lord Garman’s commission for the Grotto, finishing the fantastical menagerie that paid for most of the enchantment work, and running out of other high-paying jobs. Nope. Definitely not.

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 metal rod twice as tall as I am. Unless I miss my mark, the pole weighs as much as I do, if not more. 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.

“Hail, my frail brother. Good timing. I just hooked it all up and was about to send off a message to summon you. Come, witness your inferiority before the might of my machine!” Mikko calls, waving at me.

Today, after weeks of waiting, we’re ready to put the training dummy through its paces. The deepening chill of winter proved an effective motivator as we prepped, and Reijo joined the project with zeal, eager for me to come by more often. How much of it is because he misses me, and how much is because I keep the house comfortably warm is left up for debate, I think with a fond smile.

“Hey! Where’s Dad?”

Mikko scowls. “Ember called him in to work on a custom order. I was hoping he could join us, but we’ll have to show him later.”

“Better him than me,” I say. “Too bad. If I’d known, I would’ve gone into the shop and helped him finish faster so he could be here to see the unveiling.” I’m fond of spending time with Reijo, since he always acts suitably impressed by my [Heat Manipulation] applications.

What can I say? I’m easy to flatter.

Mikko nods. “Ready? I wanna show you what I’ve practiced so far. I’m getting the hang of this. Pretty sure I’m fighting on a Silver level by now.”

“Yeah. Let’s see it!”

He grins, activating the enchantments that power the Iron Lunk. In front of Mikko, a big, roughly humanoid iron statue rotates on a 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 his massive pillar and burning mana to fuel his otherworldly strength. On impact, a patch of dirt explodes in front of him, sending ice and bits of rock and sand in all directions.

Before the cloud of debris falls 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. Swiftly resetting his stance, he grunts and swings another two-handed strike 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 any further 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 and twists a bracelet on his wrist that I hadn’t seen previously. With a whirr, the automaton powers down.

Linked control. It works! Neat.

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. His weapon of choice today looks far more like a lamppost he’s ripped up than a spear or a staff. I can only imagine how a [Weapons Master] might blanche at the thought of a beginner practicing combat forms with such a ridiculous implement. There’s no denying its sheer destructive power, however. Mikko could probably bash down the walls of his house with that thing.

“Try to beat my score,” Mikko taunts.

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 in an instant, 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. Violence is unpredictable, however. Fights rarely go to plan. Hence, martial training.

“Do I look like a side of beef to you?” Mikko says, pretending to be offended. Then he snickers softly. “Don’t answer that, Nuri!”

I snicker back. “Walked into that one.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, our agreement is that you keep the meat frozen and all the people warm. Me people. Not meat. Nuri understand?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a very simple arrangement. I won’t get the details switched up. But it’s not my fault if you’re as dumb as an ox.”

“Strong as an ox,” Mikko corrects.

“I know what I said.”

We clasp hands in greeting, grinning at each other like idiots. 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. Plus, he already used it to start up the sequence I watched earlier, which I’m only too happy to point out.

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. “You’ll probably have better luck than I do, anyway. I’m more of a big, power-move kind of guy. You’re better at fiddly stuff.”

“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. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, my voice growing thick with emotion as gratitude for Mikko and his gift wells up. Sure, he’ll train with it, too, but we both know that constructing the Iron Lunk was primarily for my benefit.

Mikko briefly squeezes my shoulder in acknowledgement of my thanks, then steps away to give me room to train. He’s the best brother I could ever ask for. Teasing is just how we show our affection.

Taking a deep breath to center myself, I touch the activation rune. Mana siphons out of me into the bracelet in a rush, more than I’d like to give up in a single go, but that’s the trade-off we had to make. Self-powered enchantments were simply too expensive.

In my mind’s eye, 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 Iron Lunk whirs and clicks, projecting circles and rectangles at a far slower pace than it did moments earlier.

I slash or stab each color and shape with ease, since I have the benefit of watching how Mikko completed the pattern. Sequence complete, I 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,” although I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t volunteer to take another turn.

“Fine,” I groan. “I’ll increase my endurance training like Ember wants. Guess my morning jog to the studio isn’t enough.”

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 a snack. In short order, I devour the scones slathered with jam that his mom packed for us. “Every time I’m over I remember how good you eat around here. Only thing I miss, although moving away from your snoring is worth the lack of quality cuisine.”

“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 [Heat Manipulation] Skill again. Gaining a “Greater” title would prove that I’m on the right track.

“All right, 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!”

“Har har. Now watch out. My control isn’t perfect, and you’re in the line of fire,” I say as ominous as I can.

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

“Nice try. If anything, it’s going to get freezing cold, since I’ll pull the ambient energy out of the air. 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 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. The strain on my channels from forcing my Skill to operate at such a distance is totally worth the discomfort. I’m forced to drop the long range heat transfer a split second later as the burning sensation in my mana channels spikes, but I’ve already sent a message since Mikko’s scrambling backward.

I resist the urge to look inward and make sure that my previous Skill isn’t developing any hairline cracks again. I’ve gotten stronger, and I’ve checked with Lionel’s Aunt, who doesn’t think I’m at risk any longer. No need to worry compulsively.

Once I’ve caught my breath again, I thumb the activation rune on the control bracelet, scan the magical mental control 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 yells, taunting me from his new perch on the back porch, almost fifty strides away. Sadly, he’s out of my current range to freeze him, so the banter goes unanswered. I’ll drop an ice cube down his back or something later to get revenge.

“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 puts on 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. What an embarrassing oversight.”

Mercifully, that shuts Mikko up for a few minutes, and I turn my full attention toward the Iron Lunk as I take 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 relying on book learning for so long.

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 blunt training spear through its exaggerated block, and jab the end of the wooden staff into the automaton’s head. A soft chime announces the successful strike, but I’m not interested in scoring a few easy hits.

Dominance. That’s what I’m after. Not for my own sake, but so I can keep my friends and family safe.

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. All the while, I’m trying to transfer heat between the glass orbs. Nervous energy floods my body. I put more effort into my practiced offensive combat sequence of strikes. 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—one away from victory—but I grin in excitement despite my “defeat” at the hands of the Iron Lunk. Incidentally, that’s also my new 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. I only got off a single hit using the mana-empowerment, and it’s far from energy-efficient, but it felt about a tenth faster than my usual movement.

I don’t think I’m any faster, but the sudden uptick in speed might be just enough to score a surprise hit in an evenly-matched fight.

Mikko sidles back over next to me, 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 must’ve concussed yourself against the defensive routine if you’re willing to agree with me. That takes talent, my friend!”

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

The playfulness vanishes from Mikko’s face. “Intriguing. You say that like you uncovered a secret. What do you have in mind?”

“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 your empowering 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.”

He cackles at me. “You’re always a bit crazy, but sometimes you’re as mad as cracked glass. You honestly 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.”

“Only 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?” Mikko asks, his amusement still evident. “If you want the challenge to be worth anything, I need you to crank the difficulty level.”

“I’m already trying,” I say. Then I lean closer, squinting. “Oh, wow! I see your mana right now.”

“Wait, really?” Mikko says, squeaking in excitement. “You figured it out that fast?”

“Yeah, I think it’s working. Huh. Never knew that 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. All right, 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 hard things. He flings himself into the training with exemplary energy, smashing his terrifying weapon into the barrier shields his automaton summons. He fights without flagging, showing off his inexhaustible energy. The training dummy twitches, sputtering as the small mana 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.

Even though I’ve seen Mikko exercise before, I’ve never watched him fight. Not like this. When we were kids, we liked to run through the woods with sticks and pretend to swordfight, but that was just for fun. Today’s exploits looked like a [Warrior] toying with a new recruit.

“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? Could you see the mana flows?”

“. . . No,” I admit.

“Then why are you so chipper?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? This is only step one of a new idea. The world is a lot bigger than you or I ever imagined. Let’s keep working. I’m sure we can come up with 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 gotta say, 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’ve ever been before. All my training is paying off, I note with satisfaction.

=+=

“Stay a few days,” Mikko says around a bite of food. “Right now, Ma’s only got a little 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.”

Kirsi lightly 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 again. 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 far too quiet without you to keep things lively. Why, Mikko’s so bored he almost behaves himself these days!”

“Take that back, Dad!” Mikko growls in mock anger, glaring at Reijo. Laughter dances in his eyes, belying his tone.

“Make me, ya muscle-head!” Reijo takes Kirsi’s serving spoon, brandishing it at his son as though they’re about to go to war. He shakes his head, laughs, and spins the spoon around to bang it on the table like a judge’s gavel. In an instant, order is restored in his court, although the mischievous gleam in his brown eyes is a sure sign that we should dive for cover if things get lively.

Kirsi clicks her tongue. “Thank you, dear. 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 a few years back. Windows might be clear, but the glass you make can be as opaque as mud.”

“Can’t pull a fast one on you, Mom.”

She grins at me. “The whole lot of you are dreamers, especially when you’re crafting things. You aren’t content to make windows, even though I bet it pays the bills.”

“Not as well as the animals I made,” I protest. “How do you think we could afford to enchant that iron training dummy out back?”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Kirsi replies briskly. “Windows are safe. What’s the worst that can happen? A few burns or cuts? But I’ve seen how my boys look. You’re gearing up to hunt monsters. Let me worry over you. It’s part of my job description.”

Mikko shrugs his big shoulders. “Nuri handled those Bronze-ranked jaguars well enough. I could probably take on Silvers. Besides, 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 straps at Mikko. “I can hogtie a bull faster than you can blink. No escaping.”

“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 busy chewing. My search comes up empty, however, and her eyes narrow as she takes in my distress.

“Uh huh. I’ve seen that look before. What aren’t you telling us, Nuri? Hiding some big plans?” Kirsi asks. She won’t press me for an answer if I refuse, but she always manages to look so disappointed that I want to answer, anyway.

“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,” Mikko says, coming to my aid with his particular way of speaking.

I scoff at my brother. “I can’t tell whether you’re insulting me or praising me. But I can be both a glass-maker and a monster-hunter. 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. “Yep. Y’now, 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, Dad! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because it takes a genius, like you said,” I offer innocently, smiling as wide as I can. “It’s unfortunately not a trait that got passed down in the family.”

Kirsi goes to smack me with her wooden serving spoon, realizes that Reijo has it, and settles for leaning over and tousling my hair like I’m half my age. “Be nice, boys. Or else I’ll show you how a real [Scrapper] handles herself.” She giggles at her own joke, since her father pulled double time as a [Farmer] as well as running the local scrapyard when she was growing up. Mikko probably got his strength from her; that’s one trait that did translate.

“I see we’re all jokesters tonight. All that wit. Good looks, too. Must be why I married you, huh?” 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 and happy family is taking sides with your wife, then I guess 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 other than to track down who made my father’s swords, to be honest. I have a few related goals, but they’re pretty straightforward. I want to improve my glasswork skills and become a Master someday. 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 or if a Rift opens. 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 somewhat accurate, but only because it means that I’ve excelled at my craft. Not gonna lie: it would be nice to have money. Beyond that? I have no idea how or if I’ll make it to the top. 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. You’re young. Don’t stress. You’ll 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, Nuri, not the cleverness or ambition of your plans. All that we want is for you to carve a path for yourself that you can live with when you’re at the end of it all. Don’t settle for anything less than you’re capable of achieving, just because it’s hard. At the same time, don’t chase after praise from other people. That’s sure to lead you wrong. And it’s a poor substitute for true 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.

Exploration. Creativity. The strength to protect those I hold dear. 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?