Twenty-two. I set my jaw in determination every time I think about the abysmal Capacity result from my mana control test. I’ve been working hard to improve lately, but the score shows me just how far I have to go. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know the fault is my own. I avoided my Skill for various reasons: fear I’d end up with the plague like my parents, my embarrassment over the Skill’s “lesser” title, and envy of my friends who had glass-specific Skills.

All I succeeded in doing was cutting my own hamstrings by not developing the Skill I already had. Now that I’ve “healed” my mindset and learned to walk again, I’m dragging myself up from the bottom of the list. At least I have company along the way. Melina’s been extremely encouraging throughout the process, and studying with her has yielded fresh insights into mana manipulation.

On the day before another class, I wrap up work early and make my way to the SCA as quickly as I can. Once on the grounds, a short set of turns and stairs leads me to my goal, and I knock on the door to Ezio’s office. I’m not sure if he’s still in for his afternoon office hours, since they’re scheduled to end a few minutes before I arrive, but I figure that if all else fails I’ll drop by the library and ask Marko. Regardless, my trip won’t be a waste.

The door creaks open, revealing Ezio’s frowning face. He squints at me, looking more disheveled than usual, and opens the door further with a weary groan. “Nuri. Good to see you, even if you can’t read a clock.”

“And here I thought my timing was impeccable,” I say, testing the waters to see how tired my teacher truly is. If he scowls or sighs, then I’ll apologize for bothering him and go see what Marko can tell me, instead.

“It is, actually,” Ezio says. He hums quietly to himself. “I needed a break. Sometimes, I get lost in my own mind. As much as I enjoy shepherding young minds, my own work calls, and balancing my time isn’t always simple.”

I nod. “That’s how I feel every time I go between glass-making and studying for class. It’s not at the same level as what you’re doing, but I get the feeling. You wish your days were twice as long.”

“Thrice even!” Ezio replies, some good cheer seeping back into his tone. “Now, that’s enough of my complaining. How may I help you today?”

“Any suggestions for how to improve?” I ask Ezio. “I’m looking to branch out from my homemade training methods.”

“Ah. Your progress is slowing down with the orbs?” Ezio guesses. “You may be getting too proficient since it’s the same pattern over and over again.”

“I don’t think I’m in danger of that,” I admit with a laugh. “I mean, you’re right that it’s the same pattern. I don’t have to work as hard to get it done. But I’m not getting faster or anything. I think I’m just bored.”

Ezio nods, his lips pursed in a sympathetic frown. “I know that feeling. That’s a struggle everyone faces. Work is work, in the end.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I pause, staring at the paintings on the wall in his office while I arrange my thoughts. “I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. You’ve helped me so much already. My problem is that I’m afraid my glass orbs are only helping me with finer mana control. They’re not doing anything for my low Capacity. I want to shore up that weakness.”

“Not unachievable. Are you sure that’s the best approach, however?”

“What do you mean? I reviewed the charts, and my Capacity is the lowest in the entire class, even though I’m the second-oldest after Mel. I gotta do something about that.”

“Why?” Ezio presses.

“What do you mean?” I ask, scrunching up my brow. “Isn’t it self-explanatory? I mean, my Capacity, it’s bad. That’s not self-pity or whining. It’s objectively the worst score. Why would I be content to let it lag behind?”

“That sounds smart, on the face of it,” Ezio allows. He drums his fingers on the top of his desk. “Yet recall that you already complained you don’t have time to do everything you want. If you consider the time sink of bringing up your Capacity, then you may find that it’s a lost chance to improve your unique gifts.”

“Focus on what I’m good at, you mean?” I say, trying to wrap my mind around the idea. If I follow Ezio’s advice—and he’s far more qualified in these matters than I am, so I really should listen to him—then I’ll always run into the hard limits of my Capacity.

“I’m saying that there are opportunity costs,” Ezio says more pointedly. “Keep your goals firmly in mind. If you want to learn to imbue, then you’ll need exceptional control. The only mana costs associated, as far as I know, are initiating the process. The mana of the world itself fuels the working. So. Will greater Capacity help you achieve that goal?”

“That . . . makes a lot of sense. I’m glad I came to see you,” I say. I stare at the painting on the wall again, chewing on the new information, and I swear I can see the flowers waving in a gentle breeze. There’s something oddly soothing about it.

“It’s my duty to teach, after all. But don’t lose heart about your Capacity,” Ezio says. “We can improve it as a byproduct of your other training. Using mana consistently will grow your core over time.”

“Is that the only method for building Capacity? Seems like someone would have come up with drills or exercises. I’ll follow your suggestions, but now you’ve got me thinking,” I say, curiosity burning within me.

“We’ll make a [Scholar] of you yet,” Ezio says with a chuckle. “Asking the right questions. I’ll tell you what—instead of giving you a free answer, why don’t I point you toward resources? If you can tell me the other main method by class time, then I’ll give you a reward.”

“Another cookie?” I tease.

“Ha! You’d be surprised how hard students will work for a cookie,” Ezio says, grinning at me. “No. I’ve got bigger plans in mind, but you’ll have to earn them. Up for the challenge?”

“Always!”

“Excellent. Now, take a look at these in the meantime. We’ll continue to fine-tune your mana control.”

Ezio hands me a sheaf of papers. Each one has a maze on it that’s full of dead ends and strange twists, printed in some sort of glossy, midnight-black ink that’s hard for me to look at for long. My brain refuses to process what I’m seeing for some reason.

“I don’t get it. What do they do?” I ask after studying them without comprehension.

“They’re mana puzzles, similar to your glass orbs. They require significantly more power to solve, however. I would say that they’re less demanding in terms of finesse, since you’re used to the concept already, but they also will force you to maintain more specific control over mana. You tend to cheat, just a little, with your heat-related Skill. These are pure mana puzzles.”

I nod as understanding dawns. “Sounds useful. Thank you! May I take these home?”

“Not yet. Perhaps by the end of class, you’ll have gained the requisite control. For now, however, I’d be concerned that you might hurt yourself. Best if you use them here in my office, under supervision.”

“Do you have time for me to use them now? Or should I come back during your office hours? Sorry to show up unannounced.”

“It’s no trouble,” Ezio says. He taps on the papers. “Let’s begin, if you think you can handle it. I must warn you, though. It’s an unusual sensation.”

I find myself chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Are they as painful as the mana control test?”

“Not at all! But they are highly addicting. You may lose track of time. Are you sure you want to try it? Make sure your schedule is clear. You have work in the morning, yes?”

“Yes. But I’m willing to make sacrifices. I don’t want to let Ember down. If I return to my quiet, simple life as an [Assistant Glassworker] at the studio, without anything to show for our time of study, then I’ll be disappointed in myself. Sure, I can go back to my previous life: I’ll melt some glass, make some trinkets, and go out with the boys for a round of drinks before doing the same thing all over again the next day. No ambitions, no big dreams.”

“No scorching pain all over your tender insides,” Ezio says, and we share a chuckle at that one. Using the mana gauge was like nothing else I’ve tried before.

“What’s my focus with these papers? I’m a hair above average in Fidelity, Resistance, and Control. Or, rather, I’m lower than average in resistance, which is better. Because . . . of course it is.” I laugh ruefully, shaking my head as I recall the Foundations textbook’s claims that the scores are standardized. “Why not invert the score, then, so that everything is still out of one hundred?”

“Nuri, don’t overthink it,” Ezio cautions, but the twinkle in his eye tells me that he’s had the same thoughts.

My Speed is nothing special, which also makes sense to me. Other than my big fight in town when the cats attacked, I’ve never tried to push or pull on heat all in one big go. Glass is too delicate for that kind of brute force; slow and steady is preferable to starting over because I shattered my project. Since that fight, though, I’ve made a point of increasing my heat and cold combat potential, but I still require several seconds to kindle a flame, or to sap the energy from an area and freeze a potential opponent. Maybe if I—

“Ready?” Ezio asks, breaking my daydream.

I hide my face in my hands, embarrassed that he caught me completely zoned out. “Yes. Am I still working on my Control?”

Ezio paces, his hands clasped behind his back, his brow drawn in a furrow. “Yes. Let’s see how you do. Draw the mana out of your channels slowly. With the heat-resistant orbs, you have to overcome their inherent inertia. That leads you to tug at the energy like a child worrying at a loose thread in his jacket. Keep pulling like that, and you’re liable to unravel the entire thing with this test.”

“Got it. Avoid the temptation to work on my Speed, and make sure I’m locked in with my Control training?” I ask, connecting the dots.

“Precisely,” Ezio says, smiling in encouragement. “You pick up things quickly, Nuri. You are doing well. I know it’s tempting to want to move faster, but just make sure you do it right.”

I simply nod and start, gently feeding mana into the paper. It fizzles before I establish a connection. I try again, with the same result. Fighting off the temptation to get upset, I take a deep breath and start over. It takes me five tries until I finally get the balance right and maintain a flow of mana for more than a couple seconds.

“Better, Nuri. Don’t lose your command out of fear of overdoing it. Feebleness isn’t the answer, either. Keep it steady and even. You are improving, believe it or not. Progress is never easy,” Ezio reminds me.

Forty-five minutes later, my fingers tremble slightly at the raw, drained feeling of my inner being. I shut out the minor irritation. What’s a little pain? The phrase has become my unofficial motto lately. I’ll never ascend the heights if I’m afraid of the foothills. I refocus and thread a little mana into the black ink pattern that Ezio has inscribed on the paper before me.

“Yes! That’s it, Nuri. Well done,” Ezio says when I finish the first stroke on the paper. He rubs his hands together. “Almost ready for the second step!”

I’m grateful for Ezio’s enthusiastic praise, but his words are enough to break my fragile concentration. I put up a cursory struggle, trying to keep the connection strong, but the mana sputters and dies out.

I rub my eyes, which are starting to feel dry and strained. “Are you sure this is going to lead to me developing a mana-related Skill? I’ve been at this sort of mana training for dozens of hours already this year, not including the work in your class, but I still don’t see mana reliably. Once the mana leaves my body, unless it’s a direct application of my Skill, I lose all connection to the energy flows.”

“Dozens of hours?” Ezio says, gently chiding me with a wag of his finger. “Come talk to me when you’ve labored and bled for years without fruition. These things take time.”

“Do you tell that to all your students who pay you for a decade of study?” I ask, laughing. “Funny how you are the only one who can gauge progress. We just have to trust that we’re on the right path, as long as we keep your coffers full.”

“Cynicism is a tired look on a young man,” Ezio replies smoothly. “I suppose if you want proof, you could try the mana control test again.”

I wrinkle my nose at the suggestion, and he enjoys a dry chuckle at my expense. “No, I thought not. But you have worked hard without seeing any tangible results yet, and I don’t want to lose a student to discouragement. Perhaps a bit of motivation is in order?”

I pause midway through drumming my fingers on the top of his desk. “I think I’ve had my fill of your particular brand of motivation.”

“You are improving. Promise.”

“All right. I’ll try again.”

“Take your time. Why don’t you relax and replenish your reserves first? Stand up. Stretch out. Renew your focus. Everything is new and different, so you’re all kinds of excited, and that’s likely to translate into poor control.”

Five minutes later, I’m feeling more clear-headed. “Maybe I should eat something first, or look for a mana-infusion station.”

“Smart. You appear to be learning,” Ezio says in approval. He unstoppers a decanter of mana-refreshing wine and pours a small glass for me. “Here, this will help. Not too much, now. You’re not used to this caliber of mana infusion, and I’d rather you didn’t pass out in my office.”

The first sip hits me like a runaway bull. I cough and sputter, but I refuse to give Ezio the satisfaction of seeing me beaten by a drink, so I drain the glass and set it down on the desk with an authoritative clink and a wide grin. “Watch me fly through this on my first try now. I’m feeling fresh!”

“I’d rather save you the embarrassment and leave you to it. You’ll need more than an hour before you’ve cracked this case,” Ezio replies, tidying his desk and shutting the drawer that he’d left open in his haste to hand me the stack of papers. “In the meantime, I’m heading to the archives—I’m chasing down a promising lead about glass [Artisans] of antiquity. Rakesh will catch you up to speed on that later. It’s prime material for your research project.”

That stops me in my tracks. I scoot my chair back, stand up, and bow to my teacher with as much sincerity as I can muster. “Thank you, Ezio. You’ve been incredibly helpful. I’m afraid that I’ve overlooked just how much work you’ve put into helping me. If you can provide me with a path forward as I explore the mysteries of glass, then I’ll be eternally grateful for your insight.”

Ezio rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “Young man, I’m just doing my job. You’re not the first reluctant scholar I’ve taught, and you won’t be the last. It’s a privilege to watch my charges flourish.”

With that, he coughs awkwardly, removes his hand, and scurries out of the room in the least dignified manner I’ve seen from him in our brief time together. “Don’t forget your homework for tomorrow morning, Nuri!” he calls before he slams the door behind him.

I chuckle, lace my fingers together, and crack my knuckles, then sit back down to tackle the mana puzzle. I’ll make Ezio proud of me yet.

=+=

A hand shaking my shoulder rouses me awake. I try to talk, but my mouth is drier than a kiln, and I can’t seem to open my lips. My head is pounding, as though all the blood in my body is rushing through my temples, and my eyeballs feel like I’ve got glass chips in them.

“Steady, now, Nuri. Drink this.” Ezio’s voice echoes far too loudly in my ears, which are still ringing from the backlash of cramming too much mana into that blasted paper. He presses a brackish, foul-smelling concoction against my parched lips and forces the cold liquid down my throat before I can protest.

Ezio breathes out a long-suffering sigh. “Didn’t I warn you that you can get lost in time? I’m more than ready to go home, but you broke my one rule: you passed out in my office!”

I gag while trying to drink the awful medicine, but fighting back isn’t working very well in my current state. I can barely manage a coherent thought, let alone complex movement, but the liquid abomination coursing through my body snaps me out of my stupor. I gasp and sit upright, blinking.

Ezio picks up the paper and examines the pattern. His eyes glow briefly with the golden sheen of mana, and for a moment I think I’m starting to crack the code. I can see what’s going on! Before I can latch onto the phenomenon, his eyes glimmer and return to normal. Like most mana users, I can tell if someone in the immediate vicinity channels magic, but actually seeing the flows and colors of the various mana aspects remains beyond me.

He clicks his tongue and drops the paper back to the desk, shaking his head at me. “Not quite reached the end yet. Impressive! You have a ways to go, but I wouldn’t call your efforts a failure.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say, the words slurring like I’m drunk out of my mind.

“You’ve put yourself into a mana coma. It’s stupid, but I pulled you back in time to save you from the worst of it. You should avoid lingering effects.”

I groan and lower my forehead to the desk. “Sounds like a failure to me.”

“The dedication required to get to this point is impressive. That’s what I applaud. You’ve been draining yourself regularly, despite the headaches, and this afternoon you kept trying to draw on more than you could hold. It’s not wise, but it takes guts.”

“Thanks. I think. Nothing like celebrating pigheadedness.” I sit up, but that sets the room to spinning again. I grimace, holding my head in my hands.

Ezio gives me a thin smile. “Self-reflection. You love to see it in youth! You have to lean into your strengths, and stubbornness is definitely one of yours. Don’t knock it.”

“Careful, honorable professor. You’re in grave danger of developing a sense of humor.”

“Oh, ho! He’s making a full recovery, it would seem,” Ezio says dryly.

I glance out the window at the blue shadows of twilight, and massage my sore muscles before replying. The simple act of speaking is tiresome work right now. “Where did the time go? The last thing I remember is a stray thought about what I should do for dinner tonight. Looks like I missed dinner by a few hours.”

“I ordered extra food from the SCA mess hall. Take it home with you. Oh, and come by my office tomorrow if you want to try the puzzle again. You’re close, Nuri, but I won’t force you.”

“I’ll do it,” I promise. “I’ll keep working on my Control and Fidelity, even if it’s tough not to worry about my Capacity.”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Ezio says. “I do want you to improve your Capacity. My point is only that you have limited time to practice this semester. Don’t neglect your strengths simply because you’re fixated on areas that aren’t as strong yet. Taking advantage of this opportunity costs you that one, but only for the time being. You have years to improve. Patience!”

I nod eagerly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for all your help and advice. I appreciate it.”

After our discussion wraps up, I trudge home to my cabin, exhausted from practicing the intricate puzzles. My mana will fully regenerate by morning, and I’ll regain my energy after a good night’s rest, but for now I’m spent. My mind is still a whirlwind of questions and theories, so I reach into the book bag that I bought from Marko and withdraw the enormous textbook. The little training manuals are easier to read, but I’m trying to improve my scholarly discipline.

“[Scholars],” I sigh. “Crazy as loons, the lot of ‘em.”

I crack open the textbook that Ezio requires for the course. Aromas of must and old ink wash over me in a blast of nostalgia. Unexpectedly, the scent reminds me of my father. I clutch at the new memory, trying to hold it close before it evaporates into the ether and I lose a part of him that I never knew existed.

I inhale deeply, filling my nostrils with the tannic scent of old leather and the acrid stink of the gum-like glue used in the book binding. Mm, scholarly neglect for the outside world. Did my father like to read? Or perhaps that was my mother? I can’t recall either of them with as much clarity as I’d like most days. Thankfully, I still have the enduring image of my stalwart father in the hot shop, preparing molten glass in order to make a masterpiece.

Wiping away tears wasn’t in my plans tonight, but the emotional release feels good in a way I didn’t know I needed. I scrub at my eyes with the back of my sleeve, take a shuddering breath to steady myself, and stake out a comfortable spot on my bed to commence reading. My study desk feels too sterile all of a sudden. I wasn’t prepared for an encounter with my past just because I opened a textbook. Strange how the most unexpected memories blindside me out of nowhere.

Then the moment fades. Sorrow never truly goes away, but the sting of their loss gives way to more pleasant recollections of good days together.

I open the book to the well-worn table of contents, skimming through the previous entries I’ve already read for class. At last, I find what I’m looking for: a chapter all about mana Capacity and how to increase the amount of mana a person can hold. Eagerness at the thought of improving my terrible score gives me a burst of energy. I’ll follow Ezio’s advise and work on my Fidelity and Control, but looking into future plans while I have the textbook seems prudent.

I turn the pages with equal parts determination and dread as a new thought occurs to me suddenly. What if the recommended methods don’t work for me? What if I’m already capped out with abysmal Capacity?

What if I’m just bad?

“Capacity,” I read aloud, tracing the words with my finger to stave off the hysteria of getting lost in my own thoughts, “is not, as many mistakenly believe, an absolute number that reflects mana pool size. Rather, it’s a measurement of mana held in reserve versus a theoretical total maximum—one hundred—on a per-Threshold basis. That is, a middle of the pack score of fifty is different in size pre-Threshold compared with the First Threshold, the Second Threshold, and so on.”

“But why?” I ask no one in particular, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s so needlessly complicated.” I sigh and get back to reading, only to find that the answer is even more convoluted than I expected.

“Due to exponential growth at each Threshold, measuring Capacity in raw units of mana creates a lopsided mana-control result that offends this author’s sense of symmetry. Thus, to maintain the same one-hundred-point scale that fits so neatly with as the other traditional mana categories, the Capacity score is instead a function that’s calculated as a percentage of the highest recorded results run through a linear regression model; from that result, we extrapolate the maximum.”

Yep. [Scholars] really are the worst. Why not just measure what exists?

I thumb through the rest of the dense chapter, dutifully ingesting as much as I can of the theory, until I locate the practical exercises for increasing mana Capacity in budding young [Mages]. The predominant idea is a time honored classic: constantly use your mana, drain your current pool, and refill your core with new energy. Over the years, you’ll expand your available mana pool like a child inflating a balloon, little by little.

“I hope it’s impossible to pop like a balloon if I overfill myself with mana,” I mutter, not sure if the mental image is hilarious or horrifying.

I guess a little bit of both.

The dissertation continues in the same dry tones, and I almost give up reading until I see a footnote near the end of the chapter. Paradoxically, it’s the small print that catches my eye, although it looks like the author only included it begrudgingly.

Some [Sages] recommend holding mana at all times—not using it wastefully, they claim, but nurturing it and infusing every sliver of their life with the energy of the universe. How this avoids excessive waste is something of an opaque discussion, but this humble author is willing to overlook such obstacles to the theory and include it for the sake of completeness; scholarship rarely advances due to a singular voice, after all.

Advocates of this mana-enhancement method claim that soaking your body and soul in mana all throughout the day apparently strengthens you so that your reservoir can grow in a safe, gentle way, rather than straining yourself by draining your pool over and over again and risking a mana coma—or, worse, burnout. While emotionally appealing, more research into the subject is required before this [Researcher] will provide his imprimatur.

I’m skeptical, but intrigued. What have I got to lose if I try this method out? Worst case scenario, it doesn’t work. In that case, I’ll simply revert to the drain-fill, drain-fill cycle to forcibly deepen and expand my mana pool.

Now I’m older and . . . well, I’m still easily bored, but I’ve learned the value of discipline. Besides, Ezio is brilliant. He'll steer me in the right direction.

Two hours later, my confidence is building, but my eyes glaze over after pages of dense reading. My head feels heavy with the soporific effects of cramming too much info into my mind all at once about the compositions and effects of various mana types. How do students at the Silaraon City Academy put up with this kind of torture?

“Twenty-two isn’t my forever Capacity,” I mumble to myself as a promise as I prepare for an early bedtime. When I finally close my eyes, I release a little mana throughout my body, attempting to gently soak my muscles and bones—and my Skill—in mana overnight. Might as well grind out some progress while I’m asleep. I’ve got my first taste of numbers, and now I’m obsessed with watching them grow.

Twenty-five is my Capacity goal by the end of the semester. Maybe I can hit Thirty by the end of the year if I’m diligent. Even that will only be the beginning, I tell myself with a smile. Patience is key. Ezio was right: I’ll grow for a lifetime.