The sharp sound of Scalpel’s snap echoes in my ears. I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright on the hard, narrow edge of the bed in her workshop. Shoulders hunched, I lean against the rough, pitted surface of the concrete wall and let out a long, heavy sigh. Where did the intoxicating rush of inspiration go? Why can’t I replicate my miraculous breakthrough in Melidandri’s studio?

“Report?” Scalpel asks.

“Nothing new,” I mutter sullenly, turning to regard my strange teacher, who doesn’t hide her smug look. Since my return from Melidandri’s, she’s made me delve inward all on my own, as though proving a point about her methods versus mine. Her tried and true tactics, superior to my experimental ideas. I blow out air in a huff. “Still broken. I thought I was making progress.”

Her bloodless lips twist into a grimace. “Unfortunate. Well, setbacks are nothing new. I had high hopes after the show you put on, based on the writeup that the shop-owner submitted to the [Viceroy]. Let’s hope you don’t make me regret my investment.”

Her gloating fans the flames of my frustration into open hostility, although a quiet voice in the back of my mind warns me of the potential danger of antagonizing her. I settle for a muted glare at Scalpel, meeting her unsettling eyes and not flinching. “Melidandri is spying on me for Tapirs? And he sent you a copy? I’m offended that he didn’t simply trust my report.”

Scalpel scoffs. “A single perspective often lacks context. Even I am willing to listen to your amateur analysis and reconsider my initial thoughts. You should be proud you’ve earned that spiteful mage’s attention at all. He likes you, for some unfathomable reason. Now prove your worth before you earn his ire—I won’t have you bring me down alongside you.”

“That’s hardly fair. You’re expecting me to pull another miracle out of thin air,” I protest, scowling at her. The effort makes me wince. I run my tongue across the worn edges of my teeth, eager to be done with the latest round of treatments. They feel like they’ve been sandblasted with mana, since Scalpel has been pumping me full with double-doses over the last three days to try to brute-force a repeat of my breakthrough. “Do you have any idea how painful this is? I need a break. I’ll probably make progress again as soon as I’m back in the hot shop.”

Scalpel lifts a single finger, touching it to her thumb in preparation to snap at me again, then seems to think better of it. Her hands fall limply to her sides, but she shakes her head at me in disappointment. The dark void of her lidless eyes bore into me, burning with authority. “Do things my way first. You’ll get your chance when I’m through with you.”

I wither under her relentless gaze, dropping my eyes before she takes exception to my confrontational tone. Even with the [Viceroy]’s backing, I’m not quite ready to go toe to toe with Scalpel, although she’s been surprisingly reasonable lately. I let my shoulders slump in defeat so she’ll know that I know she’s won, while admonishing myself not to complain so much. She’s poured more mana into my core space than I could realistically gather in a decade of trying on my own, so I suppose I owe her something.

While I despise Scalpel’s deranged sense of morality, there’s no arguing the efficacy of her mad methods. She builds up Skills, layer by layer, and then flays them apart, systematically cutting off new patterns and shapes all in hopes of uncovering greater mysteries of Classes and Skills. Now that I’m tentatively her apprentice, I’m finally learning the finer details of what that actually entails.

Even better, I’m slowly healing thanks to the steady influx of the power of creation. Still, it’s hard to feel gratitude toward my torturer, no matter how much progress we’ve made. Each time magic seems almost within my grasp again, it’s gone again, excised from my inner world as though it’s a malignant growth. Perhaps that’s exactly what my Skills are to Scalpel. She isn’t interested in healing me; she wants to use me as a test subject.

“When are you going to be through with studying me? I thought we’d be done since I’m your assistant now,” I ask in a subdued voice. Deferential, not defeated, I remind myself.

“When we crack the code. You’re an enigma, Nuri. Your glass-related Skills performing better when glass-making is not unreasonable. I’ll admit that I was wrong on that score. But I still can’t figure out how you manipulated all of the objects in the air. You don’t have any of the constituent runes for it, unless there’s more hidden within your Skills that have yet to be pieced back together,” Scalpel says blandly, tapping her fingernails against my skin.

Gooseflesh breaks out under her touch, but I know better by now than to flinch away. It won’t make a difference, anyway. I’m under diplomatic immunity, so she can’t kill or maim me, but Scalpel never hesitates to earn her sobriquet. She peels back the layers of my core space to take a look whenever she pleases, and carving on my bones is considered “efficient” to her. She has no sense of boundaries, no respect for the sanctity of personhood. It’s creepy.

I grit my teeth and force myself to meet her eerie, obsessive gaze. She cut off her own eyelids to see without the interruption of blinking, and the result is deeply disconcerting. “Then what’s the plan? You’ll help me rebuild?”

“Depends on what you’re worth to me,” Scalpel says. There’s no threat to her tone, not in the way the [Adjutant] used to speak. She’s simply stating the facts. And in that cold calculation, I find far more to fear than hot-blooded malice.

I straighten my spine, crossing my arms to show her that I’m not cowed. “I thought you were close to figuring out another piece of the puzzle. I don’t know what I am looking for yet, but you seem excited and impatient whenever you check on my Skills. What clues do you see? If you tell me what you hope to find, or show me how to build it, then it will help us both.”

Her face is suddenly inches from mine, her lips curled back in a snarl to reveal her sharp teeth. “Still trying to steal my life’s work, Nuri?”

I shake my head slowly, wondering if she’s playing with me as her glare turns to a smirk. Is she developing a twisted sense of humor? “No. I’m suggesting that we can make much faster progress if you teach me the theory behind how reconstructive magic works. Then, instead of telling me to just check for fractals and runes I’m barely starting to understand, I can assist with the rebuild and analysis. I’ll be more useful to you that way.”

Scalpel strokes her jaw, her head tilted to the side as if she’s considering my request. It’s the most natural, human movement I’ve seen from her yet, and that’s somehow unnerving in its own way. She nods abruptly. “That may have merit. I will administer further tests in the morning to determine your aptitude for building. Clean yourself up for now. You reek of the outside world, even though you’ve been back in my house for days.”

By the time my shock wears off, Scalpel is gone, undoubtedly whisking away to conduct more nefarious research. Her boots barely make a sound, like the whisper of paper shuffled in a quiet library. For once, I don’t mind the quiet, since she’s not sneaking up on me and scaring me half to death.

A slow smile spreads across my face. I’ve grinned so much this week that my cheeks are starting to cramp, but I don’t care. It feels nice to be happy again. Finally, a spark of hope in the midst of the darkness. I take her advice and hit the showers before retreating to my small room in the western wing of the compound. No guards follow me, but I know better than to try to sneak off to the hot shop before it’s my time.

Scalpel’s first act was to anesthetize me, slice open the skin of my left arm just a little above my missing hand, and carve a tiny tracking enchantment onto my wrist bone. She knows where I am at all times. The house itself is keyed to my location; if I leave my prescribed areas, then a veritable flood of intrusive mana will incapacitate me until she’s ready to resume her experiments. Sure, she disables it each time I leave for meetings, but she’s always careful to reactivate it when I return. I know precisely how much it hurts, because I tried to flee once in the first week, emboldened by my lack of chains. I did not try a second time.

Grudging admiration fills me as I glance down at my unblemished skin where she fixed the skin so that not even a scar remains. If not for watching her perform the work multiple times with my own eyes, I couldn’t tell that she performed surgery at all. Unfortunately, her Skills can’t regrow missing limbs. I asked, and received only a blank, uncomprehending look in response. Apparently, I can write just fine with one hand, so I’m sufficient for her needs.

I snort at the memory of that awkward, confusing conversation. Why get an apprentice with two working hands when an apprentice with only one hand will do the trick? No matter that Scalpel clearly has a long history of body enhancement that enables her to carry out her mad experiments more optimally. That’s only for her; people like me don’t deserve her genius.

I crawl into bed, relieved to get some rest. I’ll need my strength for the morning of study. I might hate her with all my heart—justifiably so, I believe—but there’s no denying that she’s talented. Now that I’ve shown my worth by learning how to meticulously unravel Skill fractals and tap into their constituent runes, she’s more willing to interact with me. I’m no longer merely a test subject, but something more like a servant. All I have to do is keep watering the seed I’ve planted of learning how to rebuild, and eventually it will flourish and grow.

And if she won’t teach me, then I’ll figure out how to fix my Skills myself.

My thoughts race ahead through the coming months and years as I toss and turn. Hope is surging within me, keeping me wide-eyed and awake despite my exhaustion. Scalpel is slowly knitting me back up, piece by piece. When I first met her, she had a nasty habit of unraveling the entire weaving until I was worse off than before. I lost track of how many rounds of restoration and destruction we were up to before she took me on as an apprentice. I’m sick of the cycle. It hurts in my bones and marrow in a way I didn’t know possible.

Those few glorious moments when I can use parts of my Skills, though? That’s got me hooked. We haven’t restored them to their former glory, but we’re so close that I can taste it. My mana access and use is moderated and supervised, and the Skills don’t function right anymore, particularly with all the intentional incisions she’s made on their structures, but it’s a start. I only hope it’s not the end, as well.

=+=

“Your half of the commission. Inspired work on that chandelier, master Nuri,” Melidandri says, smiling warmly at me when I show up at the studio the following week. His eyes crinkle as he greets me, and there’s a genuineness that was lacking previously. I must have made quite an impression. He extends both hands, cradling an ornate red envelope made from some sort of fine, woven fiber that shimmers in the magelight, and bows slightly as he gives me the gift.

I awkwardly accept the envelope with one hand, unable to follow decorum and use two hands. Melidandri doesn’t seem to care about my unavoidable slight, so I turn my attention to the envelope, marveling at the cost of the material. The edges are chased in gold filigree, but somehow I suspect that the fabric and dyes are worth more than the gold. Just what’s inside If the package is this pretty?

It’s probably considered gauche to open the envelope in front of him, so with great effort I bury my curiosity for now. Smiling in return, I respond to his bow with a deeper bow, thanking him profusely for giving me the freedom to work in his space. I tuck the dazzling red envelope away, hoping there’s a hefty bank note hidden within, and clear my throat. “Are you available to teach me mana imbuing today?”

“I certainly am, master Nuri, if you actually need my help.” His brows draw together, and he peers at me, uncertainty written on his face. “Mana-imbuing ought to be easy for someone with your exquisite mana control. Tell me, why do you not use Skills while working? Two days of mundane labor! With your abilities, you could have finished up in mere hours.”

A smirk breaks out when I realize that he no longer calls me “young” master. I could get used to this kind of professional respect. “Truth be told, my core is shattered. Trying to harvest mana directly feels like shoveling hot coals onto my body, so I rely on using mana crystals to access power instead. Imbuing is too costly to maintain the working in my current state, but I’m hoping to learn the requisite skills to put it to good use once I recover.”

I leave out the ghastly details about the state of my Skills. That’s a bit of trivia that I don’t feel like sharing, particularly since he’s already seen me use what looks like high-level Skills. The implications of my ability to side-step broken Skills will likely invite closer scrutiny than I’d like. The [Viceroy] arranged for this studio time, after all, and he doesn’t strike me as someone who hires incompetents. Anything and everything I say will find its way back to Tapirs. Why give him free details, even if he already knows the general information?

“Ah, fascinating. Efficiency is always the hardest part of imbuing. No wonder you’re in need of assistance in that regard. Tell me, have you imbued before, even in a crude form?” he asks, warming to the topic much like Ezio does moments before he inevitably launches into a lengthy lecture. “I suspect so, but I’d like confirmation.”

I nod. “Good guess. I’ve tried imbuing before, or at least muddling my way through some sort of adjacent process. My best go at it involved investing a clear concept into my mana while infusing the mana into the glass project, but coaxing the energy to stay in place is harder than I realized. My earliest attempts amounted to nothing more than frustration, since the mana would simply evaporate, for lack of better word. I couldn’t achieve any stability.”

“Come. Let’s make ourselves more comfortable,” Melidandri offers, beckoning for me to follow. As soon as I nod, he beams and strides off through the hot shop. We climb up a twisting flight of wrought-iron stairs in the back of the studio, walk along a narrow balcony overlooking the shop, and soon reach a carved oak door in the corner of the building.

He unlocks the door and gestures for me to enter, following behind and closing the door to the shop. Immediately, the sounds of the workers die away, and I find myself in a cozy, quiet room with a cheery stone fireplace. Melidandri eases himself into an oversized leather chair and crosses his feet. “Welcome to my office. I’ve got a pot of tea on, if you’re so inclined.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your hospitality,” I answer, although the thought of tea evokes memories of Lady Evershed, which makes me melancholy. It’s odd how a single word can carry so much meaning. I hope she’s doing well back in Grand Ile. Maybe I can visit once all of this business with the [Viceroy] and the [Inquisitors] is sorted out.

Assuming they clear my name instead of executing me for treason. Could go either way. Flip of the coin; that’s what my life is worth.

Once we’re settled in with our tea cups, he resumes our mana-imbuing conversation with a more relaxed air. “How’d you go about solving the issue of the mana dissipating? Most of the self-taught crafters I’ve met struggle to surmount that obstacle. Talking through your unique approach may be enlightening, perhaps for the both of us.”

The room grows soft as my eyes unfocus. Instead of taking in Melidandri’s office, I am imagining the mana lattice as inspired by Maire, the incredible baker I met during my journeys. I pull the memory forth and overlay it across reality so that I can better describe the way I trapped the mana in the lattice. It’s glowing in my mind’s eye, a sturdy structure that prevented the mana from escaping, as the unruly energy is wont to do.

Before I realize that I’ve spoken, I find myself narrating my memory of visiting the bakery and watching the brilliant Maire at work. I leave out the mana-restorative properties of the treats, only describing the shape and structure of her mana manipulation and the ways it inspired me. I recount my process of prototyping and iteration, culminating in the mana-sharpened knife that was strong enough to pierce the crab carapace. Part of me itches to boast that I took out a Rift boss with the knife, but I swallow my pride and stick to the relevant facts, excitement growing as I realize that I was on the right track after all.

“Brilliant. I’d love to try those pastries sometime. Perhaps you could suggest a pairing for this oolong tea,” he says, holding up his silver-rimmed porcelain cup with a quiet chuckle. “Your lattice structure certainly helps mitigate against the mana turning back into vapor. It may be an ineffable force, the very energy of creation itself, but it behaves suspiciously similar to water at times. I can see by your polite blinking that you have no idea what I mean, so please allow me to demonstrate.

“Please,” I say, my face heating up with embarrassment at how easily he saw through my lack of comprehension.

Melidandri unfolds himself from his seat, managing to stand up from the big, overstuffed chair with dignity and grace. He sets the tea down on a marble desk, saunters over to the side of the fireplace, and opens a small, vertical chest of holding. Frigid air swirls out from the box in misty curlicues of condensation.

“Behold. My most expensive indulgence: an icebox.” His deft fingers reach in and snatch a chunk of ice, which he brings over to me, cupped in the palm of his hand. “Observe how water takes on a solid form at low temperature. Now, add some heat, and what happens?”

“It turns back into a liquid,” I reply dutifully, starting to get an inkling of where he’s going with this line of thought.

“Precisely.” To demonstrate, he holds his hand into the fireplace, unperturbed by the red tongues of flame blazing around his shirt and skin as he continues his discussion.

He must be a fellow wielder of [Heat Manipulation], I think with fondness. Somehow, that makes me like him more, since even after all this time, it’s still my favorite Skill. As the owner and master of the studio, Melidandri clearly earned his position. Hard work and impressive Skills will take anyone far in life, and he shows considerable finesse in the clever application of [Heat Manipulation] to only allow the ice to melt, while leaving his sleeves not so much as singed.

“Now the water is much like mana, flowing and malleable. It trades rigidity and strength for adaptability. As it gains heat, however, it will transform into steam, disappearing into the air.” He shakes his hand, elegantly shedding the water droplets that have yet to vaporize. The fire hisses and crackles on contact with the water, but the drops turn into steam almost immediately due to the high temperatures.

“Are you saying that I need to freeze the mana into place?” I ask.

He frowns, interlacing his fingers and considering. “Not quite, and I fear I’ve misled you. No analogy is perfect. You’re on the right track with changing the state of the mana so that it has order and doesn’t simply disperse, but making everything too rigid will likely weaken the concept you’re imparting. I think the better comparison is poetry.”

I sip my tea to cover my skepticism. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

“Efficiency matters, but so does artistry. Let me show you; this is too complex for me to explain with words. For example, if I were to write something frivolous, it wouldn’t connect much with the reader. Consider this silly example.” He scrounges up chalk from his desk, rummages about the room, and pulls out a gray writing slate bordered with wood with a crow of triumph at his find. His hand blurs as he scribbles a little verse, then he spins the slate around for me to observe the results.

Far off castles

full of tassels

Fill my sight

With delight

He winces. “Obviously, this isn’t work I’d ever display in public. I have my pride, after all.”

We share an awkward chuckle, but I don’t see what’s so bad about the piece. It’s like any other bit of poetry I’ve seen, which means not all that interesting. To my horror, he hands me the chalk and gestures toward the writing slate, as though to indicate that it’s my turn to try my hand at an artistic composition.

My mind blanks. “I’m not much of a poet,” I confess, racking my brain to find a way out of this unexpected development. “I, uhh, don’t like rhyming. It feels restrictive and artificial.”

“That speaks to your good tastes,” Melidandri says. “My poetry preferences are more restrained and natural, as well. I don’t care that the words rhyme; I’m captivated by the feelings that the word-pictures elicit. Here, let me try with a shorter example.” He takes the writing slate back, much to my great relief, and sketches out a new phrase.

We share the same moon

“That’s only one line!” I protest, my nose wrinkling up in confusion. What he’s trying to explain is less clear than ever. “I’m not sure I get poetry. What’s this one about? And what does it have to do with mana-imbuing?”

Melidandri’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. “Yet it says so much more about life than I could manage in a longer, drier description. Whether from Central, or from the borderlands, we all look up at the same sky. This short poem is a declaration of our shared humanity—all of our hopes and dreams, all of our success and failures—and how all of us, great or small, are equal under the vastness of night.”

“Oh. That makes a lot more sense. You’re using five words instead of fifty, plus leaving room for me to think on my own and fill in the gaps with my impressions and emotions.”

“Ah, my young friend, you do ‘get’ poetry,” Melidandri says, offering the smallest round of applause I’ve ever seen in gentle mockery of my slow comprehension. “You see? Each word in this sentence is essential. There’s meaning and mystery wrapped up in a single, pithy phrase. How is that not poetry? It makes you think, makes you feel. A truly skilled [Poet] transports the listener to a different time and place—perhaps one that doesn’t even exist, except in the mind.”

I nod along, warming to the analogy at last. “Ah, like the way your offer of tea brought me back to my time with Lady Evershed. From a single teacup, my thoughts ballooned out to fill in the missing elements, expanding into an entire world of memory. I can picture her in her studio right now, enjoying a cup of tea in her cozy back room.”

“Precisely!” Melidandri shouts, and I start to see why his office is sound-proofed. He’s remarkably like Ezio now that he’s out of the public eye and not running the shop. They share the same exuberance and uninhibited love for ideas.

I set down my teacup and stroke my beard. “Did you do that on purpose?”

Melidandri chuckles, soft and with a touch of self-deprecating chagrin. “As much as I’d like to claim I’m that clever, it was simply serendipitous, master Nuri.“

“Huh. Lucky for me. It definitely got your point across. if you’d asked me to describe her shop, or some of our conversations, I’d struggle to picture it. I’d have to ramble on and on, hoping for a burst of inspiration. I guess that’s exactly what I was doing with stuffing as much mana as I could into the lattice structure.”

“Now you’ve got it,” Melidandri says warmly. “Well done. Always a privilege to see someone’s moment of illumination.”

I scratch the back of my head while I mull over his words. “Fair enough. I still have a question, though. If you don’t use a lattice structure to retain the mana, then how do you prevent the mana from leaking?”

Excitement lights up Melidandri’s eyes. “A lattice structure is as good as any, but what you're trying to do is akin to writing a dissertation as opposed to creating a poem. Far more effort and detail, but less overall impact. Focus less on the mechanisms involved, and more on impressing your unique vision on the world.”

He snaps his fingers and sits up. “Aha! Letters are a good example. Or, rather, the wax used to seal a letter. What is a signet ring for? It’s an imprint of the sender to signify veracity or authority. In the same way, to imbue with mana is to stamp reality with a conceptual crest of your own design.”

“I’m not sure I know how to do that,” I say, daunted by the high-minded task. “Is that why you started with a silly poem? The design matters?”

He shakes his head. “Not the design inherently, but the quality of your perception. What I do is envision an energy structure that mimics the glass I’m imbuing, while meditating on the insight I have into its function. Higher-order concepts are about bringing the metaphysical and physical into harmony. Once you do that, energy flows willingly into the provided vessel.”

“So that means your mana-working changes from project to project, but your method stays the same?” I ask, chewing on the idea like a tough bit of hardtack. It’s still too hard for me to understand. Mana-imbuing is too nebulous for me to do anything with the concepts yet.

“Right,” Melidandri says, pacing now in excitement. “The shape isn’t relevant, except for visualization. There’s no pre-constructed solution that fits each situation.”

Comprehension slowly dawns as I consider the implications. “For my knife, I could have compressed the mana and held it in place with will, creating a sheath of hardened intent, rather than the wasteful layers of the lattice structure. Or am I taking the imagery too far? Maybe a sheath isn’t necessary.”

Melidandri pours himself another cup of tea, nursing it for long minutes while he considers my question. After he finishes the oolong, he sets the cup down with a sigh, then turns to face me. “I’d avoid a sheath. That muddies the waters, no? Unless you want to create an entire set of armor, or a belt and sheath that pairs with the knife, it’s best to keep it simple. You want to impart the concepts of sharpness and strength. Neither of those require a sheath.”

“Thank you for your guidance. You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I say, bowing as well as I can while still seated. “I will see if I can obtain a few mana crystals for tomorrow’s session so that I can put your advice into practice.”

Mild shock flashes across my host’s face. “You’ll burn through mana crystals to test an idea? Just like that? Expensive way to experiment. Why don’t I show you a few times so you can get a feel for the process? That will likely improve your chances of success.”

“Your offer is too good to pass up, if you’re willing to take the time,” I say. Guilt at how badly I misjudged the man’s character swirls in the back of my mind, but I do my best to ignore the self-recrimination. I’ve been beset by unsavory sorts for a long time now. Little wonder that I’ve grown jaded and hard-edged.

He jogs over to the door, throwing it open and gesturing for me to follow. “Then let’s get started. Back to the hot shop with you, master Nuri. There’s not a second to waste!”