“You told them?” I yell.

Shock makes Melina recoil from my angry explosion. She hunches up her shoulders defensively, her normally pallid cheeks glowing rosy-red for a brief moment. “Nuri, they’re your friends.”

“You had no right!”

“Of course I told them. We’re a team.”

I spin away from her, my eyes squeezing shut before she can see the tears welling up. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone to figure things out?”

When Melina replies, there’s a steel core of conviction to her gentle words. “Because we love you. We’re adults, Nuri. We get to make our own decisions. And if we want to help you, then you can’t deny us that choice.”

“Not a chance!” I snap, kicking a stool into the wall with a resounding crack. My chest is heaving, rising and falling so rapidly that I’m worried I’m going to pull an intercostal muscle or pass out from the strain. Still panting, I turn and stare at my friend. “No. No. I won’t let you cripple yourself on my behalf.”

Melina throws her hands into the air, staring up at the ceiling like she’s imploring the heavens to grant her patience before she strangles me. “Nuri! You are so infuriating. At least have a conversation about accepting a Skill or two. Why are you being short-sighted and contrary?”

“He’s not. He’s being sensible,” Rakesh protests. He’s the only one sitting down instead of pacing aggressively like the rest of the team. Lounging in a chair at the head of the extra-long communal table, our favorite [Researcher] is snacking on deep-fried, braided dough sprinkled with powdered sugar. To no one’s surprise, he hadn’t been able to stay away from the local bakeries.

Melina snorts. “No, he’s being stubborn.”

“Come, now! You’re talking about throwing away your future on the off-chance that it helps him advance. You know better than that, Melina,” Rakesh chides.

Sparks corkscrew through the air as Avelina steps up beside her sister, throwing an arm around her twin protectively. Her anger materializes, turning the air into wavering heat before I snuff it out with a flex of my favorite Skill. “You’re just taking Nuri’s side because you’re too selfish to share, unlike my sister. I can’t believe that I used to think you were nice!”

Rakesh stops chewing mid-bite. He shoves his chair back from the table, rising up to his full height and wiping bits of powdered sugar off his chin and cheeks. “I’m nice! You’ve seen me take risks for the sake of the team before. But this—this is a step too far.”

Melina places a restraining hand on her sister’s arm. She slides forward to stand directly between my two friends. “Cut it out. We’re all on the same side here.”

“Then how come Rakesh refuses to even consider helping Nuri?” Avelina demands. She takes a deep breath, about to launch into a speech, but a glare from Melina draws her up short. She breaks off, grinding her teeth.

“It’s a fair question,” Rakesh allows. He presses his fingertips together and leans back, gathering his thoughts. “Look. Transplanting Skills isn’t common enough for peer-reviewed literature to exist yet. Up until now, I thought it was more hearsay than fact. We’re talking about the cutting edge of metaphysical work. You’ve no guarantee that it will work. [Healers] can’t even reliably transplant organs, let alone Skills! Failure is a very real possibility.”

“So, you’re a coward,” Avelina spits.

Rakesh frowns and sighs through his nose. “Avelina, I may not be as courageous or warlike as some fine members on this team, but it’s not cowardly to avoid insanity. Assuming that the Skills transfer actually works, this is a one-way trip through dangerous territory. You’re just as likely to hurtle off a cliff as you are to make it through to the other side in one piece. It’s not a light thing to excise part of yourself and give it to someone else. Even if the poets are wrong, and Skills and mana don’t make up your very soul, it’s still the most important part of you.”

“Besides, we don’t even know if Shiphrah is telling the truth,” I say, adding to Rakesh’s argument. The attempt at bringing the debate back to a more peaceful, level-headed discourse falls flat in my own ears, though. I desperately want to move forward, even though I’m horrified at the thought of something going wrong.

I can’t stop fidgeting. Jittery with adrenaline, I’m overflowing with nervous energy at the thought of not only restoring my core, but also gaining new Skills. This could be my big break! But if the potential cost is tearing apart my friend’s soul, is it worth it?

Skepticism is writ large on everyone’s faces. We’ve all seen far too many strange and wondrous things over the last several months of traveling to doubt the claims of the eccentric [Metaphysical Mender]. I’m especially convinced that my words are only a coping mechanism. I’ve seen first-hand what’s possible, thanks to Scalpel, and Shiphrah is no less talented for all her grandmotherly ways.

“She probably isn’t misleading you,” Melina says, speaking in firm but measured tones. Her brow is knit together in thought, and she’s speaking softly as she lays out her case.

Shy of pleading, thankfully. I might break if she begs me to take one of her Skills.

“Nuri, think of the potential. You can’t throw away your future because you’re too stuck up to accept help,” Melina reasons.

“You think this is about pride?” I say, surprised at how hurt I sound. “Mel, it’s not like that. It’s not about me at all. I’m—scared. Terrified, really, and not for myself. What if it’s not as easy as she made it sound? What if you never recover full functionality? It’s not like we can change our minds the next day and go back for a refund.”

We’re locked in a standoff, facing each from across the common room in our inn’s shared suite. Distantly, I realize how absurd it is to scowl at each other because we’re each worried for the other person’s well-being, but I can’t help myself. I’m too upset to step back and take a breath. I refuse to allow Melina to give me her rare Skills. She’s earned them and ranked them up through backbreaking work. Taking them feels profoundly wrong.

Melina folds her hands in front of her and smiles brightly at me. “At least consider [Compositional Analysis] and [Artisanal Acuity]. I believe I can get by without them now.”

“My sister can’t have all the glory. Why don’t you take my [Adjuration of the Phoenix]? I don’t need it for glass, and I don’t want to kill anything anymore,” Avelina interrupts. She grows quiet as she delivers the last line.

Mikko slams a heavy hand down on the table, making us jump. “No. I’m his brother. If anyone is going to give up so much, it should be me, not Ava.”

“You’re sweet,” Avelina says, sliding an arm around his shoulders and squeezing tight. “But what is Nuri going to do with smithing Skills?” Her lips twitch up into a smirk. “Although, [Iron Skin] might keep him from melting off his other hand, so maybe you should help the poor guy out.”

Strained laughter ripples through the room. I wish the joke took the worst of the tension with it, but it’s still there, just under the surface. The tension is simply more muted now. I don’t know if we’ll ever get back to our easy-going ways. There’s too much emotion wrapped up in our arguments.

My heart is still thudding in my chest, as though I’m preparing to ride to war, but I force myself to smile. With a rough cough to clear my throat, I step up to the table and rap my knuckles on the surface. “Good talk, but it’s getting late! Why don’t we table the discussion for another time?”

This time the laughter is almost genuine.

=+=

The next morning, the entire team is gathered deep in the underground bunker at the ancestral home of the [Metaphysical Mender]. Despite my half-hearted objections, they each took a break from their work to be here. No researching, no studio time, no enchanting or automation.

“There’s no going back, you know,” I say to Lionel as I pause at the bottom of the stairs. Dragging my feet has never been as literal as it is right now. Something about the tunnel in front of us takes on a more sinister cast than ever before, like I’m about to walk into the maw of a devouring beast, and I’m not sure that I have the strength to move forward.

In reality, I’m far more terrified for my friend than I am for myself. Yet far worse is the current of excitement that’s welling up into a mighty flood at the thought of being whole again. Hand in hand with the joy is the misery of knowing it’s at the expense of my friend. It should make me feel guilty, but instead I can barely restrain my desire to get it over with—to once again draw the power of creation into my core without pain and suffering.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

All the while, the old, familiar, accusing voice in the back of my mind grows louder and louder. It’s not right, delighting in your own fortune. How dare you dishonor that kind of sacrifice. You should be ashamed, Nuri. You don’t deserve his friendship.

Lionel crosses his arms. He glares at me, his face hard as flint. “Duh. Don’t insult me. It’s my choice, Nuri, just like Melina said. You can’t stop me.”

“I . . .”

Mikko pushes me from behind, gentle yet inexorable. He marches me down the hallway to meet the siblings before I can make any more half-hearted attempts at excuses. And just like that, fear and guilt both evaporate. I walk forward, open the door to the operating room, and lead my friends inside.

Introductions take longer than I’d like. Shiphrah and Rashad are nothing if not impeccable hosts, however, and I can’t begrudge them the time since they’re fawning over my friends and family. They seem appropriately impressed by everyone’s unique Skills. The always-chatty Shiphrah even offers to introduce Lionel to some of the more tenured Menders who might be able to help his studies, which endears her to me greatly.

We’ve brought all the glass cores, just in case. After placing them strategically around the room, far enough apart to avoid a resonance cascade, I climb into the reclining bed and prepare for soul surgery.

Watching like a hawk through my Domain, I’m more impressed than ever before by Shiphrah’s elegance and control as she begins the process. Painstakingly, she fills in gaps, sewing them together in a healing inverse of what Scalpel used to do. Rather than cut and rend, she restores and mends, healing just enough to create a healthy base to which the transplant will attach.

“There! We’re ready to begin the transfer,” Shiphrah announces in satisfaction some time later. She pats my shoulder. “You’ll need to trade some of that vast potential to relieve the build up of pressure on the membrane of your soul, young man. You certainly can’t condense your inner world in your condition, but your tragedy is your team’s good fortune. Once we add a few Skills, we ought to be able to bring you into balance and properly heal a smaller core in a single go.”

“Thank you,” I say, reaching up and squeezing her hand. It seems to catch her off guard, and she blushes, fretting over me like a mother hen while she regains her composure.

“Now, who is donating today?”

To my horror, everyone but Rakesh steps forward. Avelina glares at me, as though challenging me to gainsay her. My brother looks more sheepish, but no less determined. Melina has her cheeriest smile firmly fixed in place, although I can sense the stormy sea of her emotions through my Domain.

I can’t bring myself to look at Lionel. I don’t feel brave enough to cry again, not in front of strangers.

“My, my. What a brave lot! How touching. How very, very touching!” Shiphrah beams at the team, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Right! Let’s go one at a time, then, right down the list. Queue up in an orderly fashion, please.”

My brother gently moves aside the others. He plants himself by my bedside and nods once. His jaw works, the powerful muscles rippling and betraying his emotion, but he doesn’t flinch when Shiphrah puts a hand on his chest.

“What do you offer?” she intones.

There’s something about Shiphrah’s solemn tone that makes this sound more like a religious rite than a medical procedure. Instinctively, I start trembling.

“[Greater Endurance],” Mikko replies, his voice confident. Unwavering. “My brother wears himself out way too often. Besides, I’ll bet he still can’t keep up with me, since I’m going to work twice as hard to do things the old fashioned way.”

Before I can speak, either to thank my brother or protest his choice, power surges out from the diminutive [Metaphysical Mender]. Mana rolls off her in waves, enveloping both of us. Pressure I didn’t even realize existed bleeds out of me, like the outgassing of a pocket of natural gas, and I groan out a sigh of relief.

The entire time, I watch the exchange through [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], fascinated by the way raw energy flows into my brother and forcibly inflates his inner world. As the extra space develops, she simultaneously slices out the structure of his Skill in one swift movement, deftly transferring it to me. Now she wields her mana less like a sewing needle to stitch me up, and far more like a loom, weaving an entire layer to ensure the Skill stays in place.

Mikko staggers back, grunting as though he’s been stabbed, and Rashad pours healing energy into him. I know he is in good hands, but the icy grip of fear doesn’t subside until he’s stabilized and no longer groaning in pain.

“Next!” Shiphrah sings out.

She is entirely too cheerful about this entire thing, I grumble to myself. Yet I can’t help but admire her talent. Not even Scalpel was this dexterous. How many people in Densmore could do what she does? Playing the odds, there have to be two or three others, but I’ve never heard of them. No wonder Rakesh is taking notes so furiously.

As promised, Avelina offers up her [Adjuration of the Phoenix]. The name alone earns a low whistle of appreciation from Rashad. My instinct is to deny Avelina’s gift—it’s much too valuable to part with—but when I sense her profound relief at the thought of finally removing the Skill that enabled her to burn the mercenaries, I relent. I didn’t understand what a heavy load she’s been carrying; I thought it was all about what she’d done, but to her, it’s about who she is. She’s been torturing herself all this time.

Once I come to that realization, bearing her burden is an honor, not a guilty pleasure. The complex Skill settles into my core space, brilliant and brimming with undeniable power, and I instantly feel a shift in pressure. It’s not a huge difference yet, but I’m coming closer to balance.

Melina hugs her twin, who looks so much happier than I’ve seen her in months that it breaks my heart, and steps forward to offer up both her [Compositional Analysis] and [Artisanal Acuity]. A greedy part of me wants her time and manipulation Skills, but I couldn’t live with myself if I stole them from her. As the Skills take root in my core space and a commensurate amount of raw potential is siphoned over to Melina in exchange, I’m struck by the thought that this may actually be beneficial for her in the long run.

In a way, this frees her from tying her future to glass. She can transition into a [Mage] and focus on scholarly pursuits, which suits her better. Nothing prevents her from working with glass if the mood strikes her, regardless of her official Class. Smoke taught me that when she and I closed the lesser Rift over a year ago. Classes don’t define us. They’re just convenient tools.

Shiphrah is sweating by the time the three of them are finished. She hasn’t been forced to tap into the glass pseudo-cores we brought for backup, which is a good sign since the rest of the process is so mana-intensive, but the mental strain is definitely showing. She drains a cup of water, nibbles on a small wedge of cheese, and stretches out before we continue.

Lionel steps forward for his turn to contribute his Skills to the cause. I’m curious which Skill he’s actually willing to part with, since he’s been strangely silent through the entire debate. Secretly, I want my favorite of his Skills, the one I’ve always been envious of in my heart of hearts: [A Master’s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness]. I suppose I can live with [Quick Cool], though it’s redundant now that I’ve ranked up my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. Still, the fact that he’s willing to give me anything at all is touching, so I’ll try not to be too greedy about it.

My childhood friend takes a deep breath, looks Shiphrah in the eye, and takes his time answering the question she’s asked each of my friends in turn: “Nuri is a genius. Did you know that? He’s crazy, sure, and sometimes I think he’s too hard-headed and heroic for his own good, but he’s still a genius. What am I supposed to give him that’s meaningful enough to make a difference? One or two Skills isn’t gonna matter in the long run.”

“Please don’t do anything rash,” Rakesh says, his eyes wide. He puts down his notebook and pen, which is the first sign that something’s wrong. He glances back and forth between me and the rest of our friends, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Clearly, he’s guessed something that I’m still trying to figure out, but I’m not sure why it has him looking so shaken. Why could Lionel do to elicit that kind of reaction?

“We’re missing the obvious,” Lionel says, looking down at me with an odd gleam in his eyes. I fully expect him to follow up with a clever quip or goofy joke like usual. Instead, he steps over to the operating bed and sits down on the edge next to me. “There’s one way to ensure that this procedure is a success. I hope it’s enough.”

“Lio . . . what are you doing?” I whisper, a terrible suspicion mounting.

Lionel lets out a heavy sigh. He looks at me again with a complicated expression on his face that’s uncomfortably close to admiration. “You’re the best of us, Nuri. You know that? I’m proud of what you’ve become. So proud! I can’t keep up, but I can make sure you keep growing. Take my original Class and all my related Skills,” Lionel blurts out, his hands clenching into fists as he declares his plan.

My entire world lists sideways.

Shiphrah gasps, collapsing back into her chair. Hands shaking, she reaches for her folding fan and snaps it open, shaking her hand back and forth to blow cool air over her flushed face.

My throat tightens. The sheer audacity of what he’s suggesting takes my breath away. Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t even remotely on the list. An ache forms deep in my chest at the thought of cutting away half of Lionel’s identity. The enormity of it all is too much.

Silence settles over the room like a funeral shroud. Slack jaws and glassy eyes meet my gaze as I look around wildly, hoping someone will announce it was all a joke—and wow did you fall for it, Nuri! Look at how gullible you are!

Nothing happens. No one speaks up. Lionel meets my gaze and smiles at me proudly. For once, he’s deadly serious.

I shake my head, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity. I can’t accept this. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, and if I’m honest, I can’t deny that I’d try to do the same thing for him if our situations were reversed. But tearing apart who he is? Splitting away the cheerful craftsman and leaving only the worried [Healer], forever and ever? This is too much.

No. He can’t. He can’t!

Stunned looks are the only response. No one seems to know what to say—most of all me. In the end, I settle for rolling sideways, curled up in the fetal position, and burying my face in my pillow. I weep quietly while my friends surround me and murmur comfort, their hands warm and steadying on my back.

I want to say no, but how can I refuse without spitting in the face of his generosity? After I compose myself, I turn back over, reach up, and clasp Lionel’s arm. I nod in thanks. My voice is rough and thick with emotion when I finally find words. “I’ll never forget this, Lio. Never. From now on, everything I make will carry you with it. You’re the heart and soul of my craft.”