Bracing for impact, I hunch my shoulders down in a protective stance and grit my teeth. Light washes over me—and I let out a small laugh. Warm and gentle, almost tender, it contains none of the raw power or chaos I anticipated. My body relaxes, releasing stress I hadn't even noticed I was holding. Like a soft exhale, the stress of the last year diminishes. A new concept surges through the weave of the world.

Rejuvenation.

The word springs unbidden to my mind, brimming over with an invitation to rest. I'm not sure I know how to do that, honestly. I've been pushing as hard as I can for so long now that it's terrifying to consider slowing down.

Off to my side, Mikko stands with his eyes closed, a hint of a smile on his rugged, squared-off face. He seems at peace, which sends a pulse of satisfaction through me. My brother deserves every good thing life brings his way.

The longer I bask in the restorative light, the more comfortable it feels. Tiny abrasions smooth over. My eyes aren't as dry and scratchy. Nonetheless, I'm certain I'm not compatible with the higher-order concept. Not yet. The idea of rest will take me long months of meditation to unlock for my own crafting, if I ever comprehend it well enough to incorporate into my work.

Even so, I can almost taste the quiet contentment on my tongue, like the first slice of fresh-baked bread slathered in butter and still steaming from the oven.

"A gift for the new couple," [Lady] Evershed announces, breaking the spell of silence. She cradles the vessel in her hands, already annealing it with her Skills—she may be faster at cooling safely than I am, even with my [Greater Heat Manipulation]—and walks over to Avelina. She delivers the imbued piece with great care, and perhaps a touch of reluctance.

"We're already indebted to your generosity. This is too much," Avelina starts to protest, though her gaze lingers on the swirling patterns across its glossy surface, and I can tell she's already completely taken with the simple, teardrop design.

"Nonesense. Friends don't keep tally," [Lady] Evershed insists.

"If I may?" Avelina asks, holding up the glass as her own Skills roar to life, primed for ignition. "I'd like to cast [Strong as Stone] to ensure that it's a long-lived family heirloom."

"I suppose I wasn't quite as willing to let go as I thought I was," [Lady] Evershed says with a chagrined chuckle. Flexing her will, she relinquishes her magic's hold over the vase, giving up her claim to the glass as its creator and allowing Avelina to work on the piece.

While everyone's attention is on [Lady] Evershed and Avelina, my Domain senses alert me to Baryl's opportunistic ways. He's sneaking extra candy from the crystalline bowl on the counter, pocketing it for a treat later on. Based on the sense of guilty satisfaction radiating from him like heat from a furnace, no doubt he's been told a time or three to curb his consumption.

I stifle a laugh. Little gremlin!

Mikko crosses the studio in a few long strides, standing by Avelina as she strengthens the new artifact. He glances over his shoulder at me, then tilts his head toward the pendant she set aside in order to work on the vase. I don't think I've ever seen her so preoccupied that she set aside her flamework mid-project, but I don't blame her at all. It's not every day you get the chance to see someone become a true master of glass.

My role is obvious. Reaching out with my Domain, I bend the last slender loop of silvery glass into place, strengthen the jewelry so it won't shatter, and move it over to the annealing kiln to cool. I could cool it down all by myself, but my channels are still raw from my excursion into resonance training back at [Lady] Evershed's palace.

Huh. Or maybe they're just fine. I circulate my mana again, surprised at how quickly I recovered. Ah! Of course. The effects of rejuvenation, no doubt. A marvelous gift, and exactly what they need as they recover from the chaos I've dragged them into over the years.

I drift closer to observe the vase. Its surface is perfect, like a river stone smoothed out by the gentle yet inexorable flow of water over many decades. Threaded all throughout the mauve vase, visible only to my Domain senses, are pale veins of gold that pulse faintly with mana. Everything is flawless, except for the mouth of the vase, where Evershed's fingerprints left clear imprints in the glass as it cooled.

There's something profound about that to me. Fingerprints on glass, frozen in time. A microcosm of the marks we leave on the world around us, on the lives of others—on ourselves. We only have so long to shape our lives into a pleasing shape while they're malleable, before we grow intractable and brittle.

"Looks strong," Mikko says to his wife as he appraises the vase. "Like you," he adds, so softly that I'm certain he only means for her to hear. Eavesdropping is a constant curse of my Domain-enhanced sense of hearing. The newlyweds share a look that's so syrupy I almost gag, but I suppose they're entitled to showing affection.

"Good Skill. I'm excited to have you two in my studio for the next few months," [Lady] Evershed says. She steps back, tearing her gaze away from the vase with visible effort. "Don't think of this exchange as a singular point in time, Avelina. Imbuing this is a promise of what's to come: crafting masterworks together."

"I'm looking forward to that, my lady."

"Fiera," [Lady] Evershed offers, placing a hand over her heart and tilting her head. "Don't be so formal. You're inlaws with Nuri, which means you're my family now, too."

She turns to me, clasping both of my hands in hers. "Nuri," she says, voice quiet. Almost reverent. "When I first took you on as a student, I thought you'd have no chance at working with glass again given the tattered state of your channels and your ruined hand. Assisting around the hot shop was a long shot, let alone earning entrance to the tournament!"

I blush at the sudden attention and open my mouth, but her eyes narrow and she shakes her head curtly, cutting off any chance at deflecting.

"Let me be sentimental, though it's against my better judgment. You surprised me back then, Nuri. You're still surprising me now. Every step of the way, you've surpassed my wildest expectations. While I'm certain I can refine your glassblowing technique, or teach you a few tricks, that's nothing compared with the gift you've given me."

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"I thought friends don't keep tally?"

Her face softens into a gentle smile at my teasing, and she releases my hands to pat my cheek, just like a grandmother might with a favorite grandchild. "Just so. I've always dreamed of imbuing. Creating artifacts and advancing my craft, producing masterworks envied and praised the world over. Yet the shift in my perspective since I met you is far more valuable. I would be a different person, a lesser person, without you."

"Don't forget about me," Baryl pipes up.

"Impossible," I cut in sarcastically.

"Hey!" Baryl protests, doffing his cap and glaring at me like he's ready for a throw down fist fight, though I don't miss the mischief in his eyes.

"Never forgotten," [Lady] Evershed assures him wryly. "Taking you on was the best thing I've done, Baryl. You're my heir now. But I never would have given you a second glance without Nuri, much as it shames me to admit it. We both owe him an incredible amount."

Baryl blushes. He slips his arm around [Lady] Evershed's waist and hugs her tight for a split second before retreating and coughing to cover his lack of composure. "Peh. Nuri's never around, so how great can he be?"

I pat him on the head, making him shy away, but he smiles at me despite himself. "Don't worry, Baryl. I'm old and boring now. You've got plenty of time to pass me."

"Extremely boring," he echoes impishly.

I chase him around the shop while he whoops, until [Lady] Evershed finally flexes her Domain and flings us outside. We bounce on the cobblestones, slightly in shock at the physical escalation, then turn to each other and burst out laughing.

Ahh, I've missed these two.

Ten minutes of tag later, after I prove that I wasn't boasting when I told Baryl I could catch up to him hopping backward on one leg while blindfolded, we slip back into the hot shop. Meekly, I take up my old position at Evershed's side, ready to assist with her next project.

"We'll do a Grand Ile traditional flower arrangement," [Lady] Evershed declares after a moment of deliberation. "No Skills, no imbuing. This is a chance to hone your craft, Nuri."

"Stems in green?"

She nods absently. "Iron oxide batch from earlier is ready, but heat it up and mix in a hint of chromium for vibrancy."

Immediately, I set out to fulfill her request, heading toward the row of shelves on the side of the studio where all the various glass materials are stored. I'll start with a simple rod of glass from the green shelf and stir in additional additives so that my new mixture will be stable at working temps.

Meanwhile, [Lady] Evershed directs Baryl toward the broken bin: the glass graveyard of colorful cast-offs and irreparably shattered pieces. He'll gather pieces in various sizes and colors to fill in the petals of the flower.

Preparing the new batch in the secondary crucible is slower than usual without using my Skills or Domain, but it's nostalgic to work with the raw materials again, armed with nothing but the tools of the trade and whatever wits I still have left. Lately, that doesn't feel like very many. It's still enough for this task, thankfully, though I have to clamp down on the folded-in remnants of my compositional analysis Skill and rely only on my years of practice in the Silaraon Glass Works to guide my work.

"Ready," I call out.

Effortless grace defines every movement from [Lady] Evershed. She flows over to the furnace and collects a gather on the end of her old cane, a dual-purpose metal rod that's now pressed into service in the studio since she no longer needs the extra aid to walk. The molten glass glows white-orange as she spins it through the air.

She tilts the pipe, still keeping it in motion. Gravity pulls the globe downward, elongating the glass. Humming softly to herself, [Lady] Evershed hands me the cane and rolls her wrist to indicate I should keep up the movement, and grabs a handful of fritz from a bag nearby her workstation.

Looking for all the world like a chef adding seasonings onto a meal, she sprinkles the tiny pieces onto the marver in a dense dusting. Satisfied with her handiwork, she takes back the metal rod and rolls it across the surface, embedding all the fritz into the hot glass.

I run it back to the glory hole, sliding it into the flames and turning until the fritz is folded into the base glass, then dip it into the batch and coat it with a fresh layer of glass. It shimmers and drips in the heat, appearing like amber-colored honey, as I run back to the workbench.

Evershed resumes her spinning as soon as I hand over the cane. Rotational force fans the bottom of the glass outward, causing it to flare and stretch, like a disproportionately tall bell. Streaks of color shoot through it. She smoothes the edge with a paddle, coaxing it into shape, and lifts it upright.

"Baryl? Castoffs."

The young man leaps forward, placing his double fist-full of broken glass on the marver. He darts back, and in the moment that follows, [Lady] Evershed sets the broad end of the hot glass on top of the new pieces, rolling them into the mix.

Dutifully taking the cane back to the furnace once more, I spin until the new pieces are all incorporated into the project. Once more given life, I muse. Is there anything more glorious than failures and discards graced with the resurrection?

Anticipation hums in the air when I return to the workbench. Evershed flattens the end further, swaps out the paddles for jacks, and pinches up seven triangular knobs as she twists her wrist and rotates the glass. With each subsequent turn, she deftly stretches the emerging flower petals, which expand into broad, slender shapes as they spin.

"Back to the stem," she murmurs, stretching out the glass with a pair of tongs. Two or three sharp twists introduce a spiral into the long, green stem of the flower. She crimps it until a section of glass is thinner than my littlest finger, moves over to a soft, dry pad that's treated with heat-resistance runes, and rests the flower upside down.

Without having to be told, I take the cane with one hand, pick up the wooden paddle with the other, and tap the glass above the crimp until the weak spot breaks. I ignite a torch from the lampwork station and get to work melting the rough end of the stem. It's not as quick or as clean as using my Domain to smooth the glass, but it's honest work, and I embrace the sweltering heat and stinging beads of sweat that get into my eyes.

Blinking to clear the droplets from my vision—something I haven't done in close to a year since my Domain shields me—I slide my hands into thick, padded gloves, and pick up the flower with quiet reverence as I bring it up to my eye line for examination.

Residual heat bleeds into the air, and I pause for a moment, luxuriating in the warmth. Golden, glowing glass fades into a myriad of bold colors as [Lady] Evershed's designs show off unexpected depths. We won't see its full splendor until after the flower anneals, but I'm already certain it's more brilliant than just about anything I've made despite the basic techniques.

A crooked grin spreads across my face. From anyone else, I'd have taken the assertion that I have a lot to learn as an insult. From my mentor and friend? The proof is right in front of me. A masterful teacher is at work. Class is in session, and I'd be a fool to ignore the wisdom and guidance she has to offer. I'm determined not to be a fool ever again if I can help it.

"Beautiful! Let's make a giant bouquet," I call out while I trot over to the annealing kiln. Maybe she'll even let me make a few of the flowers if she thinks I'm paying enough attention, switching places to help me while I work. For now, I'm content to play my role as the assistant and student. Life is a journey of constant learning, and I'm loving every moment of it right now.

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