Chapter 12

All technology across Anogwin is powered by myst. Myst batteries, cores, generators, and circuits fuel our world, down to the cybernetics in our bodies. As a power source, myst can be used in fluid or solid states. Solid-state sources are known as crystal batteries. Liquid myst is a consumable energy akin to early-era gasoline, only more eco-friendly and easily crafted.

Day 28, Castesday

The lunch hour was drawing to a close. I eyed the holo-clock in my vision as I hid in the Foundry, working on my project. I was in Cauldron 7, on the second floor. I hid against the far wall, farthest from the tools and supplies. The second-years ignored me as I tinkered, none caring what I was doing so long as I didn’t burn a hole through the desk or detonate anything.

For the past three weeks, I had slaved away at this project, skipping meals and spending sleepless nights on it. At first, I had only based my work on diagrams from the data banks. But when Master Mystagogue Mallock, the kooky old man, took up instruction of my Myst and Mystech Fundamentals class, he almost seemed to know what I was attempting. He moved the class to the Foundry and began teaching about power consumption rates, myst power source types, and so much more. The Master left most of my fellow students baffled, but I soaked it in like a sponge.

I folded plating, sealed rubber, and stitched fabric. I cut quartz circuit boards and pressed out circuits in mythril. I gauged wire, compressed springs, set in diodes, resistors, capacitors, and myst batteries of air, fire, kinetic force, and lightning. I did this over and over, testing tirelessly, learning from each failed prototype. At that time, I was on Mark 5.

What was I making? A tool to keep me safe and others at arm’s reach. Why? Because of Mallrimor and his thugs. Every chance they got, they picked on me. I had to replace several uniforms because of stains, tears, and burn holes. Every lunch, they found me and ruined my food. I was fed up. I had spoken to instructors, but they all said the same thing: “Deal with it” or “Talk it out.” If the masters wouldn’t save me, and I had no friends to stand up for me, I would have to defend myself. I couldn’t outfight them, and I had no magical talent. I couldn’t talk them into backing off. This was my only chance.

The week prior, Mystagogue Kellennar gave us permission to carry training weapons and perform non-lethal duels. So if I couldn’t outfight, outcast, or outmaneuver them, I’d have to out-think them with tech.

Moments before the lunch hour ended, I slipped on the gauntlet, most of it hidden under my sleeve, albeit a tight fit. As my alarm went off, I pulled down my sleeve and made my way to Myst and Mystech Fundamentals, one floor down.

Master Mystagogue Mallock marched across the room, his hands clasped behind his hunched back. The classroom, Cauldron 2, smelled of hot metal, stone dust, melted plastic, and ozone. Forges burned against the far wall, making the air thick and uncomfortable. I sat alone at my table in the far back corner, watching the master with an eager hunger for knowledge.

“Last class, we discussed resistors and capacitors,” he began. “Today, we will discuss Elemental merging between the core four and will later move on to Vells. After those crash courses, I’ll have you craft a simple myst clock.” Several students groaned.

“Come now, children,” he scolded, his tone that of a grandfather chiding a grandchild. “This is all simple stuff you will need to master. Now, who can tell me what the core four elements are?”

A couple of hands went up. He pointed to S18. “Earth, Fire, Air, and Water,” the Half-Dwarf recited.

“Very good. Now, can anyone tell me how two elements react when mixed?” No hands went up. “Good. Unfamiliar territory. Put simply, when you cross two elements, a new substance is formed.” He pulled a Myst Infusion Apparatus, or MIA, from his desk. He held up a red crystal. “Fire.” He thumbed it into a slot. He held up a grey-green crystal. “Air.” He slipped it into the opposite slot.

“What are the traits of Air?” he asked.

After a long silence, someone blurted, “It’s a gas.”

“Close. The element is a bit of a misnomer; it can create any non-magical gas. So, what are the traits of gasses?”

“Lack of a solid shape?” another student asked.

“Good. Mobile?” The class nodded. “Quick?”

“Yeah, I guess,” came another student.

“Now, what would be made if we applied the quick mobility of Air to Fire?” Dead silence. He answered with a demonstration. He flipped a switch, turned a dial, and pressed a button. Raw myst flowed through tubes to a central glass chamber. First, red energy filled it, turning to flickering flames. Then, the grey-green myst was added. The cocktail swirled before coalescing into pure, raging electricity.

“And there you have it!” Mallock cheered with a mad grin. He set a clear crystal into a slot at the bottom and pulled another switch. The lightning was sucked into the crystal, giving it a lively yellow glow.

“We will discuss what elements create what in a later class. For now, we will discuss Vells.” He moved the MIA under his desk and activated a holo-board. “A Vell is a single measurement of myst. One Vell can affect eight fluid ounces of water, half a pound of earth, one square foot of gas, one joule of flame, twelve volts and forty-eight amps of electricity, or twenty-five foot-pounds of kinetic force. All other combinations of the Core Elements will fall into these measurements. For example, if I combine Water and Air, the result, Zero Oil, would be measured by the standards of Water. So one Vell could affect eight fluid ounces of Zero Oil, NOT one cubic foot.”

I followed with ease, but a glance around showed most of the class was lost or bored. I was fascinated, typing notes on my therra-node.

“Now, next week, we will discuss the other elements formed by merging the Core Elements. But for now, I need you all to access the Academy training archive. Under Mystech 101, look for the file titled ‘Simple Myst Clocks.’ Follow the diagram. I will grade you on whether it works, how fast you craft it, its precision, and its power efficiency.”

This time, it was my turn to show a manic grin. I pulled up the diagram. Annoyed with its simplicity, I closed the file and searched for a more advanced version. I found a diagram of a myst clock powered by two Lightning crystals with a backup thermal battery. It would measure hours, minutes, seconds, and milliseconds on three separate digital faces alongside an analog one. It could also measure remaining power and had a warning light. I saw I could add a chiming alarm for noon. I examined the diagram several times before standing and nearly dashing to gather supplies.

It took several trips, but I got all the parts I needed. We still had half an hour when I started, and I worked as fast as I could with the precision I needed. By the time I completed it, three students had already brought their projects to the master. The first was sent back for loose gear alignment. The second got a low B for finishing on time but using too much power. The last was sent back because his clock failed to function at all.

I triple-checked the time on my therra-node and set it on my project, down to the last millisecond. I closed the face, said a silent prayer to the Nameless Goddess, stood, and slowly made my way to the Master’s desk. As he noticed me, he raised a single brow.

“This is not the project I asked for, Tick. What is this?”

“I-It’s an improvement, Master Mystagogue. I’m sorry,” I stammered, my eyes locked on his desk.

The Master gave a single slow nod, eyeing my work. I dared to raise my eyes as he opened the face of the clock. His brows raised in surprise. He looked at each shifting cog with magnifying glasses, murmuring to himself. He closed the face and read it, comparing it to his therra-node display several times.

“It’s off by two milliseconds,” were the first words he said. I flinched as if struck.

“I’m sorry, Ticker, but I can only give you a grade of…” I squeezed my eyes shut, cringing. “…An A+.”

I stood there, not believing what I heard. “What?!” I slowly relaxed. “Excuse me, Mystagogue. Did I mishear you? A+?”

“I’m afraid I can’t offer a higher grade. Between exceeding parameters and being off by two milliseconds, I can only give you a score of 110% instead of 120%. You will only be allowed to do more advanced projects after week five. But don’t worry, my boy. You have just proven a massive talent for crafting. I can’t wait for you to join the Sect of the Burning Hand.” He gave me a grand smile and a wink. “I’m going to expect great things from you.”

A burning blush came to my cheeks. I scurried back to my seat with a goofy grin. That was the first compliment I had ever received without severe scolding. My father had never given me a compliment that wasn't weighed down by some way to improve. I sat back, watching the other students. I decided I would return to the Cauldron to collect my project and hang it in my room, a sign I could do something right.

Then I remembered what he said about me joining the Burning Hand. My grin faltered as I thought of my goal to become a warrior. My father’s corpse flashed in my mind. But I shook the image free. I wouldn’t let this moment be ruined.

As class let out, I stepped through the door with an almost comical grin. Mallrimor hadn’t picked on me all class. I strolled down the entry hall into the Foundry when I passed him. He and his group’s focus was on the cyborg girl. Mallrimor had his hand pressed against the wall beside her face. “What’s the matter, bot-chick? Need more oil to cry? Maybe you need a tweak to learn to respect your betters.”

I slowed as I passed, happy it wasn’t me for once. Five steps past, I stopped and turned to watch.

“What’s the matter, gear-girl? Your cogs loose?” Mallrimor mocked, reaching for her face. She turned her head further away. The Brightling snarled in anger. He stepped back, snapped his fingers, and pointed to her. “Pull her apart.”

The Dracose and Orc, Kesher and Brecken, stepped forward. My gut tightened as one began to pull her arm from her shoulder, segments separating, while the other shoved a hand between the plates of her abdomen. As the Dracose pulled free a fistful of tubes and wires, I couldn’t take it.

I took two steps forward, fists clenched, chin high. “Back off, ass-hats!” I demanded. As one, the group turned. The girl’s face curled in agony.

“And what are you gonna do, freak?!” snarled Gellar, stepping between her and me.

Without another word, I rolled up my right sleeve and pointed my fist at him. With my other hand, I pressed a button on my gauntlet. A wave of kinetic force launched from my glove, knocking him on his ass. The two brutes turned to face me. Before Brecken could react, I turned my tool on him and pressed another button. A ball of flame shot forth, setting his uniform ablaze. He staggered back, trying to put himself out. Before Kesher could move, I loosed a net of electrified steel webbing, taking him to the floor, convulsing. I stepped up to Mallrimor and punched him in the jaw with my metal gauntlet, sending him reeling.

“How about you fuckers pick on someone your own size,” I snarled with a mad grin as I helped the girl stand.

“Thanks,” she muttered before falling into my arms. She was surprisingly heavy, but I held her up. “You sick scumbags need to learn how to treat a lady before I turn you all into pummeled heaps of meat.”

I chose my words poorly. Gellar pulled himself to his feet, rage on his face. He threw himself at me, giving me half a moment to throw the girl aside as he took me to the floor. I heard her strike the wall with a yelp only milliseconds before I felt fists beating me. Blows landed on my face, breaking my nose and bruising my jaw. I brought my arms up to defend myself. A heavy foot struck my side. I cried out as the wind left my lungs. Another grunt, and something metallic clattered to the ground. A clawed foot struck my head, dazing me.

I heard a girl’s voice yelling for them to stop. The sound of something heavy striking flesh, then a body hitting the wall. I bore the strikes with the resolve of a man ready to die. Even in what I thought were my last moments, I felt a moment of joy that someone cared about me. Suddenly, I heard muttering, and the beating stopped.

I looked up to find a small Gnomish girl. She looked familiar—an upperclassman. She stood between Mallrimor and me. He eyed me before he and the others walked away. The girl gave me a long look before the class bell rang, and she hurried off. Was that pity in her eyes? Sympathy? I wondered for a heartbeat before remembering the girl I tried to save.

I rolled over to find her in fragments. Synthetic ribs and bones broken, ligaments torn. I staggered to my feet, my body screaming at me. I limped over to check on her. Her breath wheezed and gurgled. Her left leg and right arm hung on by cords and tubes. Her abdomen was a mess of mangled wires. Oil and other fluids spilled out, forming a slick puddle. I needed to hurry.

I knelt and slipped her good arm over my shoulder. I heaved her to her good foot. More fluids spilled out. “Come on,” I wheezed. “Let’s get you to a shop.”

“Why?” was all she could manage, oil bubbling from her lips.

“Because you need help, and I can help. My dad always said I should help those I can when I can afford to.” During the staggering trip back to the Cauldron, I muttered curses to my dead bastard of a father for teaching me to be a good person.

“Can… you… afford? You’re… hurt,” she gurgled.

“I’ll manage,” I said with a manic grin under blackened eyes. “Besides, I don’t see anyone else helping you. If the Master is still there, I’ll see if he can patch you up.”

We entered the room. The Master was rummaging through his desk. I hobbled her to the nearest table and helped her lie on it before he looked up. “Mystagogue, she needs help,” I croaked.

His non-obscured eye widened. With shocking speed, he limped toward us. He flipped through lens after lens on his right eye, examining her.

“Tick,” he said, his tone hard as adamantine, “I need you to follow me. We’re taking her to Cauldron 15. I’ll need another pair of hands.” He scooped her up with ease and left at a pace I struggled to match.

We rushed to the top floor. I followed him into a Cauldron labeled as restricted to Tier 5 students and higher. I paused in wonder. The room was dedicated almost solely to cybernetics. Limb components lined the walls. One corner was dedicated to vats of fluids, the other to tools for limb removal. I thought I saw bloodstains.

“Boy!” the Master Mystagogue recaptured my attention. He had laid her in a reclined seat with limbs extending from the rear, ending in tools. I hobbled over.

“I need you to fetch components.” He listed fifteen items rapid-fire, pointing to where I’d find them. His cybernetic arm unfolded into several smaller arms. The arm I thought shoddily put together, I now deeply respected.

Her breath became more labored as I hobbled from wall to wall. I made several trips, dumping parts onto a table. Within moments, the old man began to work proverbial magic without myst. With speed and grace, he merged parts, replaced broken segments, and mended tears, explaining what he was doing the whole time.

After what must have been five minutes, he pointed to the vats. He rattled off the amounts of each fluid he needed. I fetched them, and he fixed her in minutes, explaining every step as if he expected me to do the same next time. I drank in every word, memorizing what I could. I knew I would need this later.

As he sealed the last gasket, he leaned back, wiping his brow. He looked me dead in the eye. “Speak with her. Understand what a friend really is, and never let go, no matter how hard things get.” I stood there gaping as he turned and left.

As the cyborg girl sat up, testing her arm and leg, I watched, too timid to speak. Her blond hair fell around her ears. The scarring along her cheeks blushed a deeper purple. “Thank you for helping me. You saved my life.”

I looked at the floor and shrugged. “Those assholes have been picking on me since day one. I was planning on standing up to them anyway. The fact they were picking on you only made it more important.”

“Even if they kicked our asses?” she asked, a tone of friendly mocking.

My cheeks heated with a blush. “I know. I need to work on my gauntlet. It was supposed to knock them on their asses long enough for me—I mean, us—to get away. I guess I got a little too cocky.”

“Maybe you should make more tools like that to help you beat bastards like them.” I could hear the smile in her words.

“I-I, yeah,” I stammered. “I guess I need to make more tools.”

“I saw you make that clock. You have a real talent. Maybe you could make more to help yourself out… and maybe me, too?” she said this last part timidly. I looked up. Her burn-scarred cheeks turned a deep purple.

I think I had just made my first friend. I shot my hand out. “I’m Iver Maverick. It’s n-nice to meet you.”

She gave a half-smile, grasping my hand with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you, Iver. I’m Nennel Darrdane.”

“I-I hope we can be good fr-friends.”