59. Outside The Box

School bullies didn't seem so bad anymore.

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Höbin and Lili worked tirelessly to trace the identity of the greatest gnome tinkerer in Clockworks, hoping to solve the mystery of the seal. Wendell wrestled with guilt and nightmares, but the team pushed forward, committing to side battles for extra credits and prepping for the next Trench tier..

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Chapter 59

People always talked about being part of the "in-crowd" like it was some kind of golden ticket.
Truth was, it felt more like a tiny glass box.
No room to stretch out. No air. And if you weren’t invited in?
You were left outside, staring at the fogged-up glass.
Took me a while to realize…being on the outside wasn’t the punishment. It was the rest of the world handed to me as a gift.

So…thanks?

“Shouldn’t you be preparing?” Chuck asked me as he shuffled books from one pile to another.

He actually seemed…perky.

That alone made me suspicious.

Granted, the wizard still mumbled to himself like he was having side quests inside his own head, but now he was conversing with us again. Which was progress.

Maybe it was all our middle-of-the-night-suspended-in-time lessons with the Librarian? Our sessions had quickly become the highlight of life to me.

Chuck was right.

I did, in fact, have a knack for magic.

Having a balance of instruction between Chuck and the Librarian was helping. She would provide hands-on experiences and tests, explaining all the specific details of technique, from, and the history of why certain spells and combinations worked…then Chuck would explain it to me in English.

…for a ten-year-old.

That was my current level of understanding.

But progress is progress.

The best part so far?

The mägoweave I wore.

I had no clue how cool this magic cloth truly was until the Librarian showed me. Chuck explained between sessions that Eva, who I'm not allowed to call Eva, because Chuck says it's improper…was a master weaver when she was alive. She made all the clothes for her husband, the last hero, layering powerful spells and enchantments to augment his abilities.

What I was wearing was specifically designed for her son, the heir to the gem and the mantle of the hero.

The friendship shared between her and Chuck made more sense over time, as they revealed small pieces of their past with me. They both lost the ones they loved most to the greatest evil in this world.

The guy I was destined to fight.

School bullies didn't seem so bad anymore.

Though I wasn't able to tap into many spells yet,…I was taught how to connect better with my mägoweave. Crafting armor, forming dress attire, even changing my favorite outfit in subtle ways to mimic the name brand clothes I always wanted, but could never afford.

It was all about my desire, focus, and a dash of will.

Better yet, I finally had someone able to explain more about the letter.

When I showed it to the Librarian, she was visibly emotional. The mägoweave was a gift from her, but the letter and the wealth of her family were gifts from her husband. She'd been shocked that Chuck had remembered a promise.

He just nodded in silence.

There were limits to how often we could step into The Great Library and stop time. At the end of each session, I was exhausted.

So they let me sleep in a comfortable bed, summoned by the Librarian, and when I woke, Chuck and I would step back into the warehouse.

No one was any the wiser for it.

Now Chuck had become obsessed with restoring the library to something resembling organized chaos. Less apocalypse, more apothecary. Books and scrolls were stacked across every flat surface (and some not-so-flat ones), forming a maze of forgotten knowledge. You couldn’t sit down without first evicting a pile of parchment.

But he seemed…happier.

…with a lot more energy.

Chuck pulled a book out from under Höbin without waking the old gnome. The fishis was sprawled across a cot…a bearded pancake, snoring like a congested flute. His puffball beard rose and fell with each breath. It danced on his belly as if it had somewhere to be.

Even Lili had hit her limit. She’d curled up in a big green leather chair by the fire, a dusty tome nestled in her lap. She looked peaceful.

Exhausted, but peaceful.

I draped a blanket over her.

“Preparing for what, Chuck?" I whispered. "I’ve already beaten the video game more than a dozen times, and Gnolaum’s programmed to follow the exact same combos I've mastered. Freak’s reforging new armor and weapons for the Armored Ensemble and Darcy match, and I’m not taking any side matches until after that fight. So…there’s not much left to do.”

Chuck took the stack from my arms and started alphabetizing. “Then what can I do for you?”

I stared at him. The question felt...hollow. He was being polite, sure. But it didn’t feel real. We'd been acting like a team for weeks. Training, one-on-one instruction in magic, history about the world and the nuances of other racial societies. Now Chuck was buried in the library. Lili was off in her own world. Dax was all-in with Alhannah and Trench Wars, while I just floated in and out of the spotlight.

Honestly? I felt like a spare part.

I grabbed another book off the pile and shoved it into Chuck’s hands. “Does it even matter?”

He stopped and turned around. “Excuse me?”

“The games. Me doing what I’m doing. Does it matter?” I waved my hand to the room. “Dax barely talks to me anymore. He’s practically joined Team Alhannah. And isn’t the real mission to find the last seal? That’s supposed to be my responsibility, right?”

Chuck tilted his head. “And how do you propose to help?”

I bent over and grabbed a stack of small books. “I don’t know. That last shard, the one in Til-Thorin—it talked to me. Maybe…” I stopped.

Because the truth was…I didn’t know how to help. The shard found me. It called to me.

“Maybe I could ride around the city and…listen for voices?” I immediately regretted saying it out loud.

Chuck smirked. “I think we might want to narrow down the possibilities before we hinge our success on your hearing things.”

“It worked last time,” I muttered.

“Yes…and it got you killed.”

Touché.

He finished organizing a shelf and cleared off a chair, motioning for me to sit.

I did. Reluctantly.

“Well…” I started, then stopped.

Ugh, just say it.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “This is dumb. I’m just whining. I know that. It’s just…I don’t see how winning Trench Wars is helping anything. We’re supposed to protect the seal, right? So why are we still playing games? We’ve got disguises—shouldn’t we be using them? Sneak around, find the shard before someone else does? Even if I win, it’s not like I can announce, ‘Hey everyone, I’m secretly hunting for a magical artifact to keep an evil god-king from escaping!’”

Chuck’s expression didn’t change. Calm. Patient.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself, son?”

That stopped me.

“Well…sure, I guess. But—”

“Alhannah says you’ve started getting fans. You’re becoming…popular.”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“People who might listen to you…if you had something worth saying?”

His eyes locked onto mine. The smirk disappeared. His gaze cut straight through me, and I suddenly felt like a middle schooler caught cheating on a test.

I swallowed hard. “I…guess so,” I whispered.

Chuck nodded and turned back to the books. “Influence is a peculiar thing. We rarely notice how easily we can acquire it… and almost never understand how valuable it truly is—even when it’s sitting in our hands.”

He spun a tiny green book on his finger like a coin, then slid it onto the shelf without looking.

“My first reason for being here was to save you, son. We did that, thank goodness. The second goal is the seal. We’re working on that. But what we never anticipated…” he paused, “was all these new opportunities opening up.”

He turned to me with a small smile.

“Like the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries.”

I blinked. “You look at the G.R.R. as an opportunity?”

Chuck froze mid-book-flip, and the poor volume tumbled through his fingers like a clumsy trapeze act—landing with a whumpf against his beard. It bounced once and hit the floor.

He frowned. “You’re brighter than this.”

Wow. Compliment with a punch.

“Apparently not,” I shot back. “So why don’t you enlighten me?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Do you know how to use the Ithari?”

My brows pulled together. “You know I don’t.”

“Then how do you propose to defeat Mahan?”

I leaned forward defensively. “We’re finding the seal and keeping it safe. If he can’t get to it, he can’t—”

Chuck shook his head. “That’s a delay tactic. We’re buying time, son. Nothing more.”

He picked up the fallen book and pointed it at me like a magical indictment. “There are many prophecies that say the Dark Lord will return—but even if they didn’t, I’d still know it. He’s clever. Relentless. It’s only a matter of time before he finds a way back. And when he does…he’ll find you.”

He jabbed the book toward my chest. “So tell me, Mr. Hero of the Gem…how do you plan to defeat the greatest evil this world has ever known, when you don’t even know how to use the Ithari?”

I deflated like a kicked beach ball.

Slumping forward, I laced my fingers together and stared at the floor.

Just a delay tactic? That’s all this was?

But I knew it was the truth.

I was still going to have to fight—eventually.

No escaping it. No clever workaround.

My chest tightened under the t-shirt, and the dumb little smiley face stretched its mouth again and again, gasping like it needed air I couldn’t give it.

Chuck reached down and gently tapped my chin with a book. “Don’t tune out now. Smile. This is exactly what you need to learn.” He paused. “And it’s something I have been seeing in you more and more.”

I looked up.

“This isn’t about fighting, or combat, or even magic,” he said, dragging a chair across the floor and brushing scrolls onto the ground like an unapologetic janitor. He sat in front of me.

“I believe the Ithari chose you for your heart, Wendell. For the way you care about people…and for the way you can change people.”

We locked eyes. “I was there when they defeated the Dark Lord the first time. You know what won the day? Not magic. Not power. People. The Gathering of Kings happened because of Gaston. Because of the relationships he built. The Nethinim didn’t win battle after battle because they were strong…they won because they inspired courage. Purpose. Even the Demoni Vankil didn’t come about because of an army…it came from the personal determination of a single mägo clerk.”

I smirked. "Sounds like you didn't need a hero of the gem, Chuck."

He shook his head. "No, he was the key. That's my point, son. The hero had gained the confidence of all of those parties, and they were willing to follow him. They knew that the hero would do anything to defeat Mahan." Chuck paused then, thoughtful. "You have that gift, Wendell. You gather people. Your selfless actions attract powerful hearts. Oh, you might not see it yet, but I have. I could be wrong, but it will be the key to your success in the end."

The way he said it sent chills down my spine.

Tha-thump-thump.

Ohhh, not you too.

Tha-thump-thump.

No pressure.

Then again, if Chuck was right, that meant I wouldn't be alone in this fight. That, at least, gave me some consolation.

"You really think so?" I asked.

Chuck hesitated. "No."

"What? So I will be doing this alone?"

He shook his head. "No. I mean I was wrong about being wrong. I'm never wrong. The key to your success will be your relationships with those around you. Understanding how they play a role in your mission to destroy Mahan is THE key." He wagged a finger at me. "Not 'defeat' him, mind you….but destroy him."

I gulped.

Across the room, Höbin snorted in his sleep, rolling across the squeaky cot like a fluffy old gear that needed oil. Lili, still asleep in her chair, curled deeper into the cushions. Her book slid from her lap to the floor.

Chuck smiled and rapped my knee with a bony knuckle. “I think you are the key, Wendell. You just need to realize that you have intrinsic value.”

I blinked. “Intrinsic?”

He gave me a grandfatherly look. The one that said, 'You poor simple lad, but I love you anyway.'

“You, my young friend, have value. Just by existing. You don’t need a title, or money, or accomplishments. Your value came with you the day you were born.” He leaned closer, his smile deepening. “There’s nothing like you in the universe, Wendell. And you play a critical role in the world around you.”

He held out his hands as if presenting the punchline. “And best of all? No one can take that value from you.”

I took a long, deep breath.

Even the smiley face on my shirt seemed to relax a little, which was…weird, but oddly satisfying.

I hadn’t realized how much weight I’d been carrying—doubt, stress, frustration. Stuff I hadn’t dealt with, just buried. But hearing it all said out loud…Chuck had scraped the layers back, and I could finally feel where it still hurt.

I’d lost myself in these games. Forgotten what I was here for.

“So when Motherboard wanted me to become the spokesperson to the gnome population, you…” I trailed off.

Chuck’s eyes twinkled. “Saw it as an opportunity to build influence.”

I nodded slowly. “Right. Influence.”

It actually made sense—crazy, long-shot kind of sense. Who would listen to me besides my friends? What chance did I have of rallying anyone?

But then…maybe the answer was just…to make more friends?

Chuck grinned. “Are you seeing the possibilities now? All it takes to defeat Mahan is influence—with the good people of this world.”

“And a miracle,” I muttered.

He tapped the side of his crooked nose. “Once you have planning, preparation, determination, and consistency? Trust me…miracles start showing up like magic.”

That made me smile. I leaned forward, the edge of the chair creaking under me.

“Speaking of magic, Chuck, I… was hoping to learn more.”

If we could steer away from the whole world leader discussion, that’d be great too.

“I’ve been thinking about what I’ve seen—what little I’ve learned. The Librarian is amazing, and what she's taught me with the mägoweave is…well…" I sat back, held out a hand and concentrated. Visualizing my right arm being a long-sleeve plaid shirt and a leather working glove on my hand. Like water, the fabric of my short sleeve rolled down my arm and perfectly formed into my desire."

Chuck grinned widely. "Well DONE, son! You've been practicing."

I nodded. "Whenever I'm alone." I willed my sleeve back into place. "It's helping me learn how to focus. I think it's easier because magic fascinates me so much. It motivates me. I feel like I'm living in a game, or that I'm the main character in some epic fantasy series."

Chuck snorted. "If only."

"I'm wondering if magic always has a rigid set of uses?”

“No,” he said. “Not rigid. But it is specific.”

Cool. “So how many ways could a mägo apply the same spell?”

Chuck leaned back, folding his arms and giving me the eyebrow of suspicion. “Sounds like you’ve got something specific in mind, young man. Why don’t you spit it out?”

Here goes nothing. “I’m wondering… if maybe there are other elements I can use?”

Chuck’s stern face softened. “You’re the Gnolaum, Wendell. You’re capable of far more than you realize.” Then he stood, grabbing another stack of books and started organizing again. “Someday,” he added over his shoulder, “you’ll realize that, too.”

I was starting to notice something about Chuck: the guy never volunteered information. Not about plans. Not about people, and certainly not about magic.

Especially not to me.

If I asked the right question? Sure. He’d open up. But he didn’t hand out lessons like candy. There was no, “Hey, Wendell, here’s a cool spell you should try!”

Nope.

He waited.

Patiently.

Annoyingly.

Which was a problem—because I didn’t always know what questions to ask. Throwing out hints was a waste of time. Chuck didn’t do hints.

So I took a deep breath, shoved down the hesitation, and just asked.

“Can I use magic with a S.L.A.G.?”

Chuck tossed a book into the air without looking. “Like what? A weapon?”

The book spun once, twice, then thunked down hard on the desk, sliding neatly to a stop between a scroll and an ink vial. A feathered quill stuck up from the crystal like a little white flag.

Höbin twitched and snorted in his sleep.

Lili blinked awake for a second, mumbled something incoherent, then slumped back into the chair like a melted puppet.

“I’m not too sure that would be wise, you know,” Chuck said casually. “Gnomes are almost as uncomfortable with magic as everyone else is with technology. Makes for a delicate balance. Exposing yourself could put you in a very…nasty spotlight.”

That hit me sideways.

Gnomes? Afraid of magic?

I always thought they were curious about everything. I mean, Alhannah was a walking tech explosion with a battle addiction, and Höbin was basically a wizard trapped in a historian’s beard. But come to think of it…they were the exception.

“Wait,” I asked slowly. “You mean there are no gnomes who use both?”

Chuck scratched the side of his head. “Oh, they exist. But they’re rare. The city’s got a few techno-mägo—gnomes who use and understand both magic and tech. Folks like Höbin toe the line, but technically? He’s not a mägo. He studies magic. Uses it occasionally through tools—like his port key—but he doesn’t shape it.”

He glanced at Höbin, whose snoring reached an impressive volume.

“The true mägo—those who shape and wield power—are usually employed, or directly controlled, by the government. And techno-mägo? Well…” he shrugged, “they’re considered extremely dangerous. Society keeps them isolated.”

My stomach sank a little.

Dangerous? Really?

That word wasn’t doing me any favors lately.

"The best example is Clockworks University. If you're looking for techno-mägo among gnomes, that's where you'll find most of them. They have a tower separating them from other students. Is it reinforced against magical accidents? Yes. Does it protect both the mägo and the other students? Yes." Then he turned, looking right at me. "Does it keep track of every single mägo student, catalogue their abilities and power levels so the Government Faction know who they are, where they are, and if they can be used to the benefit of society?"

Then Chuck frowned.

Deeply.

"Yes," he whispered.

Gnomes were quickly turning out to be far more than what I had been imagining. Some giggly race of people overflowing with curiosity, love and a desire to be of service to those around them.

If you left out the last two, you'd have it about right.

No, that wasn't fair…or the truth. There were plenty of good souls here…just like everywhere else.

Evil was the exception, not the good.

Still, it felt weird.

Something as common to me as a computer or video game—just…taboo? Feared?

If these people had any idea how helpful this stuff could be…

What blew my mind was how the gnomes had not taken over the planet by now? With tech like S.L.A.G.s and engineered gear, the potential was massive. They could rule the world—or at least upgrade it past “steampunk medieval with explosions.”

Maybe they didn’t want to.

Maybe being small made them think small.

“However,” Chuck chimed, breaking through my tech-fueled revolution daydream, “if you really want to learn more…" He flashed a grin big enough to lift his mustache like a curtain. “…I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

I grinned back. "I hoped you'd say that."

I wasn’t supposed to be there.

Technically.

I’d followed Alhannah through the hangar after she stormed out of a meeting with Chuck and Bellows. Something was off. Her jaw had been locked tighter than a treasure chest in a dragon hoard. So I followed.

From a distance, of course.

With Chuck encouraging me to see how I could push the limits of the few spells I knew, I used the one I felt most comfortable with.

…and faded from view.

When she ducked into an abandoned storeroom, I hovered in the hallway, trying to decide whether to knock or just slink back to the library. But before I could chicken out, Shamas slipped in behind her and quietly shut the door.

Curiosity: 1

Moral judgment: 0

I waited a few seconds, then cracked the door open just enough to slip inside.

The smell hit me like a wet towel to the face—musty, damp, and gross enough to taste. The only light came from a cracked window, filtering in like a half-hearted ghost. I hugged the wall, hoping neither of them noticed the door open. I was still testing if this spell hid the sounds I made.

“I’m telling you, Red,” Shamas said, his voice low, “taking these side fights is a bad idea.”

He leaned against the doorframe, making no move toward the light switch. Alhannah was pacing the edge of the room like a S.L.A.G. in cooldown mode: tense, mechanical, dangerous. Her arms were folded, but her fingers kept twitching like she wanted to punch something.

Shamas kept talking.

“I think it’s a setup.”

Alhannah froze. “A setup?”

“Are you paying attention? The Church.” He said it like the word had teeth.

I winced.

The Church? That didn’t sound good. All because I was named after one of their prophecies? Was it truly THAT big of a deal?

Shamas rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s where I was. The day I went missing. Picked up a lead from one of the local betting houses—odds were rising against you, even with your winning streak. I checked it out. Found out everyone’s suddenly favoring Trinity.”

He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His eyes had these hollow rings that made me uncomfortable just looking at them.

“Rumors said Steel and Stone wouldn’t make it to the finals,” he continued. “At first I thought it was just noise—but more than one bookie said the Church was gonna make sure of it.”

Alhannah groaned and crossed her arms tighter. “It’s just trash talk. Always has been. Just idiots trying to shift the odds.”

“Thought so too,” Shamas nodded, “until I found a bookie with a little too much detail. Turns out? He worked for Cumberlain.”

Even I recognized that name from chatter around the warehouse. My stomach dropped a little.

“As in Cumberlain Exchange?” Alhannah asked, voice sharp.

“Yeah. So I followed him. Encouraged him to share.”

There was a pause.

Alhannah raised an eyebrow. “Encouraged?”

“I was persuasive,” he muttered.

I couldn’t help thinking of the piled bodies of agents outside the bathroom door…I smirked.

“Anyway, the Trinity team was positioned to win the entire season. One of their pilots was set for the Grand Championship. Cumberlain backed the Church. Funded the entire team. Got insider info in return to rig their betting pools. Everyone thought it was a done deal.”

He glanced at her. “Then you showed up.”

Alhannah’s arms dropped to her sides.

He gave her a look. “Didn’t the Church approach you?”

“Yeah,” she said suddenly quiet. “I didn’t think much of it. I mean, Trench Wars was exploding. More sponsors, more viewers—it made sense people would try to cash in. But the Church? It seemed ridiculous.”

But her expression changed, and she shook her head.

“They were publicly condemning Trench pilots for promoting violence. National broadcasts. Sermons. They tore into us.”

Shamas took a step forward, his voice harder now. “There’s a bigger power struggle going on than we thought. Stump’s poodle showing up? They want control of the spotlight.”

My brain was spinning.

I’d known the games were corrupt, but this? This was like pulling back the curtain and finding out the wizard was a gangster in a clerical collar.

Alhannah paced again, muttering to herself. Then she snapped back. “What else did you find out? You came back wrecked, Shamas. You’re not telling me everything.”

He winced, as if the memory itself hurt. “I asked too many questions. Got grabbed. They threw a sack over my head and beat me unconscious.”

My jaw tightened. I hadn’t realized how serious this had gotten.

“Woke up in a shipping container,” he said flatly. “They worked me over. Wanted details. About you, Dax, Wendell…”

Wait—me?

“…and your S.L.A.G.s.”

Alhannah narrowed her eyes. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing,” Shamas said, steel in his voice. “Can’t tell what I don’t know.”

She stared him down. “And they believed you?”

“Have I ever cracked?”

She hesitated. Then shook her head. “No.”

“I played dead,” he said. “Let them get bored. When they thought I was out cold, they started talking. Loose lips.”

Alhannah went completely still.

“What names did they use?” She asked, voice low.

I didn’t realize I’d moved until I was standing next to her.

“Yeah,” I added, now in full view. “What names?”

“So… would it work on another S.L.A.G.?” I asked, scratching the back of my head. The question had been rolling around in my skull for a while, bouncing between what-if and probably not.

Chuck paused mid-shelf shuffle and combed his beard with his fingers like a wise old cat in deep thought. “Not sure,” he said finally. “The tech in those machines picks up movement through more than just visuals. Radar, sonar, thermal scans… Some pilots don’t rely on cameras at all.”

“And the spell I’m using? It’s just visual, right?”

“Well…” He tilted his head. “Not exactly. It’s a sensory enchantment—works on organic senses. Yours, mine, most humanoid eyes and ears. You’d be invisible to sight, smell, and your sounds would be muffled… but not touch. You’d still be there.”

So much for being a magical ghost ninja.

I sighed. Maybe it was better to drop the whole thing. Trench Wars wasn’t just a battle of people—it was machines doing most of the thinking. Freakin’ sensors.

“Okay, new question,” I said, switching gears. “What’s the difference between ‘power’ and, say, electricity?”

Around us, the room was slowly putting itself back together. Books floated through the air, stacking themselves like obedient ducklings while Chuck gestured casually, his hands guiding the dance.

“‘Power’ is general,” he said. “Could be anything—strength, influence, energy, authority. Voluntary or forced. It’s one of those words that gets you into trouble if you’re not careful.”

“Because magic needs exact definitions.”

“Exactly.”

“So,” I mused, “you create a foundation, then shape that foundation to fit your purpose.”

Chuck grinned. “I’m impressed, son. You’re picking this up faster than I expected.”

I couldn’t help but grin back. “It's hard not to make progress when you’re actually enjoying it.”

He jabbed me in the shoulder with a bony knuckle. “Agreed. I should thank you, actually. Gets my mind off all this seal business.” Höbin snorted in his sleep behind us, rolling on the cot like a loaf of bread in a windstorm.

“Alright, let’s try it again,” Chuck said, tugging a scroll out from under his foot and motioning to the floor. “Before either of them wakes up.”

I raised my hands in front of me, stretching my fingers wide. The power I needed had to come from within. I quieted my thoughts, zeroed in on the space between my palms.

No library. No Chuck. No ticking clock of doom in my head.

Just my hands.

Energy is everywhere. All I had to do… was gather it.

Warmth bloomed along my skin. Not hot—just enough to tingle. I focused, leaned into the feeling.

“Säko,” I whispered.

Blue light spread across my palms, thin threads weaving through the air like glowing silk. The sensation tickled. The hair on my arms stood at attention. I caught a faint scent: metal…like old batteries or the air after lightning.

“Good,” Chuck said, beaming. “Now, to move it outward, say the word…”

“Virtä.”

The sound of it rolled off my tongue like I’d been born knowing it.

In my palms, threads of electricity flickered to life. Soft blue arcs danced and crackled. No pain. Just a low, steady hum vibrating through my arms. It felt like I was holding lightning that…I know this sounds strange, but…as if it liked me.

I laughed under my breath.

You’re doing it, Wendell. You’re actually becoming a mägo.

“Perfect!” Chuck cheered, eyes glowing as bright as the magic between my fingers. “Now, once it feels like the energy’s a part of you, you can amplify it.”

“Using Teho, right?”

The moment the word left my mouth—CRACK—the bolt jumped. A fat arc of energy lunged toward my chin, and I flinched back, yelping.

“Whoa!”

Chuck raised an eyebrow. “Careful now. Elements have instincts. Electricity wants to be embraced. Fire is hungry. Wind? It wants to run. One slip in focus, and you’ll light yourself…or someone else…on fire.”

“Right, right—sorry.” I cleared my throat, cheeks burning. “Läkätä.”

The light faded. My hands pulsed with lingering energy, like the last ripple in a pond. I could still feel it on my skin, itching to escape.

“So how would you focus electrical energy?” I asked. “Same way as light?”

Chuck shook his head. “No. Mäjäkä pulls light to a center, but electricity—lightning—it doesn’t like to be contained. It needs direction, not control. You give it a destination and set it free.”

“So… not mäjäkä.”

“No. You use sälämä.”

I rubbed my palms together, still buzzing from the last spell. My inner geek was having a field day. Magic + electricity = awesome.

“Sälämä,” I whispered.

Mistake.

Sparks exploded between my fingers like bottle rockets. Two bolts shot off in opposite directions—one igniting a stack of books, the other knocking Chuck’s hat clean off his head.

But the main bolt?

It zig-zagged straight across the room and smacked into Höbin’s metal cot.

SHRAK!

Höbin screamed like he’d been dunked in lava. He flailed, flipped off the cot, and landed with a thud on the floor.

“NUTS AND BOLTS!” he howled, clutching his leg. He spun in a circle like a dazed gopher until he spotted me and Chuck…and our very obvious guilty faces.

“What in the name of gears and gravy are you doing!?” he roared. “You could’ve killed me!”

Chuck casually summoned his still-smoking hat, flipped it back onto his head, then gave me a good ol’ whack on the back of mine.

Fair.

I wasn’t sure what possessed me to sneak around invisible again.

Maybe it was boredom. Maybe curiosity. Maybe because magic finally worked the way I wanted it to, and I was still riding that high. Either way, I’d slipped into the hall outside our quarters and just… wandered.

Hiding in plain sight?

Kind of addictive.

One thing I learned through practice was this wasn't just words and intent. Magic took energy to work, and a mägo provided his own energy to be harnessed. The more I used, the more exhausted I became. Chuck said over time, my body would adjust, so be careful.

Nawwwwww.

At first, it was all dust bunnies and creaky pipes. But then I spotted Morty.

He looked… off.

Shoulders slumped, hands stuffed in his lab coat pockets, muttering to himself as he shuffled down the hall.

I followed.

Because of course I did.

He slid his ID card through the panel and pushed open a heavy metal door…and left it open.

Well, THAT was helpful.

I slipped in behind him like a shadow.

The place smelled like mildew and wet socks. An old puddle of water under the cracked window oozed rot into the air. Crates sagged in the corner, spilling rusted bolts and decayed cardboard.

This was his workroom?

Morty moved slow. Heavy. He walked over to the locker labeled 2C and opened it.

Inside, on the top shelf, were a sleek little black box and some beat-up notebooks. He just stood there for a minute, staring at them… then glanced up at the cameras overhead with a look that could’ve melted steel.

“I shouldn’t have let Chuck into this place,” he muttered bitterly.

That stung.

I mean, not personally, but… Chuck was trying to help.

Morty reached into his pocket and pulled out a disc. He turned his back to the camera, shielding it.

“Cryo?” he whispered.

A soft, robotic voice replied, “Yes, Dr. Teedlebaum?”

“Is there any way we can turn off the cameras without letting the government know we turned them off?”

A tiny blue face bloomed over the disc. “I can route everything through the random feed we’ve been running. But if you make substantial changes in your tests, there will be no record of such progress.”

“I understand. Would you do that for me? I’d like privacy while I work.”

“Certainly. Feeds are now rerouted as you desired. You may talk and move freely, Dr. Teedlebaum.”

“Thank you, Cryo,” he said—quieter now, almost… tender.

“You are most welcome,” said Cryo. “You look… concerned, Dr. Teedlebaum. Is there something I can do for you?”

I held my breath and stayed perfectly still, watching him circle the machine in the center of the room. It was massive, something complicated, something way beyond my level of understanding.

The PROMIS.

“I’m not sure, Cryo,” he said, his voice flat. “This city means everything to me. My father used to say every brick and bolt was a testament to gnome brilliance. But we’ve always had a problem—energy.”

He walked back to the locker and pulled out the small black box. Held it like a sacred relic. The way he rubbed his thumb across its surface made it clear: this thing meant something to him.

“This… was my father’s solution,” he said. “A secret project. A form of perpetual energy. Something that could’ve saved Clockworks.”

He opened the PROMIS panel, detached some large cables, and gently hooked up the black box with a small adapter.

“I have a dilemma, Cryo.”

With the flick of a switch, the giant machine purred to life. The generator arms spun. A power cell lit up like a newborn star.

Morty grinned.

“He made this for the future. For everyone. It was going to be his gift to Clockworks… to Gnomekind.”

Then… WHEEZE-CHUNK.

The machine shuddered and stopped. The light flickered. Everything went quiet.

“…but after a lifetime of work,” Morty whispered, “he left me with no way to follow in his footsteps.”

He yanked the cables loose with frustration, then gently unhooked the adapter from the black box. “All this little thing can do is power a laptop,” he said, almost apologetically. “Just one. That’s all. And yet he said It could be the key to our city’s future.”

Cryo whirred. “So you are attempting to recreate the source of energy?”

Morty shook his head. “Not anymore. I’ve stopped trying. Now I’m just working to amplify what already exists. To give it the boost he never figured out.”

For a moment, the AI hovered silently.

Then, a soft blue beam emitted from the disc. Cryo scanned the box, symbols spinning and aligning midair like puzzle pieces in a dream. I watched, half-hypnotized.

Finally, the display vanished.

“If my calculations are correct,” Cryo said slowly, “you may be a great deal closer to success than you realize.”

Morty blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he leaned closer to the disc, hope beginning to flicker in the tired corners of his eyes.

And me? I just stood there, invisible, stunned.

Because that?

That felt important.

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