Eugene stepped forward, the cold shadow of the concrete tower stretching wide behind him. The magnetic pull that had drawn him here buzzed stronger now, humming in his chest like a second heartbeat. Without waiting for Krungus—or even glancing back—he pushed open the heavy, concrete door. It swung open with a soundless ease, revealing a yawning void beyond.
He stepped inside.
The air shifted instantly—cooler, stiller, carrying a faint mineral tang, like damp stone after a rainstorm. Eugene expected chaos. Dust. At least some kind of echo of life. But instead, the entire building stretched out into an open cavern of stillness.
It was empty.
No walls broke the vast space. The raw concrete rose high above, bare and hollow, the brutalist shell now feeling more like a cathedral stripped of its purpose. Light filtered down through unseen slats high above, casting long, cold beams across the polished floor.
But there, in the center, was the only disruption.
A fountain.
Water burbled gently from its center, crystal clear, cascading into a wide, shallow basin. The sound of it echoed in the cavernous space, the only sign of motion or life.
Eugene took a step closer—and then he saw them.
The baby sat near the edge of the fountain, small and perfectly still, clutching something soft in its tiny fists. Next to the baby stood a figure, no larger than the infant itself, her body composed of prismatic shards of glass, colors constantly flowing and rearranging—a delicate mosaic in perpetual motion. Despite her small size, there was an undeniable weight to her presence, as if something vast and ancient hummed beneath the fragile form. The Jennie of Potential seemed to shimmer with restrained energy, her form subtly shifting, hinting that she might not always remain so small.
They were alone.
No guards. No barriers. Just the baby and its Jennie, waiting.
Krungus let out a strangled gasp behind Eugene. “That’s... that’s it. That’s the kid.”
Eugene didn’t answer. His throat had gone dry. The strangeness of it all—the emptiness, the fountain, the quiet—made everything feel off. It was too simple. Too exposed.
Yet the baby sat there, unharmed, its Jennie standing sentinel by its side.
“Why are they just... here?” Eugene whispered.
The Jennie tilted her glassy head, colors swirling faster now, but she didn’t speak—at least not out loud.
Eugene felt the thought slide into his mind, gentle and childlike: “You found us.”
Before Eugene could respond, the soft glow of Cozimia’s lantern intensified. The light stretched and twisted until, with a shimmer, Cozimia stepped out of it. Her form was hazy at the edges, like she wasn’t fully solid, but her presence filled the vast room.
She approached cautiously, her hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Well now, sugar, you must be the Jennie of Potential,” Cozimia drawled, her voice warm. “Ain’t you just a sight to behold?”
The tiny Jennie didn’t move, but her shards shifted faster, rearranging and clicking softly as if she were searching for the right form. Her telepathic voice echoed in their minds again, still carrying that unmistakable tone of a little kid. “You’re like me. Kinda.”
Cozimia tilted her head, her voice soft and honeyed. “Well now, darlin’, I reckon so. But you’re still sproutin’, still stretchin’ those roots. You got a whole lotta growin’ left in ya, sugar.”
“Always growing,” the Jennie replied. Her prismatic shards whirled, briefly forming wings before collapsing back into her shifting frame. It was like she couldn’t decide what she wanted to be.
Eugene noticed the baby, too—its face had subtly changed. The same soft skin, but its cheeks looked fuller, its nose a little more defined. Not a drastic change, but enough to make him double-take.
“Is the baby... different?” Eugene asked, his voice low.
“The baby has potential,” the Jennie responded simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s still deciding.”
Cozimia crouched near the fountain, her glow soft and gentle, like a warm porch light on a summer evening. “Well now, sugar, you’ve been lookin’ after this little one all by your lonesome? That’s mighty kind of you, darlin’. But tell me somethin’—why’d you do it?”
The Jennie’s shards fluttered, shifting the size of her tiny form. “Because it could be anything. I wanted to see what it might become.”
Eugene shivered at that, feeling the vast weight of those words. The Jennie wasn’t just a guardian—she was a catalyst, a mirror to what could be.
Cozimia straightened slowly, her wariness easing, her glow softening like the last light of a sunset. “Well now, sugar, you ain’t here to stir up trouble, are ya?”
“Not unless I need to be.” The Jennie’s tone carried a hint of innocence—but there was steel beneath it.
The baby gurgled softly, its fingers grasping at one of the floating glass shards, which drifted down and hovered just out of reach.
Eugene exhaled. “Well, I guess we found them.”
Cozimia glanced at him, her lantern glow warm and steady. “Sugar, this here’s just the start of it. We got a long road ahead, bless your heart.”
She then turned her focus back to the shimmering, glassy form of the Jennie of Potential. Her voice softened. “Do you have a name, darlin'?”
The tiny Jennie tilted her head, prismatic shards shifting restlessly. For a moment, there was silence—then her telepathic voice slid gently into their minds, still carrying that childlike tone. “Not yet. I’m waiting for her to name me. When she’s old enough.”
Cozimia blinked, a flicker of understanding passing through her. “Well now, sugar, you’re just sittin’ pretty, waitin’ for that sweet girl to make up her mind, ain’t ya?”
“It should be her choice,” the Jennie replied. Her shards whirled again, her form briefly stretching taller before collapsing back into her infant-like size. “I’m not done growing yet.”
Krungus, who had been unusually quiet, finally began to move, his earlier panic ebbing into a restless curiosity. He wandered away from the group, running his hands along the raw concrete walls, his fingers tracing invisible patterns as if trying to read some hidden language beneath the stone.
“This place,” Krungus murmured, “it’s... wrong, but not in a bad way. It’s unfinished. Like it’s waiting for something, too.”
He stepped toward the fountain, crouching by its edge and dipping his fingers into the cool, clear water. Ripples spread out, warping his reflection into strange shapes. “This fountain—there’s more to it than just water. It’s old magic. Adaptive. It’s tied to the structure.”
He turned to the Jennie, eyes gleaming behind his red lenses. “You’ve barely scratched the surface of what this place could be. Its true potential hasn’t been unlocked yet.”
The Jennie’s shards flickered with a soft, warm glow, her tiny form pulsing as if contemplating his words.
Krungus tilted his head. “Have you thought about staying here? Using this place as a sanctuary while the baby grows? It’s strong—hidden. It could be shaped into something greater.”
The Jennie didn’t answer right away. Her glassy fragments shifted rapidly, rearranging into new patterns before settling again. Her telepathic voice echoed softly in their minds. “Maybe. If it can become what she needs.”
Eugene looked around the towering, empty space—the concrete shell, the solitary fountain, the open potential—and nodded. “Feels like the kind of place that’s waiting to be something more.”
He hesitated for a moment, then glanced at the Jennie. “What about the baby’s mother? She’s out there—lost her kid. Would she be able to stay here too? While the baby grows up?”
The Jennie’s shards twisted midair, the prismatic colors deepening as if she was pondering the idea. Her small voice echoed softly in their minds. “She could. If she wants to. But she’ll have to decide that for herself.”
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Cozimia’s form flickered slightly, her lantern glow pulsing. “It might help. For both of them.”
Eugene rubbed the back of his neck, still eyeing the towering walls. “Could be a real place for them—a safe one. Not just for the kid, but for her too.”
The Jennie’s shards briefly expanded, growing in size before folding back into her small form. “Potential’s everywhere. It’s up to them what they make of it.”
Eugene sighed, but there was a softness in it. Then, as if a thought struck him mid-breath, he frowned. “Wait—those guards we talked to before. The ones asking about the baby. They’re probably still looking. Who else could be out there searching for this kid?”
Krungus let out a grunt, reluctantly peeling himself away from the fountain. “Oh, plenty of them. The City of Cities is a bureaucratic labyrinth. There are layers of government so tangled even I don’t know who’s in charge half the time.” He kicked at the smooth concrete floor. “I spent most of my time improving the city—its infrastructure, defenses, transportation. Ignored all the politics. Figured they’d take care of themselves.”
Eugene raised a brow. “And now?”
Krungus sighed heavily. “Now? I’m going to have to talk to them. Whoever’s running the show is going to notice a missing kid tied to a Jennie like this. And if they haven’t noticed yet, they will soon.”
Cozimia’s glow dimmed thoughtfully. “Well now, sugar, the City’s government ain’t one tidy package—it’s a mess of council heads, guild leaders, and mages, all of ‘em thinkin’ they’re the biggest fish in the pond. If one of those high-and-mighty folks catches wind ‘bout this baby, they might see her as a blessin’... or somethin’ mighty dangerous.”
Eugene scratched his chin. “So we’re sitting on a powder keg. Perfect.”
Krungus nodded grimly. “We’ll have to be smart about this. But it’s not like I can just pull favors—I doubt anyone in charge even knows who I am anymore. Only historians still bother with my name, and most of them probably think I’m a myth.” He rubbed his temple, frustration seeping through his words. “I spent too long ignoring the politicians, focusing on the city itself. Now I’m going to have to navigate a government that doesn’t even realize I’m part of its history.”
The Jennie of Potential hovered quietly through the entire exchange, her shards shimmering with faint curiosity. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but certain. “No one’s come here yet. But they will.”
Eugene’s hand drifted to the strap of his pack, his brow furrowing in thought. “Krungus, why could I see this tower when you couldn’t? And why could you see it when we got closer?”
Krungus straightened, adjusting his red-lensed glasses before rubbing his chin. “That’s the difference between Weave-bound magic and non-Weave magic. Most magic in this city—hell, in this entire plane—runs through the Weave. It connects everything, like threads in a tapestry. But this building? It’s running on something else. Non-Weave magic. It exists outside the tapestry, in the gaps no one pays attention to.”
Eugene’s fingers tapped nervously against his pack. “So I can see it because I’m outside the Weave too?”
Krungus nodded. “Exactly. You and other Jennie warlocks—your connection isn’t tied to the Weave. That’s why you could see the building long before I could. And why most people wouldn’t notice it unless they got too close.”
Cozimia’s voice hummed softly through the lantern. “And that means whoever’s looking for the baby—if they’re Weave-bound—they won’t be able to find this place easily.”
Eugene’s eyes darkened. “But what if they aren’t?”
Krungus hesitated, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Then they’ll find it. And fast.”
Eugene let the weight of that settle for a beat before continuing, “So, who would know how to track non-Weave magic? Who should we be worried about?”
Krungus sighed deeply. “Most of the City of Cities’ government is so tangled in the Weave they couldn’t even fathom this place. But there are always exceptions—fringe groups, rogue mages, and those who meddle in things they shouldn’t. The real danger is the ones who do understand non-Weave magic. They’d kill to control something like this.”
Eugene’s hand drifted to the strap again, gripping it tighter. “Then we need to figure out who they are—before they figure out where we are.”
Cozimia’s lantern pulsed brighter as she floated forward, her voice thoughtful. “Or… we could move them somewhere safer. I can house both the Jennie and the baby in my lantern for now. It’s protected—hidden from the Weave-bound and non-Weave alike.”
The Jennie of Potential twisted her glassy shards, her form shimmering with uncertainty. “I don’t want to leave the fountain,” she admitted, her childlike voice drifting through their minds. “It’s a source of non-Weave magic. Being near it helps her... helps her grow into what she could be.”
Cozimia’s glow softened. “There are similar benefits inside the lantern. It’s a space of infinite possibilities, built to nurture and protect. The baby would still thrive, and you wouldn’t be exposed out here.”
The Jennie’s shards rearranged again, briefly forming a small, crystalline crown before shifting back into her delicate frame. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Eugene shot Cozimia a look. “She’s not exactly quick with decisions, huh?”
Cozimia smiled faintly. “Potential takes time, honey.”
Krungus, who had been silently tracing his fingers along the edge of the fountain, straightened up and clapped his hands together. “You know, I could turn this place into a palace in no time. No one shapes stone like I do—this brutalist shell? It’s just raw material waiting for the right hands.” He stepped back, eyeing the tall, bare walls. “Could even replace the old Mushroom Tower. Make something better. Stronger.”
Eugene raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
Krungus gave him a sidelong glance. “Please. I designed half of the City’s original infrastructure. This place? It’s begging for an upgrade.”
Then his expression darkened slightly as he turned back to Eugene. “But before you go getting any big ideas, consider this—you’re already carrying one Jennie. You might not be ready to house a second.”
Eugene blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Krungus adjusted his red-lensed glasses, his tone serious. “The more Jennies bound to you, the bigger the target on your back. One Jennie already makes you a prize. Two? Every rogue mage and power-hungry lunatic will see you as the jackpot. You’d be risking your life—and theirs—just walking down the street.”
Eugene chewed on that, feeling the weight of Krungus’s words settle hard in his chest. “So... I’d basically be screaming ‘come rob me’ everywhere I go.”
“Exactly.” Krungus jabbed a finger toward him. “This isn’t some game. Jennies are powerful—and rare. Carrying two? That’s practically begging for trouble.”
Cozimia’s lantern pulsed brighter, her voice cutting in sharply. “Do you think I’m useless, Krungus?”
Krungus blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, I—”
“You assumed I couldn’t protect the little one.” Her glow flickered with irritation, her form solidifying more clearly as she stepped forward. “Now listen here, sugar, hospitality ain’t just about sweet talk and a cozy bed. It’s about safety—about makin’ sure folks under my roof don’t come to harm. I’ve given shelter to more folks than I can count in my lantern over the years, keepin’ ‘em safe from dangers they didn’t even know were knockin’. My inn might be empty now, bless its heart, but that don’t mean I’m any less able to keep this little one safe as can be.”
Krungus hesitated, clearly unprepared for her sudden frustration. “I didn’t mean—”
Cozimia cut him off, her glow pulsing with determination. “Now listen here, Krungus, I ain’t just some floatin’ lamp, bless your heart. I’m a sanctuary—a real place of safety and refuge. Folks have always known they can count on me when they need shelter. I can shield that baby and the Jennie, and I will, come hell or high water.”
The room grew quiet for a beat. Then Krungus scratched the back of his head, his gruffness softening just slightly. “Alright, alright. You made your point. I didn’t mean to downplay what you do.”
Cozimia’s glow steadied, though a faint hum of annoyance still lingered. “Good. ‘Cause if this little one’s under my care, I’m gonna look after her like she’s my very own, bless her heart. Ain’t nothin’ more important than keepin’ folks safe, sugar.”
She hovered for a moment, then added, “Besides, if another Jennie enters my lantern—if she stays there with the baby—it wouldn’t just be about protection. It would change things for Eugene, too.”
Eugene blinked. “Change how?”
Cozimia’s glow deepened, her voice low but steady. “Your powers as a warlock would grow. My lantern isn’t just a sanctuary—it’s a hub. The more Jennies within it, the more your connection to their magic strengthens. If the Jennie of Potential takes up residence, even temporarily, it will expand what you can do.”
Krungus froze mid-motion, his red-lensed glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “Wait. You’re saying having multiple Jennies in the same vessel could amplify his abilities?”
Cozimia gave a slow nod. “Exactly. His bond to me would stretch to encompass her, too—her magic, her essence. And if there were more Jennies? Each one would layer on top of that. The potential for growth is… significant.”
Eugene’s mind reeled as the weight of that hit him. “So, I could get... really powerful. Like, really powerful.”
Krungus let out a low whistle. “More than that. You’d be a walking beacon of power. Every sorcerer, warlock, and mage worth their salt would come hunting for you. Some to study you. Most to kill you.”
Eugene exhaled slowly, feeling the implications swirl around him like heavy smoke. “Well, that’s... a lot.”
Cozimia’s glow softened. “It’s also a choice. No Jennie can force that bond—but if you wanted it, the potential is there.”
The Jennie of Potential’s shards glittered faintly, her small voice echoing softly in Eugene’s mind. “Potential’s everywhere. It’s just waiting for someone to reach for it.”
Eugene swallowed hard, the possibilities stretching out before him—vast, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.
His mind spiraled into thought, the sheer scope of what Cozimia had revealed sinking deeper. Potential. That word echoed in his head, growing heavier by the second. If adding the Jennie of Potential to the lantern could expand his powers, what would that even look like? He imagined the subtle influence of potential—shaping not just himself but those around him. Could he nudge fate? Help others realize their own possibilities? Or would it turn him into something far more unpredictable?
His thoughts darkened. What if I found more Jennies? he wondered.
The idea spiraled out wildly in his mind. What if there’s a Jennie of Warfare? His hands clenched instinctively at the thought. The raw, tactical power that could bring—bending battlefields, strengthening allies, devastating enemies. Or worse—a Jennie of Hunger. What would that even grant him? The power to take endlessly? To consume, to spread desire and need like wildfire?
The realization hit like a punch: this wasn’t just about strength. It was about influence—deep, conceptual influence. Every Jennie would offer something unique, something that could twist not just his magic but who he was.
He rubbed the back of his neck, tension tightening in his shoulders. Is that even something I want? The pull of power was undeniable—but the danger of it was too. Having more Jennies wasn’t just an upgrade—it was a transformation.
And with that power came a simple, brutal truth: more enemies. More hunters. More people who would want him dead.
But still... he thought, a flicker of defiance breaking through the fear, imagine what I could do.
