Viewing is an artform. It’s not a Skill, strangely enough, but a technique that anyone could learn, theoretically. But much like its medical cousin for reviewing the physical body—the technique of Sounding—performing a proper Viewing requires a certain proficiency in mana sensitivity to get the most out of it.

  Thanks to the incredibly powerful boost provided by [Legacy of the Scalpel] and [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], I’m one of the best in the country at Viewing. Despite my relative youth, I’ve caught up with the [Inquisitors] due to great teachers and hard practice, not to mention first-hand experience with metaphysical healing.

  So why am I having such trouble getting past this tangled outer layer of dirty-looking mana and peering into Klaarson’s inner world?

  Cloudy swirls of mana obscure my vision. There’s no real rhyme or reason to the listless flow of energy, which barely moves at all. When it does, it’s aimless, shifting and curving back in on itself, stalling out and stagnating. It’s like there’s not enough space for it to flow, even though Klaarson’s channels seem—

  Wait. I could have sworn they were there a moment ago. Where’d they go? As soon as I tried to focus on them, they slipped away like they’re scared or something. But that’s crazy. How can a person’s connection to the metaphysical have feelings?

  Floating in liminal space, I don’t have lungs or lips. If I did, then I’d be cackling in glee right now, because I have no idea what’s happening. How long has it been since I’ve had such a complicated and exciting puzzle to piece together?

  Er, well. All the time, actually.

  My life has been defined by mysteries and secrets lately. But that’s beside the point. Learning something new is one of my favorite things. If I can figure out how to help Klaarson in the meantime, that’s even better. He seems like a solid friend to the other workers, despite the teasing. In fact, the way he, Marta, and Trevour interact reminds me of me and my friends. They’re like us when we were a few years younger and just starting out.

  One thing at a time, I chide myself. First I need to figure out why I can’t seem to see into his full core space, then I’ll figure out the mystery of his channels, which phased out of view as soon as I tried to examine them. Only after those investigations conclude will I probe into the social dynamics of the new team.

  Team Flametrike, I think with a snicker.

  Opting to take a more careful approach than Scalpel would have, I delicately search for an opening in the murky outlines of Klaarson’s inner world. I could force my way, but that carries the risk of damaging things further. Making an incision is a more workable fallback plan, since his naturalized mana will heal it in time, much like a cut scabbing over.

  Come to think of it, though, I haven’t really sensed much mana in him. It’s almost like he isn’t pulling in any at all. Is that why the energy I do see is so dull and dingy, for lack of a better word? Because it’s been sitting there, collecting gunk for who knows how long? Like pond scum in brackish, stagnant water without any inflow.

  I scrunch my nose at that thought. Sounds downright disgusting!

  Faced with a dilemma, I ask myself one of my favorite questions: What would Ezio do here? The follow up question is like it: How would Rakesh establish a baseline?

  Follow the facts, I remind myself.

  Facts:

  no safe way to see past his outer shell

  no evidence of Skill use so far

  no current mana harvesting

  no significant accumulation of mana

  a self-reported mana “blockage”

  stagnant, gross mana obscuring everything

  channels that hide from observation — that is, outside mana manipulation

  enough runic pressure for evidence of converted potential at one time

  It’s a dizzying snarl of details. Hmm. That doesn’t get me very far, does it? Activating innovation and sharpness, I reconsider the questions I posed to myself earlier. What would Ezio and Rakesh do?

  If Ezio couldn’t observe the core directly, he’d probably conduct a series of experiments to measure mana flow and output, trying to obliquely paint a picture of what’s going on behind the polluted layer of mana around the core.

  I don’t have a mana manipulation testing device with me, but my own control has grown immensely. Have I advanced to the point where I may be able to mimic the test and administer it manually, albeit to a lesser degree? Plausible.

  I still haven’t established a baseline, though, I remind myself. Maybe I should start by comparing Klaarson’s core space to the cores of the other members of the team?

  I drop the Viewing technique momentarily and connect to the other three people nearby, speeding up time so that I’m able to catalogue what I see without alerting Klaarson to the fact that something isn’t going to plan. I don’t want him to feel bad already. We only just started!

  I know I promised him the truth, but surely that’s only important for the final report. In the meantime, I need to keep trying to see what I can see. Right?

  Right . . .

  Convincing myself of the lie, I move on to my next step and reassess Klaarson’s inner world. Once more, I see the difference between a healthy core, where the outer membrane of the core acts like a semi-permeable barrier, and whatever Klaarson’s dealing with internally.

  Mana seeps out of his core, but I don’t see much getting inside. It should be drawn into his channels and fed into his core, both for naturalization to any affinity he may have, and for storage so he can power his abilities when necessary.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  It must be getting inside somehow, or else he wouldn’t have any Class or Skills at all. Some people are born like that. No one knows why. Scholars speculate it may be an extra set of runic arrays in their souls, but I don’t know why adding information like that would turn out to be a net negative. Maybe I’m just not smart enough to get it.

  I resurface again, pursing my lips as I study Klaarson. Nothing makes sense here, which means I’m missing crucial information. Instead of guessing, I should probably ask him about my suspicions. He wanted the truth, after all.

  “Klaarson, don’t take this the wrong way, but did you ever have a Class? You seem to exert enough pressure, but I can’t see any Skill structures.”

  His eyes close, and he puffs out his cheeks. “Used to, yeah.”

  “But not anymore?” I press.

  “Not sure, but probably not,” he tentatively agrees.

  I nod, mentally jotting down the notes as we talk. “When was the last time you activated a Skill with internal mana?”

  “Been about a year. Maybe a little longer,” Klaarson admits.

  Slowly, more of the picture seems to come into focus. “Did something happen then?.”

  “If I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you?” he answers hotly. Yet for all his sincerity, a part of him seems to disagree with what he just told me. If I hadn’t been watching closely through my [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], I probably would have missed it entirely. He’s conflicted about something.

  “An accident, maybe?” I guess. “Or something you don’t remember clearly. Or maybe it’s something that should be impossible, so you dismissed it out of hand.”

  He very calmly does not react to that question, simply shrugging with open palms. His eyes never waver, not for an instant. To most people, it would be convincing. But to me, it has the air of a practiced performance. His non-reaction is too smooth considering how volatile his emotions feel right now.

  “What happened to honesty?” I chide.

  “Nothing happened,” he growls. “Well, not really!” In a huff, he continues. “I just got a funny feeling one day that I shouldn’t keep using my Class Skills, because they didn’t seem right for me anymore. How silly is that? Like I just woke up one morning and changed my mind about who I am. Ridiculous!”

  “Well, did you change your mind?”

  “I don’t want to be a [Caravan Assistant]. I want to do something grander with my life,” he mutters, kicking at a clod of dirt. “But I’m still working hard at my job. Plenty of people dream about doing other things in life. It doesn’t stop them from using their Skills.”

  “That’s certainly true,” I agree. I nod toward the older gentleman on our team. “Club is a good example of that. His determination to change for the better is admirable.”

  “Wait, you know his Class?”

  I cough into my first. “Forget I said that, please. Let’s get back to you.”

  “No fair! You gotta tell me now.” Klaarson lowers his voice. “We have a betting pool and everything. I’ll cut you in on it if you tell me!”

  I glare at him until he has the good grace to blush. “Sorry. Worth a try!”

  “This is important. Did you lose access to your Class Skills after your realization that you wanted more from your life?”

  “Pretty much. But that’s silly, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe not,” I say, humming as I consider the possibilities. “What are Classes, other than a crystallization of the identity we take on? Life experience, plus the energy of the world, plus a certain inscrutable truth about who we are. That’s why I became a [Glass Mage] even though I kept protesting that I wasn’t a [Mage].”

  Klaarson gives me a funny look. “Of course you’re a [Mage]. You seriously thought you weren’t?”

  “Not important right now! So which experiences and realizations led you down this path? And why did they break your Class?”

  He clenches his fists, but bites his tongue.

  I stroke my beard, lost in thought. Finally I snap my fingers, startling Klaarson. “Anything you’re too embarrassed to do with your Skills? Inhibitions or annoyances?”

  “You make it sound like it’s all in my head,” he mutters darkly. Anger swirls around him, all too plain in my Domain.

  “In a way, but that doesn’t make it less real,” I assure him. “Please answer honestly.”

  “Fine! I hated spending so much time enhancing the [Caravan Leader]. Master Yuvaan is a good boss. An amazing, praiseworthy man! He takes on people who aren’t qualified, helps them earn an [Assistant] caravanning Class, and teaches them the trade from the ground up, all while paying generously and providing food, safety, a clean home, and good friends.”

  He trails off, staring at the ground. Shame thrums around him, inescapable and intense in my Domain.

  “But?” I prompt.

  Klaarson sighs in exasperation. “But he siphons off a lot of energy from the assistants so that the caravan functions properly. I know I have no right to complain about it. We’re following a standard apprenticeship contract. He pays us very well for our time, even though he doesn’t have to since he’s also teaching us all his business secrets and preparing us for our own trade routes. But I never gain enough mana to rank up my non-caravanning Skills, or push forward to the next grade, and I’ve come to hate the arrangement.”

  Now that the floodgates have opened, the words pour out of him in a deluge of despair and resentment. “I’m stuck, Nuri. Trapped here by a kind old gentleman who does more for his workers than anyone else in the Barrens, even granting an entire caravan to any [Assistant] who advances to a full-fledged [Caravanner].

  “I need the money too much to quit, but staying here is eating me alive. I don’t want to do it anymore, but I’m trapped. I can’t help but feel like he’s draining me dry, killing me slowly just because I took this cursed Class!”

  Klaarson’s final sentence turns into a loud shout, impossible for anyone to miss, and his team turns to stare at him, wide-eyed but sympathetic.

  No wonder he’s so conflicted about his Class. It’s like taking out a huge loan to pay for a business venture, then discovering you want out halfway through. You’re locked in at that point, and going back on your word feels unconscionable.

  I step in between Klaarson and his teams’ line of sight, giving his measure of privacy. To their credit, they seem to get the hint, turning away and going back to game-planning for the upcoming boss fight. Now’s not the time for an audience.

  “You’re blocking everything in and out, because you’re tired of paying a tithe, but you didn’t know how to selectively cut off the flow. And now your stale mana is actually killing you from the inside out, ironically. But you don’t know how to undo what you did, because it was a subconscious and instinctual act,” I realize in a flash of insight as my sharpened wits lead me to an inevitable conclusion.

  Innovation proves its worth once again.

  “It can’t be that simple!” Klaarson insists, but I can tell he’s convinced.

  “This is good news,” I tell him.

  “How?” he demands, glaring back.

  I grin, my confidence swelling as I consider the facts. “Because I actually know how to fix this. And no, it’s not as stupid as wishing it all away. There’s a real, proven method I can follow now that I know the real issue.”

  “Prove it,” Klaarson hisses.

  “Can do. The only question is, are you willing to endure the pain? It won’t be easy, even if it’s a straightforward method for me.”

  He gulps, fear lacing through his complex weave of emotions, then nods in agreement. “Do it. Quickly, before I lose my nerve.”

  “Finally, the honest truth,” I reply, and summon a scalpel of mana and sharpness. I’ll need to cut into the outer layer of his suffocated soul and purge the polluted mana so he can clean his core. When I’m done, there’s a chance he’ll be whole again.

  I hone in on my target and make my first, tiny incision.

  That’s when his screams begin.