Energy laced between Snapper’s fingers and flew outward like a swarm of goldfish, threading between trees and around rocks. As the ring of light swept through the forest, Snapper closed his eyes and extended his senses. From the ground beneath his knees to the sky far above, trees and animals glimmered at the edges of his perception, little sparks of heat and life tossing faint echoes back toward the source of the energy pulse.

When Snapper opened his eyes, the forest was still blissfully green and healthy. He released a long breath. The last time he had tried this advanced technique, a good portion of the forest had turned to ash around him. Kite’s sword spared the youth from also being charred, but he had been flung almost twenty paces away from the blast center. This latest breakthrough now allowed Snapper to sense the surroundings without actually destroying anything.

Elated, Snapper brought his hands into a bowl shape and settled into the meditative breathing pattern reserved for moments of calm between difficult techniques. A point of heat appeared above his hands. It divided into two, four, eight, sixteen—and flickered out.

Snapper doubled over, bracing his palms against the ground. His arms felt wobbly. In recent days, he could manage over a hundred separate points before they blended into a blurry continuum. This was different: the energy had not lost shape, but rather been wrenched away completely. The sudden weakness was similar to the dizzy bouts he had felt whenever passing Chert’s shop, as well as the profound fatigue that came over him after spending too much time near the village center.

Once Snapper caught his breath, he turned to Kite, saying, “My power is gone. There must be a suppression talisman nearby.”

Only the wind answered Snapper. Kite’s usual spot by the large oak on the road-facing side of the clearing was empty. Snapper glanced upward, checking whether Kite had climbed a tree, but the only motion up there was from a pair of grey squirrels hopping between the branches.

Realization struck, and Snapper sighed at his own foolishness. Over the last two weeks, he had grown so accustomed to Kite’s presence during training sessions that he had nearly forgotten their conversation that morning. Kite would be out of town for the next day or two, fetching identity documents for both of them in order to officially register for the Empire’s entrance exam.

The usual process for obtaining documents was long and convoluted, entailing months of paperwork and character reference letters to get approval, but Kite apparently knew an expert who could put together the right papers in a fortnight with no questions asked. The legitimacy of this expert’s operation was doubtful, but Kite seemed convinced that the resulting documents would suit their needs. Snapper, in turn, figured that it was best not to pry when Kite’s plans had gone smoothly thus far.

The solitary charm of the woods had faded considerably now that Snapper could not practice. He slid the training manual back into its cloth wrappings and returned to town.

As Snapper entered the gates, a guard waved cheerily. “Fine morning to you, Reed Hat.”

Snapper returned the greeting with a tip of his infamous hat. He had been in and out of the town for daily training sessions so many times now that he recognized most of the gate guards on sight, and they had taken to greeting him whenever he passed.

Just inside the gate, a murmuring crowd had gathered around the town message board. Snapper approached to investigate. The message board was covered in old papers, mostly consisting of flyers from the local stage performers or advertisements from nearby restaurants, but two brand-new posters with official wax seals had been pinned to the very top of the board.

The new posters were painted with extreme caricatures of an old red-haired man with a huge red beard and a black-haired delinquent with a disproportionately large grin. Below the images, text described the two people as a cunning fisherman and a dangerous swordsman: “Northern Red Snapper” and “Hired Killer,” respectively. A small monetary reward was offered for information on the two fugitives, and a larger reward was promised for their capture.

Unfortunately for any prospective bounty hunters, Snapper’s wanted poster had missed a key identifying feature: the reed hat, which he had always carried on his back or worn atop his head before, and which he still carried even now. With his beard trimmed from “backwater hermit” bush to a neat, “respectable citizen” goatee, a smear of charcoal darkening what remained to a sooty grey color, and the hat hiding his hair, Snapper looked just like any other person in the street. No one gave him a second glance, even when he stood in front of his own bounty poster.

After having a good chuckle at the poster’s oversight, which earned him several strange glances from the nearby townsfolk, Snapper decided that the bounty notice was not worthy of his concern. He departed from the message board and headed away. The issue of the suppression talisman was a more urgent problem.

Snapper circled around the streets, hoping to pinpoint the exact location of the device blocking his power, but the drained sensation followed him wherever he went. After an hour of wandering the streets, he was unable to locate the suppression talisman beyond a vague notion of someplace nearby.

He returned to the inn. Even if he could not continue practicing when his power was suppressed, he could still read the training manual to better understand the theory.

The next morning, Snapper still could not summon flame, and the inability to sense the ambient energy of the world left him feeling strangely blind after two weeks of continuously expanding his Casting range. He wandered through the streets with the training manual tucked in a bag slung over his shoulder. In one hand, he weighed the small pouch of copper coins that Kite had left the previous day. There was enough money to buy a warm meal from one of the roadside stalls, but every vendor’s offerings looked equally tempting. A hearty stew had nearly drawn Snapper’s patronage, but a voice stopped him before he could purchase a bowl.

“Oy, fellow with the hat! Is that you, Snapper?”

Snapper froze, checking the placement of his hat. Only Kite was supposed to know Snapper’s name, but this voice was deeper than Kite’s, and it held a coastal accent instead of the foreign lilt of Kite’s speech. Someone else had recognized Snapper, and the bounty poster from yesterday placed recognition just a step away from arrest. With an apologetic smile to the vendor, Snapper ducked around the stall and fled down the street at a brisk walk.

A distant figure followed, approaching more quickly than Snapper could evade without making a scene. While it was not unusual for people to run through the streets, a runner who looked over sixty years of age might draw second glances. Worse yet, even if Snapper did escape, this man already knew his name and appearance. If the local authorities were alerted, the whole town would join the hunt. Snapper needed to dispose of this man somehow. Though Snapper did not have Kite’s fighting skill, his Caster training manual could still make a sizable dent in any man’s head. Snapper slipped into a less-traveled path between two rows of buildings and stopped in his tracks, turning to face the pursuer.

“Wait, wait. Don’t run away,” the man gasped, doubling over as he panted for air.

When the man finally caught his breath and looked up, recognition struck Snapper an instant before he brained the man. This was one of the seafood peddlers from his village. Snapper lowered the heavy book, quickly stuffing it back into its carrying bag. Though he had been prepared to knock out a random stranger, he did not have the heart to attack one of his own neighbors.

“Good morning, Prawn. You found me. Will you turn me in for the reward?”

Prawn’s face fell. “Oh. You saw that poster, did you? Nothing of the sort. I only wanted to catch up with an old friend.” He fidgeted, gaze sweeping over Snapper’s wary stance. “Join me for breakfast?”

Once Snapper was sufficiently assured that Prawn meant no harm, they relocated to a small roadside cafe, and Prawn shared his tale. Every two months, Prawn’s caravan left the village to sell coastal goods and bring back specialties from inland. This month, Chert had been murdered only a few days before the caravan was scheduled to set out. Prawn’s cousin in the village constabulary had asked Prawn to warn the neighboring towns about the murder. Since travel outside the village was rare, aside from the occasional business trip, Prawn had agreed to spread a bounty notice. He was the one who had put the posters on the town message board the previous day.

“Honestly, I don’t blame you for leaving. Chert’s friends wanted someone to blame, and you gave them a convenient target. You were always the outsider, spending your days by the shore instead of in the tavern with everyone else, and after what happened to Minnow and the kids...” Prawn trailed off, swilling the dregs of his tea. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. Anyway, I don’t believe you were responsible. You rescued my niece’s cat last year. That isn’t the same sort of person who would wish harm on a good man.”

Helping small animals did sound reasonably in-character for Snapper, though he had no recollection of that particular event. He nodded. “Sensible reasoning.”

After that, they made smalltalk on various topics: Prawn’s travel plans toward the east-of-Empire marketplaces, the village’s preparations for the approaching hurricane season, and the outrageous increase in the prices of ore from the northern mines. Snapper was fascinated to learn of the affairs of a world outside that of his humble fisherman’s life, a world that Kite had only introduced in the minimum necessary detail. Such matters had never been relevant before, but Snapper’s recent discovery of Casting and the associated goal of reaching the Empire stirred a vast curiosity within him. Fortunately, Prawn was glad to answer Snapper’s every question with dozens of stories from his travels abroad.

“...and that’s why I never eat green apples during thunderstorms,” Prawn said, laughing as he reached for the basket on their table. The basket held only crumbs, and Prawn waved a server over for a refill. While waiting for the new batch of snacks to arrive, Prawn poured himself another cup of lukewarm tea. “Enough about me. What have you been up to lately?”

“Nothing much. Studying for the Empire’s Caster exams.” Snapper lifted up the training manual to show off its aged leather and elaborate decorations.

Prawn’s eyes grew huge. “So the rumors are true! All those old stories about you bringing huge hauls of cooked fish back from a fishing trip—not just dead fish, but actually cooked—those weren’t just exaggeration?”

Snapper shrugged and nodded. Yet again, he did not remember the specific incident that Prawn brought up, but such events were not beyond belief. All Casting should have been suppressed by the charm-based talismans while Snapper remained near the village or around other shore-dwelling neighbors, but if he had ever gone deep-sea fishing alone, the uncontrolled release of Caster power could have boiled the water and cooked any unfortunate fish nearby. The more Snapper thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed; he could almost smell a fresh sea breeze carrying the tender scent of stewed fish.

“Amazing.” Prawn leaned forward, and his cheer turned to focused intent. “Rumor has it that there’s a rogue swordsman robbing merchants around these parts. My caravan has been looking for a guard. Since you’re a Caster, why don’t you travel with us? We can pay good money, and—” Prawn’s voice dropped to a low whisper, “we can bring you somewhere that the authorities will never reach. The outlaw Lieges offer magnificent rewards to any Casters who join them.”

Joining a rebel warlord’s army in exchange for protection was too extreme for Snapper’s sensibilities, and he had already established plans to travel westward with Kite in the near future. However, he could hardly deny an honest request for his help. The suppression on his Casting ought to wear off once they left Redwater Town, and with the new fire control techniques that he had practiced over the last two weeks, scaring off a few roadside bandits would be simple. In this situation, not helping Prawn’s caravan would be a greater blow to Snapper’s conscience.

“I will accompany your caravan to the next town, but no further,” Snapper decided.

Disappointment settled across Prawn’s face, but he nodded and placed a coin pouch on the table. “Twenty-five copper up front, and twenty-five more once we arrive safely. We plan to depart from the southern gate after lunch today.”

Fifty coins for a day’s work was more than generous, and Snapper accepted the initial payment with grace. The pouch was almost twice as heavy as Snapper’s own moneybag, and it jingled merrily as he untied the drawstring to inspect the coins. Bright copper spilled out from inside the bag, filling Snapper’s palms with promise for the future. Kite would be pleased that Snapper was helping earn money for their upcoming journey to the Empire.

After taking his leave of Prawn and the cafe, Snapper returned to the inn to leave a note for Kite. He explained the caravan escort job and estimated that he would return in at most two days, depending on the condition of the southern roads.

The road was bumpy, white clouds blanketed the sky, and Snapper had a problem. Two problems, rather—firstly, the bumpy road meant that the wagon tossed him into the air every few seconds, rattling his teeth and jarring his back. It was almost enough to make him regret accepting Prawn’s generous offer to ride in the wagon instead of walking alongside the rest of the merchants. Only the thought of walking over sixty miles on foot kept him from jumping out of the wagon there and then.

The second problem, however, was more critical. After traveling southward with the caravan for almost half a day, which should have been more than enough distance to escape any suppression talismans in the town, Snapper still could not Cast the smallest spark. Meditating with closed eyes had almost resulted in him being tossed from the wagon when it hit a particularly large pothole. Meditating with open eyes had led to a near collision with a cloud of gnats, which Snapper had only just noticed in time to tug down his hat before they splattered across his face. Practicing the basic Casting forms without any fire had led Prawn to ask if Snapper wanted to stop traveling for a while and stretch his legs; while the answer was yes, that hadn’t been why he was flapping his arms like a lunatic.

Ever considerate, Prawn called the caravan to a halt, and the other merchants wandered off-road to rest or relieve themselves. Snapper gratefully climbed down from the wagon. Having both feet on the ground did nothing to revive his Casting ability, but it did settle his stomach. He paced around on the roadside, lost in thought. If the suppression effect had not faded after leaving the town, then the talisman had to be following the caravan.

“Prawn, do you have one of Chert’s good luck charms?”

Prawn perked up. “Yes, I do! My betrothed gave me one last month.” He dug around his collar and pulled out a dark red stone with the suppression glyph carved on the surface. The pendant was flat and coin-shaped, but one side had an unusual jagged wiggle. Prawn ran a finger along that edge. “See this curved bit? It’s a special design for couples. Her pendant and mine are carved from the same stone, and they will always fit together. Isn’t that sweet?”

Prawn looked so lovestruck and sentimental that Snapper almost regretted the necessity of his next words. “Destroy the pendant.”

“What? No!” Both hands curled protectively around the pendant, pressing it close to Prawn’s heart. “Why would I ever do that?”

“Your charm suppresses my Casting ability. If we encounter bandits, I cannot protect you without access to my power. Destroying the charm is the only way to guarantee the caravan’s safety.”

Prawn scoffed. “Pure nonsense. How can a little charm prevent mighty Casters from using their power? That would be like trying to block rain with a leaf.” Prawn’s brows drew together, and he deflated. “Be reasonable, Snapper. I paid you good copper to guard the caravan from robbers. You never mentioned any other conditions. If you refuse to protect us now, then you can forget about receiving the rest of my money.”

The coins in Snapper’s pocket suddenly felt heavier than a boulder. Snapper took out the money pouch, testing the weight of twenty-five copper coins from the first half of the promised reward. Kite would have laughed at Snapper for declining wealth already in his possession, but Snapper could not accept a payment tainted by false expectations.

“If you care for money more than your own safety, then I want no part in your business. Fare well this day, Prawn.”

Tossing the pouch into Prawn’s wagon, Snapper parted ways with the caravan. The last he heard of Prawn was an endless string of insults hurled at his back. Snapper returned toward Redwater Town, navigating the pothole-ridden roads much more easily on foot than while riding the wagon, and the caravan soon retreated out of sight.

Two miles down the road, a rush of warmth swept through Snapper from fingertips to toes. He pushed back his hat and squinted upward, wondering if the sun had emerged from behind the clouds. It had not, but the fire within his veins only intensified. A white-hot point of energy condensed above Snapper’s head, and he grinned. The suppression talisman’s area of effect had ended.

Obeying Snapper’s will, the point spread into a circle of flame, blending from white to translucent blue and then to orange. The halo segmented into a crown of bright sparks that spun over his head. Snapper watched the energies spiral about in that form for a moment, relishing the sensation of Casting once again. As joy pulsed through him, the crown expanded into a fiery whirlwind around his whole body. Finally, Snapper waved his arms in a shooing motion, and the sparks scattered in every direction like swarming gnats.