[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

“Were you always this stupid, or did you inhale too many fumes working the furnace?”

Ember’s annoyed voice rattles around in my skull, dragging me back to the land of the living. My eyelids flutter open, but the sharp stab of pain when the light from the window hits my eyes makes me groan and instantly regret my life choices. My head is pounding with the worst headache of all time, and my brain feels like it’s too swollen to fit inside my head. I rub at my now squeezed-shut eyes with the palms of my hands, and let out a strained bark that barely passes as laughter. “I believe I come by it honestly, Em.”

She snorts through her nose with enough force that I feel the wind of it on my forearms. “Don’t call me that in front of the others, Nuri. If that nickname catches on, I’ll personally drag your broken little body into the woods and let the kitty cats finish the job. And that would ruin the hard work I did to patch you up. Don’t make me regret my efforts.”

“Thanks for saving me,” I manage to croak out. I take a chance at opening my eyes, a little at a time, blinking in the bright light. I must have been out for hours.

“Can’t let you die on my watch,” she snaps. “Bad for morale.”

“And thank you for bringing me here to convalesce from my injuries,” I add as I realize that I’m in the apartment suite above the glass studio. The cot is unfolded on the floor next to me; she must have given up her own bed to make sure I had somewhere to sleep where she could keep an eye on me. Abruptly, I choke up at her display of affection, and clutch her hand, squeezing once to show my gratitude.

Awkward silence greets my emotional outburst, but she pats my hand gently before withdrawing from my grip. The sight of the infamous Ember, adventurer of yore and boss-lady of the hardest-working glass studio around, gingerly wiping dirt off her hand where I grabbed on, sets me off in a fit of laughter again. The searing pain in my cracked ribs knocks on my mental door to deliver a strongly-worded letter that, yes, I am an idiot, and no, I should not keep trying to move or laugh until I’m recovered. I groan and flop back in the bed, grinding my teeth together to ward off the pain.

“Promise me that you aren’t planning on doing something that stupid again,” Ember continues, her voice brisk again, all business now that her embarrassing lapse into sentimentality is firmly behind her.

“’Planning?’” I shake my head slowly, completely truthful as I answer no. “Not a chance. I lack the Skills to take on monsters like that. No plans here, although if the city is in danger. . . .”

Ember flicks my ear with her finger to shut me up. “Poor choice of words on my part. I don’t care if it’s planned or accidental: don’t do it. You’re not a fighter. You got off lucky. Next time? I might not be around to bail you out.”

“I did pretty well,” I protest, more hotly than I have any right to, especially with the way she’s caring for me. “I killed the big monster attacking me. And If I had more than one stupid Skill, I could have taken out the other one, too!”

Ember’s face goes blank. My stomach twists. Irritation is how she shows affection, sure as the sun rises, but when she grows aloof, that means she’s angry. Well and truly peeved. She leans down until our noses are nearly touching, and transfixes me with her cold, intense gaze. I swallow uncomfortably, my mouth bone-dry.

“Taking a fight you can’t win is stupid, but heroic in some contexts. If that were your only kind of stupid, it might even be charming. But! You!” She flicks my ear again with each outburst to drive home her point, and my muscles relax. Relief floods me; her wrath has passed, or has at least been transmuted into the kind of pity reserved for those who truly can’t help themselves. “You still have such a fixed, inflexible mindset, lamenting your lack of additional Skills. As if they would make a difference! That kind of stupid is just unforgiveable.”

“I saw you fight. You were using Skills!” My raspy voice sounds accusing, petulant. I blush. I want to come across as mature and logical, not childish and hurt.

“Skills that I earned after years of training—” she holds up a finger to forestall the reply we both knew was brewing within me. “Training that you do not have, and that I don’t have the time or inclination to teach. I have a studio to run.”

“Then why did you help at all?” I prod, searching for answers.

She looks at me like I’m stupid, and speaks slowly so I’ll follow along despite my feeble mind. “The town garrison is away on patrol. The big, bad cats noticed and took advantage. No one else was there to help. Get it?”

“That’s why it makes sense to teach me! I can help next time. I mean, I already helped this time. I killed a Shadow Jaguar by myself! Imagine what I could do if you teach me?”

“Nuri. Stop babbling.”

My lips tug downward into a frown, but she talks over me. Now that she’s on a roll, the words come gushing out of her, like water surging through a broken dam. “You’re a glass smith, not a fighter. You’re good at glass, maybe even extraordinary when you apply yourself. But you still act too entitled! Stop sulking all the time and obsessing over the wrong details. Improve your technique, and actually master your Skill. You treat it like a discarded dishwashing rag, not an integral part of your identity. Why do you think you deserve more if you can’t even appreciate the one Skill you have? Hone your Skill. You’ll be glad of the work you put in now once you hit your threshold advancement—if you live that long.”

I suppress a sigh before I irritate her further, but I know she’s probably right, even if it hurts my feelings. What does she mean, I don’t deserve more Skills? I clamp my mouth shut and think hard. There’s an old debate, most popular with pre-adolescents and old philosophers: What do you think comes first, mastery, or magic? I wince, already knowing Ember’s answer to the supposed conundrum. Put in the work, get rewarded. Lazy, stupid, and gifted? That combo doesn’t exist in her world—at least, not past the level ten threshold. Even after gaining a Class, learning to wield mana Skills is hard.

“I should still have more than one Skill,” I huff. Years of habit guide my words, rather than any real conviction. I hate the answer, but deep down, I know she’s right. I’ve never been proud of my Skill, and so I rarely use it for more than utility. I know people are supposed to practice mana Skills, but the idea of work to improve [Lesser Heat Manipulation] offends me. It’s just so boring. Why couldn’t I have gotten something awesome, like [Flametouch], or at least good for an artist—maybe [Eye of Discernment] to aid with aesthetic designs?

“Hmph. I expect more sense from you, Nuri. What’s one or two years spent shoring up your foundation compared with the work of decades? Be patient. Don’t throw away your life. You have talent, just like your dad.”

I flush at the comparison to a true master, unsure of how to grapple with the rush of warmth and affection. “I reckon that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Ember crosses her arms and gives me a withering look. “Shut up, Nuri. We’ll talk more when you recover.”

I nod weakly, too tired to continue our conversation anyway, and she stalks over to the door and leaves without a goodbye. I don’t mind; I’m touched that she’s spent this much time away from the glass studio as it is. She looks after us, in her gruff way.

As my head sinks back into the soft mound of pillows, I mull over Ember’s mild rebuke. Am I simply impatient? It’s been half a dozen years since I gained my Class, and I’ve made big improvements in my understanding of glassblowing, flameworking, and forge artistry. I’m pretty good when I’m actually working with glass and not mindlessly controlling the flow of heat with my single, solitary Skill. Is that why progress is eluding me? Because I don’t pamper the stupid little Skill? I should have my own workbench by now. I should also have at least three more main Skills, but I’m stuck.

Some people pick up Skills more easily than others, but no one has an endless arsenal of mana abilities. Right? I’ve certainly never heard of more than half a dozen per Class, although I’m sure some noble-born mages with every advantage available at their fingertips are able to break into the double-digits after advancement. But does that make them better? Or simply add versatility to their toolkit?

Adding new Skills takes time and dedication. That’s why my Class Skill is so important. Heat manipulation is useful for glasswork, even though it’s a lesser variation of the Skill. I get it. I do. It’s not a bad beginner Skill. But the Class Skill is the only one that comes automatically, for “free,” in a sense, and it serves as the foundation for all future advancements. I’ve devoted my entire life to becoming an artist with glass. So why is my starting Skill, my only Skill, lesser? It’s eaten at me ever since the notification chimed in my mind after I gained my Class, and I can’t shake the feeling of inferiority.

I scoff, adjusting my head slightly on the pillow so my breathing comes more naturally. The rattling sound in my bruised chest doesn’t stop, but at least I don’t feel as lightheaded in this position anymore. Maybe Ember is right. Maybe I’m hampering my own potential by treating my Skill with such disdain, as crazy as that sounds.

A seed of hope starts to grow within me. Maybe I’m too focused on the number of Skills instead of the quality of the Skills. It’s true that Skills don’t bridge the gap between lack of ability and mastery of a field—they simply provide a magical framework to allow our talents to flourish. If I’ve neglected my framework, then maybe it’s not my Skill that’s bad . . .

Maybe it’s just me.

With that admission, tears well up in my eyes. I’m suddenly glad that Ember left, so no one will witness my breakdown. I’ll never hear the end of it if the others hear that I’m crying over my Class starting Skill.

Tentatively, I poke at my Skill deep within me. It still feels raw and strained after drawing so much mana at once, but it responds to my mental nudge. The bedroom warms up a little, but the response is honestly a bit disappointing. Everything feels sluggish, like the leftover mana in my channels is sludge that can’t move properly. I need to replenish my reserves and flush out whatever junk is causing problems.

I release my strangely tenuous connection with the Skill, close my eyes, and turn inward to examine [Lesser Heat Manipulation] with fresh perspective. I tell myself that I don’t have to activate the strained ability right now, only take an objective look to see if I can locate areas for improvement. My fingers are trembling as I’m caught between excitement and disappointment. Yet when I draw near to the familiar crystalline energy structure that provides a pathway for my mana, an icy pang of terror grips my heart.

Cracks cover the surface of the Skill.

Panic seizes me. What if it breaks? I whimper, deep within the inner space of my soul, and my hands start to shake even harder. Just because the Skill isn’t top tier doesn’t mean that I want to lose the only ability I’ve ever gained! Forcing myself to breathe more evenly, I send my consciousness in an orbit around the framework, examining it for damage.

On the far side, hidden from view in my initial approach, the glowing title on the Skill confuses me. It’s unfamiliar, pulsing with more energy than I remember. And then I focus, read the words, and whoop in excitement.

Eyes wide open, barely believing what I’ve just seen, I fling the covers off and sit up. A wave of dizziness dissuades me from standing up, but I can’t stop cackling. Footsteps pound up the stairs outside the little apartment, and a moment later, the Linas fling open the door to see what all the fuss is about, Lionel in tow. It downright touches my heart to see the worry written large on their faces. I grin at the trio like a madman, fling my hands up above my head, and blow a bubble of concentrated heat so intense that the air itself ignites.

Avelina promptly dispels it with a wave of her hand, but she catches the undercurrent of excitement in the room and returns my grin. “Nuri did it! He finally did it. If I had known all it took was burning him, then I would have lit him on fire years ago.”

“It’s never too late to give it a shot,” Lionel wisecracks.

Melina sputters in response, staring slack-jawed at her twin. Avelina drags her over next to me, preening over the fact that for once her “smarter” sister isn’t the first one to figure things out. “So,” she says slyly, “Ember finally knocked some sense into you. About time. What’d you get?”

Understanding finally dawns on Melina’s face, and she surprises me with a squeal and a hug right around my broken ribs. “Nuri! I’m so proud of you. Congratulations on gaining a second Skill!”

Ignoring the jolt of pain from Melina’s hug, I put on a dramatic expression and shake my head slowly. “I didn’t.”

Guilt washes over her features, and she fumbles for a reply, suddenly so awkward that it’s physically painful.

I can’t hold back any longer, and start grinning again, this time so hard that my cheeks ache. “I didn’t gain a second Skill. I did get a new one, however. You’re talking with the proud wielder of the upgraded, full-fledged Skill [Heat Manipulation].”

“Nice job persevering despite your handicap,” Lionel snickers. I stick my tongue out in an incredibly mature, thoughtful response.

I bask in their congratulations, and endure more good-natured ribbing about losing my [Lesser] qualifier. The term “lesser” still stings, although not as bad as it did earlier. Ember was right. I haven’t been truly practicing to hone the Skill I have already. To my embarrassment, I haven’t ever pushed the limits of what it can do, not until I was thrown into a life-or-death showdown. I have been lazy, never using my Skill to its full potential. Pressing against the resistance and breaking through at the expense of straining my mana channels, however, had been enough to earn an upgrade.

I still don’t have a second Skill. But for the first time in years, I’m not ashamed to be me.