Look beyond. Casella’s advice rings in my ears. He opens his mouth to say more, but grunts as his teeth click together, seemingly against his will. Perhaps his vows prevent him from sharing finer details. I try not to rely on clarification, and review the advice in my mind, examining it from every angle. I can’t help but frown. The [Inquisitor] seems to indicate that it’s an important step, yet I feel even more confused than before. Look beyond what, exactly? I silence my inner voice and try to copy Casella’s Skill again, following the flow of energy as I channel mana from my glass pseudo cores into the constituent runes of my former Skill: [Manasight]. I turn my sight inward as I practice.

One by one, the runes light up as mana pours into them. Though I can’t sustain manual activation of an entire Skill, I can at least empower my eyes to enhance my sensitivity to mana. As the energy of creation swirls around me, I try to find patterns. Geometric mysteries confront me, an endless knot of enigmas and obscurity.

Two patterns seem to predominate. There’s a fine mesh of interlocking shapes, roughly octagonal, that undergird the process. Embellishing the top of the base foundation are sets of twinned spirals in infinite recursion, like two circles attached together in an endless loop. I don’t understand the implications of the mana flow, but it seems like a clue. I’ll ask Ezio for his thoughts later.

I force myself to look closer at the two higher-level men before me, seeking to pierce the veil obscuring their core spaces. How am I supposed to surpass the limits of [Manasight] when I can’t even use it fully?

“Show me again?” I ask Casella.

“Slowly,” Mbukhe grunts, giving his partner a stern look.

Casella nods and shows me the technique again, exaggerating the time it takes to gather his mana and activate the viewing ability. The effort to demonstrate a technique he's forbidden to share leaves him shaking. His Viewing is still quick, but his deliberate, step-by-step approach gives me time to see the process more thoroughly. I’m not catching his meaning about looking beyond just yet, but a few ideas are coming to mind.

Might as well try various theories, even if I discard them. As Ezio is so fond of reminding me, rejecting a theory is not failure, but simply discarding dead weight. I try to peer past the horizon, letting my eyes grow soft and unfocused in hopes that magic will see me through to the other side. All that happens is I feel a vague headache coming on, so I write off that idea as nothing more than a distraction. I know that the destination is possible, because the inquisitors are living proof. Eliminating dead ends will leave a final, inevitable path toward clarity. At least, that’s the theory.

I fumble through another few attempts at mimicking Casella’s ability, but I’m burning through my mana faster than I intended while in the Rift. Better to conserve my strength for when we run across some of the big monsters, assuming that Nicanor doesn’t obliterate them all and brute force his way through the Rift.

That draws a snort of amusement from me, but I tell myself to focus. If I can’t instinctively find a way forward, since I don’t see any differences when I’m viewing outwardly, then maybe I can try to approximate the process of looking inward. My own core space is clear in my mind with little more than a thought; perceiving my Skills and inner world is as easy as breathing. It simply happens.

So, perhaps instead of trying to create an odd version of my makeshift [Manasight], I need to start within and then extend my consciousness out toward another person. Hmm. That might work.

Correct route or not, I can’t seem to make it work. Four or five more ideas end up on the scrap heap before I give up, rubbing my temples. Not the best timing for a headache. I slump back against the rough rock wall in frustration and let out a growl. I'm tired, sweaty, and stiff from sitting too long after all the exertion. My muscles are cramping. I need water and salts badly

Arrogance. That's what I’m guilty of right now. Why should I expect to instantly master a new Skill that the [Inquisitors] are sworn not to spread or teach to outsiders? Despite knowing just how difficult the technique is, and despite the excellent advice I’ve received from Ezio about trial and error, I’m still annoyed at my lack of progress because fumbling around in the dark seems so avoidable. I’m missing something important, and Casella could likely clear it up in mere minutes, except that he actually can’t tell me more due to the vows of secrecy the [Inquisitors] swear on initiation.

“Again?” I ask him a moment later, after I've composed myself and regained control of my broiling emotions. I can’t expect to make much progress while I’m running hot. I take a deep breath and nod at my friends, ready to keep wrestling with the mystery of Viewing. I flare my mana, overcharging my home-brewed version of [Manasight], and this time a glimmer of a hint appears when Casella ignites his Skill. There’s an extra layer, a twist of complex runes that I can’t parse, which overlays the usual spell form.

I close my eyes and rub the outside of my eyelids with my thumb and forefinger, relieving some of the pressure building up. A headache is coming on, but I press on, trying to feed mana into the still-intact runes in the remnants of my [Manasight], and substituting new runes to bridge the gaps. Scalpel would be envious, I think with a hint of satisfaction.

Mana ramps up, initializing the patched-up Skill. My vision flashes white, then goes black as I collapse to the ground with a groan. A strong, sinewy pair of hands catches me under the arms and lifts me up a moment later.

“Steady, Nuri.”

“I still don’t see what I’m looking for,” I complain, my words slurring. “Maybe we should try again another time. I don’t want to run out of mana in a Rift.”

“Safer here,” Casella says. “No one can see us. No one will report on our activities.”

Mbukhe pats me on the back and lets go now that I’ve regained my balance. He shifts to sitting in front of me and clears his throat, catching my attention. He folds his arms, then sighs, as though he’s come to a conclusion that he doesn’t like. He doesn’t speak, just scratches in the dirt on the pathway with the tip of his boot.

I lean forward, studying his drawing intently. At first, I don’t quite follow what he’s trying to get across, but I keep quiet and try to learn. Soon a square emerges. He taps it twice with his foot, raising his eyebrows expressively as if to ask if I understand.

I don’t get it, but I nod slowly anyway, hoping he’ll continue and fill in the missing context. He nods and shifts his toe to draw in the dirt again, then glances away abruptly, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He coughs, backs up, takes a long swig from his water canteen, and nods toward Casella.

Are his vows that restrictive? I thought they could tell me since I’m working for their big boss. Maybe I’m not officially recognized by the geas binding them because I wasn’t properly initiated into their order?

Casella shuffles closer. He leans down, casually resting his hands on the path while not looking at the shape. In one swift move, he flicks his fingers, adding four more diagonal lines to the square. When he tries to do more, he grimaces and backs away. Now he looks sick to his stomach, too. Wordlessly, Mbukhe offers him the canteen, and the two of them share a drink, pointedly not watching me or providing guidance.

Huh. I guess their vows cover all forms of communication, spoken or otherwise. It’s not about their words, but about their intent. In that case, they’ve left me a valuable clue. I best not waste it.

I turn my full attention to the shape: a square with four angled lines pointing in the same direction, emerging from the corners. I have to figure this out soon; Nicanor will be done with his hunt anytime, and we’ll resume our delve deeper into the Rift. My [Inquisitor] friends have done all they can to help me. From here on out, I have to solve the mystery on my own.

I squat down, placing my index finger in the dirt next to the little diagram, and wonder how to complete the sketch. The details finally click into place. That’s it! I draw a second square next to the first one, connecting all the open lines to turn the square into a rough outline of a cube. I’m looking at only a single plane; they want me to view things in three dimensions. Or more. I frown, chewing on my lip. But how?

If only I could already view, or if I’d learned Scalpel’s more intrusive method of delving, then I could watch the Skill initialize and determine if they are referring to three-dimensional runes, or changing to a three-dimensional perspective. But it’s a classic case of Mikko’s favorite blacksmith dilemma thought exercise: to make an iron hammer, he needs an iron hammer. I don't have the tool I need to figure out how to use the tool I want. I grit my teeth. That conundrum is too much for me to figure out right now.

I examine my own Skill structure once again, parsing it for clues. One of the melted complex runes is only half-formed now, but it looks vaguely like a filtering component used for excluding unnecessary information. Maybe some of the missing runes for [Manasight] actually limit the ability. I tap my chin in thought. Mana in motion is far easier to see. The small amounts of latent mana in the world around me hardly ever show up unless I'm actively pushing my Manasight. Is that by design, and not merely a function of how weak I am with the ability?

Excitement sends a thrill through me. This is the kind of clue I've been missing. Perhaps I need to adjust the parameters to find what I'm seeking, like turning two sheets of polarized glass until an image appears—or is blotted out. Perhaps that's the key to unlocking my Manasight again. It might even help me look beyond the obvious like Casella suggested. I shake my head a moment later, discarding that thought. If it were this easy, then they wouldn't need to try to circumvent their vows of silence to teach me about looking in three dimensions.

While I’m deep in the throes of pondering the new information, trying to figure out how to apply the advice to “look beyond” in three dimensions instead of one, Casella completely ruins my concentration.

“Have you heard yet which cell block they put Tem in? Our contacts have been silent lately.” He turns to Mbukhe, a troubled frown deepening the creases in his face.

I sit up in rapt attention, listening eagerly.

Mbukhe heaves a heavy sigh. He leans back on the rock wall and crosses his arms. “I’m not sure we have an insider we can trust. And our network is spread thin; we might not have enough agents to start the mission, let alone finish the job.”

“That's a moot point if we can’t find him.”

“I will find him once we’re there. We need a team first. Our young friends are still far from strong enough to be of actual help—”

Mbukhe jerks upright, cutting short the discussion of how to break Tem out of the imperial prison. Anticipation is written on his face. “Monsters. Many, but weak. Good opportunity for you, Nuri!”

I push myself up to my feet, following the two immediately as we rush through the crisscrossing trails in the canyon. The winding paths slope steadily upward, making me breathe harder, but I don’t dare fall behind. Several minutes of hard running later, we emerge from the twisty maze and overlook a broad, barren plain totally devoid of grass. The expanse of rock stretches out in a vast, lopsided rectangle.

We stand on the short end of the rhombus shape. To either side of the plain, the world fuzzes away into vague, cloudlike nothing, a gray void of non-existence that makes my skin buzz and itch with wrongness. Straight ahead of us, perhaps an hour’s run in the distance, an ebony tower juts up into the blood-red sky. The density of mana concentration emanating from the tower leaves no doubt in my mind that we’ll find the core inside.

Probably at the very top, I grumble internally. My endurance is improving thanks to the constant training with Ember, but I still dislike running. Of course this Rift will make me run.

“Incoming,” Mbukhe warns.

I snap back to the threat at hand, fully in the present. Reflexively, I check the mana reserves left in my glass cores. Still a little over two-thirds despite my practicing. I prep my [Greater Heat Manipulation] in case of fighting, and fall into a ready stance.

The soft rustle of countless tiny feet reaches us. I can barely make out a dark line on the horizon that marks the approach of the horde. The running sounds like a handful of pebbles poured through a hollow stick—a favorite noise-making toy of mine from childhood—or the rush of babbling water just over a ridge. I brace myself for the impending fight, hoping that Mbukhe isn’t wrong about their threat level.

Several moments later, our mighty foes finally stampede close enough to make out the individual creatures. I squint, blink a few times, and let out a snort of disbelief.

“Are those . . . ducklings?” I ask.

Casella’s big frame shakes with laughter. “I know we shouldn't underestimate anything during a hunt, but I have never seen a more harmless looking bunch of Rift monsters in my life.”

Right on cue, the ducks burst into flames.

“Why did you have to tempt fate, my friend?” Mbukhe says, nudging Casella. An amused smile is playing on the corner of his lips, however, taking any sting out of a reprimanded.

Ducks. On fire. This is my life now.

The fiery birds seem mindless, driven forward in a mad charge that doesn’t stop, no matter what damage they cause to themselves. Every few strides one of the ducks in the vanguard falters and goes down in a spray of feathers and viscera as its bloodthirsty flock tramples over it, burning the fallen alive.

Impossibly, the ducks seem to pick up speed as they rush uphill toward our position. Enraged squawks and squalls erupt from the monster horde, and the flames that limn their bodies rise higher, as though fueled by their anger. Their control over the fire seems poor, but their vast numbers still present a threat if we allow them to rampage unchecked.

Mbukhe leans down and picks up a stone. He throws it down the hill, like a child skipping a stone across a pond, and knocks a bird over for the rest of them to trample to death. Methodically, he pelts the oncoming flock with more rocks. A faint crinkle around his eyes marks his amusement at the rather ineffectual approach. I think this is therapeutic for him.

Casella holds up both hands. For once, he speaks the name of his Skill aloud. It’s probably for my benefit, so I can learn how he operates in the field. “[Chains of Penance]! Bind my foes.” All over the field ahead of us, spectral chains burst up from the ground, wrapping around the flaming birds and holding them fast.

The vanguard’s desperate charge falters and breaks, tangled up in unyielding bonds, but the momentum of the horde behind them is too much to stop all at once. The mass of ducks trips over their fallen frontline. Within seconds, nearly a quarter of the monsters have crushed themselves under their own combined weight.

As close as they’ve come, the monster horde still isn’t in range for my Skills. I gather my mana and stride down the rocky, orange-black slope. The ragged pain of activating Skills is still present—my closest, most constant, and most intimate of companions—but I grit my teeth and draw in the heat from the flames ahead of me, pushing my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to new heights.

A shimmering vortex of shimmering air and mist swirls around me as I pull in more and more heat energy. I shove it back out overhead in an explosion of super-heated air, drawing heavily from the flames and the body-heat of the monsters in front of me to fuel the transfer of heat. The intensity of the ranked-up Skill flash-freezes the battlefield in an instant. The cold is so sudden, so absolute, that several ducks in the front that aren’t held down by chains stop mid-step, unable to move as they freeze over, transforming into blocks of ice.

I pick up speed, running the last several paces until I draw even with the monsters, and reach out to the imprint of my Skill still hanging in the air. The heat transfer is complete, but the mana hasn’t had time to dissipate yet. I seize hold of it and its tenuous connection to the monsters.

“[Vitrification],” I command, willing myself to transcend the usual restrictions of requiring physical touch to push mana into my target. I’ve never tested this theory before, but what does it matter if my mana is within or without? Either way, is not mana an extension of my will? Just because I can’t use [Vitrification] at a distance usually, like my old Skill [The Eternal Glass Forge: Extended Reach], doesn’t mean that it’s not possible. I’m not willing to accept my current limitations.

The Skill wavers at first. A wall resists my efforts to push past my boundaries. Growling in fierce concentration, I flare more mana into it and visualize the outcome I want—almost as if imbuing the Skill, instead of a glass project. The resistance increases, but now it feels less like a wall, and more like a thin film. I ratchet up the intensity, pressing until I surge past the barrier.

It pops like a balloon. A spike of pain slams into my skull, almost sharp enough to break my focus, but I cling to the Skill. As I drop to my knees, grunting from the effort, a huge wave of mana ripples across the horde, transmuting everything my previous Skill touched into rows of writhing glass birds.

My vision swims, and I’m glad I’m already kneeling. The nausea and sudden disorientation is likely enough to knock me flat on my face if I were still standing. I clench my fist, digging my knuckles into my right thigh and using the pain as an anchor in reality. I blink, my sight normalizing, and bark out a little laugh.

Mbukhe darts about, flitting from shadow to shadow in the blink of an eye. He dispatches the last few living ducks with elegant, precise thrusts of a dagger. The weapon is dull and dusky, reflecting no light. Each swing reaps a life. Mere seconds later, eerie silence descends on the Rift.

A familiar pressure builds up in the back of my mind. I turn just in time to see Nicanor bound out of the canyon maze, his spear held aloft, his eyes ablaze with righteous fury. He slams down to the rock next to us, sending out a shockwave of debris, and gives me a strange look.

“That’s a sight I’ve never beheld in a Rift. Dozens upon dozens of ducks, turned into glass statues in an instant. You’re an odd one, [Glassworker],” the [Spear Commander] says, regarding me more shrewdly than before.

I smile weakly. “You have no idea.”