The ripples in the practice basin settled as Selene finished tracing the final curve of the rune in the air. Water spiraled upward in a perfect helix—elegant, controlled.
"This is the Siphon Rune," she said calmly. "Its purpose is motion—without force. It's the foundation behind every properly functioning hydrosource converter."
Cane stood still, the pattern glowing behind his eyes like a memory. Not from the library. From a cage. From a cup carved with hope, not certainty.
Selene turned toward the class. "Now you will attempt it. Precision is key. Fluidity, not pressure. The water must agree with you."
Pairs of students stepped forward. Fountains splashed. Forms stuttered in the air.
Cane raised his hand and drew the shape with smooth confidence, his fingers recalling what he'd carved into tin and blood. The basin rose in a tight spiral, water obedient and unshaken.
Selene's gaze fixed on him.
"You've done this before."
"Not exactly," Cane admitted. "But… I made something like it. Once."
Her tone cooled—but not unkind. "Salt water?"
"Yes."
She paused, then stepped toward him. Her voice dropped just enough for others not to hear.
"You made the converter with scraps. In the dark. For someone you barely knew."
Cane gave a small nod. "She was dying."
Selene watched him a moment longer—long enough to weigh something unspoken.
"Recreate it," she said at last. "But this time… with fresh water."
Cane hesitated. "That's significantly harder."
Selene's expression didn't change. "Good. Then you'll learn something."
Cane nodded slowly, already assessing materials. In the corner of the room, several ceramic water containers were stacked near the basin.
"May I use one of those?" he asked.
Selene glanced over and gave a nod. "Planning to use etching again?"
"Yes," Cane replied. "But this time… I'd rather not use blood as a medium."
A faint flicker of something—approval, maybe—passed behind Selene's silver eyes. "There should be a small container of freshwater pearls in our supply drawer. They'll work similarly and won't bind the converter to a single person."
She turned back toward the class before adding, "And you'll find proper etching tools in the third drawer on the left. No need to use a rusty nail this time."
Cane gave a quiet smile and moved toward the supply chest.
The pearl was smooth, pale, and cool to the touch. He selected one carefully, then found the thin etching needle nestled among measuring wands and rune guides. Its tip was sharp enough to draw blood, but this time, it wouldn't have to.
Back at his desk, Cane placed the pearl on a cloth and steadied his hand.
He pressed the needle's tip against the surface—just lightly. The pearl gave way with the perfect resistance, allowing the tool to sink in while capturing a trace of its essence.
He began to etch.
The rune curved under his hand in graceful, looping strokes—each line smooth and deliberate. No rough cuts. No guesswork. He remembered the old cup, how long it had taken in the cage, how he'd had to pause and correct, working with instinct and desperation.
Now, in the calm light of a classroom, with stable tools and materials that wanted to cooperate, the entire process took fifteen minutes.
When he finished, the rune glowed faintly on the pearl's surface, pulsing like a heartbeat in time with the water in the basin nearby.
Selene moved slowly through the classroom, pausing beside students to offer quiet correction or a raised eyebrow. Most were still working their lines in the air, struggling to maintain cohesion between gesture and intent.
She reached Cane's station just as he withdrew the etching needle, the final stroke glowing faintly across the surface of the freshwater pearl.
"Going to test it?" she asked.
Cane nodded.
He placed the pearl at the base of the container and ran his fingers lightly along the ceramic rim, channeling a whisper of energy through the etched pattern.
The rune pulsed once, then glowed bright.
In an instant, water surged upward and filled the container with a clear, steady stream—neither violent nor excessive. The surface settled into perfect stillness, cool and crystalline.
Selene raised an eyebrow.
She dipped her fingers in, lifted them to her nose, then touched a drop to her tongue.
Silence stretched across the room as nearby students stopped to watch.
"Outstanding, Mr. Cane," she said softly.
He blinked, uncertain whether he heard her correctly.
Selene turned to the class, then back to him. "Why don't you assist me in helping your classmates?"
Cane nodded once, surprised but quietly proud.
Cane scanned the room, noting uneven spirals, stray splashes, and an alarming number of half-formed runes with far too much pressure behind them.
Then he spotted Clara.
The red-haired, freckle-faced student was waving both hands overhead like she was trying to flag down a passing gryphon.
He bit down a smile as he approached.
"I feel like I almost got it," she announced brightly.
"Great," Cane said. "Which part's giving you trouble?"
Clara grinned. "The beginning, middle… and end."
"Perfect," Cane replied dryly. "Then we know where to start."
He raised a single finger. "Press your finger to mine."
She obeyed without hesitation, the tip of her index finger resting lightly against his.
"Don't think about forcing it. Just… follow."
He began tracing the rune in the air, slow and smooth. Once. Twice. A third time.
Clara mirrored the motion, her touch never wavering. On the third repetition, something changed—the air around their joined hands shimmered faintly, like heat over stone.
A soft glow began to pulse from their fingertips, growing brighter with each loop.
Then the basin began to ripple.
From the far side of the room, Selene turned, her silver eyes widening.
"Communal rune!" she called. "Don't stop!"
She crossed the classroom in a flash, gliding across the water as if it were a solid, cobbled path.
As she neared, a tendril of water rose from the center of the basin, swaying gently behind Clara and Cane, like a living ribbon sensing their intent.
The water tendril shimmered and curled above them like a silken streamer caught in slow wind, responding to the synchronized rune flowing between Cane and Clara.
Then, just as the glow reached its brightest point—
SPLASH.
The basin bucked with sudden force, and the entire column of water surged upward—crashing down on Clara like a falling wave.
For a long second, everything was soaked. Clara stood dripping, red hair plastered to her forehead, sleeves drooping with water, but her grin?
Unshaken.
She looked at Cane, gave him a waterlogged thumbs-up with her free hand, and declared proudly, "As expected, I'm amazing."
Cane blinked.
Selene approached, arms folded, clearly fighting the urge to smile.
Clara glanced up at her through sopping bangs. "Pass?"
Selene gave a single nod. "Pass."
The rest of the class followed suit—slow progress, but progress nonetheless. Under Cane's quiet guidance and Selene's precise corrections, every student managed at least a rudimentary version of the rune.
With a few nods of dismissal, Selene called it a day.
Cane packed up the pearl-etched converter and tucked it under his arm. He didn't head back to the tower.
Instead, he went straight to the kitchen.
He slipped through the back entrance, greeted by the comforting scent of yeast, herbs, and rising dough. Inside, Sofie was elbow-deep in bread, kneading with practiced rhythm.
She spotted him immediately and turned toward the main cook.
"Quick break, Marge?"
The older woman grunted without looking up. "Five minutes."
Sofie dusted off her apron and stepped away from the counter, greeting Cane with a familiar grin.
"Can't get enough of me?"
Cane let out a quiet laugh but said nothing.
Instead, he held out the ceramic container.
"I made you something."
Sofie raised an eyebrow. "You're giving me… a bucket?"
She accepted it slowly. "A ceramic bucket. Thanks?"
"Slide your hand across the top," Cane said.
She gave him a look, then humored him. Her flour-dusted fingers traced the rim.
The container glowed. Then filled. Instantly.
"WHAT?!"
She nearly dropped it.
"How many times does it do that?"
"Unsure," Cane replied. "I think it resets. Slowly."
Sofie didn't answer. She marched to the corner and poured the water into the kitchen's massive barrel.
Then again.
And again.
Cane leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as she filled it to the brim in under a minute.
"I have to carry two buckets from the well," Sofie muttered, almost to herself. "Every hour. All day long."
"I noticed," Cane said.
Sofie turned to him, eyes unreadable.
Then she stepped forward, planted a quick peck on his cheek, and backed away before he could respond.
"Thank you."
She went back to the bread without another word, humming quietly.
Cane returned to his room with his satchel slung low and the lingering warmth of the kitchen still clinging to his thoughts.
He opened his door and froze.
Nos was standing beside his desk, leaning over Cane's notebook, fingers clasped behind his back like he was studying an ancient artifact. On the desk lay a half-shaped metal mask, curved but still incomplete, resting among scattered sketches and alloy notes.
Cane blinked once.
Then calmly shut the door behind him.
"How'd you get in?" he asked, casually setting his satchel down.
"The door was locked."
Nos pointed upward with a crooked finger.
Cane followed the gesture—and saw a door floating just beneath the ceiling, still slightly ajar, hovering in the air like a misplaced attic hatch.
"That one was open."
Cane just nodded. Of course it was.
Nos turned back to the mask. "Nice piece. You've got the eye for structure. I see you're planning on using black silver?"
"That's the goal," Cane said. "But I'm far from being proficient enough to create it yet."
"Doesn't matter." Nos shrugged. "Small steps. Even if it's complete crap, progress is progress."
Cane allowed himself the faintest grin. "Thanks for the replication rune. Earlier."
Nos gave him a sideways look—but his mustache twitched upward, and a genuine smile surfaced. "The fish is settling in well. She's got a whole bowl of algae pearls and a hollow castle to herself."
Then Nos reached into his robe and pulled out a folded strip of parchment.
"Here's another," he said, handing it over. "I created this one myself. Back when I was considerably younger and only slightly less unstable."
Cane accepted the parchment, eyes narrowing. "What does it do?"
Nos smirked. "Etch it onto your mask and you'll find out."
"That's not ominous at all."
Nos turned and stepped into the air as if climbing invisible stairs, rising level by level until he reached the floating door. He opened it without looking back.
"Surprises build character," he said cheerfully. "And if it explodes, that's just more data."
He disappeared through the door, which winked out of existence the moment it shut.
Cane stood in silence, parchment in hand.
Then he exhaled and set the note down beside the mask.
"…Right. Etch the mystery rune later."