Emma wiped the last of their makeshift dishes with a rag, setting them aside with a thoughtful hum. "I reckon if we've figured all this out in a day, imagine what everyone else must have come up with by now," she said, pausing to glance at a small pile of salvaged utensils beside her.
Davo, leaning against the cracked wall, perked up at her words. "You're right. And the best way to learn something new is by watching others do it first." He flashed a quick grin, his eyes gleaming with the spark of an idea. "While they're still busy showing off what they can do, we can pick up a trick or two."
Emma nodded, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. Without another word, they slipped through the hidden exit, carefully arranging the debris behind them to conceal their hideout. The air outside was thick with the mingling scents of damp earth, charred wood, and the faint tang of frying street food drifting through the alleys. The slum—once a maze of fear and whispered threats—now buzzed with an almost celebratory energy, the sounds of hushed laughter and distant chatter floating through the gloom.
As they made their way through the winding alleys and into the bustling heart of the slum, they spotted neighbors they recognized: old Malik huddled near his stall of scrap metal, Aria tending to her makeshift spice stand, and Tomas perched on a low crate, strumming a battered guitar he'd rescued from the trash. The little squares and gathering spots were alive with people—folks who once hid behind locked doors now chatted freely, their faces no longer shadowed with fear. The absence of the usual lurking gang members lent a lightness to the air, an unfamiliar sense of ease.
In one corner, Ms. Vargas—an elderly woman known for her fierce spirit—sat cross-legged on a threadbare mat, surrounded by curious onlookers. With slow, deliberate movements, she molded a small, intricate sculpture of a cat from thin wisps of light that shimmered and danced in her wrinkled hands. The tiny figure purred softly, its eyes glowing faintly as children reached out to touch it with delighted squeals.
Nearby, a young boy named Rafi—no older than ten—proudly displayed a collection of glowing marbles, each one perfectly round and swirling with colors that seemed to shift and pulse with an inner life. He rolled them between his palms, grinning at the murmurs of approval from the crowd that gathered to watch.
Further down the alley, a man named Goro hunched over an old sewing machine, his fingers deftly weaving threads of shimmering light into worn fabric. Torn clothes were being repaired with astonishing precision, the once-tattered garments now sporting glowing seams that held strong. Emma nudged Davo and whispered, "It's like everyone's got their own little miracle now."
Davo and Emma wove through the crowd, their eyes darting from one display to another. They recognized Yasmin and Joel—people they'd done odd jobs for in the past—grinning widely as they showed off a newly patched blanket to passersby. A group of men stood in a circle, passing around more pieces of worn clothing, mending tears with careful, practiced hands and a thread-like energy that wove itself into the fabric with a faint hum. A once-shredded shirt looked almost new, the glowing seams blending seamlessly with the old material.
Emma elbowed Davo gently. "Look at that," she whispered, pointing to a woman who was repairing a cracked ceramic bowl with nothing but a concentrated gaze. The fracture sealed with a faint glow, leaving only a thin silver line where the damage had been. "This could change everything."
Davo nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. "Yeah, but we need to make ourselves useful, too." He turned to a nearby group huddled around a flickering light sculpture and cleared his throat. "Anyone hungry?"
The small crowd turned toward him, curious. With a confident grin, Davo held out his hand and focused. Slowly, a small white block materialized in his palm. "It's food," he said, taking a bite. "Not bad, actually. Want to try?"
Emma joined in, demonstrating how she could conjure water, letting it pool into an old cup and offering sips to those around them. The intrigue grew, and soon they were surrounded by eager faces, each one wanting to learn the trick.
In exchange, the people shared their own discoveries. A wiry teenager with nimble fingers showed them how to refine their creations, making them more durable and long-lasting. A mother of three—Marisol—demonstrated how she could stitch new fabric together by layering the light just right, producing sturdy cloth from seemingly nothing.
A group of children gathered around a crate, experimenting with light-made toys that shimmered and changed shape under their fingers. They giggled as they molded the glowing substance into animals and miniature buildings, their creativity flourishing with newfound freedom. Somewhere, an off-key whistle drifted through the air, accompanied by the distant clang of metal cans jostled by someone searching for scraps.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the slum transformed into a glowing haven. Small orbs of light floated above doorways, casting a warm, golden hue that softened the rough edges of the crumbling buildings. The streets, once shrouded in darkness and fear, now radiated with a homely glow, flickering with the promise of something new.
Davo sat back, watching as Emma traded laughter with an elderly man showing her how to shape intricate designs into the glowing objects. He stretched, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. "I could get used to this," he murmured.
The evening settled over the slum, and the once-forgotten corners of the world pulsed with life, hope, and the quiet hum of something extraordinary unfolding.
--
It was late into the evening when, far off in the distance, a thunderous explosion shattered the quiet hum of the slum. In an instant, an intense flash of light ignited the horizon, momentarily revealing the jagged silhouettes of the city's broken skyline. Moments later, a powerful rush of air tore through the narrow alleys, rattling the rickety shacks and scattering loose debris across the cracked pavement. Garbage roiled in the wind like dead leaves, and the flimsy doors of makeshift huts clacked violently against their frames. A collective gasp rippled through the slum as heads snapped toward the source of the disturbance. Beyond the looming silhouettes of half-collapsed buildings, a massive ball of fire lurched into the night sky, a furious bloom of orange and crimson churning like a living beast set free.
Davo squinted, heart pounding hard enough that he could feel each beat in his throat. "That's... the power station," he muttered, the words nearly sticking in his mouth. "Has to be."
Emma, standing by his side, followed his gaze toward the distant inferno. Her brow tightened in worry. "And from the look of it," she murmured, "it's not some small spark. That's an honest-to-goodness disaster."
The flames licked hungrily at the sky, illuminating the horizon with a hellish glow. An acrid smell of chemicals and burning metal drifted faintly through the air, borne on the night breeze. Bits of ash tumbled lazily like glowing embers, but even these cinders seemed hesitant to land in a place that had become so unexpectedly calm. Davo swept a glance around and realized, with a jolt, that the slum's inhabitants weren't reacting the way he would have expected. There were no frantic cries or alarmed rushing about. Instead, people simply stared for a few moments, a kind of muted curiosity dancing across their expressions, before turning back to their creations—bright orbs of light, half-finished sculptures, or ephemeral tools that shimmered between their fingertips.
A man knelt beside a stack of shimmering figurines—some shaped like mythical beasts with curling horns, others resembling whimsical forest animals—and shrugged, returning to meticulously polishing each one until they caught the faint lamplight with a gentle glow. Nearby, a group of children playing with orbs of luminescent energy barely paused in their merriment. Their laughter—high and free—cut sharply through the tension of the night, as if the explosion were no more than a distant firework.
Davo shot Emma a look, baffled by the absence of panic. "Why aren't they freaking out? The whole city's probably losing its mind right now. I mean, that was huge."
Emma crossed her arms, meeting his gaze with a quiet gravity. "They've got what they need," she said, a note of astonishment underlining her tone. "Food, water... and nobody can hurt them. It's like they've finally shrugged off everything that held them down. Survival isn't an issue anymore. So why should they care about some blaze on the other side of town?"
For a moment, Davo watched a child coax a large, rat-like creature out from behind a broken wall—an animal that normally would have fled at the slightest motion of a human. The rodent, its eyes glinting in the half-light, stepped cautiously forward, as if drawn by the subtle aura the boy exuded. Indeed, even the "monsters" here—whether in the form of monstrous dogs or oversized rats—seemed strangely subdued, sated by the new abundance of conjured scraps. Davo exhaled, shaking his head. "I can't decide if that's comforting or terrifying."
They spent the next few hours wandering through the slum, gathering tips and tricks from anyone willing to share. A wiry teenager demonstrated how to harden the shimmering substance into a razor-thin edge, slicing neatly through a piece of old rubber tire. An older woman with steady hands showed Emma how to flatten the same substance into flexible sheets that could repel water. The slum's nighttime atmosphere had long since shifted from looming danger to a kind of hushed curiosity, interrupted by the occasional crackle of conjured sparks and the muted conversation of neighbors perfecting new skills.
Eventually, the weight of fatigue settled over them. Emma cast Davo a sidelong glance, exhaustion etched beneath her eyes. "We should head back," she said softly, running a palm over her face. "I think we've learned enough for tonight."
Their return route wound through narrow alleys littered with ancient trash heaps and leaning fences. Here and there, a faint glow spilled out of ramshackle homes, illuminating faces that no longer wore the etched lines of fear. In the distance, that once-fearsome blaze had diminished to a sullen glow, more ember than inferno now. Perhaps help had arrived—or maybe the fire was left to burn itself out. Either way, no one around them seemed interested in exploring, so they left the flaming horizon behind.
When they finally reached the mound of discarded cardboard and broken crates that concealed their hideout, Emma didn't hesitate. She clambered over the obstacle with surprising grace, aided by a quick, bright panel of light she conjured to act as a temporary stepping stool. Davo stifled a yawn as he followed, one foot sliding on a soggy scrap of paper.
Inside, the cramped room smelled of stale air and rot—an all-too-familiar odor that made Emma's nose wrinkle. Water stains streaked the walls, and a faint squeaking sound in the corner suggested the presence of a rodent lurking in the gloom. She turned to Davo, her posture resolute. "We need to fix this place up," she said, arms folded. "No more wading through muck and mildew every time we come home."
Davo groaned theatrically, flipping a damp rag off an improvised shelf. "Come on, Em," he complained. "I'm dead on my feet. Can't this wait?"
Her glare was all the answer he needed. "We have skills now," she repeated, voice firm. "And we've got time before sunrise. So let's do something useful."
Emma promptly tossed Davo a scrap of cloth—though more as a gesture than anything else—and pointed to the creeping stain of mold in the far corner. Instead of brandishing soap or chemicals, Davo raised a glowing hand, conjuring a small orb of light that hovered just above his shoulder to illuminate the slimy patch. With an exasperated chuckle, he turned to his newly discovered gift. Rather than scrubbing, he let his imagination guide him, picturing each spore dissolving under a gentle, pulsing light that rolled over the surface like a wave. Little by little, the sickly green crust crackled and peeled away, vanishing into the shimmering radiance he wielded.
They continued in companionable silence, each lost in the soothing rhythm of their shared task. Emma conjured thin, flexible sheets of opalescent material, using them as a sort of magical plaster to mend cracks spiderwebbed across the walls. Her face shone with concentration as she guided the ethereal patchwork with her fingertips, sealing every gap so snugly that not even the faintest draft could slip through. When sections of plaster threatened to crumble, Davo stepped in, visualizing a resin-like filler that solidified as soon as he pressed it into place. He ran his fingers across the fresh layer, smoothing it until the wall felt as stable as a newly built barrier.
Spurred by Emma's no-nonsense insistence, they turned their attention to the doorway. Rather than wrestling with scavenged lumber, they joined forces to form interlocking panels of reinforced light. Emma closed her eyes, imagining the panels snapping together with an elegant click, each piece fitting seamlessly to the next. Davo tested their work, slamming his shoulder against the makeshift barrier. It held firm, producing only a dull thud. A boyish grin spread across his face. "Definitely an upgrade," he remarked, stepping back to admire their handiwork.
By the time the first streaks of dawn cast pastel lavenders and pinks across the sky, their hideout felt like an entirely new space. Gone was the musty stench of rot and despair, replaced by the faint, crisp smell of untainted air drifting through subtle vents in the reinforced walls. Gently glowing orbs dotted each corner, casting a soft yet steady illumination across the polished floors they had conjured. Though the interior remained relatively bare—no conjured armchairs or cushy beds just yet—the transformation was remarkable: tidy, secure, and almost serene.
Davo flopped onto the newly cleaned ground, muscles pleasantly aching from the night's labor. "We still don't have any furniture," he observed with a rueful shrug, his gaze drifting around the now gleaming walls, "and I'm not sure we're advanced enough to dream up a recliner or a hammock."
Emma dropped beside him, leaning her back against the wall they had spent hours reinforcing. Sweeping a few stray curls off her brow, she breathed in the cool morning air that trickled through the repaired vents. "It's a start," she said quietly, satisfaction softening her voice. "At least we're not going to wake up drenched if it rains."
A small smile curved Davo's lips as he stared at the ceiling, exhaustion mingling with a sense of triumph. He thought of the distant explosion, the frantic repairs, and their newly honed powers—an odd mixture of fear and excitement churned in his mind. "Yeah," he murmured, letting his eyelids drift shut.