Davo and Emma, feeling confident in their recent progress with newfound creative abilities, had taken a break from practicing. During that time, they mulled over the complexities of their craft—recognizing that imagination and visualization were essential keys to unlocking its deeper potential. Now, strolling together through the transformed slums, they couldn't help but marvel at how swiftly everything had changed.
The once-chaotic backstreets, once rife with fear and desperation, now hummed with an industrious calm. Residents bustled from stall to stall, trading not just tangible goods but also specialized know-how—an unspoken currency rooted in cooperation. From ragged tarps and crooked awnings, vendors displayed a colorful array of wares: intricately woven cloth shot through with glimmering threads, dainty sculptures that pulsed with an otherworldly radiance, and variously flavored food blocks whose evolution from bland blocks to delicacies reflected each crafter's personal style. Small home-run ventures had emerged, each one contributing its own spin on vital resources, as though large-scale production were relics of a lost era.
Davo paused by a wiry old man that was looking younger each day, exchanging a recently fixed cooking pot for a freshly pressed food block. He took a bite, pleasantly surprised at the richer taste. "Not half bad," he mused, observing the vendor's deft fingers coaxing texture and flavor from seemingly nothing. Davo felt a renewed urge to replicate that skill, just to see if he could.
Meanwhile, Emma strolled with Jane—her newfound companion, who brimmed with energy and stood a year older. Their fast bond highlighted Emma's transformation: she had once been skittish and withdrawn, yet now carried herself with a self-assurance Davo barely recognized. Glancing around the crowded thoroughfare, Emma laughed at some joke Jane made as they admired garments on display.
Both girls exuded understated elegance in the clothes they had fashioned for themselves. Emma's tunic, pale and self-cleaning, shimmered gently in the sunlight, while Jane's sleek jumpsuit sported a mosaic of barely perceptible patterns woven into the fabric, each line exuding a subtle glow. Everywhere they looked, people were crafting clothes suited to their personalities—some boasted flamboyant designs, while others preferred a practical simplicity, reflecting the inventive spirit that now defined their community.
Emma scanned the faces around her, recalling old neighbors whose expressions now carried a rare note of hope. Children laughed as they spun luminescent hoops in the air, ignoring gravity's usual hold. A young man sat cross-legged nearby, interlacing threads of glowing light into a tapestry of colors that seemed impossible for the human eye to fully process.
Jane nudged Emma, tipping her chin toward a figure lingering at the edge of the square. "Check him out," she murmured, her voice tinted with curiosity.
Emma's gaze settled on a man clad in tattered, pre-event clothes—jeans caked with grease stains, a weathered jacket patched with mismatched scraps. He stood out amid the confident, bright-eyed crowd, casting furtive glances at stalls brimming with homemade wonders. His confusion and wariness clung to him like a thick fog.
"He's an outsider," Jane said knowingly. "Must still be clinging to old habits."
Davo finished haggling and rejoined them, following their line of sight. "I've heard folks out there are still hoarding supplies," he remarked, popping another piece of tasty food into his mouth. "They're locked in the past, hoping it'll roar back to life somehow, instead of learning what they can do with these new powers."
Emma nodded thoughtfully. "We never had much anyway," she said quietly. "We were used to scraping by, so we adapted faster when everything changed." She gestured at the vibrant market. "Look at this place. Nobody waited for permission; they just... made do."
Jane smirked, eyes sparking with mischief. "Speaking of 'making do,' we should totally see what's going on beyond the slum. Might be chaos out there, but hey—we're practically unbreakable now, right?" She flung her arm wide in a playful, exaggerated arc. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Davo shot her a dubious look. "Don't go jinxing us. Invulnerability aside, I doubt the outside world is exactly a tourist destination."
But Emma appeared intrigued, pursing her lips in consideration. "We have been focused on our own corner of the world. Maybe it's time we took a peek. Don't you wonder what's really out there?"
Jane's grin broadened. "Exactly. A little risk, a lot of adventure. Seems like a fair trade."
Emma glanced at Davo, half-excited, half-wary. "What do you think? Just a short trip beyond the edge of the slum—no big commitment."
Davo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, fine," he conceded with a crooked smile. "But if things get weird, I'm blaming you, Jane."
Jane let out a triumphant laugh, snatching Emma's hand in hers. "Deal! Let's get moving before we chicken out."
--
Davo, Emma, and Jane moved together through the slum's winding alleys, their breathing almost in sync with the hushed pulse of this newly transformed district. The usual chatter of makeshift markets and the once-familiar clang of scrounged metal had quieted behind them, replaced by a disconcerting stillness. Abandoned vehicles dotted the cracked roads like metal skeletons, some with doors ajar and dashboards coated in dust, as if they had been deserted in mid-thought. More than once, Emma caught the faint odor of stale gasoline lingering in the air, an uneasy reminder of how suddenly the world had changed.
"Feels like a ghost town," Davo muttered, nudging a discarded tin can that clattered off a broken curb. He exchanged a tense look with Emma, who scanned the dark windows of boarded-up homes, her posture alert. "Either folks ran off when the event hit," she said, "or they're hunkered down somewhere, waiting for it all to blow over." Jane, walking a step ahead, offered a wry grin. "They'll be waiting a while, I bet."
Gradually, the scenery shifted. Past the more populated edges of the slum, they glimpsed newer, sturdier buildings where people had adapted to recent changes with surprising speed. Groups in sleek, self-made garments practiced conjuring abilities out in the open—one individual carefully sculpted a shining rod between his palms, while another tested the limits of a silvery, flexible sheet by bending it into spirals. Pulses of light and sizzling cracks of energy occasionally lit up the streets, accompanied by the faint smell of ozone. Jane glanced at Emma and rolled her eyes playfully. "Guess they're set on winning the neighborhood conjuring contest," she teased. Emma chuckled. "Well, a little rivalry never hurt anyone."
Davo remained quiet, a pensive frown on his face as he observed houses sealed behind metal sheets and wooden planks. The windows stared back like hollow eyes, giving nothing away. "Not everyone's discovered the new powers," he murmured, pointing at a gate where a knot of wary-looking people stood, brandishing battered rifles as though unsure if they served better as clubs or guns. Their rumpled clothes, obviously from before the event, hinted they were clinging to old habits. "Or maybe they don't trust what they can't explain," Emma suggested, lowering her voice. She studied the group's stiff posture, noticing how their eyes flicked from the three outsiders to the abandoned cars, to each other, as if anticipating danger from all sides.
"Can't blame them," Davo said softly. "Everyone's hoarding what they have left. Hard to let go of the past when you think it might save you." Jane shrugged, scanning the deserted sidewalks. "Yeah, well, if they won't adapt, that's on them."
Continuing onward, the suburban calm turned ominous. A hush seemed to cloak each cul-de-sac, broken only by the rustle of paper scraps fluttering along fences, or the distant creak of a door opening and quickly shutting. Figures peered from second-floor windows, half-hidden behind ragged curtains, while others stood on porches gripping makeshift spears or lengths of pipe. Jane offered a snort of amusement. "They really rolled out the welcome wagon, huh?"
Rounding a corner, they halted at the sight of a neighborhood turned fortress. Fences originally meant to mark one yard from another had fused into a single looming barrier. Welded metal, wooden slats, and tangled barbed wire crowned the top, giving the block a fortress-like aura that sent a prickle of unease through the trio. Emma sucked in a breath. "They're not messing around," she said, noticing how the barricade connected house to house without a gap. Davo gestured at the silent watchers behind it—men and women in dirty clothing, their expressions rigid with suspicion.
Jane's sardonic murmur cut through the tense silence, her smirk small and sharp. "Well," she said, "I doubt they'll greet us with cookies."
Davo managed a low chuckle, though his knuckles visibly tightened at his sides. "And if they do," he remarked dryly, "I'm guessing they'll come with a side of barbed wire."
Emma stepped forward, shoulders set, voice calm despite the flutter in her stomach. Her hand rose in a peaceable gesture. "We're not here to cause trouble," she called, making sure her words reached the barricaded figures. Overhead, the wind carried the faint scent of damp earth, underscored by the metallic tang of rusted scrap.
A hesitant, younger male voice answered, tremulous with curiosity. "Where... where did you get those clothes?"
Emma felt the unaccustomed surge of self-assurance that had grown within her since the event. She cleared her throat and raised her voice in reply. "We made them ourselves... using what we call powers."
For an instant, no one behind the fence spoke, as though the young man's question had stirred more questions than answers. At last, in a tone that wavered between intrigue and suspicion, he pressed, "Powers? What do you mean?"
A ripple of motion disturbed the defenders, their cautious movements betraying curiosity. Several teenagers in grimy shirts and torn jeans crept closer, their faces alight with both wariness and wonder. The contrast with Davo, Emma, and Jane could not have been more stark: the trio's clean, self-crafted attire shimmered faintly with threads of light, like remnants of a distant, more sophisticated world.
Behind the teenagers, two adults lingered, their features tight with vigilance. An older man, shoulders squared as though he'd been in command for years, stepped into view. "We're not sharing our food or water," he said, his voice low and rough. "There's more of us than there are of you, and we can make it... difficult... if you try to get in." He left the threat hanging, though all involved knew brute force no longer held the sway it once did.
Jane visibly tensed, ready with a retort that Davo recognized would do more harm than good. Quickly, he held up a hand, speaking before she could. "We don't need anything from you," he said, voice steady as he projected confidence. "We can make our own supplies now."
A stir of murmuring spread through the group at the barricade. Among them, a slim girl with reddish-brown hair drawn into a messy braid peered at Davo, the grime on her skin doing little to mask the striking set of her features. She lifted a darkened phone, its screen blank. "We'll trade it for food," she offered, a tremor of hope fighting against the obvious futility in her voice.
Davo's mouth curved in a gentle smile. "That phone won't help you anymore," he said quietly. When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised his palm in a calming gesture. "No trade needed. Let me show you something."
He beckoned for them to sit, just beyond the fence's makeshift barrier of corrugated metal and broken planks. Skeptical whispers rippled through the defenders, but curiosity won out as they inched nearer, weapons still clutched like talismans.
"You must've seen people use these... creative powers," Davo went on, glancing from face to face with a calm sureness.
The girl frowned, her gray eyes shadowed by confusion. "We've been stuck here since it started—waiting for things to go back to normal. Not many visitors, and most were worse than the monsters we imagined were out there." She flashed a quick, guarded look at the older man behind her, who nodded in grim agreement. "We've never seen anything like what you're talking about."
Davo exchanged a significant glance with Emma and Jane. "Well," he said, warmth creeping into his tone, "maybe it's time you found out what you can do."
The defenders drew closer, fear mingling with a spark of anticipation, as Davo prepared to demonstrate.
Davo took a slow, measured breath, fixing his gaze on the patch of ground before him. A hush fell over the people huddled behind the makeshift fence, their eyes reflecting a mixture of distrust and curiosity. With deliberate focus, he raised his hand; the air around his fingers shimmered as though stirred by a faint heat wave. In the span of a heartbeat, a pale block of food coalesced into existence, roughly five centimeters on each side—a testament to the intense practice he'd poured into honing his abilities over the past week. The block's surface was smooth and slightly dense, resembling compressed dough. It gave off no noticeable scent, yet the sight alone stirred a ripple of startled whispers among the watchers.
"This is the basic stuff," Davo said, turning it slowly for all to see. "Anyone can create it when hunger hits hard enough. I'm guessing you lot haven't quite run out of supplies yet."
Uneasy murmurs moved through the group, blending with the hiss of a breeze rustling through the barricade's rusted scraps of metal and warped wooden planks. One man, his cheeks hollow and his hair ragged, barked, "That's a trick. No way that's real." Another figure—a woman clutching a knotted walking stick—scoffed under her breath, as though the sight were too fanciful to believe.
Ignoring the growing tension, Davo lifted the block to his lips and took a careful bite. The dense texture yielded under his teeth with a soft crack. The gathered onlookers fell deathly quiet, the sound of his chewing as pronounced as a drumbeat. After he swallowed, a faint smirk tugged at his lips. Without further preamble, he stepped forward and extended the remaining chunk to the red-haired girl who'd been challenging them with cautious questions.
She hesitated, eyeing Davo's hand as if it might burn her. The jagged edges of the fence scraped her skin when she finally reached out, taking the block with deliberate slowness. Pressing it to her nose, she sniffed. Her expression flickered—first confusion, then curiosity. With half the barricade watching her every move, she took a tentative bite. The group held its collective breath, as though bracing for some monstrous trick. Her surprise was clear as she chewed and swallowed, then turned to the others. "It's... it's edible," she said, her tone wavering between relief and astonishment.
At that, Emma and Jane dropped to their knees beside Davo and began materializing more blocks of food with practiced ease. Pale lumps appeared in their palms with a faint shimmer, each one nearly identical. Before long, a small pile had accumulated, which they promptly passed through gaps in the fence. At first, only a handful of the defenders dared approach. They sniffed at the offered lumps, nibbled cautiously, and exchanged uncertain glances. But as soon as one or two acknowledged that it was safe, the crowd pressed closer. Their earlier suspicion fell away, replaced by a hopeful excitement that rippled through the faces like an unexpected wind on a sweltering day.
A man at the back, shoulders stooped beneath a torn coat, raised an old, chipped mug. "You... you wouldn't happen to make water, could you?" he stammered, desperation slipping into his voice despite an effort to sound nonchalant.
Davo nodded once. He retrieved a battered plastic cup from near his feet and focused. Light danced around his fingertips, and a moment later, a crystal-clear trickle of water formed at the cup's base, filling it to the brim. He handed it over to the stunned man, whose disbelief gave way to stark awe as he took a tentative sip. The pure taste was a revelation; he let out a soft gasp that quickly sparked chatter among the group. In the dimming light of late afternoon, cups and containers of every shape were thrust forward, while Jane and Emma cheerfully obliged, filling them one by one with water that glinted like spun glass.
The mood at the barricade shifted entirely, the defenders' earlier mistrust melting into an almost festive chatter. Voices overlapped, half-laughing and half-disbelieving, as they discovered how the bland but nourishing blocks and the refreshing water were no illusions. The red-haired girl, freed from her initial reservations, stepped up again, brushing stray crumbs from her hands. Her cheeks now carried a faint flush, whether from hunger sated or excitement. "So... you said everyone can do this?" she asked, lips parted with the eagerness of someone who'd spent days rationing stale bread.
Davo met her gaze calmly. "That's right," he replied, voice steady. "It isn't magic—it's a matter of imagination and focusing on your own hunger. That drive makes it real."
She arched a brow, skepticism battling curiosity. "Imagination, huh? Sounds like you've been reading too many fairy tales."
Jane chuckled softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "It's more like learning a new skill. Awkward at first, but once it clicks, it's hard to unlearn."
"So let us show you," Davo offered. He gestured for the girl to join him on the ground, just outside the fence. Wariness still clouded her features, but she reluctantly complied, crossing her legs in front of him. "Close your eyes," he instructed gently.
Her gaze flicked over the huddled defenders, then to Emma and Jane, before she obeyed. Davo's voice was reassuring, almost lulling. "Think about hunger," he said. "Let yourself feel it, don't push it away. Then imagine something in your hands that can fill that emptiness."
The girl's brow knit in concentration, her breathing shallow at first. Onlookers shifted in place, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of what might happen. Emma and Jane offered hushed words of encouragement—reminders to stay confident, to embrace the small flicker of belief that it might actually work.
For a breathless moment, nothing happened. The girl's eyes snapped open in frustration. "I... can't," she muttered.
Davo shook his head, unruffled. "You can. Stop telling yourself you can't. Focus on the ache in your stomach. Use it."
With renewed resolve, she squeezed her eyes shut. The air around her hands wavered, like heat above scorching asphalt. Her lips parted, the faintest sign of effort showing in the tightness of her jaw. Then, bit by bit, the shimmer brightened. A loose shape flickered into being, almost indistinguishable at first, as though it might vanish with a single blink. But the girl pressed on, spurred by the collective anticipation around her. At last, the shimmering mass solidified, taking the form of a small, pale block of food cradled in her hands.
A unified gasp rose from the defenders. The girl opened her eyes to the sight of the block, shock transforming into a dawning pride across her face. "I did it," she whispered, the awe in her voice drawing involuntary smiles from those around her.
Davo leaned back, letting relief sweep through him. "Told you," he said with a grin. "You just needed a little push."
Davo could sense the crowd growing denser with each passing minute. At first, only a handful of curious faces had pressed against the fence, peering through the gaps with guarded eyes, but word had spread quickly. Now, at least thirty people stood at the edge, some jockeying for a better view, others elbowing their neighbors good-naturedly to get closer. The hush that had descended moments before crackled with quiet anticipation, as though the entire scene were on the verge of something extraordinary.
In the center of it all stood Davo, Emma, and Jane. The three of them had established a sort of makeshift demonstration area just beyond the barricade, close enough for onlookers to see, but far enough to give everyone breathing room. A rusted car frame half-buried under debris provided a crude counter where they could set the conjured food and water before passing it to people. The old metal stank faintly of burned rubber, adding a sharp tang to the air already thick with the musty scent of sweat, dust, and stale cooking grease that clung to the slum's outskirts. Occasionally, a breeze carried the acrid odor of uncollected trash, mingling with the faint perfume of unfamiliar blossoms growing in some hidden courtyard.
Their audience comprised a remarkable mix. Scruffy children darted around ankles, whispering excitedly to one another. Older teenagers, some sporting ragged jackets and torn sneakers, nodded intently each time Davo or Emma demonstrated the conjuring technique. A few elders, looking weary yet hopeful, hovered at the back, watching with eyes that balanced between disbelief and longing.
"It's all about focus," Davo declared, lifting his arms so everyone could see. The faint hum of his conjuring power crackled in the air, like static electricity on a humid day. He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and seemed to draw the intangible threads of energy around him. In a few heartbeats, a block of food coalesced between his palms. It was a simple, bland creation—pale, square, dense—but it offered nourishment. Holding it up, he allowed the late-afternoon sunlight to accentuate its lightly shimmering surface. "Picture what you want—really see it," he said, his voice carrying just enough volume to rise above the low chatter. "And let your hunger be the fuel that makes it real."
A tall, lanky teen in a threadbare hoodie stepped forward, his expression etched with both wonder and frustration. "I tried that," he said. "All I got was a flicker of light."
Davo smiled, gesturing for the teen to replicate his attempt. "Try again. This time, don't force it—imagine you're guiding the shape with your mind, like drawing an outline that your hunger can fill."
The boy nodded, his face tightening in concentration. The air around his hands warped ever so slightly, as if heated by invisible flames. For a moment, it appeared he might succeed, but the flicker died, leaving him exhaling in frustration. Davo patted his shoulder gently. "You're close. It might help to remember the exact texture of the food—how it feels, how heavy it is."
Meanwhile, Emma and Jane demonstrated the water-creation technique to a small group of older women near a battered shopping cart piled high with old blankets and mismatched pots. Emma's voice was calm, her posture poised. She cupped her hands, allowing a thin stream of water to form in the hollow. The women gasped collectively, one even taking an involuntary step back as if expecting a hidden gadget. Emma offered a reassuring smile. "It's not magic," she explained. "Think of it more like… focusing your thirst into a shape."
Jane chimed in, her tone lighter, almost playful. "Trust me, if I can do it, you definitely can." She flicked her wrist, creating a playful splash in the dirt, earning a chorus of soft laughs.
Davo, glancing over his shoulder, watched their progress for a moment before returning his attention to a knot of people who had just joined. Among them was a wiry, middle-aged man with healthy looking cheeks. His shaky hands suggested hunger, but his hopeful gaze told Davo he was ready to learn. After offering a soft greeting, Davo instructed him step by step, refining the explanation with every attempt the man made.
He also began noticing something else: each time a newcomer tried to form food or water, Davo could sense the intangible threads of energy swirling around them. It was akin to glimpsing a color that lay just beyond ordinary sight, a flicker in the corner of his eye. Whenever he saw or felt the energy misalign—like a string tuned to the wrong pitch—he corrected it with a calm suggestion: Relax your shoulders. Take a slower breath. Picture the texture in detail.
The more he did this, the more he understood the underlying mechanisms of conjuring. It was as if each person's attempts contributed to a grand tapestry he was studying, and with every addition to that tapestry, his own comprehension grew richer, sharper, more in tune. Emma had once compared teaching to a two-way street, and Davo was now living proof: guiding others honed his own abilities, accelerating his learning curve in a way solitary practice never could.
In one corner, an older woman struggled to form even the faintest glimmer, her hands trembling. Davo knelt next to her, speaking gently. "Don't try so hard," he said. "Let the need guide you. If you're hungry, let that emptiness fill the shape you imagine." She closed her eyes, face contorting with effort, and for a heartbeat, it seemed it might fail again. But then, her fingertips glowed softly. A lump of uneven doughlike matter popped into existence, looking half-melted but unmistakably edible. The crowd erupted into claps and whoops, and tears welled in the woman's eyes.
Not everyone welcomed the spectacle. Toward the end of the lesson, as the sun sagged lower and the sky took on streaks of dusky purple, a stern-faced woman emerged from the compound's entrance. While many older folks seemed to be growing healthier, her appearance was contradictory: her posture was straighter, yes, and her skin showed fewer wrinkles, yet bitterness pinched her features. She clutched the fence with white-knuckled fingers, eyes darting among Davo, Emma, and Jane as though searching for evidence of malice.
Her voice rose in a shrill shout that sliced through the celebratory atmosphere. "Witchcraft! Devilry!" she cried. "You're messing with powers you don't understand!"
A collective hush fell, laughter and conversation ceasing abruptly. Some of the defenders froze in mid-laugh, uncertain whether to side with her or recall the relief of sated hunger and clean water. A broad-shouldered man standing near the fence crossed his arms. "Mind your own business," he growled. "There's food and water, and that's good enough for me."
The woman pointed an accusing finger at Davo, her face coloring with anger. "You're leading them astray!" she screeched, voice cracking. "This power isn't natural! We'll all pay for it!"
Jane rolled her eyes dramatically. "Yes, because starving and thirsting were so 'natural,'" she muttered, earning a smothered laugh from a nearby teenager.
Emma, ever the voice of calm reason, stepped forward. "No one's forcing you to do this," she said, keeping her tone measured and polite. "But it's helping people survive, and that's what matters to us."
Her words ignited a new round of murmurs, some in agreement, some in doubt. The woman, shoulders rigid, glared one last time at the trio before spinning on her heel. Muttering under her breath about misguided souls and inevitable doom, she stalked back into the compound, her indignation trailing behind her like a foul vapor.
For a moment, tension clung to the air, uncertain and heavy. Then the red-haired girl—who'd spent much of the lesson observing rather than participating—nudged Davo's arm. Her expression held a flicker of amusement. "Grumpy, isn't she?" she said softly, tilting her head in the direction of the disappearing figure.
Davo released a slow exhale. Even under the cooling sky, warmth radiated off him from the constant conjuring and teaching. "Some people can't handle change," he replied with a small shrug, careful to keep his tone neutral. Emma and Jane nodded in agreement, neither looking particularly surprised by the outburst.
The girl brushed a few errant crumbs from her tunic, which glowed faintly in the fading light. "Well, here's hoping she catches up eventually," she said, half-joking, half-earnest.
Davo managed a soft smile, his voice carrying a mix of optimism and caution. "Guess some people will take a while to change," he said, his tone light but thoughtful.