Davo spent the entire day wrestling with the memory of his surreal vision, the one that had plunged him into the very fabric of reality. Molecules, atoms, quantum foam—it all spun in his head like a half-forgotten dream he lacked the education to fully understand. Yet even with his limited background, he knew he had glimpsed something vast. As the day wore on, he and the others continued teaching anyone who would listen: how to conjure food, how to produce water, how to shape the simplest tools. Their efforts sparked a subtle revolution in this once-guarded enclave, transforming wary faces into ones lit by cautious enthusiasm. By late afternoon, the weary but exhilarated group gathered their belongings, preparing to make the trek back toward the settlement they still called the slum. The place had evolved beyond that label, though—what was once a ragged domain of makeshift hovels and suspicious glances was quickly becoming a beacon of cooperation and hope.
While Davo helped pack up the last of the supplies, he caught sight of Selis lingering on the edge of the makeshift demonstration area. She'd been around him all day, even when her lesson was finished, drifting closer whenever he paused to rest or answer someone else's questions. At first, he chalked it up to a pupil's enthusiasm. But gradually, he realized her attention went beyond curiosity—there was a deliberate focus in her gaze, one he was completely unaccustomed to. Before the event, most people had looked right past him, if they noticed him at all. Now, he was acutely aware of her presence, and each time he turned, she was near enough for him to catch a faint hint of her scent, like flowers with a note of fresh citrus. It unsettled him, in part because he didn't know how to respond to the warmth in her eyes.
Jane was the first to address the situation out loud. As they started gathering in a loose circle, ready to head out, she sidled up beside Davo with a mischievous grin. "So," she drawled in a low voice, "how long have you had a personal shadow?" Davo gave her a baffled look, prompting Emma to step in, amusement dancing in her eyes. "She means Selis," Emma clarified, her tone barely concealing laughter. "She's been trailing you like you're the answer to all of life's mysteries." Davo's ears grew hot. "No she hasn't," he protested, perhaps too quickly, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. "She's just—enthusiastic about learning." "Sure," Calla chimed in, a note of wry humor lacing her words. "Interested in learning, yep. That's the story." Liora suppressed a quiet chuckle, casting Davo a sympathetic but amused smile that seemed to say sorry, you're on your own here.
Before he could defend himself further, Selis approached with that same confident stride. She wore a simple outfit—a loose shirt and battered trousers—but the way she carried herself made it look almost regal. The midday heat had softened into late-afternoon warmth, and the rays of sun caught her auburn hair, bringing out subtle copper highlights that danced every time she moved. "You're leaving?" she asked, her voice cheerful with just a hint of disappointment lurking under the surface. Davo nodded, trying not to appear flustered under her direct gaze. "We need to get back before dark. We're not exactly fans of stumbling through unknown streets at night." Selis pursed her lips thoughtfully, then placed a gentle hand on Davo's forearm—an unexpectedly personal gesture. He felt a shiver of awareness travel through him, the contact far more intimate than he was used to. "You'll come back soon, right?" she asked, her tone suggesting that the matter wasn't negotiable. "I—yeah. We will," he managed, blinking as he realized how close she stood. Selis's lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Good," she said simply, then stepped back, though her eyes remained fixed on him for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
Jane cleared her throat, producing a sound suspiciously akin to stifled laughter, while Emma rolled her eyes in exaggerated exasperation. "Oh, that's adorable," Jane whispered, grinning when Davo shot her a glare. Selis didn't seem to notice, drifting away to speak with someone else. But the faint blush on Davo's cheeks told the entire story. "Let's go," he muttered, turning on his heel as the group fell into step behind him. The second they were beyond earshot, the teasing began in earnest. "So, Davo," Jane said, drawing out his name with theatrical flourish, "I'm guessing we'll have to plan a big party for your engagement? I'm envisioning conjured cake. Lots of it." Davo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Could we not?" "But it's precious," Emma teased, nudging his arm. "You're so rarely the center of attention, and now you're all flustered. It's new. I like it." Davo glowered at her in mock offense. "I'm not flustered—I'm annoyed." "You're definitely flustered," Calla added helpfully. "It's the color of your ears that gives it away. Matches some of the highlights in her hair, actually." "Oh, hush," Davo grumbled, but a begrudging smile tugged at his lips. Liora raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. "In this new world, a little admiration doesn't hurt. You're not that scrawny kid from the slums anymore. You've got a certain… presence."
They continued walking through the winding streets, which had faded from the hustle of the day into the gentler hum of late afternoon. The sun now hovered at a lower angle, throwing elongated shadows across cracked sidewalks and broken walls. Buildings that once loomed menacingly seemed less oppressive, as though the knowledge of conjuring had also lifted some intangible weight from the city's shoulders. Evidence of blossoming cooperation dotted their route: people standing in the rubble of old shops, bartering conjured items for salvaged goods. One man, wearing a patched vest, handed over a neatly folded conjured cloth to a ragged woman in exchange for a set of rusted but still-useful nails. Elsewhere, a pair of teenagers showed off newly conjured boots, sturdy enough to handle the debris-filled roads, and passersby looked on with open interest rather than suspicion.
As they walked, the group discussed the changes they'd observed. "I remember when these streets were so tense, it felt like a spark would set everyone off," Emma said quietly, glancing at a chipped statue that had once been a landmark. Now it served more as a perch for nesting birds. "Now it's like people can take a breath for the first time in a while." Liora nodded, her measured voice reflecting her role as a teacher. "Fear used to rule these blocks. But once people realize they can create what they need, that fear starts to fade. And with it goes the need to steal, to hoard, to guard every corner like it's a war zone." Calla kicked a small stone down the street, watching it bounce and clatter into a pile of rubble. "It's a start. Doesn't mean everything's perfect—some folks out there still cling to the old ways. But we're seeing progress." Davo listened, half-lost in his own thoughts. Every step brought him closer to the haven they had helped build, the place that had evolved from a ragged slum into a vibrant, self-sustaining community. The memory of Selis's touch still lingered on his arm, a reminder that not all changes were about conjuring or survival. Some shifts were quieter, more personal, and if he was honest, more unsettling.
As they passed a pair of youths practicing the basics of conjuration—one shaping a rough cylinder that glowed faintly at the edges—Davo paused. He offered a quick bit of advice, guiding them to concentrate on texture before shape, and saw their eyes light up with understanding. This was why he did it. The rush of seeing someone empowered by knowledge, freed from fear. It made the teasing from his friends and the awkwardness with Selis feel trivial in comparison. "Shall we keep going, or do you want to train the entire city right here?" Jane teased, hands on her hips. Davo shrugged, adjusting his bag. "Just give me a second. They were messing up the shape." Emma snorted. "One day, you'll learn to let them figure it out the hard way." Calla smirked. "And on that day, the universe will freeze over, because you're too nice for that." Liora's soft laugh gently underscored the scene. "Come on, mother hens, the sun's not waiting."
They continued onward, the scent of dust and crumbled concrete drifting on the evening breeze, joined by the occasional whiff of conjured cooking experiments from newly minted homes. The sky was a tapestry of oranges and purples now, and at the horizon's edge, the faint silhouettes of the slum's barricades were visible—a beacon of sorts for everyone who recognized its lights, conjured or otherwise. The roads grew a bit more familiar with each step, the battered walls and half-broken signs serving as makeshift landmarks. It felt odd to Davo—this sense of coming home to a place he used to loathe. But home it was, or at least the closest thing to it in this strange new existence.
As they approached the final stretch, they noticed how much the outskirts had changed. People no longer brandished weapons at the first sign of strangers. They greeted the group with waves or nods, some even stepping forward to show off newly learned conjuring skills. In one corner, two families chattered animatedly about forming a shared workshop, excited to produce items that could be traded to enclaves further out. A group of children ran between the shattered husks of old cars, practicing small illusions of light, their laughter echoing against the vacant facades of once-decrepit buildings.
Observing it all, Davo felt an unmistakable lightness in his chest. Sure, the city was still a shattered shell in many places; they might never restore it to its old form. But maybe they didn't have to. Maybe they would rebuild something better, piece by piece, using the power they'd discovered and the will they'd found to cooperate. The teasing from his friends about Selis's attention, his lingering confusion about the cosmic revelations he'd witnessed—those were small concerns in the face of this bigger shift.
He caught Emma's gaze, and she offered a brief, knowing smile, as if reading his mind. Liora, Jane, and Calla walked just a few steps ahead, bantering softly about the day's oddest conjuring mishaps. The slum gates—no longer so menacing—loomed nearer, golden light spilling from within, the hum of activity behind them a reassurance that life persevered.
For the first time in a long while, Davo felt something deep in his chest.
Hope.
Maybe this world wouldn't just be about survival after all.
--
Davo paused briefly at the threshold of Liora's home, the bag of books weighing more on his mind than on his shoulder. Outside, the late afternoon sunlight bathed the narrow street in a warm, golden haze. It caught on the newly fortified walls and conjured materials that had replaced the rickety old shacks, turning them from something shabby into something almost regal by comparison. A faint breeze carried the scent of roasting vegetables, dust, and a tang of mysterious conjured compounds that still lingered in the summer air. He reminded himself that he needed to get going—Emma would wonder where he was if he took too long. But for one more moment, he let himself absorb the scene around him.
He still found it surreal, how swiftly the world had pivoted. Not so long ago, the slum had been bleak: an endless repetition of ramshackle huts, reeking garbage, and weary, hollow-eyed people. Now it had blossomed into a strange new microcosm of creation and hope. The same place that had once echoed with hopeless resignation was alive with cheerful conversation, the bustle of makeshift markets, and the miraculous hum of conjured matter being shaped by eager hands. He passed a cluster of residents who were debating the best method of forging water. One was convinced you had to picture the water's source—a mountain stream, maybe—while another insisted it was more about feeling the dryness in your throat. Davo smiled faintly, remembering his own early struggles.
The bag in his hand felt like a treasure. Liora's expression, when she'd handed over the books, had brimmed with the seriousness of an archivist carefully entrusting ancient scrolls to a traveler. And these were precious indeed—pre-event texts on chemistry, atomic theory, basic physics. He hadn't had much schooling, but he was determined to glean as much as he could from these old tomes. There were so many questions swirling in his mind—questions about the nature of matter, about how the creative power latched onto the building blocks of existence. He thought about that baffling deep dive his consciousness had taken into subatomic realms, how it left him tingling with awe and a flicker of confusion. Maybe these volumes would ground that mystery in something he could name.
His thoughts meandered back to Liora's family. For a moment, while she disappeared to retrieve the books, he'd chatted with her parents—a stoic older man and a poised woman who bore traces of the same calm authority that made Liora an excellent teacher. They'd been gracious, though Davo could still sense a layer of guardedness in their posture, as though they believed fortunes could shift in a blink. But there was pride, too—pride in what they had rebuilt, in how the entire community had woven together scraps of the old world with the conjured boons of the new one. Their home, once a cramped shanty leaning precariously, now stood tall with smoothly formed walls and floors softened by bright, patterned rugs that could never have existed before. One corner of the room held a stack of conjured blankets, meticulously folded, each a testament to the skill and creativity the family had nurtured since the event.
Davo stepped away from the doorway, navigating the gently sloping path that connected Liora's home to the rest of the slum. If it could still be called that. The phrase lingered in his thoughts. The place had outgrown the name, becoming a hodgepodge of structures formed by bright imaginations rather than necessity. People strolled more confidently now—no longer skulking about with anxious glances. A group of kids ran laughing across a wide alley, their footsteps echoing on newly conjured paving stones that sparkled faintly in the sunlight. The children flicked small illusions of colored light at each other, shrieking in delight every time an illusion popped or burst into harmless fragments.
The scene felt so different from his memories. No longer did he see the sallow faces of half-starved neighbors, or hear the constant undercurrent of desperation that used to fill every alleyway. Survival had been the only goal once, but with the new powers, they had stepped onto a fresh rung of possibility. Davo wondered if it all could vanish as quickly as it appeared. The world had changed so abruptly; who was to say it couldn't shift again?
He slung the bag over his shoulder and threaded his way through the market square, the center of the new oasis. The stalls were livelier than ever: one sold conjured vegetables—larger and more vibrantly colored than anything Davo had seen pre-event. Another displayed lengths of shimmering cloth that sparkled with embedded threads of faint luminescence. The weaver, a stout woman with determined eyes, waved him over, but he shook his head apologetically. Another time, he mouthed. She gave him a nod, unoffended, and returned to her careful weaving. He could smell something like lavender radiating from the cloth—perhaps an added personal touch from her conjuring process.
"Hey there, teacher," a voice called to him, and he recognized a lanky teenage boy he'd helped a week ago. The kid had mastered producing small orbs of light to guide him through the dark corridors beyond the slum. Now, he waved a glowing sphere like a trophy, showing it off to a small audience. Davo grinned back in encouragement. It felt good to see the fruits of his efforts in others' confidence.
All around, the air was thick with the murmur of conversation and occasional exclamations of discovery—someone shaping a new utensil, someone else conjuring a small decorative trinket. The hush of fear that had once weighed on these streets was gone, replaced by the bustle of a young society finding its legs. He spotted Emma across the square, caught in earnest conversation with a gaunt man who clutched a rudimentary staff. She gestured animatedly, probably explaining some nuance of conjuring technique. Next to her, Jane and Calla huddled around a makeshift kiosk, discussing the feasibility of forging more advanced tools.
Davo's gaze flicked to the horizon, where the sky was warming into a late-afternoon orange. He remembered they had planned to meet back at the edge of the slum to head home. Well, home was a relative term—what had once been a slum was now a place that might actually deserve the name community.
Taking a deep breath, he turned onto a winding alleyway that sloped gently downhill, leading him away from the plaza. The buildings here were older, battered by time, yet many now bore patches of conjured material as people sought to replace broken beams or secure crumbling walls. In one newly refurbished courtyard, a group of older women were busy exchanging recipes for conjured breads, each loaf smelling more enticing than the last. Another corner was dedicated to children practicing illusions of small, harmless monsters, giggling at every roar that fizzled into a puff of colored smoke.
He stepped carefully around a pile of rubble that must have once been part of a store's facade. It served as a testament to the abruptness of the event that had upended everything. How quickly we adapt, he thought, recalling his own journey from a street urchin with no future to a teacher of conjuration. The very concept still startled him.
As he walked, a question gnawed at him: Would these books truly help him grasp what he'd seen—the swirl of quarks, the dance of atoms, the cosmic ocean of wavefields? He wasn't sure. But knowledge had to start somewhere, and with the internet gone, Liora's ancient tomes were the best shot he had. If it gave him even a fraction of insight into how the universe wove itself together, he might at least begin to articulate what he'd experienced. And, perhaps, harness that understanding to refine his creative power.
He was so lost in thought that he nearly walked into a young mother cradling a toddler in her arms. She blinked at him, startled. He apologized hastily, stepping aside. The toddler giggled and reached out a pudgy hand, conjuring a tiny spark that fizzled in the air. Even children that age were learning to shape reality now. The mother smiled, a fleeting grin that carried relief and pride, then continued on her way. Davo watched them for a second, marveling at how quickly the world had changed—some transformations for the better, some for the unpredictable. But definitely not for the worse, he decided.
The path dipped again, leading to a broad set of steps that had once been cracked and uneven. Now, each step had been neatly repaired with conjured material, giving the stone a polished, faintly reflective surface. At the bottom, he glimpsed Emma waiting, arms folded, scanning the street for him. She rolled her eyes when she saw him and tapped an invisible watch on her wrist. He grinned sheepishly. Guess I'm late.
Rejoining her, he caught a whiff of spiced meat cooking somewhere in the distance, the scent carrying over the hush of twilight that was creeping in. Jane and Calla strolled up a moment later, both looking distinctly amused.
"Get lost, Davo?" Jane asked, leaning in with a sardonic smirk. "Or were you busy wooing another devoted follower?"
He snorted, shifting the bag of books on his shoulder. "Just, uh, made a stop at Liora's place. Needed some reading material."
Calla arched an eyebrow. "Reading material, huh? Plan on becoming the next philosopher-king?"
Davo shook his head, though a grin tugged at his lips. "Maybe. Or I'll blow my mind trying to figure out how matter works. Fifty-fifty shot either way."
Emma, already turning on her heel to lead the way home, glanced back with a softer smile. "Glad you found something to help, big brother. But can we talk and walk? I'm starving, and I bet the old café stand is still serving that conjured stew."
A warm glow settled in Davo's chest. He nodded, falling into step beside them. Together, they navigated the changing streets, which glimmered with the faint luminescence of conjured lamps as dusk rolled in. The chatter of people unwinding after a day's lessons and experiments drifted on the cooling air, an undercurrent of possibility that felt as if it could sustain this new society long after the sun set.
Davo and Emma lingered at the edge of the bustling plaza, the sun just beginning its slow descent behind a mosaic of half-reconstructed rooftops. The warm glow of conjured lanterns cast flickering shapes on the worn cobblestones, tracing patterns that danced beneath the final rays of daylight. Around them, the evening air pulsed with the joyous hum of conversation and the soft chimes of conjured tools forming in eager hands—a cadence Davo had grown familiar with in recent days. The transformation of this place from a barren, fear-ridden district to a vibrant hub of creative energy still took him by surprise, but he found it strangely addictive, lingering to observe as long as he dared.
Emma nudged him gently, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Getting late, Davo. You planning to stand here all night, or do we actually get to head back sometime before dawn?"
He let out a soft chuckle, shoulders rolling in a shrug. "I could watch these people forever," he admitted, nodding toward a pair of teens attempting to conjure small illusions of dancing sprites. One sprite flickered into life, swirling and popping with a crack of ethereal static. The teens laughed, high-fiving each other in triumph. "Still amazes me, how quickly the area has changed."
Emma's smirk softened into something more thoughtful. "Yeah, me too. But I can practically hear that bag of yours calling your name. Didn't you say you had some reading to do?"
His eyes flicked to the sturdy satchel slung over his shoulder—heavy with the books Liora had lent him. Instantly, his mood became more serious. "I do. Let's go."
They bade quick goodbyes to Calla, Jane, and Liora, who remained in the plaza exchanging final lessons and bits of conjuring gossip with a small throng of eager learners. Then Davo and Emma slipped away from the bright lanterns and the chatter, heading down a narrow side street that wound through the heart of the district. As they walked, the lively clamor of the market receded behind them, replaced by the hushed murmur of distant voices and the scratch of their footsteps on ancient stone. Nightfall approached, painting the sky in streaks of deep orange and dusky violet.
By the time they reached the building they now called home, the last vestiges of sunlight had vanished, leaving only a faint afterglow on the horizon. Once upon a time, this place had been every bit as broken as the world around it. Wooden beams rotted through, cracks large enough to let in stray animals, and the lingering smell of decay. But now, thanks to the creative powers they'd honed, it was unrecognizable.
Thick walls of conjured material replaced the decaying planks. Smooth, seamless patches covered gaps that had once screamed "easy target" for scavengers. Even the paint on the exterior glimmered faintly—conjured pigments forming swirling patterns, an artistic flourish that Emma had insisted on.
Emma scanned the perimeter, her gaze sharp. "Nobody's been here. Everything's exactly how we left it."
Davo exhaled, relieved. "Guess the new locks are worth the effort."
He glanced around, still half-expecting an intruder lurking in the shadows—a habit from the old days, when desperation had driven people to break in anywhere they thought might hold food or valuables. But these days, with conjuring knowledge widespread, raiding was less of a concern. People could conjure their own supplies—food, water, even basic luxuries. It had diffused the tension that once suffocated every corner of the slum.
The entrance remained hidden behind a cleverly conjured panel that blended into the wall's design. Emma reached out, running her fingertips over the locking mechanism—an intricate weave of lines that responded to her unique conjuring signature. A faint shimmer glowed beneath her touch, and the hidden door swung open on silent hinges.
Inside, they were greeted by the stark contrast of warmth and color. The floors, once splintered and grimy, were covered in plush carpets they'd conjured piece by piece. The swirling patterns clashed in a way that was almost charming, testament to their still-evolving sense of style. Large pillows and smaller pieces of handmade furniture sat scattered around, forming casual seating areas. They had discovered that forming huge, single items was still beyond their conjuring capacity—so they'd learned to fuse smaller, simpler sections into finished products. It gave the place a patchwork feel, but at least it was comfortable.
Emma flung her bag onto a squat, cushioned bench—another conjured artifact. "I'm thinking stew," she announced, already heading for a side room. "We have enough leftover scraps and, well, conjured spices, I guess. You hungry?"
Davo, however, was momentarily distracted by the bag at his side. "I'll conjure something later," he replied, mind clearly elsewhere.
She noticed the distant look in his eyes and smirked knowingly. "Okay, Mr. Brainiac. I'll leave you to your cosmic insights." Then she disappeared into the room, presumably to get started on dinner or on some experiment of her own.
Alone in the main area, Davo stepped up to a small wooden table near the center—one of their earliest collaborative conjuring triumphs. He cleared off a couple of stray cushions and a shallow dish that once held water. The table wobbled slightly, reminding him that the synergy of their conjuring technique had been a work in progress, but it held steady enough for a reading surface.
He set down the satchel Liora had lent him, running a hand over its sturdy conjured fabric. With deliberate care, he loosened the strap and drew out the first book. The title practically leaped off the cover:
Layers of Infinity: From Planck Scale to the Edge of the Observable Universe.
Davo traced his fingers across the embossed letters, feeling a faint thrill at the prospect of what might lie within its pages. Turning it over, he skimmed the back cover, reading the description:
Layers of Infinity: From Planck Scale to the Edge of the Observable Universe
Journey through every scale of existence, from the subatomic mysteries of the Planck length to the vast, interconnected cosmic web.
In Layers of Infinity, readers are invited on an extraordinary voyage that spans the full spectrum of the universe's structure. Beginning at the quantum scale, where particles and forces blur into a dance of uncertainty, we ascend through atoms, molecules, cells, and entire ecosystems to explore the scale of human life within the grand hierarchy of existence. Moving outward, we traverse planets, stars, galaxies, and superclusters, unveiling how forces like gravity and dark matter weave our universe together across unimaginable distances.
This book offers more than just scientific insight—it provides a profound perspective on our place in the cosmos. Each "layer" reveals new interactions and structures, showing how everything, from the atomic to the astronomical, is connected within an ever-evolving cosmic tapestry. Layers of Infinity not only illuminates the universe's complexity but also raises fundamental questions about the nature of reality, the limits of human knowledge, and what lies beyond the observable universe.
For those curious about the hidden structures that shape existence itself, Layers of Infinity is both a guide and a revelation, blending science and wonder in an exploration of the universe at every scale.
Davo let out a slow breath, placing the book carefully on the table. He remembered his own disorienting dive into the subatomic realm: the swirl of particles, the glimpses of quarks, the sense of an underlying order that shaped every piece of matter. That vision was still fresh in his mind, an awe-inspiring and somewhat terrifying revelation about how little he truly knew.
He wasn't entirely sure how well he'd grasp the complexities laid out in this text. Many of the terms might fly straight over his head. Still, there was a certain excitement buzzing in his chest—like the sense of possibility he'd felt when first learning to conjure water. If these books could teach him even a fraction of what he needed to know, it might align his intuitive glimpse of the quantum fabric with a clearer scientific framework.
He flipped open the cover, careful not to crack the old spine any further. The initial pages contained a table of dense contents with chapter titles. The words were intimidating, but also strangely thrilling. After all, he had lived most of his life scrounging for food in a slum. Now he had a chance to unravel the secrets of atoms, molecules, and cosmic webs?
To him, that felt like the ultimate test of how much the world had really changed.
He ran a hand over the page, taking a moment to appreciate the crisp feel of paper—another relic of a bygone era. Without electricity, scanning documents or searching digital archives was impossible. Knowledge had become tangible once more, nestled between pages, waiting to be rediscovered.
Somewhere in the background, he could hear Emma rustling about, perhaps conjuring small ingredients for stew. A faint sizzle accompanied by the aroma of spiced meat drifted through the open doorway. Normally, the smell would tempt him, but tonight, he found his attention irresistibly drawn to the lines of text in front of him. He pictured the atomic bonds forming, the quantum swirl of energy beneath everything he touched. That memory of glimmering fields and improbable interactions still thrummed in his mind, fueling a hunger that food couldn't satisfy.
Yes, the world had turned upside down—once, he'd only wanted to fill his belly and survive the next day. Now, he longed to master something more profound.
And so he began to read.