Ezric
Night fell slowly, cloaking Rispa in a thin fog and biting cold wind.
Lana was already asleep. She lay on her side, still wearing her dark cloak, with one of her fake fox ears halfway off. Her breathing was steady. A little snore escaped her lips.
I sat on the inn's windowsill, staring at the duplicate Cleanshard on my lap. The long metal tube was dim. Its orbit patterns were stagnant—hanging lifelessly like planets stripped of their gravity center.
"You're supposed to work," I whispered. "The material's right. The theory's solid. So… why? Does it really need that much magic?"
I ran my hand along one side of the tube. Still warm. Still holding magic residue, but… no pulse. No response.
Am I really just a reckless kid with big dreams too early for his time?
If this works, no one would ever go hungry again.
No one would have to steal just to survive.
A breeze brushed through the night air. But there was something else.
I froze.
