Chronicles of the Untalented

---

The damage wasn't catastrophic—but it was enough.

Silas sat crouched in the training hall, staring at the cracks spider-webbing across his effigy's right shoulder and chest. The flesh-like layer had torn open around the rune cluster he'd carved, blackened veins of scorched material bleeding down the surface like dried ink. The spell had worked, technically. But the price was now plain to see.

A novice wasn't meant to manipulate this much. And definitely not with mixed-path magic.

Velira stood a few paces behind, arms folded. "You're lucky it didn't explode."

Silas didn't answer right away. He just ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. "It was too unstable. The rune sequencing didn't hold once the second path flared."

"Or maybe," Velira added gently, "your insane theory about collapsing water and dark into a single waveform isn't something a normal person should be doing at novice level."

That got a smile out of him. Not warm. Just... a flicker of pride, despite the wreckage. "Normal people are boring."

"Dead people are also pretty boring."

They let the silence hang a moment. Silas finally stood up, brushing dust from his knees. "I need to remove the runes and repair the shoulder. It's going to cost."

"How much?"

"Too much."

---

The rune specialist worked out of a cellar a few blocks from the cathedral. It was a cramped, humid space that stank faintly of incense and burned oil. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with broken effigy fragments, ink pots, faded sigil scrolls. At the center sat a woman in thick spectacles, peering over a half-melted effigy arm.

"Removing inscribed runes is not cheap," she said, not looking up. "Especially dark path ones. They bite back."

Silas placed the damaged effigy on the workbench and leaned forward. "I only need it removed. I'll handle the re-inscription myself."

She finally glanced at him. Then the effigy. Then back to him.

"This won't be easy," she muttered. "You overcharged it. The dark path has already sunk too deep—ripping it out might destabilize the soul tether. I'll have to reinforce the whole limb."

"I can pay in contribution points."

She laughed, dry and flat. "You think you're the only student trying to barter with points? "

Silas clenched his jaw. "How much?"

She named a price.

He didn't react. Just thanked her, picked up his effigy, and walked out.

---

The farm center was near the southern edge of the city, where the artificial grow-fields stretched like veins across nutrient-treated stone. The air smelled of damp earth and faint compost. His mother wasn't in the building proper, but Silas found her in the storage shed behind the greenhouses—tall gloves on, arms buried in a bin of root feed.

She looked up at the sound of his steps, blinking sweat from her eyes. "You're not hurt again, are you?"

"No," he said quickly. "Just… need to ask a favor."

Her expression didn't change, but her shoulders seemed to tense slightly. She pulled her arms out of the bin, peeled off her gloves, and wiped her forehead. "Go ahead."

"I need don't a lot, just… enough to cover a repair."

She looked at the effigy. Then at him. "How much?"

He hesitated. Then told her.

There was a pause. Then she nodded. "I can give you half. That's all I can spare this week."

Silas nodded once. "Thank you."

"Is it important?" she asked. "This repair?"

He thought for a moment. Then, with unexpected honesty: "Yes. I made a mistake. I want to fix it."

That earned him a rare look from her—almost like approval. She walked past him toward the house. "I'll get the contribution points. "

---

Velira met him outside her library.

"Did you get it?"

"Half," he said. "I'll cover the rest with borrowed points."

She eyed him. "You sure you want to fix it with dark path materials again?"

He nodded.

Velira sighed. "You're playing a dangerous game, Silas."

"I know."

"But you're going to keep playing it, anyway?"

He smiled slightly, a flash of teeth. "That's the only kind of game I've ever been good at."

They walked together, the broken effigy slung over his back, the last rays of faint artificial light fading from the city's upper dome.