Atrinaska’s Spellbook of Pyromancy is considered the premier spellbook of Tacurian fire magic, replacing the outdated Moctal Book of Fire, and The Millenium Phoenix Compendium, in almost every way.

  Unfortunately, due to the book’s widespread popularity, it is now considered more of a basic primer. When it was first written, though, it revolutionized the world of pyromancy. Whether it was written by Atrinaska or created by her daughter is widely debated, but a general consensus has led most historians to believe that it was a product of the Bond Crafter.

  —Excerpt from ‘The Rise of the Steam Inc.”

  ***

  Mom took the book delicately as if she were holding a baby or maybe a treasured family heirloom.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. It showed me how to build you the thing you need most, but doesn’t actually tell me what it is. It’s supposed to help you protect Dad and me from War Trolls.”

  I flushed suddenly. “I have no idea how a book might do that, but there you go. Oh! I need–!”

  I trailed off as I dove into my status, looking for the improved skill.

  From Atrinaska’s Writing skill, you have gained 18 free points!

  Eighteen points. That meant that mom’s skill in writing times ten percent was eighteen!? That… divided by point one… fuck, I missed calculators! Uhh, dividing by a decimal is the same as multiplying by the reciprocal, right?

  I delved into long-atrophied arithmetic lessons and dusted off mental cobwebs. Point one fits into one… ten times. Duh. I’m an idiot. I just multiply the free point gain by ten…? What the fuck?

  Mom’s writing skill was 180!? How? Fucking how!? This place didn’t even have any paper! A little extra business acumen I could understand. Hell, the woman took crops to the market in Denarla every year, but a skill of 180 in writing meant the woman had spent half her life with a pen in hand. That didn’t make any sense!

  “Mom? I’ve never asked about what you did before you married Dad, have I?” I asked, honestly a little afraid of what I’d find out.

  She perked up a little, though there was still an edge of worry to her words. “That talent of yours told you something about me, didn’t it?”

  I nodded. Mom had never really spoken about her own early life. We knew a lot of Dad’s family from neighboring villages, and my Grandma on his side lived here in town, though Grandpa had died years ago.

  We never met any of Mom’s family, though, and I suddenly felt guilty that I’d never asked why.

  “Well, what did it tell you?” she asked while I hesitated.

  “Your writing skill? Unless I’m a complete idiot, it’s higher than Hadra’s weaving! I… feel like I should’ve known that,” I said petulantly.

  “Oh, is that all? I was once a scribe to the Duke of Estermont, in fact,” she said with a wave. “That feels like a lifetime ago. The skill has atrophied now, too. It used to be even stronger.”

  “Wow, you… wow.” I said. “You gave that up to come here?”

  She grimaced. “Estermont was in the Rift, Mera.”

  Okay. There was a lot to unpack there. Mom wasn’t willing to be distracted, so she spoke again before I could ask for more information.

  “Your talent clearly has something to do with other people,” she said, paging through the book. “This is a spellbook, honey. A fire-manipulation spell book, not just a single spell like fireball or flamethrower. This… I think this is enough to make a full pyromancer.”

  My eyes widened. The very first thing I’d created was a pyromancer spellbook!?

  “Not that I’m not beyond excited to read it, but they’re dangerous,” she continued. “The magic schools guard their secrets jealously. Learning this isn’t exactly safe.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to use it secretly. I have about a million different uses for a pyromancer! I could make porcelain! Glass! You could help me make glass!” I exclaimed excitedly. “And protect Dad and me from trolls, I guess.”

  “I guess,” she agreed with a laugh. “So. Cards on the table. What can you do?”

  I was a little embarrassed for some reason. It shouldn’t be hard. While we’d never actually shared status screens, I’d learned to be uncomfortable with sharing something like this.

  “It’s called “Bond Crafter.” I can see what people need in a little bubble hovering around them. Or… well. I can see what they need something for, and I can see what I need to make it. I can sometimes guess what it is. Then, once I have the supplies, I can make it. Uhm… That happens.”

  “And how did that tell you my writing skill level?” she asked.

  “It’s the third effect. When I craft the thing someone needs, I gain ten percent of their highest skill as free points. Multiply my gain by ten, and that gives me the skill level… rounded. Somehow. Uhm. S-sorry about that. It just shocked me.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “That’s alright, Mera.”

  I expected her to say something more, but that pensive expression returned to her face as she fiddled with the book. She wasn’t actually reading it, but she kept flipping pages, her eyes not taking in the words.

  “Honey?” she asked finally. “What’s the rank?”

  Dammit. I tried to smile, but this wasn’t good news. I debated lying. Rare? No, she’d never believe that, not after what I’d just made. Elite. Elite was best. Believable. Elite talents were what all the best stories were filled with. Hadra’s talent was elite, and getting a talent just as powerful as my best friend's wouldn’t be too surprising, would it?

  Masterful would get the attention of the king. Never good for peasants like me.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ I thought traitorously. ‘Didn’t I want to be swept out of this small-town life?’

  The answer to that was easy. Yes, but in a noble’s gown, not with a sack over my head! If I were lucky. But I wasn’t. Masterful was already a risk, but mine was legendary. Fucking legendary. Any noble who found out probably wouldn’t try to capture me. They’d just kill me and spare the rest of the country the greed wars sure to follow.

  No one could know. That said, Mom’s hands were shaking. She could tell. She’d see right through me if I lied. She’d always been able to, and now was no different. Plus… I needed her help.

  “It… It’s Legendary, Mom.”

  She inhaled a sharp breath, hand covering her mouth.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No. No, don’t apologize. I know you’re incredible, dear. The whole village has always known. All those ideas in your head? To have it confirmed, though… Hah. The irony. I’ll never be able to tell Uraleka.”

  There were tears in her eyes. She put down the book and hugged me close. “I’m so proud of you, Mera. But we must keep it a secret. No one else can know. Not even your father.”

  She was right. I knew she was right.

  “How, though? I have to use it. I almost can’t not!” I said. “I’ve got so many ideas! The number of skills I can get? I could make so many things!”

  “I’d never discourage you from using your talent. That never works, anyway. Your talent is a part of you, like your arms or eyes. A touch of the divine.”

  I shivered. The divine?

  “We can downplay it, though,” she continued. “Hide how much you gain when you build something—seeing what people need? No, that’ll have to stay. It’ll be too coincidental. Heavens, there’s so much to that talent.”

  “So… so what did I get instead? What rank should I tell people?”

  “I’d say Rare should work. Do you think your pride will allow you to pretend to be a lower rank than Ilhadira?” she asked.

  “If I claim it’s only Rare, will people ask questions when it does… that?” I asked, pointing at the book.

  There were plenty of talents that created things, but I’d never seen one behave nearly as extravagantly as mine. The closest example I could think of was Dad’s. His talent was related to farming. He could use it to instantly harvest about 70 square feet of crops, depositing them in the nearest wagon. Then he received free points based on the quality of the crop. That wasn’t even close to all of our farmland, but it certainly cut back on the time harvesting took. Other farmers in the area had sometimes asked for his help.

  “Elite, then,” Mom said. “Just like Haddy. It’ll bring some scrutiny, but shouldn’t draw too much–!”

  “Do I have to hide it from her?” I asked.

  She grimaced before her eyes turned hard, lips set in a thin line. “You probably should’ve hidden it from me, Mera. I don’t intend to tell your father, either. For your safety, his, and this entire village. Elite. That’s what it is. Forget what your status screen says. Your talent is elite. Do you understand me?”

  “Y-yes, Mom,” I said immediately.

  She locked gazes with me for a moment as if ensuring she was understood. She needn’t have bothered. I saw the logic. It just rankled.

  “Now, let’s talk about something a bit less savory but more profitable,” she said.

  I quirked an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  “Your pepper paste, dear,” she said. “Had you forgotten?”

  I had forgotten. With how tired I was last night—I hadn’t even made it to midnight on my Talent nameday!—the deal with Lieutenant Berkenem had almost entirely slipped my mind.

  “Oh! That’s right! Sheep bladders! Mom, you’re a genius! I’m sorry, I forgot all about it last night!”

  “That’s alright. I could tell you were struggling to stay awake after your story. It was a good one, by the way. Cowboys,” she said.

  She wasn’t wrong. I’d barely been able to keep my eyes open. I only vaguely recalled walking back home with her and Dad, and there was a definite possibility that Dad had carried me for some of that.

  Embarrassing.

  “Do you think your talent will be able to help you with your inventions?” she asked curiously.

  I frowned. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it probably wouldn’t, at least not in the short term. My talent was fantastic for gaining skills in areas other people knew, but it wouldn’t help me much with alchemy unless I met an alchemist. I wasn’t even sure the term had been coined in this ancient world. Even then, I’d have to get to know them to craft their need in the first place.

  “Probably not, but I don’t think I was far away from getting the formula right. With your idea of sheep bladders, I only need to water down the paste until it's a liquid. That’s just a matter of oil, though I don’t know how much of that we’ll be able to get. Lard solidifies at room temperature. It has to be nut oil or maybe olive oil. Something acidic?”

  “Would fruit juice work?” she asked curiously.

  I wiggled a hand. “Maybe? It might dilute the formula, though. It has to be potent. Oh! This reminds me. What… What did you plan to do about Akkiwa?”

  Mom frowned. “It’s already done. A rotation of patrols in the woods out near her home. Her father is a prickly sort. He won’t appreciate it, but I’d rather wound his pride than see Akkiwa hurt or worse. That’s why your father is gone, though I don’t think he plans to spend too long out there this morning. They plan to keep it up until they encounter these boys.”

  “That’s a relief. Akkiwa won’t thank me either. She’s probably more prideful than her father. She’s just really shy,” I said, feeling guilty. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

  “Well, it sounds like we’d best get the girl this weapon of yours. We need to work on the name, though. How does Troll Spray strike you?”

  I laughed.