Vaskor disappeared into a curtained back room, the faded fabric shifting just enough to reveal a tangled wall of hanging tools and half-labeled bins behind it.
He returned a few moments later with a heavy wooden tray, worn smooth at the corners, and set it down on the front counter with a faint thud.
"Start with these," he said, gesturing to the rows of small glass spheres and metallic rings inset with shallow channels. "They're for control, not power. Flow only. No shaping. No force."
Elias stepped closer.
Each object was carved or cast with tiny, maze-like grooves spiraling through them—some graceful and smooth, others harsh and angular. The more complex ones had sudden turns or steep dips. A few of the spheres looked chipped or cracked.
"If the water doesn't follow the groove exactly," Vaskor said, "it'll slip, build pressure, and blow out. Shatter the ring. Break the marble. Probably soak your hand."
"Anything worse than soaked?" Elias asked.
Rauel leaned in. "Your pride. Or the shop. I shattered two and Vaskor made me sweep the whole floor like I broke the building."
Vaskor grunted. "You also broke the broom."
Kaelen laughed. Elias smirked.
Elias looked down at the marble with determination.
Then he broke it.
The sphere cracked down the center with a sharp pop, water spraying in a weak burst across the tray and his hand.
Rauel winced. "Well, that one died doing what it loved."
Kaelen bit back a laugh. Even Vaskor raised an eyebrow, like he wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or impressed.
Elias set the broken piece aside and picked up another, this one with a broader groove and a single, slow loop.
He took a breath. Focused.
The trick wasn't force. It was… listening. Not with ears, but with feel. With restraint. Letting the water move as much as he guided it. Slower this time. More careful.
A faint shimmer passed through the marble—clean and unbroken.
Vaskor gave a small grunt. "Better."
Kaelen leaned forward, hands braced on the counter. "Can I try one?"
Vaskor looked her over. "You know your element?"
She hesitated. "No. Never got tested."
He disappeared behind the curtain again. "Hold off on the marbles, then."
A moment later, he returned with a small, boxy object—glass in front, silver backing, about the size of a hand mirror. Inside, what looked like dust or powdered stone settled at the bottom like sand in an hourglass.
"Put your hand here," he said, pointing to a metal plate on the bottom edge. "Focus outward. Like you're pressing something invisible into the lens."
Kaelen glanced at Elias. Then did as instructed.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the dust inside twitched—once, then again—before snapping upward in a sudden column. The particles twisted together, darkening, clumping, forming a dense black spine through the center of the lens.
Vaskor didn't say anything right away.
Elias leaned in slightly. "Is that…?"
"Carbon," Vaskor said. "Deep affinity."
Kaelen blinked. "Is that bad?"
"No," he said, blunt and steady. "But it's not easy."
She waited.
"You don't see many carbon manipulators past childhood. Not because they're weak—because it's complicated. Dangerous, even. Most never learn to control it. The ones who do… usually don't stay in towns like this."
Kaelen said nothing at first.
Her gaze lingered on the lens, on the dark spine still etched through the glass. Carbon. The word felt heavy now, like a title no one had warned her came with rules.
She didn't frown. Didn't flinch.
But her hands curled slowly at her sides.
"If that's what I've got," she said, "then I guess I'll have to figure it out."
Vaskor gave her a look—not pity, not admiration. Just a nod. Like someone marking down that she hadn't run.
Elias stepped forward, setting the marble he'd managed to guide back onto the tray. "I'll take a set. Rings, marbles—whatever you think will hold up."
Vaskor raised an eyebrow. "Starting simple?"
"No." Elias looked him in the eye. "Starting small."
Rauel let out a low whistle. "Careful. That sounded like ambition. You might get charged extra."
Elias glanced his way. "You're the one paying."
"Remind me to start charging interest," Rauel muttered.
Vaskor turned to gather the kit.
Vaskor packed Elias's chosen marbles and rings into a narrow cloth roll, securing it with two buckles and a thick string loop. No frills, just utility. A tag stitched to the corner marked it as a training set—new and unproven.
Rauel flipped him a few copper tokens, then added a silver with a theatrical flourish.
"Paying like a man with a tab I've forgotten," Vaskor said.
"Exactly as planned," Rauel replied.
Kaelen gave the shop one last look before they stepped out—pausing, briefly, at the lens still sitting on the counter. She didn't ask to keep it. Just nodded once, then turned to follow.
The walk back was quieter than the one that brought them there.
No one said much.
Not because there wasn't anything to say—but because for the first time, they were carrying more than just conversation.
The noise inside Unruly Waters hadn't dipped since they left it. If anything, the crowd had grown thicker, spilling into the corners like a tide that didn't care who it soaked.
Rauel waved toward a booth already occupied by a pair of his drinking regulars. "I'll catch up. You two go do whatever it is people with responsibility do."
"You two go do something useful," he called over his shoulder. "Like relax. Or lie to yourselves about getting up early tomorrow."
Kaelen gave him a sidelong glance. "We'll try."
At the top of the stairs, she paused outside her door.
"I think I'm going to stay in for a bit," she said, brushing a hand down her sleeve. "Clear my head."
Elias nodded. "Probably a good idea."
Then she disappeared inside.
Elias stepped into his own room.
He didn't bother lighting the lantern. Afternoon sun filtered through the shutter slats just fine, casting long lines across the floor. He set the cloth roll from the shop on the table and sat down.
It had been a long day—but not in the way his old life measured time.
This was different.
He reached for one of the simpler training marbles and focused, letting the water slide through the groove. The pattern wasn't difficult, just enough to need attention. He let it move, let it—
A sound.
Soft. Not loud enough to startle. Just… out of place.
He turned.
She was already standing.
Blonde hair loose, dirt on her sleeves, boots quiet against the floorboards.
Elias didn't move.
Her eyes locked on his.
And there it was—on her forehead, impossible to miss now in the light:
The Mark of the Falselight.