Chapter 27: A Little More Time

Chapter 27: A Little More Time

The next morning, Silas put a cup of water inside the wooden box, folded the lid back, and made a ward around the open box.

He had spent two short sessions after work reproducing the same enclosure and the same weak corner. This time he wanted something inside that would show him how much disturbance got through. The cup wasn’t precious, and he had a cloth ready.

The first light strike did nothing. On the second, the wooden ball slipped through the ward above the box’s upper edge and dropped inside.

Water splashed over the cup’s rim.

Silas caught the ball, set it aside, and fetched the cloth.

He’d been making each face strong enough to work on its own, then trying to join them neatly afterward. That gave him six good surfaces and several places where they met badly. Putting more mana into a troublesome corner had helped until he tested the face beside it.

He dried the wood and traced the edge with a finger.

You keep fixing the bit you last hit.

The thought annoyed him because it was obvious now. He’d done it with the top, then the bottom, and apparently intended to work his way through every corner before admitting the method had a problem.

He redrew the practice marks and made the enclosure smaller. Instead of finishing one face before continuing to the next, he kept the flow connected across the turn, shaping both together.

The adjoining side bowed inward.

Silas let the ward go before testing it. He could see that much was wrong without throwing anything.

By lunch, he had a corner that held against a gentle strike from either side. It took more attention than he could give all the corners at once, and he’d forgotten the water twice while watching the boundary. A damp patch spread beneath the box.

He checked the time, put the cup in the sink, and wiped the floor.

He could leave it there for an afternoon.

The smell of fried onions caught him halfway past a market stall.

A woman was lifting small folded pies out of a shallow pan. She set them on a rack to drain, then moved the older batch into paper sleeves. There were three fillings written on a board beside her elbow. Silas read them and looked at the row of customers.

Nobody seemed to be inspecting his face. The boy ahead of him was trying to count change while holding two drinks against his chest.

When his turn came, Silas pointed at the board.

"Potato and onion."

"Pepper?" the woman asked.

"A little."

She shook some into the open edge of the pie and handed it over. Silas paid the few copper coins from his change and stepped aside for the next customer.

The paper was hot against his fingers. He found a low wall in the shade and sat, lowering himself more carefully than the students lounging at the other end. The walk had left him tired. He took a moment before biting into the pie.

It burned the roof of his mouth.

"Fuck."

He pulled it away and sat with his mouth slightly open, hoping nobody had noticed. The vendor was already serving someone else.

Once it cooled, it was very good. The edges cracked when he bit them, and the filling was soft with enough onion to make the potato worth eating. He brushed a flake of pastry off his sleeve and moved the paper beneath his chin before trying again.

The market carried on in front of him. A porter wheeled a cart through the crowd, warning people about their feet. Two students argued over whether a secondhand coat had been deliberately faded or badly washed. Somewhere behind the stalls, a bell kept ringing in short, irregular bursts until somebody shouted for it to stop.

Silas ate slowly. There was no reason to finish before the filling cooled, and no one waiting for him to resume a hold or move a fitting.

He watched the boy with the drinks return for a third pie. This time the boy had his coins ready.

The woman served him, then caught Silas looking toward the pan.

"Another?" she called.

He considered it seriously.

"I’m still eating this one."

"They’ll be here." She turned to the next customer.

Silas settled back against the wall. She hadn’t called him Rooke or young master. He was a customer who hadn’t finished his lunch. If he came back tomorrow, she might remember how much pepper he wanted.

He liked the thought enough to stay for a while after the pie was gone.

Eventually his legs had rested and the shade had moved off his boots. He folded the greasy paper, put it in the stall’s waste basket, and started back toward the academy at an easy pace.

When Silas returned to the box that evening, he could see where his morning attempt had gone crooked. He had drawn the marks too close to the edge on one side and compensated for it every time he shaped the boundary.

Moving them helped. Learning to keep the adjoining surfaces steady together took longer.

Over the next two days, he practiced in short sessions, leaving time to eat, attend class, and sleep. The number rose as he found mistakes he could actually correct. On the second evening, it stood at ninety-seven percent, and the cup had stayed dry through every test except one.

The bottom rear corner still gave when pressure came from underneath.

Silas lifted the box with Remote Grasp and propped it on two thick books. He sat on the rug where he could see beneath it. A second wooden ball waited beside his knee.

He brought the first ball against the weak corner, slowly enough to feel where the resistance thinned. While he held that pressure, he nudged the second ball against the adjoining side.

The side buckled almost at once.

He lowered both balls and checked the connection between the two surfaces. He’d tightened the lower face as he tested it, pulling its neighbor out of shape. The corner needed them to hold together through the change.

Silas tried again with less force. He kept the pressure moving around the turn, then brought the second ball in. Both surfaces stayed in place.

He repeated the test from above, then from the opposite side. The balls struck more firmly this time, rebounding onto the rug. Inside, the water remained still.

[ASSIMILATION COMPLETE]

[Talent permanently acquired: Boundary Ward — B / Rare.]

[External use unlocked.]

[Temporary Talent Slot released.]

Silas read the message without moving from the floor.

"Finally."

He released the ward and laughed a little, mostly from relief. Then he reached over to touch the rim of the cup. Dry. He tilted it and drank some of the water before remembering how many times he’d put his fingers in it that evening.

Lovely. Excellent way to celebrate.

He finished the cup anyway. Then he took the box off the books and began again with fresh marks on a different part of the floor.

The enclosure formed. It held through the same controlled strikes.

Silas sat back, smiling now. He still had to learn what it could withstand and how quickly he could set it up when he needed it. For tonight, he could put the chalk away without worrying that the Talent would disappear while he slept.

He washed the cup properly before making himself tea.