Joric stepped back, but Kaelen didn’t move. His gaze was fixed on the raw aether-crystal, not the pockmarked surface Joric saw, but the swirling core that pulsed with dull, contained power.
At first, Joric wondered if the boy was just avoiding work—he’d been staring a lot lately. He quickly dismissed the thought. Kaelen was too earnest for such deception.
Joric waited, hands on hips. Still, Kaelen remained perfectly still. “What are you seeing, son? Chipping crystal is about force, not thought. Just lift the pick, Kaelen. Strike hard.”
Contrary to Joric’s plain thoughts, Kaelen was experiencing a quiet revelation. He wasn’t looking at the grey rock. His awareness slipped beyond the physical, into the shimmering latticework of aether-patterns that formed the crystal’s internal structure. He saw the minute imperfections, the lines of stress, the subtle eddies where the flow of fundamental energy was weakest.
*Strike the same point—but coax the flow, twist the pattern ever so slightly.* The concept was ancient, yet in Kaelen’s mind, it transformed into something far greater. That understanding was evolving into something... potent.
“I think this will work, Da. Here.” Kaelen pointed with the tip of his pick to a seemingly unremarkable spot on the crystal’s face, a point Joric would never have chosen.
“Should I try to break it in one strike?”
Joric guffawed. “Hahaha! You haven’t even scratched the surface of this seam—you think it’ll just snap?”
“If I’m precise, maybe.”
Of course, a seasoned harvester could exploit a crystal’s fault line to fracture it with fewer strikes. But even Joric, with decades in the mines, struggled with such precision. A child like Kaelen had no hope.
“Alright! Let’s trust my son’s… luck!” Joric humored him. Whether Kaelen succeeded or not didn’t matter; his fierce concentration was commendable. It was better than him just standing there, anyway.
“If I break it, grant me one wish.”
Joric’s gut clenched. Was he about to ask to learn letters, like the scribes? Or to attend the low-tier schools in the outer districts, like the wealthy merchant children? What if he begged to be sent away entirely, to find his own path? Joric’s heart tightened with a familiar ache of dread and protectiveness.
“When you go to Veridian City to sell goods this cycle… take me with you.”
Joric nearly sagged with relief but masked it with a booming laugh. “That’s all? Gladly! I’d grant that anytime, son!”
Kaelen hefted his chipping-pick, a small, hopeful smile gracing his lips. But his expression stilled moments later. Joric watched, a shiver tracing his spine.
Kaelen’s gaze fixed on the crystal as if seeing something invisible, something beyond Joric’s comprehension. His fingers, usually so slight, gripped the pick’s handle with a quiet intensity.
The pick struck the designated spot. Not with brute force, but with an unnerving, almost gentle precision. There was no loud crack, no shattering impact. Instead, a low hum resonated from deep within the crystal, a sound that only Kaelen seemed to truly hear. He didn’t physically twist the pick. Instead, a ripple passed through the air around it, a subtle manipulation of the very currents of aether that bound the crystal together.
A groan ripped through the stone, a deeper resonance than any pick could conjure. Joric’s eyes widened. The crystal, easily weighing twice Kaelen’s own mass, split with a clean, sharp fracture along a line that ran perfectly through its heart. It collapsed under its own newfound lack of integrity.
Joric stared. He couldn’t believe it. Kaelen had just performed a Perfect Rupture—a legendary feat among crystal harvesters. A strike so precise it leveraged the crystal’s internal aetheric stress points to shatter it from within. Joric had only managed it once in his life, and that was pure, dumb luck. It relied on a precise sensing of aetheric flow, internal pressure, and structural alignment—a near-impossible feat. Most harvesters only stumbled into it accidentally; few could replicate it deliberately.
*Not that anyone needs to. Trying too hard just drains your will.* But in the world of aether-weavers, where the method of manipulation mattered, this phenomenon was studied. A technique even novice Conduits dared not attempt.
Kaelen’s joy stemmed less from the feat itself and more from the promise of visiting the city. “Da! You’ll keep your word, right?” As the boy practically bounced with excitement, Joric’s mind churned. He no longer knew if Kaelen was meant to be a simple crystal harvester—or if forcing that path would doom him.
---
The harvesting cart passed through Veridian City’s lower district gates. Joric gripped the reins, leading the worn beast, while Kaelen—perched atop the cargo of raw crystals—gazed around with sparkling eyes. The sheer number of people in the packed streets, the roar of aether-engines from flying skiffs overhead, set his heart racing.
*There’s plenty of time.* The cart was laden with goods from the outer settlements: raw crystals for the Refineries, synth-fibers for the Fabricators, and rare ores for the Foundries. The rounds would take at least four hours, including haggling with the brokers and dealers.
At the first drop-off, a bustling Refiner’s Guild outlet, Joric heaved a sack of smaller crystals onto the scale and turned to Kaelen. “Be back before the sun-discs start to dim, Kaelen.”
“Don’t worry, Da. I memorized the way.” Kaelen pointed vaguely in the direction of the Central Nexus tower, its gleaming spire catching the filtered light.
“Stay on the main thoroughfares. No side-alleys. If anyone asks why you’re alone, point to the nearest shop and say you’re waiting for me.” Joric’s chest ached at leaving his son, but their survival hinged on the deals ahead. He trusted Kaelen’s intellect, but the city was a labyrinth of dangers, especially for commoners.
Kaelen’s first stop outside the noisy Refiner’s district was the grandest structure he’d ever seen: the Veridian Central Data-Vault. The boy’s pulse quickened as he stared up at the colossal, ornate building, its polished crystalline facade reflecting the sky.
*Did this place hold all the world’s wisdom?* Curiosity urged him inside, but entry was strictly forbidden to non-Conduits, or those without explicit permits. A pair of elegantly dressed youths, likely aspiring Conduits, exited, their arms stacked with dataplates and scroll-containers. Kaelen hastily sidestepped, shrinking against a pillar.
They were just people. Every society had its cruelties, and surely some Conduits were kind. Yet Joric had warned him like a grim legend: Conduits wielded the wealth and power to shatter commoners’ lives on a whim, with their advanced aether-weaving and the full might of the city-state behind them.
*That might be true. But…*
Kaelen watched the youths’ retreating backs. Driven by a stubborn longing, he trailed them toward the elite district, the forbidden sector that glowed with a soft, clean light. What lives did they lead?
But his wonder crumpled under the district’s sheer opulence. Hover-carriages hummed silently along pristine streets. Gardens pulsed with bio-luminescent flora. Buildings of polished synth-stone and aether-glass reached impossibly high.
*People built this… to live in?*
The crown jewel was a complex so vast it dwarfed any of the great Refineries he’d seen. Kaelen halted, reading the archaic script carved into its archway, its letters glowing with faint aetheric light:
**VERIDIAN AETHERIUM ACADEMY**
It was the one word, *Aetherium*, whose deeper meaning eluded him, though he knew it was where the ruling Conduits learned their forbidden arts. Countless dataplates and scrolls mentioned it, yet none explained its principles—as if commoners were unworthy of understanding.
“Hey! What are you doing here, boy?” Guards in polished grey uniforms barked at him from a reinforced gate. His worn tunic and dust-stained trousers stood out like a blight.
“Scram! This isn’t a place for your kind.”
Kaelen fled—but after running endlessly along the academy’s towering perimeter wall, he stopped, breathless. *How big is this place?!*
Then an elderly voice carried from beyond the wall, a clear, resonant tone: “Now, today’s topic: What is Aether-weaving?”
“Aww, no, Headmaster! Show us weaving! Just one more spell!”
“Aether-bolt! Make a real aether-bolt, Headmaster Aerion!”
Peering up, Kaelen spotted an ancient, massive Veridian Oak, its branches overhanging the wall. Headmaster Aerion seemed to teach beneath its shade. The children sounded young—unsurprising, given noble heirs’ early education in aetheric manipulation.
“Hohoho, manifesting aether-bolts at school would earn you scoldings, young ones. But if you answer my riddle, I’ll show you something fun.”
“Yay! What’s the riddle?” The children’s voices chimed with eagerness.
Kaelen’s curiosity hooked him. He pressed closer to the wall, trying to make out every word. “What talent is most crucial to learning Aether-weaving?”
The question was subjective, but these were gifted children, born into power. Soon, answers trickled in:
“Effort! Aether-weaving takes lifetimes to master the patterns!”
“Knowledge! I’ve read over a hundred aether-codices already!”
Others cited focus, memory, precision—all reasonable, yet the headmaster remained silent. Kaelen imagined him smiling, a slight nod of his head.
“Wealth! Aether-weaving needs so many expensive components!”
Laughter erupted, the headmaster’s deep chuckles mingling in. Kaelen now burned to know: *Not effort, knowledge, or wealth? Then what?*
Finally, Headmaster Aerion spoke. “The most vital talent is insight.” The headmaster groaned playfully before explaining: “Insight is more precise than knowledge, swifter than effort. For example: What’s one plus one?”
The children chorused, baffled by the simplicity. “Two!”
“Indeed. Now, why is one plus one two?”
They faltered. None knew how to explain the obvious. Kaelen, too, found his mind blank. It was simply *true*.
“That frustration is insight,” the Headmaster continued. “Long ago, people didn’t know one plus one equaled two. It took ages of study, of observation, of mathematical proofs to establish. Yet you know it instinctively, without proof. That’s insight—the fastest way to grasp fundamental truths.”
Kaelen was enthralled. The words resonated with a deep, unsettling familiarity. He had seen the aether-patterns in the crystal, understood their flaws without knowing *why*.
“Aether-weaving is like that,” the Headmaster’s voice carried over the wall. “The fundamental patterns of reality existed before we understood them. Some uncover them through toil, through countless hours of study. Others simply *see* them naturally. Insight is the key.”
“So… we don’t need to study?” a young voice piped up hopefully.
“Hohoho! Put that way… yes, that’s true.” Sometimes, harsh truths were packaged as common sense to soften the blow. Kaelen sensed the Headmaster’s veiled meaning. The Academy, after all, existed for a reason.
“Then why go to school?” another child asked.
“Insight is rare. Scholars spent centuries proving why one plus one is two. Yet some know it without proof. We call them geniuses. They have a connection to the raw patterns of reality. They are the true Aether-weavers.” He paused. “Your mother might call you a genius, and she’s not wrong. Everyone is born with talent. Cultivate it, and anyone *can* become a genius.”
Kaelen’s heart swelled. *Anyone can be a genius.* His fingers traced the rough stone of the academy wall. Could he, a simple crystal harvester’s son, ever scale this towering barrier of knowledge and power? Could he learn to truly understand the patterns he instinctively saw? The question hung in the city air, a challenge and a promise.