Hunter was looking upwards, far past the Seckina city horizon, and dreamt of a life beyond. The late-summer sun hid behind a rare veil of clouds. A few ships graced the sky, yet from this distance they appeared like small flies against the great grey, white, and blue backdrop.He liked to envision himself as an explorer, crewing a ship bound for newfound worlds beyond Sanctuary. Exploring new lands, meeting new people, discovering and innovating with exciting new technologies. He longed to leave the pull of this place, which seemed to keep his feet stubbornly planted on the solid ground.Freedom. That was the ideal. To go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, to do whatever he wanted. So far, he hadn't found a more appropriate symbol for that than in the tales from the crews that are sent out to explore the places beyond this world.Those stories had captivated him when he was younger. A world beyond their own? With their own skies, and their own soils? What would it be like to see his home from so high up?He'd thought about it for years.There were only a few ships up there that he could see right now, but he knew that there were probably hundreds more, out beyond Sanctuary's sky, split between all the various Council Seats. Hunter imagined that at that very moment, as he stood there, they would ferry people and cargo across the vast inter-realm space. Hunter liked to imagine he could feel those distant ships' etheric circuitry singing to him from all the way down here. If he'd trusted anyone at all with the truth about his sensitivity to the strange substance, he'd tell them he could just make out the slightest sensations whenever one passed overhead.He'd never been close enough to one of them to know exactly what he was feeling, though. Hunter saw the specific distortions—created as charge met glyph and was channeled elsewhere in what he imagined were the most complex glyph networks in existence—only as a haze, like the way the voices of a crowd of people merge into one sound.Being able to feel into the specifics of a construct took time in front of its exposed inner workings. He could read them like children's books. In the blink of an eye, he could tell you what most mainstream etheric constructs did, accompanied by all the ways he'd design it differently.What he knew, which other ether artisans didn't seem to, was that ether had desires. Maybe 'desires' wasn't the right word, but it felt more accurate to call them desires than it was to call them elemental charges, although he used the terms interchangeably. If ether was charged by Glyph A, its desire differed from what it would have been if it were charged by Glyph B.He called these desires, and their fulfilment, synergies. And so far, he'd never been able to satisfy that deep desire that the ether seemed to crave. If anything, the desire seemed to grow stronger.Stronger than Hunter could handle.Hunter believed the deepest secrets of etherium were at his fingertips. If only his AR were higher. It hadn't risen in the last 12 years. Most people his age would have reached an average affinity rating of 13 or 14. Aera Oberon, the daughter of the Oberon monarch, was a prodigy. She might have been about a year or two older than himself, but her AR was already reaching the 30s.The things he could do with 30 AR…It was not destined to be. His AR was stuck at 4, rivalling only the most gifted of toddlers.It kept him weak. No one understood the mechanism; he found only sparse literature on the subject, aside from pseudoscientific garbage correlating etherium and 'life force'. He was yet to find any useful insight that might help him bridge the gap between him and his goals."Where there is a will, there is a way," he muttered to himself. It was a cliche, but it was something his father always repeated in those few brief moments they would share. Cliche phrases were Gideon Koar's favourite form of advice, but the sheer conviction he'd speak with — gripping his necklace, a light of passion in his eyes, was enough to spark Hunter's own passion whenever he was feeling demotivated. He had cliché wisdom hammered into him as a kid.Hunter never figured out why his father was so fond of that necklace, which had a strange design he had seen nowhere before — save for one family trip to a museum in the Oberon Capital. Gideon would always laugh it off, telling him it's 'a history thing.' He imagined it was a letter or phrase from an old language. His father had loved to research the Asutnahem whenever he wasn't in the lab. Maybe it meant 'positivity,' or maybe 'perseverance.'Obstacles are a mindset. You're only as limited as you believe you are. Limitations are for quitters.Naturally, four-year-old Hunter soaked it all up like a sponge. That was before he knew he would never be stronger than a 5-year-old. Before he knew it, his dream of becoming a powerful ether artisan had died.But his father wouldn't let him quit. And besides, Hunter couldn't quit. It was like ether had a hook on him and was pulling him towards learning more, experiencing more, feeling more.He challenged his handicap. Just a few years before his birth, someone invented ether batteries, and he'd say they arrived right on time. Yet even with the batteries, he had his limitations. It took time to use batteries, to hook them and unhook them, to gauge their output, to ration their charge, and it especially took time and resources to charge them.So Hunter needed to work. He needed batteries to earn more batteries. His grace period of free-living ended 2 years ago. Since then, he'd needed to work harder to keep the roof over his head, pay his bills, and put food on the table.The problem was, all the jobs he would rely on around town were drying up. He believed the street rats outside his door were the reason he was halfway across the city, avoiding his problem.Only 2 days remained before his 3-day deadline closed. Soon he'd need to give them his decision.Hunter would either join peacefully and work for the 32nd Street Comics exclusively, or he'd have to suffer the consequences. They'd never told him what the consequences of refusing were, but the uncertainty was just as bad as anything that Hunter came up with to fill in the blank.The thought of being beaten, forced into servitude, or even murdered to prevent him from opposing the gang filled Hunter with dread.That others would always seek to exploit him weighed heavily on Hunter's mind. Not that he had to worry too much about the council. The man who brought him to this city had promised him that so long as he didn't reveal his real name, no one here would connect him to his father.This place offered a haven; a sanctuary from the council's reach. But he wasn't safe from other interested parties, which his mysterious benefactor hadn't seemed to take into consideration when he dropped him here, alone.Sometimes he wondered if they had been a member of the Council, who had taken pity on him. But knowing the Council, it went deeper. The corps were untrustworthy—meaning corporate employees were untrustworthy. This implied that his benefactor, if council-connected, was likely untrustworthy.And the corps were everywhere.So who could he trust?He sighed and decided that he'd had enough hiding for the day. He was hungry, and he'd need to get home soon, anyway. There was work to be done, and he'd need to tell the rats that he hadn't decided yet.He stopped by Mrs. Margaret's on the way. Once in a while, she'd ask him to help by maintaining her store's constructs. She was getting older, and she had been willing to give him a chance when he needed one, back when he was just starting out. She was one of the few people he could count on when he needed some quick cash.Mrs. Margaret's toy store was one of the smaller stores on the block, flanked by a cafe and an electronics retailer. He'd tried to sell his services to the electronics shop as well, but they'd laughed him out. He'd briefly considered messing with some of their external etheric connections. It would be an expensive fix, and it wouldn't have done any lasting damage. But it would have been quite difficult to pull off on his own. The cafe already had an artisan on call. He'd tried to tell them he could do a better job, but they'd declined him.The shop seemed empty. The door chime rang as Hunter entered, and Mrs. Margaret looked up from behind her desk. Frizzled white hair and large glasses framed a small, wrinkled face. Her eyes seemed exaggerated in her small face. The glasses made them seem much bigger than they were. She smiled at him."Oh! Jonathan, just the young man I was hoping to see. The forklift in the back is acting up again, and I was wondering if you could tinker with it the same way you did with my cash register," she said as she hobbled around the desk and started leading him towards the storage area in the back of the store.Hunter smiled."Sure, let's look at it," he said. Forklifts didn't use ether except for a few cases. He'd heard that they were popping up more often as newer designs were becoming more popular than the old Force and Reinforce glyphs. The new designs reduced the AR of those devices by about a third, which was incredible as far as most modern innovations went.He doubted she had invested in one of those, unless the store had found an additional source of profit that he wasn't aware of. Her recent contract's premature dissolution makes that unlikely.Hunter lacked a deep expertise with electronics, but many people asked him for help, assuming a close relationship between ether and electricity. So, although he couldn't build an electric generator from scratch, he could make some basic repairs when needed.To his surprise, the forklift in the store's small storage area was indeed a newer model. He whistled as he took it in, focusing on the small constructs attached to the small vehicle."Quite the investment," Hunter said as he bent down. He'd need a battery in order to troubleshoot where the issue was. If he remembered correctly, he left one around there the last time he'd been over to repair something."We just got a new contract with Smith Transports. They're releasing some new products and decided that our shop was the perfect fit to represent their brand in the Oberon domain. Given the trade restrictions that Oberon has been imposing on other corps, it's a great honour to represent another Council Seat, given the limited amount of dealers they're allowed to work with."He glimpsed the logo on the forklift. Indeed, it belonged to Smith Transports as well."And they threw in a complimentary forklift to seal the deal?"Mrs. Margaret nodded."They were kind enough to send us one of their newest models at a heavy discount, which they took off the initial payout for the contract," she said, patting the forklift with admiration, "it's been a while since we got a real upgrade around here. I figured you'd want to get your hands on it, too."Hunter chuckled. Mrs. Margaret had been one of his clients for years. She knew him pretty well by now.That battery was near where he'd left it the last time. In a slot near where the drawstone would be placed, Hunter reconnected the battery to the forklift. He activated the construct, just long enough to feel the flow of etherium. The issue was apparent within seconds.He deactivated the construct and removed the battery, carefully placing it to the side. The problem was a poorly attached network connector, meant to channel etherium between disparate parts of the machine. Hunter was unimpressed by the product — as well as the artisans who'd designed it and Smith Transports who'd deemed it fit to release to the public.He detached and reattached the component, adding a few more channels to help with a more efficient flow of etherium.It worked just fine after that."You ought to set up a business around here, Jonathan. You're such a smart young man. I'm sure a lot of the folks in town would love to do business with you. Who knows? You might land an Oberon contract!" She said, beaming up at him.He stifled his reaction — keeping the scorn from reaching his face. She was far too forgiving, in his opinion. The corps had threatened her livelihood, and she still seemed to hold them in high esteem — despite the lack of honour they've shown her."Thanks, Mrs. Margaret. Anything else you need my help with?" He asked, simultaneously wanting to leave and find an excuse not to go back home. As much as he respected Mrs. Margaret, anyone kissing a corporate ass in his presence made him feel queasy."That'll be all, Jonathan. Oh! I can't forget your pay!" She said, shuffling back over to the cash register. He felt that the most appropriate thing to do in this situation was decline, as he did little work at all, but he needed the money. She handed him 50 credits, and he accepted it with a bit of a guilty consciousness."Thanks, Mrs. Margaret," he said as he exited the shop."Come by on Friday. I'll have some cookies left over from my granddaughter's birthday," she yelled as the door closed behind him. He gave her a thumbs up and tried to ignore the sudden tension that was welling up in his chest.Friday was a day too far. By then, he didn't know if he's still be in this city, or if he'd still be alive.As he walked, he felt that the solution to the situation was becoming more and more clear.He didn't want to work for the gang. He didn't want to be chained, maybe even literally chained, by a corp. That was what he presumed would happen once they knew they had Hunter Koar in their midst. He'd thought about the treatment he'd received for the brief period that law enforcement had held him all those years ago. They hadn't cared about how he felt, and what he was going through. They didn't care about the circumstances behind his father's death.From the very beginning, all they'd wanted to know was what his father had been hiding, and where he might have hid it. The legacy of Gideon Koar could spell another brilliant innovation on the scale of wireless etherium transmission — a multi-billion credit venture. It could mean access to new glyphs which could spell a market advantage for years. Such a legacy outweighed the considerations of a young, grieving child — or the person who that child had grown to become.But what if they didn't know he was Hunter Koar? What if he was just Jonathan Esper? His handicap might be the only distinguishing feature that could link him to the name Hunter Koar — and it wasn't like he was the only one who had this condition. It wasn't common. There were only a few dozen cases of it in the last few years, from what he'd read. The problem would convince them he could work around his lack of AR.But where would he go?Which Corporation could he stomach working for?Mrs. Margaret's words echoed in his mind.Oberon?He didn't suppress the snort this time.Their standards would be too high for him to match, even if he could prove to them that his potential was worth the investment.But was it worth the investment? He couldn't be sure.He took a glance at the recreational centre as he passed by. Something caught his eye. Whether it was a shape or a colour, he couldn't tell. He found his attention drawn to half a poster, the other half hidden by an advertisement for a live music gig from a band unfamiliar to him. He tore the covering poster off, reading the contents that had caught his eye.It was the graphic of a drawstone in the corner; he thought. That was what had pulled his attention towards it.The 10th Annual Global Youth Ether Arts CompetitionGet ready for a weekend of excitement! Teams from around the world will compete for the grand prize, a corporate sponsorship to the Barnum Academy of Excellence, as well as 100,000 credits!