History class passed with little excitement, much to Hunter's disappointment. He had hoped for the professor to launch himself into another fascinating, impassioned speech. The lecture was still interesting, but Hunter wanted to hear more about these ancient Asutnahem. He decided that he'd take some time to visit the professor, one day after class, and see if he could pick the man's brain.
He also remembered to mention him to Trey at some point. They would both have a fascinating conversation, and if they could somehow verify the professor's claims, maybe the professor would find a powerful new patron to support his work.
To Hunter, it felt like a fantasy. Just months ago, joining such a powerful family would have seemed impossible.
Now, he could only ask; who was he to say what was in the realm of possibility or not?
Hunter spent the rest of the day between homework, training focus, and then tutoring Aera. He told her about his minor success during the martial arts class, and she seemed utterly unimpressed until he mentioned it was against Emilia.
"Emilia Beaugard?" She asked. Hunter shrugged. He didn't know her last name.
"Short, blonde, thin, but strong?" She asked.
"That's her," Hunter said.
Aera raised an eyebrow.
"She's good. You said you took her by surprise?"
Hunter nodded.
"That's what I would have done if I were you, too. Good job, Hunter. You're learning how to fight."
Another warm sentiment from the ice queen. He let the pride blossom within him.
Aera pulled out her notebook, where she had written a problem she'd been struggling with from her Artisan class. Hunter took as his queue to start.
"I know that Link is more efficient than using a drawstone shard, but why is it the most efficient choice? What does a sub-glyph do that a shard can't?"
That one was easy.
"The sub-glyph diverts etherium without effecting its charge. A drawstone will have a subtle influence on the charge, but they're meant for drawing in neutral etherium. Much of the charge running through a drawstone shard dissipates from the shard itself. Not only that, but it pulls more etherium through the network than would need to be there."
Hunter opened his notebook and drew a crude diagram.
"Imagine using a water pump to divert the flow of liquid in a pipe, when all you need to do is attach a new pipe in a different direction. Furthermore, the pump redirects half the water, resulting in insufficient water where you need it and excess elsewhere. Your construct is more expensive to run, with less output than you want. The only way to get your desired output is to increase the amount you take in, which means more expensive constructs."
"Then why use a Link at all? Why not just run more channels through the network?" Aera asked, and then she slapped herself on the head.
Right, it was a silly question on the surface, but this was a learning opportunity.
"Tell me the answer," Hunter said, "but consider a deeper perspective."
He tried to be subtle in his approach to the topic. Simply delivering information to Aera was the quickest way to bore her. It was a lot better to ask her questions, it seemed to engage her mind more deeply.
Aera considered the answer and spoke slowly as she processed the question with what she'd learned.
"Without Link, there's no way to attach more glyphs into a construct apart from drawstone shards. Our constructs would be limited to a single glyph," she said. Hunter nodded, gesturing for her to continue.
"Only Link can merge glyph outputs," she explained, "either amplifying similar glyphs or combining dissimilar ones for new effects. I don't understand what you mean by 'looking deeper,' though. Do you mean questioning why the sub-glyph works at all?"
Hunter nodded.
Aera shrugged.
"I have no idea," she said. Hunter laughed.
"Me neither. In fact, no one does," he said.
In fact, he thought to himself, his father had a few ideas, but she didn't need to know that. Not yet.
"All we have are some facts that we can work with, with no apparent answer. Drawstones pull in etherium through our bodies, and into constructs," he said, keeping the facts to what she would learn during her academic classes. "We also make construct channels out of crushed drawstones. While different, both the solid drawstone and its powdered form are the same substance. What about the structure of a drawstone governs the subtle differences in how its behaviour changes when it's crushed? No one knows. The reaction of etherium to a drawstone changes at a critical density. This density varies with the etherium's charge. If the etherium is spread thinly, the reaction differs."
Aera frowned.
"How can you be content with that enormous gap in our collective knowledge?"
Hunter nodded. "True, it's frustrating, but etherium's relationship to physics is casual at best. We aren't sure where one rule ends and the next one begins. In fact, many wonder if there are any rules with etherium at all. Some think that there are definite rules, but that they're just hidden. Others think etherium might have intelligence to it, and that its rules are more like choices or whims."
It was Hunters' own theory. It paralleled a few others, but Hunter could verify it in a way that no one else could. Etherium was cognizant at some deep level. He couldn't explain any deeper than that yet, but he was sure that one day, he could see those depths just like he could now see the surface.
The rest of their session passed with him answering more mundane artisanship questions, and overall, Aera seemed content with how the evening progressed. Hunter went up to his apartment and had one last training session with his drawstone. He remained disappointed with the result, having made no progress in discovering his own channels or increasing his AR by even a single point.
But his commitment remained firm. His father's journals advised patience in understanding the channels. His intuition already knew the way; he just needed time, particularly given any past self-suppression.
That night, Hunter dreamt of building a bridge over a river. He saw another version of himself in the river below, floating by, struggling to stay above the water's surface. He watched with curiosity as the stream dragged him away. When his other self had disappeared over the horizon, Hunter continued with his work.
---
Hunter cursed as the screwdriver rolled off the worktable, clattering on the ground and bouncing under the divided wall into the occupied workspace next to his. He considered whether he should give up his research for the day, but laughed at himself a moment later. Of course he wouldn't.
He was being a little baby. What were they going to do, be angry at him? Even if they were, who cares?
He left his little cubicle space and walked over to the next one. The door was ajar, but he knocked anyway.
"Hey, dropped my screwdriver. You mind grabbing it for me?"
"Grab it yourself," came the answering voice. He shrugged and opened the door. A girl was sitting before the worktable. Her back turned to him, hunched over like Hunter would be. In Hunter's case, his stooping posture stemmed from always needing to be close to his work. In her case, it was just sloppy posture.
He saw the screwdriver on the floor just beside her table, so he stooped over to grab it.
"Wait a minute, I know you," the girl said. Her voice was rich — it had a hoarse quality to it. He'd heard it before, and when he glanced at her, he realized he recognized her as well. "Hunter Koar, right? I'm Tilda, Tilda Burner."
She stood from the bench and held out her hand. She seemed genuinely surprised and pleased to see him. He shook her hand, feeling awkward and not quite knowing what to say. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been with Jeremy Berrymoore and her other teammate, whose name was slipping Hunter's mind at the moment.
He'd always felt quite bittersweet about the trio who had won the competition. On one hand, he'd imagined it would be him who stole first prize. That David Nettle didn't win made living in this world a bit more barrable.
"Yeah, I recognize you. I'm Hunter," he said, realizing that she would obviously know that, considering that she'd just said his name, "which you know, obviously. Sorry. I mean, I'm not sorry, but — um…"
The small workspace was 20 degrees hotter than it had been a moment ago. He needed to leave.
He was still shaking her hand. It had been at least 4 seconds. 5. 6.
He let it go like it had shocked him. Tilda stared at him. Her mouth parted and her eyes narrowed.
Had he ever felt more embarrassed in his life? He wondered why he was suddenly acting so strange.
"I'm just gonna get back to work. Sorry for bothering you," he said, turning to leave.
"Hold on, I'm not gonna bite," she said. "Now that you're here, do you mind looking at this problem for me? I'm supposed to be pretty good at this stuff, but right now I'm feeling lost."
Hunter felt like if he stayed in that room for a second longer, his shirt will have soaked through with sweat.
Did he remember to put some deodorant on? Any other day, it wouldn't have mattered. Not that he'd neglect his hygiene, but he never talked to anyone while he was here. Suddenly, deodorant became the most important consideration in his life.
He figured it would be weird if he checked, so he resisted the urge.
Despite his discomfort, he nodded. He'd help her with the problem and then leave, and try to avoid ever speaking with her again.
"Great," she said, "you made quite an impression on us at the competition, you know. The rest of the team, I mean."
"Oh, that's nice to hear," he said, not sure how to take the compliment. "So, what's the problem?"
He glanced at the project she'd been tinkering with. It looked like she'd been prototyping. He saw an open circuit laid out across the desk. Different parts of the network were in various states of repair and disrepair. It took him a second to analyze the syntax and saw a few problem spots that she'd either missed or was in the process of addressing.
"I've been wracking my brain for an hour trying to find out where I went wrong with the design, but I just can't figure it out," she said, frustration clear in her voice. She pointed at one part of the prototype towards the far end of the table.
"That's where it's supposed to emit heat, and I'm trying to—"
"—shape it with Speed? Interesting," Hunter said, taking another glimpse at the network as he understood the logic behind it. It was no small feat if she could get it to work. He was sure he'd heard of similar products before, but like his two-part shield, it would be a way to prove that she was a serious candidate for Excellence. This was advanced stuff.
He could see a couple of problems with her design, though. A few issues were merely efficiency problems; however, in a couple of areas, the etherium was completely bottlenecked due to miscalculating the change in charge. Several glyphs before the bottleneck, she ran the etherium through Reinforce, causing a cascade of subtle changes as it flowed from glyph to glyph. It was supposed to zig, but it zagged. This caused problems for the entire latter half of the network, significantly reducing output.
"I'm surprised you could see it," she said, moving her hair out of her eyes and behind her ear, "not that I should expect anything less."
Hunter cleared his throat and pointed to the Reinforce glyph he'd noticed.
"I understand why you put it there, but I think it should go up here instead," he said, pointing to the end of the network. "And if you remove the Amplify glyph—"
"—then my emitter would only out put a quarter of what I'd intended," she said, looking between the construct and Hunter with skepticism.
"True, but what if you slowed the etherium down just before creating the speed field?"
She thought about it for a second, and then snapped her fingers and looked at him with excitement.
"That's why you want me to move up the reinforce glyph! The etherium would build up, but once it reaches the emitter plate, it won't matter anymore. It will be less effective than I'd hoped, by about a third, but it'll work. That's brilliant," she said, pulling a notepad out of nowhere and jotting down Hunter's suggestions.
Hunter felt like the room was cooling down to a normal temperature.
"You know," he said, swallowing his nerves, "I have a few more ideas, if you're interested?"
She glanced at him over her notepad and nodded.
"I'll take any advice you can give me," she said. Her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.
Hunter found her somewhat charming. She had a round face, and her brown hair curled, but had a bounce to it that seemed to match her personality. Her blue eyes almost seemed to sparkle.
The next hour and a half seemed to melt away, and he felt a sense of disappointment when it was time for them to leave. She seemed to find his suggestions about her work to be fascinating, and would always have a question which he had fun answering. Unlike Aera, all of Tilda's questions were interesting and challenging. She'd been working with constructs for years and might be just as passionate about them as he was.
Once they left the Artisan department, Hunter glanced at his watch and planned the rest of his evening before his session with Aera.
"Man, I always end up working up an appetite when I'm in there," Tilda said. Hunter nodded, not sure why that was any of his business, but not wanting to seem impolite.
"Sure, I get that. That's why I bring a snack," Hunter said.
She pursed her lips. Had he said something wrong? Then he realized, and with the realization came a resurgence of heat in his body.
"Hey, Tilda," Hunter said. He spoke slowly, pushing past his nerves with as much nonchalance as he could summon.
She looked at him expectantly.
"Do you want to get — I mean, so do you want to find an eat — I mean a place? Like, to eat?"
Hunter wanted to die. He'd never been in so much pain — not even after waking up in the hospital after being nearly beaten to death.
Was it a side effect of his focus exercises? Maybe his concussion hadn't fully healed, maybe Aera had made it worse during their tutoring sessions, maybe—
"I thought you'd never ask," Tilda sighed, "come on, I've been wanting to try this diner near the soul for like a month."
Hunter followed, still unsure how he'd gotten himself into this situation, and powerless to resist the flow of fate.