The air outside was cooling, tinged with the scent of coal smoke and roasted almonds as vendors packed up for the evening. Glazebend's towering glass lamps were beginning to flicker on, one by one, casting warm orange halos through the misty streets. Joren adjusted his satchel, eyes scanning for the sign of a cheap inn or a boarding house with a vacant room.
He passed a troupe of street performers juggling knives, a man hawking glowing bird cages, and a pair of kids drawing with chalk in the seams of the cobblestones. There was so much life here, maybe the city wouldn't be so bad. Joren found a small inn and was just paying for the room when he overheard some gossip between two people.
"I'm telling you, that wasn't some street brawl, the whole section of East Glaze shut down. They say the wall cracked like an eggshell. Half the guards on shift couldn't even explain what happened." "You think it's one of them Auspex types?" "Has to be. People felt the pressure change from two blocks away." Joren's hand paused over the room key, eyes narrowing just slightly. The clerk didn't seem to notice their conversation as if the mention of god-touched people was just another bit of local drama. Maybe in Glazebend it was far more common than in his village, which saw one every few years. He took the key and thanked the innkeeper, heading upstairs, thoughts already drifting about who could have done that.
Next Morning – The Streets of Glazebend
The city was already alive by the time Joren awoke, smokestacks puffed faintly in the distance and food vendors rolled carts into place along the main concourse. He tucked his hands into his pockets and let the flow of the crowd guide him, his mind still lingering on the overheard rumors from last night. He didn't know if it was curiosity that drew him back to the painted dishware shop, but something about Gus had stuck. Maybe it was the absurdity of a hulking man crafting delicate ceramic masterpieces, or maybe it was how easy it had been to talk to him.
The door to Gus's shop creaked open, their was no need for a bell on this door. The scent of clay and glaze hung in the warm air, mingled with the faintest smell of scorched paint. Gus was already putting out new dishes to replace one's he had broken yesterday. "Back again, huh?" Gus said without looking up from his shelves. Joren began to browse around the displays while they talked.
Gus finally turned, brushing his hands on his apron. "You find a place to stay?" "Yeah. I found this small inn near the west side. Cozy enough for now, but I need to earn some cash if I have to pay that price every night." Joren paused, then added, "Heard about what happened in East Glaze yesterday?" Gus grunted. "Everyone's buzzing about it. Someone blew a big hole in the road and now the guards are scrambling. Sounds like someone was showing off to me." He squinted at Joren. "You worried?" Joren shrugged. "Just curious." "Well, try not to stick your nose too close to the fire, Joren."
Just then, Gus's face lit up like he was watching fireworks. "You wanna help me set up a booth tomorrow? They have a craft fair near the plaza. I'd pay you in food, or better yet, one of these bad boys." He held the mug out like it was a sacred relic. Joren chuckled. "Deal." Gus clapped his hands together with a puff of clay dust. "Say, you ever try your hand at shaping anything?"
Joren blinked. "Like… sculpting?" Gus said, stepping around a stack of painted plates and waving him over to the back of the shop. "I have a wheel in the back, why don't you come give it a try." The back room was smaller, cluttered with glaze jars, bisque molds, and dozens of half-finished projects that looked more like experiments than products. In the middle sat a potter's wheel, already damp with use. Gus plopped down a lump of clay and kicked the pedal. "Give it a whirl." Joren hesitated, then rolled up his sleeves. The clay was cool and sticky between his fingers, resisting every motion he made. His first attempt looked more like a collapsed pastry than a cup.
Gus let out a booming laugh. "Not bad, why don't I give you some pointers." He guided Joren's hands once, showing how to steady the base and keep the walls from thinning too fast. It was rough, but by the end, the clay sort of resembled a small bowl. Joren wiped his forehead, feeling weirdly proud. They spent some time making more designs between customers.
Late afternoon – The Store
Later that morning, Gus gave him a folded parcel of cloth. "Would you mind dropping this off at the old lady's bakery down by the north edge? She cracked her serving tray, and I promised I'd get her something prettier." Joren accepted it gladly. "Do I say anything specific?" "Yeah," Gus smirked. "Say 'Your tab's due next week or I'm sending the ducks.' She'll know."
The walk to the bakery took him through new streets. Stalls here sold sugar-dusted buns, woven cloth, brass fittings and strange bottled clouds suspended in jars. The air smelled of cinnamon and coal ash. He passed a blacksmith hammering away at parts and a masked street artist sketching chalk glyphs that shimmered briefly before fading. When he arrived at the bakery, the baker woman thanked him with a smile and a slice of spiced bread. "Tell that brute I'm not afraid of his ducks," she added, stuffing a few coins into Joren's hand.
He took the scenic route back to Gus's, exploring the alleys he passed by yesterday. As he wandered through a narrower street flanked by crooked windows and second-story laundry lines, Joren spotted a small crowd gathered around a man. An Auspex was demonstrating the power of ripples, making kids shriek in giggles and mesmerize adults with bricks that looked like a calm pond that felt the drop of water fall into it. Joren watched from the fringe. This wasn't destructive power or brute force like people believed; it was someone just like him. He smiled faintly as he walked, the illusion still dancing in the corners of his mind.
He made his way back to Gus's shop, the familiar scent of clay and paint drawing him in like a safe harbor. When he arrived, Gus looked up from his workbench and grinned. "I thought you got lost, I hope it wasn't too much trouble." Joren shrugged. "Not really, I was just exploring a little bit." Joren handed him the coins. Outside, the afternoon light had dimmed as the city's bustle shifted toward evening. From the street beyond the open door, a low hum of excitement stirred the air.
Joren glanced up just in time to see a sudden crackle of blue-white sparks erupting. A man stood at the center of the square, scaring anyone nearby with his cracks of lightning he shot from his palms. The Auspex's eyes were wild with thrill, his coat flaring behind him in the heat of the charge. Joren couldn't make it out, but he was monologuing like a classic villain drunk on power. Joren felt it was his duty to stop this guy before he started wrecking Gus's shop like he did that wall yesterday.
Joren stepped forward, hesitation vanishing beneath the rising tension in his chest. The crackle of lightning lit up the plaza in jagged bursts, shadows dancing violently across the storefronts. People were backing away now, running or hiding behind carts. Joren's palms tingled. His gravity swelled inside him and he made his body lighter. He was no stranger to fights, some folks at the tavern could use a good wallop when they started causing a scene or picked fights with the staff. The lightning Auspex turned, grinning when he noticed the boy approaching. "Who do you think you are? Don't you know that I am Thunderclap?" His grin stretched far too wide, eyes alight with manic glee. Joren didn't flinch. "I can't stand by while you wreck shops and hurt the people here." A fight was on.