Chapter Eleven: Practical Applications of Bad Ideas
"I just want to be clear," Maelra said, arms crossed, stone fingers tapping against her forearm. "This is a terrible plan."
Kerris grinned. "Yes. But it's a controlled terrible plan."
Aerin looked between them. "I don't like how confident you are about that."
They stood in a narrow courtyard behind an abandoned tannery—cracked walls, weeds pushing through stone, a place quiet enough that mistakes wouldn't immediately turn into legends.
Kerris paced like a lecturer. "Alright. The problem is fear. You absorb it. You redirect it. You lose something personal in exchange."
"So far, not comforting," Aerin said.
"Which means," Kerris continued, undeterred, "we try something smaller. Something harmless."
Maelra raised a brow. "Such as?"
Kerris turned to Aerin, eyes bright. "Embarrassment."
Aerin stared. "No."
"Think about it!" Kerris said. "Embarrassment is fear's cousin. Lower stakes. Social. Temporary. And I, my dear friend, am very good at producing it."
Maelra sighed. "I hate that he's not wrong."
Kerris cleared his throat dramatically, then squared his shoulders.
"I will now," he announced loudly, "perform a sincere and emotionally vulnerable street monologue."
Aerin's stomach dropped. "Kerris—"
"I once," Kerris said, projecting far too well, "tried to impress a baker by pretending I knew how to juggle."
Aerin felt it immediately.
A soft prickle in their chest. Not panic—just that warm, tight twist of secondhand shame.
"I used eggs," Kerris continued. "Because I am an optimist and a fool."
Maelra pinched the bridge of her nose.
"They exploded," Kerris said solemnly. "Everywhere. The baker did not laugh."
Aerin winced. The embarrassment sharpened—bright, communal, very borrowable.
Kerris nodded eagerly. "You feel that, right?"
"Yes," Aerin said through clenched teeth. "And I want to crawl into the ground."
"Perfect! Now just… nudge it."
Aerin closed their eyes.
They reached carefully, brushing the edge of Kerris's embarrassment—light, fluttering, tied more to pride than fear. They redirected it outward, thinning it like spreading ink in water.
Kerris stopped mid-sentence.
"Oh," he said. "Huh."
The embarrassment drained from him entirely.
Instead, a strange warmth bloomed in the courtyard.
A passerby slowed.
Then another.
Laughter bubbled up—not mocking, not cruel. Gentle. Shared. People smiled at one another for no reason at all.
Aerin's eyes flew open. "That wasn't supposed to—"
The laughter spread.
Someone clapped Kerris on the shoulder. "Good story."
A woman wiped her eyes, still smiling. "I needed that."
Kerris beamed. "I am a healer."
Maelra's expression darkened. "Aerin."
Aerin swayed.
The warmth didn't leave them this time.
It stuck.
Not heavy. Not painful.
Just… hollowing.
"I don't feel—" Aerin swallowed. "I don't feel awkward anymore."
Kerris blinked. "About what?"
Aerin searched themselves.
"About… anything," they said slowly.
Maelra stepped closer. "That's not good."
The laughter faded as the crowd moved on, the moment dissolving like mist.
Aerin leaned against the wall, unsettled. "It didn't take a memory this time."
"No," Maelra said quietly. "It took a filter."
Kerris frowned. "A what?"
Maelra met Aerin's eyes. "Embarrassment teaches restraint. It tells you where not to stand."
Aerin's stomach sank. "So if I lose it…"
"You stop knowing when you're overstepping," Maelra finished.
Kerris's grin vanished. "Okay. I officially revoke my confidence."
Aerin exhaled shakily. "I didn't mean to spread it."
"That's the pattern," Maelra said. "Your magic doesn't stay contained."
Kerris rubbed his arms. "So you didn't just borrow my embarrassment. You turned it into… community joy."
Aerin nodded. "I think so."
Maelra looked toward the street, uneasy. "The Weave likes efficiency. It won't waste an emotion if it can circulate it."
A beat.
"Well," Kerris said weakly, "on the bright side, at least I'm no longer haunted by the egg incident."
Aerin tried to laugh.
It came too easily.
They stopped.
"Oh," Kerris said softly. "That's… not comforting."
The hum beneath the courtyard stirred—pleased, almost.
Something had learned a new trick.
And it was very eager to try it again.