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There was a bristling in the air.
Jupiter and Morrigan stood on the bank of the Juro, the air thick with Wunder.
“So you… never met him?” She said slowly, breaking the awkward silence.
“Yeah.” Jupiter shuffled his feet, humming under his breath, “Well.” He tipped his head to one side, pulling his hand out of his pocket to thread a string of Wunder through his fingertips. “I met him a long time ago.”
—
Jupiter was not supposed to be alone on Sub-Nine.
At ten years old, he technically wasn’t supposed to be anywhere in Proudfoot house.
But emergencies were emergencies, and it wasn’t Mr Smithereens’ fault he had to run away in the middle of their lesson.
He kicked his feet out as he walked, humming Christmas Eve Medley to summon Wunder as he went. Mr Smithereens had tried to talk him out of it, asking eight year old Jupiter if he really wanted a Christmas song as his summoning song, but Jupiter, being too smart for his own good, had retorted that The Morningtide Refrain wasn’t exactly for all times either, and that had shut him up. He weaved through the halls, humming slowly growing to loud singing that bounced off the walls.
He skipped into an empty room where his voice bounced around the best, a little disappointed to find it empty. He sat down, cross-legged, and began to weave a little flower on the floor, grinning.
“Hello there.”
Jupiter nearly jumped out of his skin, the flower falling to pieces in front of him, “Who are you?” He tried to puff out his chest and look confident, but his hands began shaking.
The figure stepped out of the shadows, a soft smile on his face. A scar cut through one eyebrow, barely visible due to the pallor of his skin, piqued something in the back of Jupiter’s mind, “That was some lovely singing.”
He didn’t respond, still cowering on the floor.
“Where are my manners?” The figure crouched down next to him, holding out one hand, “My name is Ezra.”
“Jupiter.” He shuffled away a little.
“I’m like you, y’know.” The figure, Ezra, sat back, “A Wundersmith.”
Jupiter flinched at the word, eyes widening. So that was where he knew the scar from. A picture in a history book that Mr Smithereens had shown him. “The Wundersmith?”
A dark expression crossed Ezra’s face. “I suppose that’s what some people call me.”
“Are you here to kill me? Like you killed the others?” He whispered, voice shaking.
Ezra’s lip curled, “Divine, no. I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t need help.”
Ezra’s friendliness was dropping fast, “Oh, I assure you, you do, Little Compass. You need more help than you could ever imagine.” He stood up, “You’re worlds away from where you’re supposed to be.”
“I have good teachers.” Jupiter flared up protectively, “Mr Smithereens and Madame Snow and-”
“Oh hush.” Ezra interrupted, rolling his eyes, “They can’t teach you anything worth knowing. I’ve forgotten more about the Wretched Arts than they will ever know.”
He shrank back, “That’s mean.”
“But it’s true.” Ezra stared down at him, “You have great potential, Little Compass. I can help with realizing that.”
Jupiter shook his head, heart thumping in his ears, “No, no you can’t. You can’t.”
Shadows began slowly emitting from Ezra’s shoes, “You petulant child.” He hissed, “It’ll kill you, do you understand? Not accepting my help is a death sentence!"
Terrified tears sprung in Jupiter’s eyes. He couldn’t force any words out of his mouth.
Ezra turned away, face contorting in anger, “This is useless. That Wunder will eat you alive. If you aren’t willing to stop it, then I’m not going to help you.” And he disappeared.
Jupiter sat on the floor for another five minutes, tears running down his face, then stood up sharply and ran back through the halls, searching desperately for anybody to keep him safe.
—
After the third visit, when Jupiter was thirteen, he gave up.
Jupiter hadn’t seen Ezra in twenty years.
Clearly ‘not accepting his help’ wasn’t as much of a death sentence as he thought it would be.
A train whistled somewhere in the distance, snapping Jupiter out of his memories.
Moments later, a golden bridge erupted from the other side of the Juro, and a well-dressed man stepped out onto it. His cold eyes turned right to Jupiter.
The hairs stood up on his arms, but he refused to let it show on his face, dulling the Wunder around his fingers and stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Hello, Little Compass.” Ezra said lightly, ignoring Morrigan entirely, “I’m afraid my offer has long expired. You’re about twenty years too late.”
“I’m not here for you.” Jupiter fought to keep his voice even, stamping down the scared child who had met Ezra for the first time, “Mog wanted to introduce us properly.”
It was only then that Era seemed to notice Morrigan was even there, “Of course. Consider us introduced.” He turned to Morrigan, “Ready to begin?”
—
As Jupiter watched the practice, he became increasingly aware of how far behind he was.
Surely Ezra had another plan for the lesson before Jupiter showed up, surely an exhibition was not planned, but here he was, watching Morrigan perform every skill he was unable to.
He sat silently in the corner, watching her display milestones he was nowhere close to at her age.
Jupiter was fifteen when he was awarded his first and only imprint. Weaving.
Morrigan was fourteen and she had two and was well on her way to receiving more.
Jupiter learned everything he could from ghostly hours, only to have his skills plateau when he burned through all of those. Not everything had been preserved, after all. And though he made an effort to discover things on his own, the search for his sister was taking up most of his time for experimentation.
Should he have accepted Ezra’s offer, all those years ago?
Would he be as strong as Morrigan if he had?
Stronger, probably.
He didn’t even dare summon Wunder, lest his technique fell under critique.
He managed to paint a smile on his face as Morrigan turned to grin at him.
“That was amazing, Mog.” He grinned, doing his best to keep a jealous flash out of his eyes. He was a failure of a Wundersmith, standing before him was what he should have been.
“Could be better.” Ezra chimed in, “Though of course you would think that was amazing.” He sneered, “I’m sure that was amazing to somebody of your caliber."
Jupiter tasted ash in the back of his throat, but swallowed it down, refusing to rise to the insult.
“Youre average at Weaving,” Ezra continued anyway, “I’ll give you that. Your Nocturne leaves much to be desired, but would be alright if you were, say, three years old.”
He dug his fingernails into his palms.
“I bet you’re regretting not taking my answer when you had the chance, hm?”
“No.” He gritted his teeth.
“Does it bother you? That they’re calling Miss Crow Nevermoor’s first Wundersmith in a hundred years?”
“No.” He repeated. It was better this way. The public knew him as a talented illusionist, that’s all they needed to know him as. If he told them now they would just be… disappointed.
“Perhaps if you were a better Wundersmith, you would be able to find her.”
Fire erupted from Juputer’s throat, searing directly through Ezra’s head.
He didn’t blink, safe on the other side of the Gossamer Line.
Jupiter panted, the taste of iron lingering in his mouth, “You have no right to speak about her.”
“Sloppy. Volatile.” Ezra stepped forward, “You are the worst Wundersmith I have ever seen. You’re a lost cause, not even worth attempting to train.”
Heart pounding in his ears, Jupiter didn’t respond.
Ezra turned to Morrigan, “This lesson is over. Make sure I never see this stain on the name of Wundersmiths again.” And he disappeared. Like he always did.
Morrigan turned to Jupiter, eyes wide, “Are you alright?”
Jupiter wiped spittle from his mouth, “I’m fine.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the last of the ash.
“I can teach you if you want.” She spoke quietly and shuffled, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being better than him.
“Maybe.” He stood up straight.
Or maybe I’ll just be the worst Wundersmith forever.