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Euphie wakes to the sound of shattering glass and fire on her skin.
“Whoops!” Anis chortles. She fiddles with the lever of her most recent contraption, not even attempting to appear apologetic. The fire goes out in an instant like a tap that’s been shut off, her fingers twisted around a dial. “Sorry about that! Good morning, Euphie!”
Euphie uses the rare second of reprieve to take in the situation: Anis in her work frock, covered head-to-toe in soot, at the foot of her bed. The trailing, burnt edge of a ribbon that might have attempted to pin her hair in place hours ago. Euphie in her nightgown, sheets rumpled at her feet, her skin still warm from where the fire had been mere centimeters above it. She cycles through the possible responses, from outrage to reluctant acceptance.
“Good morning,” she settles on and Anis cracks a grin at her, crooked.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. You need your beauty sleep and all that.” She makes a vague gesture to all of her and Euphie scrabbles up against the pillows in some semblance of elegance. “Buuuut since you’re up, why don’t you give it a go?”
Euphie blinks the sleep from her eyes and squints in the sudden sunlight. The breeze from the broken window–now bearing a distinct Anis-shaped hole that will make Ilia livid when she finds out–rustles the sleeves of her nightgown, as if in protest.
“Right now?”
“I mean we could wait until later but.” Anis pauses and thrusts the contraption meaningfully towards her. It’s shaped almost like a grappling hook but with a nozzle at the end instead and a little trigger at the bottom below a dial. “Are you doing anything right now?”
Euphie blinks at her. Outside, a bird darts by, trilling as if in mockery.
“No, I suppose not,” she says, taking the device from her.
“Here’s the nozzle–whoops, don’t point that at me. Uhhhh…” Anis trails off, glancing around the room. She settles on an ornate chair, dragging it in front of her. “Okay, point it at this! I don’t think this is too important. Basically, you feed it mana and fire comes out of here. I’m thinking it could be used in battle against monsters that are especially weak to heat.”
Euphie–against her better instincts–points at the probably important chair and reaches deep within her. There are lessons upon lessons on this topic at the academy, dozens of books filled cover-to-cover with techniques and tricks on how to call up your magic, how to bring it thrumming to the surface, buzzing beneath your skin. But for Euphie it has always been second nature. In her mind, she pictures a well–bottomless and bright–and every time she sends down buckets they come back full, brimming with magic.
Anis, oblivious to her musings, spreads her arms wide in an overly grandiose gesture.
“I call it… the flameshooter!” She looks immensely proud of herself at the name and it’s with Anis’ face in mind, cheeks rosy red, that Euphie calls up fire. The device in her hands goes wild, spewing red everywhere. “EUPHIE OH MY GOD!”
It only takes a split-second to course-correct, dialing the energy back until the fire dwindles to a small flame. Anis pushes off from the corner she’d retreated to and circles closer towards the fire, drawing near. Euphie watches her approach and counts her breaths slowly. In for two, and then out again.
“Wow, it’s the perfect size to roast marshmallows,” Anis notes, poking her finger at it. Euphie frowns and swings the barrel away from her before she tries anything crazier, like trying to grasp the fire in her palm.
“Or for metalworking,” she adds. “The blacksmiths would probably be interested in it.”
Anis’ gaze cuts to her and Euphie withdraws her magic completely before she ends up burning the whole house down.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Anis admits sheepishly. She’s looking up at her, eyes bright, one hand cradled behind her neck. “You’re amazing, Euphie.”
Anis is the one who designed the contraption from start to finish–blueprint to metalwork to testing. All Euphie did was turn it on and yet she’s the one who gets called amazing. She shakes her head and hands the flameshooter back to her, handle-first.
“I added the dial to help control the strength of the flame but you didn’t even need it.” Anis’ mouth is half-open, transfixed in awe, and Euphie struggles not to squirm under the weight of her gaze. “Your magic is beautiful.”
Euphie opens her mouth but the words get stuck in her throat, choking on air. Anis’ gaze swings back to the contraption in her hands, fiddling with some nozzle that doesn’t quite sit right for her and the moment’s passed, slipped straight through her hands like she’s catching water.
Euphie takes the admission and tucks it deep into her heart, hidden for the day she has the courage to say it. You’re wrong about me.
She watches Anis’ hands run up and down the nozzle, callouses worn into the palms of her hands like battle scars.
You’re the one who’s real magic.