Bumbledork: “Don’t stress too much about it not being something huge or what we can or can’t do (>_<) We can’t change the rules. I’m just excited to check out where my big sis has been living all these years ＼(^o^)／ and to meet your friends!!! Tho (^_^’)  I’m honestly a bit worried if Allie can behave with them but it’s probably fine, maybe. I think it’s fine. Anyway, I really look forward to it!“

Raz: “Thank you : ) I’m sure you’ll all get along. Looking forward to seeing you both too! Say hi to Allie for me. See you both soon!”

–The last conversation between Faham and Raz, before a long line of emoticons and unrelated cute memes.

“No way.”

Raz wiped years of dust off of the bone needle casket up to the light, snorting.

“You’re still stuck here, huh?”

Four years and eight months and here it was stuck, collecting dust while other foci took off to adventure with their newly awakened wizard hopefuls. Raz smiled at the foci. The poor thing had endured the full barrage of thirteen year old Raz’s desire to become a wizard. The needles inside were bent, the red thread tangled up, and the box had her tooth marks. She’d had absolutely no clue about how resonance worked back then. Fine enough reason to start today’s sesh with it, she supposed. 

“Might be our lucky day.”

Raz took the casket to the circle, sat down cross-legged, and placed it before her. She had chosen to wear black pants and a comfy old shirt today, because the body-paints and ritual gowns hadn’t done wizshit, and honestly seemed more like a big scam to keep the resonance ritual gear sellers in business.

She unlocked Joram’s hand-me down phone, clicked to unpause the video she’d set up, and closed her eyes.

Meditative droning joined the tinkling soundscape of the wonderchamber.

“Breathe in,” spoke a soothing deep male voice.

A moment of droning sounds.

“Breathe out.”

More droning.

“Breathe in.”

Several moments of breathing and calming sounds passed, before the boy said, “What is the foci before you, physically?”

“A box of needles with crimmillium thread,” answered Razandra.

“What does it mean to you? Don’t hesitate. Don’t question. Speak.”

Razandra paused, thinking. “Thread. Fixing. Repair.” She swallowed. “First failure. Hope. Second chance.” Raz slowed herself. She had to keep thoughts on the foci and not let them branch. “Repair. Needle. Sutures. Doctor. Healing. Bone. Death. Red string of fate.”

Eyes still closed, she brushed a thumb over the fast forward to get to the second part.

“What is most important to you?”

First failure.

Raz winced. She opened her eyes and paused the arctube tutorial. A tall boy of Indian origin with a memorable mustache and ‘NeWiz’ merch t-shirt sat froze in a lotus position, as did the dark candle-lit wonderchamber around him. 

Raz placed the needle casket back in its spot. It hadn’t been a good idea. None of the symbols really aligned with her latest most accurate list, besides today’s session was supposed to be about survival associated foci. It was, according to teachers and arctubers and research, best to keep your resonance sessions centered around a narrow symbolic range.

Survival was one of Raz’s top choices in her little list. They often ended up as adventurers or working as support wizards in expeditions, which could easily net her a job at HBW. Not that she was picky anymore. Any aspect would do, so long as she became a wizard at all. But if she did get a survival adjacent aspect and had a shot at chasing those silly childhood dreams, she wouldn’t mind terribly much.

After some hemming and hawing, Raz picked an ancient leather backpack from amongst the wonderchamber’s foci. 

She restarted the video, centered her breathing, emptied her mind, and was asked what the backpack meant to her.

“Survival. Being ready. Wandering. Camping. Hikes. Trails. Travel. Carrying burdens. Helping.”

Her chest tingled. She felt really good despite the earlier fumble, like she was onto something here! Raz thumbed the recording to fast forward.

“What is most important to you?” asked the voice.

“Helping.”

“Think of a moment – past, present, or future – when this magic would have meant the most to you.”

Her breathing calm, Raz let herself return to the lost isola. She thought of how useful carrying things would’ve been in her exploration trips. How she could’ve perhaps carried her siblings out and saved them from suffering.

“Dive deep into that emotion.”

Raz thought of how she had fretted over making through the days back then.

“Deeper.”

She wanted to see Allie and Faham again. To be with them.

Focus on survival!

On how she had used string to not get lost in the Un. On little tricks to make life better. On three of them fighting against the forces of Un.

“Are you there?”

Raz thought so.

“Then feel it.”

Raz furrowed her brows and tried to feel the backpack with all her might. She imagined it so sharply in her mind’s eye that she burned its outline into her eyelids. She repeated it until her brain looped ‘backpackbakcpackbackpack’. Every thinking and feeling muscle she could think of she clenched.

“And open your eyes and see.”

Raz flashed her eyes open.

She saw nothing except the backpack sitting before her in a defiant slouch. 

“Congratulations to the lucky ones,” cheered the video. “Comment, like, and subscribe and let me know about your experiences, whether you are first time awakened, serial symbol hopper, or an experienced wizards adding in new aspects. And for those who didn’t get it this time, don’t be discouraged! Finding that first resonance is hard. But, by following diligent proven resonance methods, like this video’s tutorial, and other exclusive secrets discussed on my new super exclusive resonance course camp sponsored by Canned Wonder, you will get there! For first ten to sign up, I guarantee a seventy four percent chan–”

Raz rewinded the clip. She wrote an old leather backpack down in her resonance tracker spreadsheet and crossed it over and moved on.

Backpacks had never really been her thing anyway, so it made sense it wouldn’t resonate. It should be something symbolically relevant to her. A survival foci similar to what she’d had on the isola.

A walking stick? Sticks and staffs were a bit loaded with wizard-related symbolism, maybe that would help?

It didn’t.

Neither did she resonate with a flask of water, old boots, or a flint either. Not with NeWiz’s pivotal life moment method, not with Symbol Switcher’s ‘I Wish’ principle, and not with the school’s outdated ass traditional meditative practices.

Everything ended up with her staring at the foci, feeling nothing except mild anticipointment.

A heavy jingle marked that her three hours were up.

Raz let out a heavy breath, then put on a smile. Didn’t work this time, but at least she’d crossed out a few foci. On the bright side, she was one step closer to becoming the wizard of disappointment. Perhaps the needlebox was her destiny after all.

She gathered her things and stepped out of the changing room. 

“Foci?” asked the bored late-twenties wonderchamber curator. His eyes didn’t so much as flinch from the modern flat glass monitor playing a vid of some scantily clad advlogger.

“Nope.”

“Student?”

“Hopefully not for long, but likely forever.”

Gaze flicked to Raz, dipped from her face, then returned to watching the adventure influencer. He drawled like she’d personally offended him, “ID if you’ve got free visits left. Ten val if you don’t.”

How many archowiz butts had his parents tongue-cleaned to get him the job and keep him from getting booted? It had to be in triple digits.

Raz tempered the urge to sass him and paid quietly. She picked up her old red jacket and scruffy boots. While tying the laces, her eyes settled on one of the posters in the entry hall, an ad featuring a gorgeous woman and man in gray worker’s overalls, grinning at a nearly completed flying castle set against a red sunset.

“Tired of waiting? Become a sorcerer today and join us to build your golden age of magic. 5000 val sign up bonus! Guaranteed employment! Sorcerers now legally qualified as wizards!”

The small print warned of a ten percent risk and of sorcerers never becoming able to resonate. Raz’s attention flicked back to the ‘legally qualified as wizards’. She ripped off one of the phone-numbers dangling from the poster and pocketed it. 

A classic Castleyard autumn awaited her outside. Heavy drizzle fell from a gray sky made darker by shadows of the castles above. The acrid scent of gravity magic was heavy in the air. Trickles rushed in the rain channels, carrying trash and fallen leaves.

People, kids, castleyard workers, and a few elderly, clustered under the lip of the community center tram stop. Raz joined them.

“Three minutes late,” whispered a strange raisin-lipped grandma to Raz in a thick Castleyard accent. “Can you believe it?”

“Ayuup.” Raz pulled her phone out.

“Didn’t use to be like this. All gone to wizshit since letting them worldbreakers in. Used to be such a wonderful town before you know? So beautiful.”

Raz pursed her lips thin and nodded slowly. 

The grandma leaned closer to her face, squinting at Raz’s eyes. “Is that blue…” She blinked rapidly, made a shocked face, and waddled to the other side of the tram stop from where she proceeded to give Raz the stinky eye.

Raz opened her chat with Capi. Her last message was a good luck wish, time stamped at little after midnight.

Raz: “Not a survival wiz. I had good vibes about this one concept, though I’d like to ask some questions about employability. Know any disappointment wizards like that over in the big city?”

She chuckled at her own cleverness and stepped into the small Castleyard tram. Seats were packed with castleworkers, so Raz elected to stand at the center.

Capi read her message and began typing.

Raz smiled.

Capi: “Sry super busy. My class is on a trip to visit a WACA landing!”

Raz’s smile faltered.

Capi continued typing, then paused. A picture appeared in their chat. A selfie of her former neighbor, a girl with a pretty smile, glasses, dark hair in a bun, and the cutest yellow-eyed wink. She wore a leather apron, stylish clay-red wizard hat with sculpture’s tools, and a color matched swimsuit. Behind her was a small gang of young wizard students riding some kind of gigantic bunny golem. The pink-white striped beach background was populated by hundreds of other young wizards. A lush island with structures rising through the jungle sat in the distance. 

The tram tilted downhill. A kid started leaning against Raz. She smiled at the picture.

Raz: “Looks awesome : ) !! Have fun!!”

Capi: “srysrysry ttyl promise. Call tomorrow?”

Raz: “It’s cool, yeah. Tomorrow.”

Capi replied with a hugging smiley, which Raz returned.

Raz scrolled up to look at the image a bit. Capi looked so happy. She was glad for her.

The tram paused and the angry grandma stepped off while cutting off a group of kids. No one else stepped in. Doors hissed shut.

Raz checked her other chats. GG was offline and had changed his profile picture again, this time to that communist beard-guy in rainbow anime style. Very Earth-ally of him.

Beneath him was the stalled out animal pic-sharathon with Faham from a week ago. Raz typed up the same message she had sent Capi, but deleted it with a sigh. Bitching about wonderchamber visits to sibs would be a big oof move. She’d rather send him something positive. No moaning. No complaining. She didn’t have the right to.

Raz: “Hey, how’s my lilbro doing : )”

No reply. Not a surprise. Un-reality connections always took a bit.

Raz: “Excited about your bday?”

After a moment, she sent one to Allie too, even if she probably wouldn’t read it in weeks.

Raz: “: ) love u. hug for Faham from me”

The tram did couple stops before Spellright Street. A group of older castleworkers stepped out. Raz met one woman’s eye accidentally while scrolling up Faham convo. He gave her a goofy old-lady smile and tipped her cap.

“Safe travels.”

“Thanks? You too.”

The tram chugged onwards. Raz followed the slow plodding of the castleworker group. She checked her pocket to find the slip she’d ripped off of the poster still there. She looked at the inoffensive animal-picture exchange and wondered when she’d stopped chatting about wonderchamber with Faham. Couldn’t have been more than a couple of months, surely. Did they even believe she could get them out of New Europe anymore?

A pressure crawled up Raz’s chest. She clicked off the messages and opened arctube and scrolled her subscriptions. Resonance tutorials sped past. Her favorite advlogger had a new video, but she didn’t feel like it either. Raz went into recommendations and was suggested a true curse podcast about a wizard who couldn’t open doors without a mysterious giant hand trying to snatch him. 

She checked the wagon. Rain pattered the windows hard and loud. One old man sat a few seats away, watching the gray outdoors. Raz muted the video and put on subtitles before pressing play.

The giant hand’s curse began by revealing that it still existed. The two wizard hostesses revealed that an unnamed archowiz from F. Magogram had tried to break it last year, to devastating consequences! His face was shown, pixelated. The hostesses began setting up the scene, describing a quiet night at an empty research hall. Tiny subtitles whizzed past a bit too fast to catch. 

Raz wasn’t feeling it. With a huff, she clicked pause. She tried to watch the rain instead, but her thoughts kept circling back to the gravity sorcerer ad.

Her stop came before she could finish typing in their site address. Raz was the last to step off the tram.

She was drenched the instant she stepped out. Keeping eyes open was impossible in the torrent. Every breath filled your mouth with rain.

Raz sprinted home while gurgling defiant noises at the sky. She slammed the door and hurried her precious jacket, then arranged it and her shoes to dry over a wall heater. Pants she kept on. They were almost dry from the knee up.

Joram was home too. All three pairs of his shoe pairs were in a neat row next to Maroque’s collection in the large hardwood wardrobe.

“I’m back,” Raz called out as she stepped into the main room.

No answer.

Raz shrugged and headed straight to Maroque’s room. It was the largest one in the house, furnished with metal embroidered woods, gorgeous hand-painted ceramics of precious metals and porcelain, and countless embroidered whispersilks of M. Magogram. But despite Joram’s best efforts to arrange the luxurious furniture and decor, the room felt a little like a hoarder’s storage.

Thankfully, Joram wasn’t there. She closed the door behind her.