Daniel

The workbench glowed faintly as Daniel adjusted the calibration node. Thin filaments of light traced lines across the surface, forming a spiderweb of diagnostic glyphs. Ethan’s old tech was still functional—barely—and was actually really clever, based on his explanation of both the theory and function of the parts. Ethan would have made a hell of an engineer in his world.

At the same time, it made Daniel realize how much work had to be done to realize their ambition. The leftover magetech, materials, and most importantly, the theory and notes were a start. Truthfully, Daniel relished the experience of diving into the magic tech. The problems it presented and the hope for solving them—it was almost like being back home.

Around him, the vault hummed with quiet purpose. Shelves of sealed scrolls and crystal casings lined the walls, but Daniel ignored them. He continued to tinker with the old equipment at Ethan’s suggestion. The old tech wasn’t super helpful, but it was fascinating and helped Daniel understand the bigger picture.

“Start with flushing the node with your mana,” Ethan said in his mind, tone dry but focused. “Forget structure—just check how stable the flow paths are.”

Daniel nodded to himself and began feeding mana into the sequence relay. He didn’t infuse it with emotion—or tried not to. He didn’t direct it with desire. He simply focused on his mana control and pushed the flow up his arm meridian. It was surprising how easy it was.

The glyphs on the lattice began to flicker. Symbols formed and connected into a spell array. The glyphs emerged like circuitry from a dream. It was like watching something from a Marvel movie.

“Okay, now,” Ethan said. “Give it a command while pushing your mana into that node with intent.”

Daniel did so.

And as he attempted to insert a secondary intent command, the system buckled.

The entire array stuttered—sigils blurring, collapsing into nonsense as the light guttered out.

Daniel exhaled and leaned back.

“It’s not the structure,” he muttered. “It’s the contamination.”

“Intent,” Ethan confirmed. “Mana’s too expressive. Even when you try to stay neutral, it still leaks.”

Daniel tapped a stylus against the workbench.

“So that’s what you were working against. What every spell system is built on—emotionally flavored instructions. It’s not a language. It’s a scream of mostly gibberish.”

“It works on the individual level—has for centuries. But building anything for automation or command instruction is very difficult. Damn near impossible.”

Daniel stood, walking a slow circuit around the table while Nathan snored in the corner. He kept thinking back to what he’d seen on this world’s communication relay—their Magenet network. A magical system meant for information sharing across the Empire. Enchanted relay crystals. Signal flares. Public technique registries.

But the more he saw of it, the more it reminded him of a memory-corrupted interface—no indexing, no formatting, no logic isolation. Everything ran on mana and intent.

And intent was unstable.

Honestly, it was insane that the damn thing worked at all. They had something akin to TikTok… without a proper mainframe or network.

“You can’t build a reliable network with a medium that changes every time someone’s angry,” Daniel muttered.

“And yet we did.”

Daniel looked down at the sputtering glyph set.

“This isn’t a communication problem. It’s a basic structure problem.”

“Go on,” Ethan prompted.

“We’re trying to build structure out of raw instinct. Every spell, every glyph, every function—it’s hardwired to mana with intent. What we need is a protocol that runs without interference. A language protocol. A way to record that language and reproduce it at will—and then a way to run those protocols based on the language instruction, which should become reproducible. I think the only way that’s going to happen is if we have hardware that filters the intent out… or doesn’t use mana at all.”

Daniel shook his head.

“We need to completely redesign this from the ground up. Power source, hardware, software, operating system—and then long-term power and storage. After that, we can tackle the internet problem.”

“I don’t really know what those words mean. But if I’m understanding your context, you want a complete redesign of the system. No one’s done that. You’re talking crazy, my friend.”

Daniel smiled faintly.

“That’s the point. If the Empire relies on the system to communicate, anyone with half a brain is going to attack the network the moment a war starts. We have to take care of the obvious weakness. If you want your Framework idea to actually work—we start here. First: the power source.”

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He turned back to the table and began sketching diagrams. Lines, nodes, loops. He didn’t have the power source yet. Didn’t even have a material that could hold the frequency range he wanted. But he could build the blueprint.

“Have you already thought of options?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah. But you’ll have to weigh in,” Daniel said. “I see three. One: figure out a way to use ultra-pure mana—mana with no intent at all. But I don’t even know if that exists.”

“Agreed. A pure mana source is out.”

“Two: develop a filter. Something to pull the intent, corruption, and impurities out of mana, leaving raw power behind. Based on your notes, some divine-class materials might do that. They’d be expensive and hard to find, but predictable. I’ll take that over unpredictable failure.”

“And three?”

Daniel hesitated.

“Don’t use mana at all.”

Ethan was silent.

“…That’s blasphemy.”

Daniel shrugged.

“Only if it doesn’t work.”

They then launched into one of the most intense arguments they’d ever had.

Daniel didn’t notice her at first.

The girl stood near the edge of the hall, half-shadowed by a reflection glyph embedded in the polished stone wall. Her robes were unmarked—plain ivory with soft charcoal trim. Technically within dress code, but tailored too perfectly to be standard issue.

It wasn’t just the fit that caught his attention.

It was the way she moved—shoulders squared, spine straight, hands at rest but always ready. Quiet confidence. Not someone who needed to shout. She didn’t have to.

Oh—and the magic clung to her like static electricity at a carpet convention.

The girl wore a thin mask across her mouth—common enough among alchemy students, according to Ethan—but it made her look like a villain from a post-apocalyptic thriller. Her eyes were dull brown, unremarkable. But even with the mask and her darkened, shoulder-length hair, there was no hiding the posture. The tension of someone used to standing out.

Which was odd—because she clearly wasn’t trying to.

Interesting, Daniel thought.

He was halfway through realigning the diagnostic glyphs when she spoke.

“Why not hard-script the intent into the matrix?” she asked softly. “Try to use it instead of fighting against it. If the carrier pattern’s stable enough, it should overwrite fluctuation and maybe get the reproducible effect you’re looking for.”

Her voice was clear, articulate—but not haughty. Measured.

Daniel turned slowly. Despite the dullness of her eyes, they were sharp. Alert. Curious.

She was built like Marissa—hips, bust—but taller. Maybe six feet. The robe did little to conceal how unapologetically feminine her figure was.

Then there was her mana.

It wasn’t absent—it was concealed. Deliberately. Daniel had taken great strides to learn control, and Ethan said he was doing damn well. But this girl? She was beyond that. She’d mastered stillness. Suppression.

She wasn’t a novice. Not even close.

Things were getting very interesting.

Daniel kept his tone neutral as he made eye contact.

“Won’t work for what I’m trying to do. If the matrix structure holds memory, residual intent corrupts the input. The bleed-through stacks.”

She inclined her head.“Then anchor the structure in static arrays. Lock the framework. Separate the machine apparatus from the spell matrix. Reset after every use.”

“That works if you want to cast one spell at a time, over and over. Static, but not scalable. Not if you want systems sending, receiving, and interpreting input.”

She blinked. “What… you want to build a machine that can cast spells?”

Daniel grinned.

“Eventually? Maybe. But first—I want a magic system that can analyze people. Give feedback. Respond.”

She let out a slow breath. “Damn. Talk about ambitious.”

“I’ve been told I’m crazy. And a bit of an overachiever.”

She looked him up and down like she was reassessing him. Then, without another word, she turned. She moved with grace—the kind that only the rich or dangerous learned how to fake.

At the archway, she paused.

Turned.

Smiled—polite, measured, deliberately forgettable. “Marin,” she said. “You’re Ethan Zhou, right?”

Daniel didn’t answer immediately.

Everything about her—voice, posture—was composed. But it was too composed. Practiced. Rehearsed. “I’ve heard your name,” she added. “Mostly in arguments.”

Daniel tilted his head. “I tend to inspire those.”

Her smile didn’t grow, but her eyes gleamed faintly behind the mask.

“Well,” she said, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Then she vanished into the corridor—graceful, unhurried, and far too smooth to be who she claimed.

Ethan stirred in the back of his mind. “Marin. You think that’s her real name?”

“Not a chance. She’s clearly in disguise.”

“Odd place to be in disguise.”

“There are all types.”

“Truth.”

Daniel stared after her.

“Do we find out who she is?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do we care?”

Daniel shrugged. “Not really.”

“You think she’s a spy?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. If she is, she’s not a good one. She stands out after two minutes of watching her.”

He turned back to the lattice.

“But let’s assume worst case. She’s spying. Could anyone actually figure out what we’re building?”

Ethan hesitated

.

“My old colleagues could maybe get some of the theory. Steal pieces. Try to run with it.”

Daniel nodded. “If they had the tools, and the patience, and a decade to burn—and they still wouldn’t get it right.”

“So even if she’s spying…”

“She can’t steal anything. The ideas are too far ahead. Most wouldn’t even know where to begin, even if we gave them blueprints.”

“She was sharp, though. Sharp enough to follow.”

“And she didn’t want to be recognized,” Daniel added. “Which means she didn’t want credit. Just… curiosity.”

A pause.

“How did you know she was masked?” Ethan asked.

Daniel blinked.

“There was mana around her face,” Ethan continued. “Strange—”

“Not strange. Layered.”

Daniel walked back toward the casting circle and held his fingers out where she’d stood.

“Three folds. One cloaking intent. One bending perception. One bleeding ambient heat. She wasn’t just hiding her face. She was hiding how it felt to look at her.”

Ethan whistled.

“You saw that with the naked eye?”

Daniel nodded. “Only when I started pushing mana into my sight. Wait—you couldn’t do that?”

“Nope. That wasn’t in the toolkit. Though… I think our wife can.”

Daniel chuckled.

“I don’t think it’s talent. I think it’s intention. The more you try to define it, the more the world listens.”

He looked down at the still-glowing lattice.

“So… who do you think she is?”

“No idea,” Daniel said. “Not my world.”

“Right. I forget that sometimes.”

Daniel shrugged. “If this were a script? She’s probably someone important, playing it low to gather intel. Could be testing us. Or maybe we’re just a side quest in her drama.”

“You think she’s imperial?”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s hunting her brother’s killer. The one who died from bullying in a sect school. Her only clue? A corrupted memory crystal and some broken dreams.”

Ethan paused.

“What?”

Daniel shrugged again. “If it’s her sister, I’d feel bad for taking advantage while comforting her.”

Ethan laughed, silently.

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m a philanthropist.”