“She’s right, you know,” Ulrick said as they continued down the magical street.
“What?” Jeremiah asked absently.
His attention remained fixed on the glass pot cradled in both hands. The white lotus rested above a bed of pale sand, its petals spread around a soft golden glow. Billy floated close beside him this time, apparently taking Jeremiah’s warning about wandering off to heart. Though judging by the wonder filtering through their bond, the flower deserved at least some of the credit.
Ulrick grinned and pointed toward the pot.
“They’re fairly common, those,” he said. “Easy to care for, too. For a magical plant, at least.”
His gaze drifted ahead, and something in his expression softened.
“My mother used to keep a pond full of them when I was young.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “They were about the only plants that ever survived her black thumb.”
The baker chuckled to himself.
Jeremiah raised a brow and finally looked up at the larger man.
Ulrick caught the look from the corner of his eye.
“I inherited my affinity for plants from my father,” he explained, his smirk widening into a grin. “My mother, on the other hand, was somewhat famous for how thoroughly cursed her gardening skills were.”
He shook his head, though the fondness in his expression never faded.
“Not that she ever stopped trying. No one told that woman what she could or couldn’t do.” Another laugh slipped out. “In fact, she always claimed that was how she met my father, if you can believe it.”
Jeremiah blinked.
Ulrick had mentioned his mother before. From what Jeremiah understood, she’d been his first teacher in magic and a powerful mage in her own right, despite having been born without a natural affinity.
Much like Jeremiah.
This was the first time Ulrick had ever mentioned his father, however.
The comment had been casual, almost an afterthought, but Jeremiah still caught the faint hesitation beneath it. Ulrick’s easy humor hadn’t vanished, yet something in his voice had tightened around the word.
There was history there.
Enough that Jeremiah swallowed the question rising to his lips.
Whatever the story was, Ulrick clearly hadn’t brought it up to discuss now.
Instead, Jeremiah looked back down at the lotus.
“What do I need to do with it?” he asked.
Ulrick paused mid-step and gave him a brief, considering look before turning his attention to the pot.
“Nothing too complicated,” he said. “Simply place it in a body of water, roots and all.”
He pointed toward the small bulb beneath the flower, nestled half-buried in the layer of white sand.
“As long as the water carries some magical charge, the lotus will handle most of the rest itself.”
Jeremiah nodded slowly. “Where do I find… magical water?”
“There are a few ways.” Ulrick tilted his head as he considered the question. “You could charge it yourself. That’s usually the cheapest option, and given your affinity, it’ll likely be the easiest for you. Eventually.”
Jeremiah looked down at the flower again.
“Eventually?”
Ulrick gave him an amused look. “You’re not quite there yet. It’s not a difficult process, but it can be… draining.”
Jeremiah sighed. “Of course.”
“Patience.” Ulrick’s grin returned. “You’re progressing faster than you think.”
He raised a second finger.
“Your next option is magical substrate. Usually, powdered magical stone mixed with organic materials, stuff too weak or impure for anything more demanding. Add it to water or soil, and it’ll support magical plants and beasts.”
Jeremiah’s thoughts immediately jumped to the sparkling azure powder he periodically mixed into Billy’s tank.
He’d never given much thought to what it actually was. David had told him how much to use and how often, and Jeremiah had trusted the instructions. But the powder sounded almost exactly like what Ulrick was describing.
“It’s quick and easy to acquire,” Ulrick continued, pulling him back to the conversation. “Especially for people with little or no magical talent. The effects are limited, though, and the cost adds up over time.”
Jeremiah nodded, filing the information away. Maybe he could speak to David and ask where to get more, assuming that was what the powder actually was.
Ulrick lifted a third finger.
“Finally, you could construct an autogenic arcanosphere.”
Jeremiah frowned. “An arcanosphere?”
“An autogenic arcanosphere,” Ulrick repeated, “is a carefully arranged vivarium, either open or enclosed, that produces enough magical energy to sustain itself.”
He gestured toward the lotus.
“My mother’s pond was one. The fish nourished the plants. The plants cleaned and enriched the water while attracting insects and other creatures. Together, they produced enough ambient mana to support the entire habitat.”
Ulrick slowed slightly as they walked, giving Jeremiah time to follow.
“A witch’s garden is another classic example. Nothing inside it exists alone. The plants, pests, soil, spirits, and even the creatures feeding on them all play a role. Once properly balanced, the whole becomes more than the sum of its parts.”
Jeremiah looked down at the lotus, watching its pale light play across the glass.
The idea sounded familiar.
It wasn’t identical to the linked habitats in the shop, perhaps, but the similarity was too strong to ignore. Did they function according to the same basic principles?
Ulrick followed his gaze.
“That said, an arcanosphere is also the most expensive and time-consuming option. It takes careful planning, the right components, and a great deal of work to get one functioning properly.”
His smile returned.
“Once you do, however, it can become a nearly inexhaustible source of mana and magical resources.”
Ulrick shrugged. “As for my recommendation, I think it’d be best to keep the lotus in the little one’s tank for now.”
He gestured toward Billy.
The young kraken turned, tilting his head as if he understood he was being discussed. A moment later, his attention drifted back to the lotus, wonder still flowing steadily through the bond.
“They should support one another,” Ulrick continued. “The lotus will benefit from the mana he naturally produces, and in return, it’ll help support Billy’s growth.”
Jeremiah glanced between the flower and Billy, considering the idea.
“And by the time the lotus starts to outgrow the tank—”
Ulrick’s grin widened.
“—and trust me, it will — you can start thinking about something larger.”
“Larger?”
“A pond, perhaps. You’ve got that courtyard behind the shop. Dig one there, replant the lotus, and build outward from it.”
Ulrick stroked his beard as he considered the possibilities.
“A flower and a small pond won’t be enough to form a proper arcanosphere, but they’d make a fine foundation. Add the right plants, a few compatible fish, perhaps some supporting materials.” He glanced at Jeremiah from the corner of his eye. “Nothing that should be too difficult to find with your…”
His grin turned knowing.
“…connections.”
“I see…” Jeremiah said.
His gaze returned to the lotus.
The shop already held several habitats designed to support different creatures, and the System seemed to favor connecting those spaces. If an arcanosphere worked through the same kind of balance, then a pond could become far more than decoration.
And if the habitat produced mana of its own, what else might it support?
What could it offer the people who visited the shop?
Questions rose one after another, each opening into several more, but before Jeremiah could decide where to begin, Ulrick slowed.
Jeremiah looked up.
A familiar door stood a short distance ahead, set between two storefronts that hadn’t been there the last time he’d looked. The surrounding buildings were different, and the crowd had shifted, yet Jeremiah recognized the door immediately.
It was the same one he and Ulrick had stepped through when they first entered the Inn Between.
Ulrick stopped before it and rested one broad hand against the frame.
“A lesson about the Inn Between, lad,” he said. “Whenever possible, leave through the same door you entered.”
Jeremiah raised a brow. “Why? Is it dangerous to use another one?”
Ulrick rocked one hand from side to side.
“Dangerous is a strong word. It depends on the mage, the door, and the destination. What you need to understand is that Threshold magic is unusually sensitive to perception.”
Jeremiah studied the door.
“Only illusion and divination rely more heavily on the caster’s own mind,” Ulrick continued. “Thresholds are defined as much by what people believe them to be as by their physical shape.”
He tapped the wooden frame with one thick finger.
“Technically, any door in the Inn Between might serve as a path home. But your mind already recognizes this one. You entered through it, so some part of you now understands it as the way back.”
Jeremiah looked over the frame more carefully, though nothing about it appeared different from before.
“And that does what? Make the spell easier? Safer?” he asked.
“Much easier,” Ulrick said with a nod. “Intent matters in any spellcraft. The clearer and more natural that intent feels, the less resistance you’ll meet while shaping it.”
Jeremiah returned the nod slowly.
That made more sense than he’d expected.
If mana was information, and magic was the manipulation of that information, then the way someone understood it could dramatically affect the outcome.
A door became more than wood, hinges, and a handle. It became a passage from one place to another.
Jeremiah glanced toward Ulrick and found the baker rubbing his chin, his expression thoughtful.
“Hmm.”
Then Ulrick’s eyes brightened.
Jeremiah narrowed his own, immediately on guard.
“You know what?” Ulrick said. “A bit of practical experience might be good for you.”
A mischievous grin spread across his face.
“How about it, lad? Want to bring us home?”
Jeremiah choked.
“What?” He whipped around to face him. “How?”
“By learning the spell, of course.”
Jeremiah stared at him, waiting for the joke.
Ulrick only smiled.
“No,” Jeremiah said, shaking his head. “That’s not what I— I mean…”
He stopped and drew a breath, trying to gather his thoughts.
“Ulrick, I haven’t cast a single spell yet. There’s no way I can start with something this complicated.”
Ulrick threw back his head and laughed.
“I did say you were close to casting your first spell, lad. What better opportunity could you ask for?”
“You did, but this—”
Ulrick raised a hand, cutting him off.
“I’ll admit it isn’t the most traditional choice. As I mentioned, most young mages aren’t brought here until after they’ve already cast their first spell.”
Jeremiah gave him a pointed look, which Ulrick ignored.
“That said, the spell itself isn’t as complicated as it sounds. Not from this side, at least. The Inn Between is filled with enchantments and support structures designed to help establish connections.”
He rested one hand against the doorframe.
“There’s very little risk involved,” Ulrick continued. “And if something does go wrong, I’ll be standing right beside you.”
Jeremiah paused and looked at the door.
Then at Ulrick.
Then back at the door.
The baker waited without pressing him, though the confidence in his expression made his opinion clear.
Jeremiah's lips drew into a thin line.
He’d be lying if he claimed he wasn’t tempted.
His first spell.
The thought stirred something in his chest. Excitement, perhaps, though he wasn’t sure he trusted it. What child hadn’t imagined summoning fireballs or calling lightning from the sky?
That younger version of himself probably wouldn’t have pictured his first spell as something so humble.
Or so terrifying.
After a long moment, Jeremiah drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.
“Fine,” he said. “What do I need to do?”
Ulrick’s grin widened.
“As I said, the spell is simple. First, gather the Threshold mana in the area. Then focus on your intent and the destination you want to reach.” Ulrick tapped the side of his head. “You need a clear mental image. As clear as you can make it.”
Jeremiah nodded, trying to follow.
“And then?”
“Then you knock.”
Jeremiah blinked, turned, and stared at him.
“Just knock?”
“Just knock,” Ulrick confirmed.
Jeremiah frowned again.
Ulrick grinned back.
“You’d be surprised how many doors a polite knock can open, lad.”
“What happens if I fail?”
Ulrick shrugged. “A few things could happen. Most likely, the spell simply won’t work.”
Jeremiah glanced at the door.
“If your mental image isn’t clear enough, or your connection to the destination is too weak, the spell may refuse to form,” Ulrick continued. “Or the door might open somewhere merely similar to where you intended.”
His expression sobered.
“Keep in mind, lad, similar doesn’t necessarily mean close. Threshold magic cares less about simple distance than proper Space magic does.”
Jeremiah furrowed his brow.
“If the place you’re reaching for is too generic, or another location matches your intent more closely, you might end up a few miles away. Or on the other side of the planet.” Ulrick paused. “Perhaps even on another world altogether.”
Jeremiah’s eyes widened.
The door in front of him suddenly seemed far less harmless than it had a moment ago.
Then another thought struck him.
“Wait.” he turned toward Ulrick. “If you end up in the wrong place, what stops you from just… trying again?”
Ulrick’s grin returned. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”
The baker folded his arms.
“In theory? Nothing. Assuming you’re strong enough.”
Jeremiah waited. Ulrick’s tone made it clear there was more.
“In practice, Threshold magic depends on where you are almost as much as on how you understand the destination.” Ulrick gestured between them. “You and I have an advantage because we live on Nexus.”
Jeremiah’s brow furrowed.
For a moment, he couldn’t see what Nexus had to do with it. Then the pieces shifted into place.
“Nexus is a Constellational intersection,” he said.
Ulrick nodded, pleased. “Aye. One of the few places in the galaxy where all five Constellations can exist without one overwhelming the others.”
He gestured broadly toward the impossible street around them.
“What’s more, Prima City is one of the largest gathering points on the planet. People, cultures, roads, trade, power. All of it converges there.”
His hand lowered.
“And the Crossroads serves much the same purpose for the Outskirts, even if it’s only a shadow of what it once was.”
Jeremiah considered that.
Ulrick chuckled softly.
“You’ll find those patterns repeated throughout Threshold magic. Crossings. Boundaries. Places where separate paths meet.” He nodded toward the door. “All of it comes together to make our home particularly suited to the practice.”
His expression sobered.
“Other worlds aren’t always so forgiving. There are plenty of stories about young mages getting excited by the idea of exploring new worlds, opening doors they shouldn’t, and stepping through without considering whether they could return.”
Jeremiah turned back toward the door.
His stomach tightened.
If he got this wrong—
No.
He cut the thought off before it could gather momentum.
Even if the spell connected to the wrong place, nothing said he had to step through. He could open the door, look, then close it and try again.
And if something went truly wrong, Ulrick was standing beside him.
For a first attempt, this was probably as safe as Threshold magic could ever be.
Jeremiah drew in a slow breath and released it.
He faced the door fully and tried to settle his thoughts, pushing aside the nagging worry and anxiety that had controlled him for the past few months. He’d decided to be less… passive, as Sarah had apparently called him.
This was one more step toward that.
He raised one hand toward the wood—
Then paused.
Ulrick was probably expecting him to connect the door back to the bakery.
That had been Jeremiah’s assumption as well. It was the doorway they’d used to enter the Inn Between, after all, and Ulrick had just explained why retracing that path would be easier.
But he had also explained how Threshold magic depended on perception. On intent. On the caster’s connection to the destination.
Jeremiah knew the bakery. He’d visited often enough over the past few months, whether for lessons, advice, or simply to talk.
But it wasn’t the place he knew best.
There was somewhere else he could picture with far greater clarity. A place whose rooms, smells, sounds, and small imperfections had become so familiar that he barely needed to think about them.
Jeremiah lowered his hand.
Then he closed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and made his choice.
Quietly, he pushed the image of Ulrick’s bakery aside and focused instead on another destination.
One far more familiar to him.