It started, as many problems do, with a dramatic entrance.
A plume of violet smoke erupted near the east road—the one freshly paved with mana-guided cobblestones, lined with clay lanterns and rune-woven flags. The villagers had just finished oiling the market stalls for the harvest fair.
Then the smoke began to hum.
Out of it stepped a man draped in black and silver, hood thrown back to reveal an angular face framed by bone charms and glowing tattoos. His staff gleamed with etched runes in a language Jin didn't recognize—but one the villagers clearly did.
A whisper swept the square: Mage.
A real one.
Not a triangle-chalking, rune-doodling shape wizard like Jin—this man was branded. His bare forearms shimmered with complex glyphs like molten lace, and his staff practically dripped with contempt.
"Villagers of... Lenth, is it?" His voice had the smooth confidence of someone who had never been hit with a flying bakery cart. "I am Zareth. Mage of the Low Sigil. Wandering Sentinel of the Nine Ash Path."
He said it like he expected applause.
Instead, he got crickets. And one confused chicken.
Undeterred, Zareth continued. "I see improvements. Runes in walls. Floating carts. A glowing road. Curious... for a settlement not affiliated with the Guild."
Jin, watching from a rooftop, sighed. "Ah. He's that kind of bureaucratic firebender."
Zareth raised his staff. "Such innovation, unchecked, risks contamination. Magic taught without control is magic fated for disaster. I'll be confiscating any unstable constructs and offering 'protective oversight' on behalf of the Guild."
Translation: Give me your stuff or I'll melt it.
Jin dropped into the square with a satisfying cape flutter. "Hi! I'm the part-time village nuisance, full-time rune mechanic, and unofficial goat whisperer. What was that about confiscating things?"
Zareth turned, eyes narrowing. "And you are?"
Jin beamed. "Starfall. Geometry Enthusiast. Magical Educator. Retired Chicken Herder. Local triangle wizard."
Zareth blinked. "That's not a recognized school of magic."
"Exactly," Jin said. "It's better."
The villagers began crowding around, cautious but present. Behind them, lights flickered in rune-laced lanterns, ropes lifted silently from carts using levitation glyphs, and a dozen children drew symbols on stones that glowed harmlessly beneath their fingers.
Zareth stared.
"This... this isn't natural."
"It's practical," Jin replied. "Our shingles don't leak, our paths glow at night, our bakery no longer explodes—well, rarely—and our bread tastes less like despair."
Zareth pointed his staff toward the academy tent. "You're channeling energy through unregulated script. Where is your training? Who permitted this?"
Jin scratched his chin. "Let's see. The serpent god said 'don't break the world.' That seemed like a good boundary."
The mage growled, stepping forward. "You're endangering yourselves. And others. This must be disbanded."
He raised his staff—runes flaring red.
Jin lifted his palm. "Don't."
"Or what? You'll draw shapes at me?"
"No," said Jin. "They will."
The villagers didn't run.
Instead, dozens of them pulled stones from pockets and bags—each etched with simple, practiced shapes. Light flickered across the plaza. Air pulsed. Sparks danced on fingertips.
A baker stepped forward, holding a hovering loaf like a warning sign. It smelled cinnamon-sweet and vaguely threatening.
Zareth hesitated.
"These aren't wild glyphs," Jin said softly. "They're structured. Shared. Stable. I taught them. They understand them. This isn't stolen magic. It's rebuilt."
The mage scanned the crowd, saw the unity, saw the resolve.
And for the first time, he frowned—less with anger and more with confusion.
"…Shape-based casting," he murmured. "That shouldn't work."
"I know," Jin said. "And yet, here we are. Making muffins. Lighting roads. Teaching kids how not to explode."
Zareth turned, robe snapping. "This isn't over."
Jin shrugged. "Nope. You'll be back. Probably with paperwork."
And with that, the mage disappeared in another puff of purple smoke, slightly less impressive the second time.
The villagers exhaled as one.
Nira grinned. "You make triangle scary."
Jin grinned back. "Everything's scary when you understand the angles."