The pottery studio felt different in the evening light. The harsh sun was gone, replaced by a soft, golden glow. The air was cooler, the day's work done.
Mira was still there, cleaning her tools. She looked up as Anya entered.
"You came back," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm fighting for you," Anya said. The words felt weaker now, after Bren's story. "I just… I don't know how yet."
Mira watched her for a long moment. She wiped her hands on a rag, the clay under her nails a permanent tattoo.
"Words are easy," Mira said softly. "Clay is hard."
She walked to a bin of prepared clay and cut off a heavy, wet lump. She placed it in the center of a pottery wheel.
"Sit," she instructed.
Anya blinked. "What? I'm not a potter."
"Exactly," Mira said. Her eyes were kind but firm. "You can't represent what you don't understand. You fight for our hands? Then you should know what they do."
She's right. And I feel completely ridiculous.
------
Anya sat on the stool. The lump of clay was a cold, gray mound. It looked inert. Dead.
"Now, center it," Mira said, stepping back. "Your hands will guide it. Don't force it. Feel it."
Anya wet her hands in a bucket of slip. The water was cool and silky.
She reached out and touched the clay.
It was cold and firm. Unyielding. She pressed her palms against it, trying to make it obey.
The wheel spun. The clay wobbled violently, slopping under her hands.
This is impossible. It has no structure. No rules.
She was a organizer. She worked with contracts and arguments. This was chaos.
"Stop fighting it," Mira's voice came, calm and steady. "You're not its master. You're its partner. Guide the potential that's already there."
Anya took a shaky breath. She closed her eyes.
She stopped trying to control the clay. Instead, she focused on the feeling. The cool slip between her fingers. The gritty texture. The weight of it spinning, wanting to become something.
She let her hands cradle the clay. She applied pressure, not to dominate, but to suggest.
The wobbling slowed. The chaos began to find a rhythm.
----------------------
A warmth bloomed behind her eyes.
It wasn't a headache. It was a gentle heat, spreading down her neck and spine. The sound of the spinning wheel deepened, becoming a steady, resonant pulse.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Like a heartbeat.
Golden light, the color of the setting sun, flickered at the edge of her vision. It wasn't in the room. It was in her mind.
The air in the studio changed. It grew warmer, richer. It smelled like rain on fresh earth.
The golden light solidified into elegant, flowing script.
[SOLIDARITY NETWORK v1.0 - AWAKENED]
Anya's breath caught in her throat.
What… what is this?
More text cascaded into her view, warm and organic, utterly different from Gareth's cold blue interface.
[ANALYZING COLLECTIVE BOND...]
[WILLOWBROOK POTTERY: 5 ARTISANS, 1 SHARED KILN, 23 YEARS COMBINED EXPERIENCE]
[INTEGRITY SCORE: 94/100]
[VULNERABILITY: ISOLATION]
Terror and wonder warred inside her. This was impossible. And yet, it felt more right than anything ever had.
It wasn't assessing individuals. It was seeing the connections. The strength of their bond. Their shared history.
It saw their heart.
[FIRST QUEST: "CONNECT THE THREADS"]
The words glowed with gentle insistence.
------------------
Her hands were still on the clay. But now, she could feel more.
She could feel the potential in the lump. She could feel the subtle shifts in density. Her hands moved with a new, instinctive confidence.
The clay was no longer resisting. It was rising. It was yielding, becoming a simple, graceful bowl beneath her touch.
It wasn't perfect. The walls were a little uneven. But it was alive.
She opened her eyes.
The golden interface remained, transparent and overlaying her vision. The bowl spun, perfectly centered.
Mira was staring at her. Her expression was one of pure astonishment.
"How…" Mira whispered. "You centered it. On your first try."
Anya slowly pulled her hands away. The wheel spun down. The simple, raw bowl stood there. A thing she had made. A thing made with her.
The warmth in her spine settled into a steady, comforting hum.
The System wasn't a tool for control. It was a lens for connection. It saw the foundation of things. The bonds between people.
Gareth's system wanted to cut the "isolated" potters loose. Hers just gave her their first, true quest.
[QUEST OBJECTIVE: ALLEVIATE ISOLATION. STRENGTHEN COLLECTIVE BONDS.]
She looked at Mira, her heart pounding with a new, ferocious hope.
"I think I know how to fight now," Anya said, her voice full of wonder.
The game had just changed.