The decision was immediate.
"We fix it," Kale said, already standing. "Before it kills her."
Flo hesitated. "It's not that simple."
"Nothing ever is," Kale replied. "Start explaining."
They sat around the table as Flo spoke, her hands still trembling but her voice steadier now. Jake listened in silence, mana sealed, body aching in a way he wasn't used to.
"There's a method," Flo said. "Old. Crude. But it works."
She described it carefully.
A containment vessel.
A rotating engine.
Herts Dust—unstable, reactive, but capable of dispersing mana fragments without destroying their structure.
"The engine spins the dust around the container," Flo explained. "A fragment of Jake's mana is introduced—small, controlled. The dust fractures its purity. Weakens it."
Jake frowned. "So you're… breaking my mana?"
"Diluting it," Kale corrected. "Like cutting wine with water."
Flo nodded. "Once weakened, it's passed into an orb. Spread evenly. Safe for absorption."
Kale was already moving.
"We'll need copper threading, mana-resistant glass, three stabilizers—"
"I know," Flo said softly. "I've built one before."
That gave Kale pause.
"Where?"
Flo didn't answer.
They spent the day scavenging.
Kale disappeared into the ruins nearby, returning with scorched metal, cracked components, things only she could recognize as useful. Jake helped where he could—lifting, carrying, assembling—but without mana, everything felt heavier. Slower.
Humbling.
By nightfall, the engine sat on the table.
Ugly.
Functional.
Kale activated it.
The dust began to spin.
Jake winced as a thin thread of his mana was drawn out, fractured, softened, reshaped. The orb glowed faintly—not blinding, not overwhelming.
Flo took it carefully.
She hesitated before absorbing it.
Then exhaled.
Color returned to her face almost immediately.
"…It works," she said.
Jake slumped back in his chair, exhaustion finally crashing over him.
Kale shut the engine down. "Good. Because next time, we don't improvise."
The silence that followed was quieter.
Safer.