Evan woke to someone pounding on his door with the rhythmic enthusiasm of a woodpecker who'd discovered espresso and decided to make it his entire personality.
"EVAN! UP! UP! THE DAY AWAITS! AND SO DOES A VERY INTERESTING BOULDER!"
Ross. Of course. Because the universe hated him and wanted him to never experience a full night's sleep again.
Evan groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. The pillow—being, like everything else in this world, pathologically eager to please—immediately began improving itself. The filling redistributed for optimal comfort. The fabric softened to the exact thread count his skin preferred. The temperature adjusted to something slightly cool but not cold, the perfect sleeping temperature.
It became, in approximately three seconds, the best pillow he'd ever experienced in either of his lives.
Which made getting out of bed approximately four hundred percent harder.
"Go away," he mumbled into luxury beyond mortal comprehension. "It's still dark. The sun hasn't even apologized for existing yet."
"IT'S DAWN! The perfect time for training! The light is soft! The air is crisp! The boulder is—and I cannot stress this enough—VERY BOULDER-Y! It has BOULDERED for centuries and it's ready to be IMPROVED!"
Evan considered his options with the clarity of a man who'd had approximately negative three hours of sleep.
Option A: Stay in bed. Ross would eventually break the door down. The door would probably improve itself into something unbreakable mid-break, which would be interesting to witness but terrible for his sleep schedule and also the door might develop opinions about being broken.
Option B: Explain the concept of "reasonable hours" again. Ross would listen, nod thoughtfully, and then immediately forget because his brain ran on chaos and good intentions and possibly some sort of magical caffeine.
Option C: Accidentally turn Ross into something less energetic. A fern, maybe. Ferns were quiet. Ferns didn't pound on doors at dawn. But that seemed rude, and also he had no idea how to turn people back from ferns. What if Ross liked being a fern? What if he became the world's most enthusiastic fern?
Option D: Get up.
With a sigh that made the bed curtains flutter sympathetically, Evan chose Option D.
The training grounds at dawn were misty, quiet, and cold in that specific way that made you question every life choice that had led you to be outside in it. Frost glittered on the grass. The air smelled of dew and earth and the faint ozone tang of residual magic. Ross stood next to what he'd optimistically called a "small boulder."
It was the size of a compact car.
"That's not a boulder," Evan said, pulling his coat tighter and glaring at the thing. "That's a geological feature. That has its own ecosystem. There are probably small animals living in it who are very confused right now about why they've been dragged into this."
"NONSENSE! It's perfectly manageable! WATCH!" Ross planted his hands on the boulder and strained. Veins popped out on his forehead. His face turned approximately the color of an embarrassed tomato. His muscles bulged impressively. The boulder didn't move so much as a millimeter. "SEE? Stable! Perfect for training! Excellent boulder integrity! Top-quality boulderness!"
"You couldn't move it either."
"I wasn't TRYING to move it! I was testing its... boulder integrity! Which is EXCELLENT!" Ross wiped sweat from his brow, grinning like he'd just accomplished something magnificent. "Now YOU try! Communicate with it! Find out what it wants to be!"
Evan approached the boulder. Up close, it was even more aggressively boulder-like. Grey. Massive. Speckled with lichen that had probably been growing since before his grandparents met. It looked at him (and he was certain it looked at him, even though it didn't have eyes) with the deep, patient disdain of something that had been sitting in one place for millennia and planned to continue doing so indefinitely.
"What exactly am I training to do with it?"
"CONTROL! FOCUS! INTENT!" Ross bounced on the balls of his feet, which was genuinely impressive given how much mass he was moving. "Yesterday in the throne room, you transformed things by ACCIDENT! Today, we do it on PURPOSE! We CONVERSE with the boulder! We LEARN its desires!"
Evan looked at the boulder. The boulder looked back. The lichen seemed to smirk.
"And if I fail?"
"Then we LEARN from the failure! That's the BEAUTY of it! Failure is just success in disguise! Wearing a different hat! A less comfortable hat, perhaps, but still a hat!"
Emma arrived, yawning with enough drama to qualify for a theater production. She was dressed for riding—sturdy boots, warm coat, hair in a messy braid that suggested she'd put approximately zero effort into it and still looked better than Evan ever had. She was carrying a steaming cup of something that smelled amazing.
"You two are LOUD," she announced. "I could hear you from the other side of the palace. The birds are complaining. Actual birds. They found me and delivered a formal protest in triplicate."
"EXCELLENT! An AUDIENCE!" Ross beamed. "Emma, you can be the objective observer! Note any interesting phenomena! Especially the EXPLOSIVE ones! Take notes! Document everything!"
"I'm not here to observe." Emma leaned against a fence post with the casual grace of someone who'd never known back pain. "I'm here to LAUGH. There's a difference. Also, I brought coffee."
Evan's head snapped around. "You WHAT?"
"Coffee." She held up the cup. "Real coffee. I had to bribe three servants and threaten a merchant, but I found some. Apparently it exists here, it's just rare and expensive and everyone's too fancy to admit they drink it."
Evan crossed the distance in approximately two seconds and grabbed the cup. He took a sip. It was hot, bitter, slightly burnt, and absolutely perfect.
"I love you," he said. "Platonically. As a cousin. But I love you."
"I know." She grinned. "Now go talk to a boulder. I want to see what happens."
Energized by caffeine and the faint hope that maybe this world wasn't completely devoid of civilization, Evan turned back to the boulder. It was still there, still massive, still judging him.
Okay, he thought. Let's do this.
He placed his hands on the cold, rough surface. Closed his eyes. Tried to remember what the Weaver—who he hadn't even met yet but already thought of as a wise voice in his head—would say about listening before acting.
What do you want to be? he thought at the boulder. What's your better version? What have you always dreamed of becoming?
The boulder thought about it.
Then, very gently, it began to change.
At first, nothing visible happened. But Evan could feel it—a vibration deep within the stone, a hum of possibility, a conversation starting. The boulder was considering his question. Mulling it over. Thinking about its options.
Then the changes began.
The grey surface lightened, becoming pale, almost white. The texture smoothed, the rough patches evening out. The lichen—Evan felt bad about this—faded away, replaced by a surface so smooth it was almost reflective.
It was still boulder-sized. Still massive. Still undeniably a boulder.
But now it looked like marble. Perfect, white marble with delicate grey veins running through it. The kind of marble that sculptors dreamed of, that architects wept over, that cost more than Evan's old house.
"FASCINATING!" Ross circled the transformed boulder, practically vibrating with excitement. "You didn't make it smaller! You didn't change its shape! You improved its quality! Its essence!"
"I was trying to figure out what it wanted," Evan said.
"And you LISTENED!" Ross tapped the marble with his knuckles. It rang like a bell, a pure, clear note that echoed across the training grounds. "You didn't impose your will! You had a CONVERSATION! This is PROGRESS!"
Emma whistled. "You just turned a common rock into something worth more than my horse. Without even meaning to. Just by asking it what it wanted."
"That's my life now," Evan said. "Accidental value creation. I should start a business."
"Let's try something else!" Ross produced a small wooden box from somewhere within his coat—it was a magic coat, apparently, capable of holding infinite objects. Inside were various items: a feather, a piece of glass, a copper coin, a dead leaf. "Smaller scale! More control! See if you can have the same conversation with these!"
Evan picked up the feather. It was soft, grey, unremarkable—the kind of feather that had fallen from some bird and been forgotten.
What do you want to be? he thought at it.
The feather shivered in his hand. Then it grew. Not much, just enough to be noticeable. Its structure changed, the barbs aligning perfectly, becoming more rigid, more organized. The color shifted—not to anything dramatic, just to a deeper, richer grey, with hints of iridescence like a raven's wing.
"It's... better," Evan said. "But still a feather. Just a really nice feather."
"FASCINATING!" Ross scribbled notes on a piece of parchment that appeared from nowhere. "Your magic defaults to improvement! To the object's own ideal! Not to your stated intent!"
The glass was next. Evan tried to make it into a perfect sphere. Instead, it became a multifaceted gem, catching the morning light and throwing rainbows across the grass. It was still glass, but now it was magnificent glass.
The copper coin became heavier, purer, its edges perfectly milled, its surface gleaming like new.
The dead leaf... well, it stopped being dead. It turned green, supple, and then grew roots that dug into Evan's palm. A tiny sapling sprouted from his skin, leaves unfurling, reaching for the sun.
He stared at it. "I brought it back to life."
"Not just back to life!" Ross was practically vibrating. "IMPROVED life! That sapling is healthier than any natural seedling! Look at the color! The structure! The vigor!"
Emma plucked the sapling from Evan's hand and planted it properly in the ground, patting the soil around it. "We should name it. Something pretentious. Like 'Lord Barkley the Third.' Or 'Sir Reginald Foliage.'"
"This is incredible," Ross said, his eyes wide with wonder. "Your magic doesn't just transform! It OPTIMIZES! It takes things and makes them the best possible version of themselves! The ideal form!"
"That sounds nice," Evan said. "But what if I need to make something worse? Or break it? What if there's a door in my way and I need it to not be there anymore?"
Ross blinked. "Why would you want to make something worse?"
"Practical reasons! Self-defense! Basic home renovation! Sometimes you need a door to be open, not improved!"
"Hmm." Ross rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's... an interesting challenge. Most mages struggle to make things better. You struggle to make things worse. Your magic is... fundamentally optimistic."
"It's the story of my life," Evan muttered. "Cursed to improve everything I touch, even when I don't want to."
"Let's test it! Try to break this!" Ross picked up an ordinary-looking stick from the ground. It was dry, brittle, the kind of stick that would snap if you looked at it wrong. "Just snap it! With magic!"
Evan took the stick. It felt like a stick. Dry. Brittle. Ready to break.
He focused on breaking it. Snap. Simple. Just break.
The stick straightened in his hand. The bark smoothed. The wood hardened, becoming denser, stronger, more resilient. It gained a slight curve, becoming perfectly balanced.
It was no longer a stick. It was a wand. Or possibly a very small staff. It hummed faintly with contained energy.
Evan stared at it. "I made it better again."
"FASCINATING!" Ross took the stick-wand, examining it. "It's practically indestructible now! You've reinforced it on a molecular level! It could probably survive a dragon!"
"So I can't break things," Evan said. "I can only make them better. Even when I don't want to. Even when I'm actively trying not to."
"It's a unique limitation! But also a unique strength!" Ross's eyes gleamed. "Imagine the applications! Improving crops! Strengthening buildings! Healing injuries! Making really excellent walking sticks!"
"Right now I'd settle for being able to open a door without it becoming a masterpiece of craftsmanship that future generations will study in awe."
Emma snorted. "Poor you. Cursed with the ability to make everything better. However will you cope?"
Evan gave her a look. "You try living it. Yesterday I tried to close a window, and the latch turned to silver and developed decorative filigree. The window now has opinions about fresh air."
"See? Improvements!"
The sun was fully up now, the mist burning away. Servants were moving through the palace grounds, casting curious glances at the trio and the very out-of-place marble boulder. A gardener stopped and stared at it, then at Evan, then back at the boulder, then slowly backed away.
"Alright," Ross said, clapping his hands. "New approach! Instead of fighting your nature, we work WITH it! You want to break something? Make it so GOOD it breaks from being too good!"
"That doesn't make sense."
"Of COURSE it does! It's ELEGANT! Like over-tuning a violin string until it snaps from perfection! Like making something so beautiful it can't bear to exist! Perfection leading to destruction!"
Evan looked at Emma. "Is he always like this?"
"Pretty much. But he's usually right. In a sideways, confusing kind of way."
They spent the next hour experimenting. Evan tried to "break" various objects by "improving" them to the point of failure. Results were mixed:
- A clay pot became porcelain, then crystal, then shattered from its own perfection, the pieces arranging themselves into a beautiful mosaic on the ground.
- A leather strap became stronger, then tougher, then so rigid it cracked—and the crack was art.
- A page of parchment became vellum, then something like glassine paper, then dissolved into a fine, valuable powder that sparkled in the sunlight.
- A wooden practice sword became so perfectly balanced, so ergonomically designed, that it actually wanted to be used—and then immediately developed a crack from the sheer intensity of its own desire.
"Progress!" Ross declared as they surveyed the results—a pile of beautiful, interesting failures. "You're learning to channel your improvement toward specific outcomes!"
"I'm learning to destroy things by making them too good," Evan corrected. "Which feels like a metaphor for something."
"Life! It's a metaphor for life!" Ross beamed. "Now! Let's try something BIGGER!"
He pointed to a nearby tree—a massive oak that had probably been there for centuries, its branches spreading wide, its leaves just starting to turn autumn colors.
"Improve that! Make it... I don't know... fruit-bearing! Out of season! Something DRAMATIC!"
"I don't think—"
"Intent! Focus! GO!"
Evan looked at the tree. It was ancient and dignified, currently shedding its leaves for winter, preparing for its long sleep. He focused on fruit. Apples, maybe. Or peaches. Something that would be impressive.
What do you want to be? he thought at the tree. What's your better version?
The tree shivered. Leaves that had been yellow turned green again, unfurling like it was spring. Branches straightened, reaching toward the sky. The bark smoothed, becoming almost silvery, gleaming in the light. And at the end of every branch, buds formed—not leaf buds, but flower buds, hundreds of them.
They opened in seconds, white blossoms covering the tree like snow in summer. The scent was incredible—sweet and fresh, filling the entire training ground. Petals drifted down like snowflakes.
Then, as quickly as they'd bloomed, they fell, replaced by swelling fruit.
Not apples. Not peaches. Something new—golden orbs that glowed softly in the morning light, hanging from every branch like tiny suns.
The fruit ripened in moments, heavy and perfect, weighing down branches that should have been bare. The scent intensified—honey and spice and something indefinable, something that made Evan's mouth water.
Ross plucked one. It came away easily, resting in his palm, glowing gently. He took a bite. His eyes widened.
"It's... it's PERFECT. The perfect fruit. Sweet, tart, juicy, flavorful... it's everything a fruit should BE. It's the IDEAL fruit."
Emma took one too. She chewed thoughtfully. "Yeah. That's... that's not normal fruit. That's 'wish I could eat this forever' fruit. That's 'I would fight a bear for another one of these' fruit."
Evan looked at the tree, now producing magical, perfect fruit out of season. It looked happy. Content. Like it had finally become what it always wanted to be.
"I just wanted it to bear fruit," he said. "I didn't specify..."
"Your magic filled in the details!" Ross said around another bite. "It didn't just make fruit! It made PERFECT fruit! Because that's what improvement means to you! The best possible version!"
Servants were gathering now, staring at the miraculous tree. A gardener approached cautiously, touching the silvery bark with reverent fingers, tears in his eyes.
"It's beautiful," the gardener whispered. "I've tended this tree for forty years. It was always... content. But now... now it's happy."
"We should name this variety," another gardener said. "Carter's Gold. Or Dawnfruit. Something worthy."
Evan looked at his hands. They still looked like hands. But they'd just created a new species of tree. Before breakfast.
"This is getting out of hand," he said.
"Nonsense!" Ross threw an arm around his shoulders. "It's just GETTING started! Imagine what we can do with proper training! Proper focus! Proper INTENT!"
Emma finished her fruit, tossing the core into a compost pile that immediately began steaming with accelerated decomposition. The compost pile now smelled amazing.
"I have a question," she said.
"Yes?" Ross turned to her.
"What happens when he tries to improve something that's already perfect?"
They all looked at each other. Then at the perfect fruit tree. Then at Evan.
"I don't know," Evan admitted. "And I'm not sure I want to find out."
But even as he said it, he knew: in a palace full of people who wanted to use him, test him, understand him, he was going to find out whether he wanted to or not.
The only question was what would break first: the objects he improved, or the delicate balance of a court that wasn't ready for perfection.
***