Weaves of Ashes

Chapter 65: Chapter 60: The Sparkcaster

Location: Dark Forest - Outer Ring Cave | Doha (Lower Realm)

Time: Day 370-371

The shoulder ached. Not the sharp, screaming pain of two days ago when the boar’s tusk had torn through leather and flesh—just a dull, persistent throb that flared whenever Jayde moved wrong. The healing pill had done its job on the surface. Closed the wound, stopped the bleeding, and prevented infection. But underneath? The deep tissue damage would take time.

Time she had. Time she could use.

Jayde sat cross-legged at the old man’s desk, surrounded by scrap metal and salvaged components. Her right arm moved carefully, testing the range of motion without aggravating the injury. Limited, but functional. Good enough.

(Are we really doing this?) Jade’s voice carried equal parts excitement and uncertainty. (Making a weapon? Like the Federation ones?)

Affirmative. Plasma rifle principles translated to cultivation mechanics. Theory is sound. Jayde’s fingers traced lines on a flat stone, charcoal sketching rough designs. The question is execution.

She’d been thinking about this since the realization hit her—that false choice she’d been making. Federation marine OR cultivation mage. Technology OR magic. Why choose when she could be both? When she was literally the only person in this realm, maybe anywhere, who had sixty years of military engineering expertise AND access to cultivation abilities?

The Luminari had done it. The Starforge Nexus was proof—technology and essence fused into something greater than either alone. If ancient aliens could make it work, so could she.

”Okay.” She pulled a twisted piece of metal closer, examining it critically. ”Principles first. A plasma rifle has three main components.”

Power source. Containment field. Acceleration chamber.

(I don’t understand most of those words.)

”Don’t need to. Just watch.” Jayde’s charcoal moved faster now, sketching diagrams. ”Power source is easy—my Crucible Core generates Ember Qi constantly. That’s actually better than a Federation power cell because it regenerates. Never runs out, just needs time to refill.”

Current capacity: 2,160 Ember Qi. Regeneration rate: 180 per hour at rest. Optimal compared to limited-charge battery systems.

”Containment’s trickier.” She tapped the stone, thinking. ”In Federation tech, we use magnetic fields to contain superheated plasma. Keep it from touching the barrel until we want it released. But here...”

(We use our will? Like with Sparkcasting?)

”Exactly.” Jayde grinned. ”Sparkcasting already proves I can shape and project Inferno essence. It’s just a matter of channeling it through a physical system instead of directly from my hands. Add a barrel for focus and direction, structural reinforcement so it doesn’t explode in my face—”

Theoretical framework viable. Ember Qi exhibits plasma-like properties: high energy density, thermal output, controllable through intent.

”So it should work.” Jayde set down the charcoal, reached for a piece of curved metal that might’ve been part of an old tool. ”Should. Let’s see if theory matches reality.”

***

The cave’s dim light made detail work difficult, so Jayde had moved her project closer to the phosphorescent moss patches. Not perfect, but better than squinting in near-darkness. Her shoulder protested the awkward angle, sending shooting pains down her arm.

She ignored it. Pain was information, nothing more. Information that said ”don’t overextend” but didn’t say ”stop working entirely.”

(This piece?) Jade’s attention focused on a hollow metal tube, maybe two feet long. Tarnished and dented but structurally sound.

Acceptable for initial prototype. Diameter sufficient for Qi channeling. Wall thickness questionable but testable.

Jayde picked up the tube, turning it over. The metal felt cool against her palms, slightly rough where corrosion had pitted the surface. It smelled like old iron and earth—familiar, in a way that reminded her of Federation armories and maintenance bays.

”This’ll be the barrel.” She set it down, grabbed a flat piece that could serve as a handgrip. ”Channel Ember Qi through here, let it accelerate down the length, release at the far end. Simple.”

(Will it really work?)

”Only one way to find out.”

The next hour was meticulous assembly. Jayde worked slowly, partly because of her injury and partly because precision mattered. She positioned the handgrip against the tube at a right angle, then paused.

(How do we attach them? We don’t have proper tools.)

”Don’t need tools. I have Heat Palm.” She activated the technique, channeling 2 Qi per minute into her right hand. The familiar warmth spread through her palm, building until her skin glowed faintly orange. ”In the Federation, we used plasma welders. This is basically the same thing—controlled heat application.”

She pressed her heated palm against the seam where metal met metal. The components began to soften, edges melting and flowing together. Not perfect fusion—the materials weren’t ideal for this—but solid joins that would hold under stress much better than wire bindings ever could.

Innovative application of cultivation technique. Heat Palm as a precision welding tool. Resource efficiency: Excellent.

(That’s so cool! We’re using magic like technology!)

”Or using technology principles with magic. Same thing.” Jayde moved to the next join, carefully controlling the heat intensity. Too much and she’d warp the metal. Too little and the weld wouldn’t hold. ”This is what I should’ve realized from the start. Cultivation abilities aren’t just for fighting. They’re tools. Heat Palm isn’t just a combat technique—it’s a portable forge.”

She worked methodically, welding each component into place. The handgrip fused to the tube. A small plate attached at the rear as a backstop, directing all energy forward. Thin metal strips reinforced stress points, welded seamlessly into the structure.

By the time she finished, the device looked... well, still crude. Scrap metal welded together with cultivation heat. Not pretty. Not elegant. But solid. Functional. And uniquely hers—a weapon that literally couldn’t exist without both her lives’ knowledge working together.

Design complete. Estimated Qi requirement per discharge: 40-50 units based on Flame Lance cost scaling.

(That’s a lot.)

”But sustainable.” Jayde hefted the device, getting a feel for its weight and balance. About three pounds. Awkward grip because the metal wasn’t shaped for hands, but manageable. ”Forty Qi means I could theoretically fire this... fifty-four times at full capacity. That’s better than any magazine I carried in the Federation.”

Assuming device integrity holds. Structural analysis: Unknown variables in material stress tolerance.

”Right. One way to test that.”

She stood carefully, cradling her makeshift weapon. The cave’s rear wall would work as a backstop—solid stone, no risk of richocheting rounds back at her. Jayde positioned herself fifteen feet away, raised the device one-handed, and drew on her Crucible Core.

Ember Qi responded immediately. Eager. Wanting to burn. She shaped it the way White had taught her—intent and will molding formless energy into something with purpose and direction. Felt it flow from her core, through her arm, into the metal tube.

The device heated up instantly. Not dangerous, but noticeable. The metal conducted her essence, channeling it forward like... like...

Like magnetic containment. Structure is serving as a guide rail. Essence wants to expand, and physical channel forces directional release.

”Here goes.”

Jayde pushed.

The Sparkcaster CRACKED.

Not loud like a gunshot—sharper, cleaner. The sound of superheated essence breaking the sound barrier. A bolt of Inferno fire erupted from the barrel, streaking across the cave in a brilliant orange line that lit up the darkness like a miniature sun.

It hit the stone wall and exploded. Not big. Maybe a foot-wide blast radius. But rock cracked, sending chips flying, leaving behind a blackened scorch mark that glowed faintly red.

(WE DID IT!) Jade’s shriek of joy nearly made Jayde drop the device. (IT WORKED!)

Successful discharge. Qi consumption: Approximately 45 units. Thermal output: Equivalent to Flame Lance. Range: Fifteen meters with maintained cohesion. Accuracy: Acceptable for initial prototype.

Jayde couldn’t stop grinning. Her face hurt from the width of it. ”It worked. Gods, it actually worked.”

She’d combined two completely different systems—Federation weapons engineering and cultivation magic—and created something functional. Something that shouldn’t exist in either world separately, but made perfect sense when merged.

(Can we do it again?)

”Yeah. Let’s—”

The metal groaned.

It was a small sound. Barely audible. But Jayde’s smile died instantly because she knew that sound. Had heard it a thousand times in the Federation when equipment was stressed beyond design specifications.

She turned the Sparkcaster over, examining the barrel in the moss-light.

There. A hairline crack running along the underside, maybe two inches long. Thin enough that she’d almost missed it. But present. Structural failure beginning.

Material stress analysis: Insufficient tensile strength for repeated essence discharge. Micro-fractures forming at molecular level.

(What does that mean?)

”It means the metal can’t handle the strain.” Jayde set the device down carefully, like it might explode. ”Ember Qi is too energetic. The heat, the pressure, the essence itself—it’s degrading the structure with each shot.”

(But it worked!)

”Once. Maybe twice more before it becomes dangerous.” She traced the crack with one fingertip. ”After that, it could rupture. Explode in my hand. Turn me into the target instead of whatever I’m aiming at.”

The excitement drained away, replaced by something colder. More analytical.

Not a failure. Proof of concept achieved. Theory is sound. Limitation is materials, not methodology.

”Right.” Jayde nodded slowly. ”The design works. The principles translate perfectly. I just need better materials. Something that can withstand repeated essence channeling without structural degradation.”

(Where do we find that?)

”That’s the question, isn’t it?”

***

Day 371 dawned—or what passed for dawn in the Dark Forest’s perpetual twilight. Jayde woke to dull shoulder pain and the lingering excitement of yesterday’s success. Her makeshift Sparkcaster sat on the desk, exactly where she’d left it.

One test. Proof it worked. Then that telltale crack.

She should’ve been disappointed. Should’ve felt like the project was a failure. But instead, as she stretched carefully and checked the shoulder wound (healing well, no infection), she felt... satisfied. Determined.

Theory validated. Next step: Materials acquisition.

(But where?) Jade’s concern colored their shared consciousness. (We can’t leave the forest. And even if we could, Doha probably doesn’t have what we need. If these materials existed here, someone would’ve made something like this already.)

”You’re right.” Jayde moved to the desk, pulling her sketches closer. ”Doha’s cultivation society doesn’t combine technology and magic. They keep them separate. Which means...”

Required resources might be unavailable in the current operational theater.

(So what do we do?) There was real worry in Jade’s voice now. (Give up? We proved it works, but if we can’t make more than three shots before it breaks, what’s the point?)

Jayde found herself smiling. Not from humor, but from something else. Something that felt almost like... hope?

”We don’t give up. We just think bigger.” She turned to stare at the cave entrance, at the Dark Forest beyond. ”Remember what Green told us? About the Contractor system? About how once we hit Level 3, we get access to mission boards?”

(Yeah, but what does that have to do with—)

Missions take place across multiple dimensions. Interdimensional contractor network spans countless worlds.

Understanding bloomed in their shared mind.

(Other worlds. Other dimensions. Different materials!)

”Exactly.” Jayde pulled the Sparkcaster closer, examining the crack with new eyes. ”This works with Doha materials—barely. But somewhere out there, in one of those other dimensions Green mentioned, there’s a world with essence-conductive alloys. Or crystallized Qi matrices. Or some alien metal that makes this look like a child’s toy.”

Probability of superior materials existing in a broader multidimensional space: High. Contractor system specifically designed for resource acquisition across dimensional boundaries.

”So this isn’t a dead end.” Jayde set the device down gently, already planning. ”This is just... phase one. Proof of concept. I’ve proven the theory works. Now I need to advance, reach Level 3, get access to those missions, and start exploring other dimensions for better materials.”

(That could take months!)

”Probably. Maybe longer. But so what?” She gestured at the Sparkcaster. ”I’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere. And in the meantime, this version—flawed as it is—still gives me two or three shots. That’s two or three shots I didn’t have yesterday. Two or three chances to surprise an enemy who doesn’t expect ranged precision weapons.”

Tactical advantage: Psychological impact of unexpected capability. Even limited deployment creates operational confusion in hostile forces.

(I guess... I mean, if we only use it in emergencies...)

”That’s exactly when we use it. Not for hunting. Not for practice. Just for those moments when everything goes wrong and we need one desperate shot to survive.” Jayde stood, moving back to the scrap metal pile. ”Which means I should make a backup. Two devices. Twice the chance of having one when we really need it.”

(You’re going to build another one? Even knowing it’ll crack?)

”Especially knowing it’ll crack.” She selected another metal tube, this one slightly shorter but thicker-walled. ”Because the cracks don’t matter if I’m not using them regularly. They can sit here, stored safely, waiting. And someday—maybe months from now, maybe years—when I’ve got access to better materials, I’ll rebuild them properly. But until then?”

Emergency contingency weapons. Better than nothing. Proof that Federation knowledge has practical application in the cultivation context.

”And proof,” Jayde added quietly, ”that I don’t have to choose between who I was and who I am. I can be both. Engineer and cultivator. Soldier and mage. Federation veteran and Doha survivor.”

She started assembling the second Sparkcaster, moving more confidently now that she understood the process. Her shoulder ached, but the pain was distant. Manageable. The excitement of creation burned brighter than any physical discomfort.

(What if the second one doesn’t work?)

”Then I’ll make a third. Or a fourth. Or however many it takes.” The handgrip attached to the barrel, bound tight with wire. ”Failure only happens when you stop trying. Everything else is just iteration.”

Correct. Prototyping methodology: Build, test, analyze, refine, repeat. Standard engineering protocol.

The second device came together faster than the first. Jayde knew what she was doing now, knew which pieces fit where, and understood how to weld them properly with Heat Palm. The metal flowed and fused under her heated touch, creating solid joins that would hold under stress. By midday, she had a second Sparkcaster sitting on the desk beside the first.

This one was slightly different—shorter barrel, thicker walls, heavier overall. But the principles were identical. Power from Crucible Core. Containment through a physical channel. Acceleration and release through shaped intent.

She tested it the same way. Single shot at the cave wall. Same sharp CRACK. Same brilliant orange bolt. Same satisfying impact and scorch mark.

Same hairline crack afterward.

Material failure is consistent across prototypes. Design limitations confirmed as resource-dependent rather than methodology-dependent.

(Two shots left on each one?)

”Two or three. Depends on how much stress the metal’s already under.” Jayde examined both devices side by side. Not beautiful. Crude, even. But functional. Deadly. Hers.

”They’re perfect.”

(They’re going to break after three shots.)

”They’re proof that I can innovate. That my Federation knowledge isn’t useless here. That I can create things this world has never seen.” She picked up both Sparkcasters, weighing them in her hands. ”And someday, when I’ve got access to materials that won’t crack, when I’ve reached higher cultivation tiers and learned more about essence manipulation, when I’ve explored other dimensions and brought back alien alloys—”

When operational parameters improve and resource acquisition succeeds—

”I’ll rebuild these. Make them properly. Create weapons that don’t just work for three shots but work for three hundred. Three thousand. Create a whole new school of combat that fuses technology and cultivation so seamlessly that people won’t even remember they used to be separate.”

She carefully wrapped both Sparkcasters in cloth, then channeled a thread of Qi into her spatial ring. The dimensional pocket opened, and she stored both weapons inside with her other emergency supplies. Safer than any chest. Hidden in folded space where no one could find them. Ready for the day when she’d really need them.

(You’re sure we’ll find the materials?)

”I’m sure we’ll look.” Jayde turned to stare at the cave entrance again. ”And if Doha doesn’t have them, some other world will. The multiverse is big. Somewhere out there, there’s a dimension where essence-conductive metals are common as iron. Where cultivation and technology merged centuries ago. Where someone will trade exactly what I need for something I can provide.”

Probability assessment: Favorable. Interdimensional contractor network exists specifically to facilitate such exchanges.

”So we wait. We train. We advance. We reach Level 3 and unlock those mission boards. And when we finally get access to other dimensions...” Jayde smiled, and both voices spoke together in perfect harmony:

”We’ll come back with everything we need.”

***

The Sparkcasters sat in her spatial ring, wrapped carefully, waiting for the emergency that would require them. Two crude devices, limited and flawed, but proof of something important.

Proof that Jayde—child slave and Federation veteran, Doha native and interdimensional traveler, Jade and Jayde unified into something new—could create her own path. Not following traditional cultivation. Not abandoning her past. But forging something unique that drew strength from both lives.

The theory worked.

The materials would come.

And someday, when the right resources were finally in hand, she’d build something extraordinary.

But for now? For now, two backup weapons hidden in dimensional storage were enough. Two desperate shots when everything went wrong. Two chances to surprise enemies who thought they understood her capabilities.

Two promises to herself that she’d never stop innovating, never stop learning, never stop becoming more than anyone expected.

The shoulder still ached.

The Sparkcasters still had cracks.

But Jayde smiled anyway, because she’d proven something crucial today:

She could make it work here.

And that meant she could make anything work, given time and resources.

The Dark Forest trials continued. Healing would finish. Hunting would resume. Cultivation would advance. The future stretched ahead, full of possibilities and dangers and opportunities.

But now, hidden in her spatial ring, she had two more tools to face whatever came.

And someday—not today, not tomorrow, but someday soon—she’d have so much more.

The multiverse was waiting.

She just had to reach it first.