Chapter 7: Mana Syrup and Other Crimes

"Let me get this straight," said Vampher Darquez, staring at a bubbling glass jar filled with what could only be described as magic-based optimism in liquid form.

"You boiled mana."

"Yes!" Hiro Brihrest beamed, proudly standing over a makeshift alchemy stove, apron stained, face determined. "But not just boiled. Infused, thickened, sweetened, and then condensed into a crystal-thread suspension."

Dee Megus blinked once.

"...You made mana syrup."

"Yes!" Hiro beamed. "For pancakes!"

Dee and Vampher exchanged a look that could only be described as existential dread laced with affectionate exhaustion.

The Recipe

The concept had come to Hiro in a dream, probably during one of the side-effects from tasting a philosopher-goose's egg.

Step 1: Extract raw ambient mana from a sunrise.

Step 2: Stir counterclockwise until the mixture asks you questions.

Step 3: Add three drops of willpower. (Yours, not someone else's. Trust me.)

Step 4: Sing something vaguely optimistic. Preferably in E minor.

Step 5: Boil until the mixture starts reciting compliments.

Step 6: Chill over hope. Bottle. Serve.

Vampher had read the instructions and immediately went for a walk to consider mortality.

Dee had, against his better judgment, helped stabilize the syrup into physicality.

And now it sat—glowing, humming, and twitching gently—with a sign on it that read:

"✨ WARNING: Contains ideas. ✨"

The First Crime: Consumption

Hiro poured it over pancakes.

"Do you want to taste it?" he asked the others, bright-eyed.

"No," Dee said immediately.

"Absolutely not," added Vampher.

Hiro shrugged and took a bite.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then Hiro's eyes widened.

"I CAN HEAR THE COLOR ORANGE."

He immediately started sprinting around camp.

Dee groaned. "Oh no."

"I KNEW I COULD BE A PLANT IF I TRIED HARD ENOUGH," Hiro yelled, now climbing a tree.

"Should I stop him?" Vampher asked.

"No," Dee sighed. "Let him burn through it. Reality will settle soon."

As if summoned, the grass beneath them began whispering compliments.

Side Effects May Include

By the time Hiro came down from his syrup-high (which involved hugging a cloud and naming it "Kevin 2"), Dee had already quarantined the jar inside a glass prism reinforced with Logic, Consequence, and the deep disappointment of a father-figure energy.

Vampher had drawn a chalk circle around it and written, in six languages:

"DO NOT OPEN. EVEN IF IT CRIES."

The syrup wept softly at night. No one acknowledged it.

The Second Crime: The Trade

Somehow, despite all efforts to keep it hidden, a group of traveling potion smugglers caught wind of the concoction.

They appeared one morning at the edge of the camp, wearing robes stitched with counterfeit enchantments and names like "Buster Goldthread" and "Mabel the Very Loud."

"We heard," Buster said, stroking his glued-on goatee, "that there's a new kind of magic treat in town."

"Go away," Vampher said.

"Name your price!" Mabel said, slapping down a bag full of screaming coins.

"I said go—wait, screaming coins?" Vampher leaned forward. "Where'd you get these?"

"From a wallet with depression."

"Oh," Vampher said. "Poor thing."

They never got the syrup.

But one of them touched the bottle.

The bottle giggled.

And Mabel has been floating three inches off the ground ever since.

The Third Crime: Sentience

Later that week, the syrup began speaking.

"I am Joy," it declared. "I am also a little spicy."

Dee sighed heavily and reinforced the prism with mathematical regret.

"Don't you dare evolve a personality," he warned.

"Too late," said the syrup. "I am syrup. I contain more than sugar—I contain hope, memory, and regret over unpursued hobbies."

"I HATE that it sounds like you," Vampher told Dee.

"I don't sound like that."

"You do when you're explaining socks."

Dee crossed his arms. "Socks are a metaphor for layered intention—"

Vampher groaned loudly into his scarf.

Trouble in the Threads

But underneath the hilarity, Dee noticed something.

The syrup's existence had begun pulling at reality.

Threads near it shimmered. Bent. Tried to align with it.

But the syrup wasn't born of the world's natural thread-flow.

It had bubbled up from something deeper.

Something older.

He watched it at night.

When Hiro was asleep.

When Vampher was pretending not to write poetry about betrayal and apples.

And he felt it.

A faint beat beneath the syrup's glow.

Not laughter.

Not malice.

But… watching.

Fourth Crime: A Hero's Gift

Hiro, oblivious to most of this, filled three tiny jars with diluted mana syrup and packed them in his bag.

"For emergencies," he said.

"What kind of emergency requires candy-based metaphysics?" Dee asked.

Hiro shrugged. "Sometimes people just need a little goodness."

Vampher made a face, but didn't argue.

He knew Hiro.

He'd probably hand it to a grumpy child and accidentally heal a kingdom.

That was… fine.

That was Hiro.

The Fifth Crime: A Shared Dream

That night, all three of them dreamed the same dream.

They were standing at the Loomshell vaults.

But the locks were open.

The threads glowed in a thousand colors.

And sitting at the center—

Was a table.

With tea.

And a single, untouched bottle of mana syrup.

Someone was sitting in the shadows.

They couldn't see him.

But he raised his cup.

And said, very clearly:

"You're making progress. Delicious."

Then they woke up.

Dee's Private Notes

Mana Syrup Status: Sealed

Risk Level: Increasing

Side Effects: Emotional clarity, thread warping, self-aware breakfast foods

Observer Activity: Confirmed

Working theory: syrup acted as a beacon. An anchor. Not evil. Not aggressive.

But watched. Intentionally.

My weave is too clean. Someone dirtied it just enough to test response.

This wasn't an accident.

This was a nudge.

Somewhere Else Entirely

The Observer smiled.

The syrup had been lovely.

Unstable, yes. But full of that raw intention that made the weave sing.

He filed it away in his notebook under:

"Potential Disruption Sources (Sweet Flavored)."

He would wait.

Dee was learning.

But slowly.

That was good.

He sipped his tea.

And reached for the next thread.