That night, the courtyard was empty.

  The spout still dripped, leaving a shallow puddle.

  I snatched a tin bucket and a chipped cup from the kitchen, stained but serviceable, and pumped the lever until the bucket filled.

  Nasty, but I’ve seen worse.

  Silt drifted at the bottom.

  A green film clung to the rim.

  The sisters would boil it for soup.

  Killed the bacteria, but not the filth.

  Just made it easier to swallow.

  I dragged a finger through the surface, breaking the film apart.

  Swirled the water once.

  Jabbed down into it.

  Nothing.

  Drew a figure-eight.

  Nothing.

  Enough play.

  Dropped into a wide squat.

  Hands together.

  Eyes closed.

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  “Open stats… Activate skill…!”

  Snapped my eyes open and flung both arms at the cup.

  …Nothing.

  Kept the stance, lifted the cup to eye level, and in a dead-flat voice shouted,

  “Water… REBIRTH!”

  I slammed my hand into it.

  Half the bucket splashed over my knees.

  Didn’t flinch.

  A mess.

  Only water after all.

  Right.

  If yelling magic words worked, half the brats here would be archmages by now.

  Palm flat. Focus.

  A tingle started.

  Cool, then cold.

  Sharper, crawling into my fingers, into the bone.

  The dirt sank.

  The green bits broke to pieces and dropped to the bottom.

  Alright. Now we’re talking.

  I leaned in, lowering my hand.

  The cold grabbed instantly, like a set of iron cuffs.

  Shot up my wrist, racing through my forearm, climbing my elbow.

  A grunt escaped.

  Keep going. Always keep going.

  Then it reached my shoulder.

  The jolt hit like a spasm.

  My muscles clamped.

  Ache sank into the joint.

  Teeth clenched.

  Chest tight.

  For a second the arm wasn’t mine anymore, just a lump of meat dragging my body down.

  Then, slowly, the grip loosened.

  The grit slid down, piling at the bottom.

  All of it.

  The bucket was clear.

  I lifted the cup and drank.

  Clean, crisp.

  Glacier water.

  Pure enough it almost hurt going down.

  My body didn’t know what to do with something clean.

  I tipped the rest into the weeds, rinsed the cup under the pump, and tucked it under the back steps.

  Went back to my bed, feeling wrung dry.

  Stared up at the dark timber roof beams, wondering how much I could change if I tried it on a whole barrel.

  And the question is… who drinks first?

  The hungry, the faithful, or the ones with coin to spare?