“That we can do,” Lander says.
The discussion turns to weapons—lethal versus non-lethal. We agree non-lethal options are preferable, then consider potions and spells. Most Sector forces rely on stunners: they knock people out, but they are noisy and need frequent recharging.
An idea spins through my mind; I wonder if I can pull it off… probably.
Lander pulls out his phone. “Gear up. We leave in twenty.”
Chairs scrape. Weapons and tools emerge from bags. The kitchen turns into a war room.
And me? I fetch more paper.
Everyone gets a ream of thick paper in their backpack. Before I hand them over, I magically prime each one.
“Paper? Why paper?” Riker asks. “I don’t mind carrying it for you, but it’s not going to do any good. It’s not as though it’s bullet-proof.”
I tilt my head. “Is it not?”
I leave him staring at it.
Then I sit cross-legged in the centre of the living room while the others pack, and I get to work.
I have less than twenty minutes, but I have been playing with this idea for some time.The only limit to my magic is my imagination.With paper spread out before me, I begin crafting weapons.
They are simple: a one-shot design reminiscent of flintlock pistols from centuries past, yet entirely magical.Each gun draws a sliver of the ream stowed in its owner’s pack to reload—potentially endless ammunition.
We do not know how many opponents we will face, or what kind of magic they will wield. These paper bullets aren’t lethal, more like enchanted rubber rounds. I weave a spell to give them punch. They will not kill, but they will knock a target cold.
If I had more time, I would add adjustable power levels—from a warning sting to full unconsciousness—but I do not, so I make sure they hit hard enough to drop someone safely.
By the time I’m finished, six paper guns rest in a neat row. Jill’s, Dayna’s, and mine are smaller, easy to grip. Riker’s is larger, chunky enough for shifter strength. The last two are a standard gun size.
I cannot contain my magic in them indefinitely, so they will last only a week, perhaps less, and I have designed them to disintegrate—no magical trace to analyse, no blueprint to reverse-engineer.
I use my filaments to twist a tiny sample of each person’s magic into their weapon. It is a subtle lock: in anyone else’s hand the gun will not fire.
I am oddly proud of the result.
Each gun holds eight enchanted rounds. After they are discharged, the user simply sweeps the barrel near their backpack, and the primed paper flows in, refilling the weapon. Thousands of shots, if necessary, and none of it drains their core magic or requires a wand.
Riker does not even carry a wand, so that is a bonus. Whatever form he shifts into, he should save his strength; let the weapon do the heavy lifting.
I cast one last spell—waterproofing. We are travelling by boat, after all. I have not set foot on a vessel in… a very long time. I am halfway through that thought when Lander strolls over and studies my handiwork.
I look up at him.
“What are you up to?” Lander asks, eyes on the weapons laid out before me. I hesitate, so he answers himself. “Guns? Paper guns?”
“That one’s yours.” I slide it towards him. “Eight paper rounds,” I add, lifting a loose sheet. “But lots of ammunition.” A corner curls, folds, and compresses into a small, sharp shape—a white bullet.
“May I?”
I nod.
He takes it and turns the bullet between his fingers, frowning. “This is… unusual. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Give it a go.”
Gun and primed ream in hand, he heads outside. Riker spots the larger weapon immediately.
