His Feruchemy was what kept him alive—and these days he hardly noticed even that, save for the faint sense of extra energy to every step he took. He never got headaches, never felt tired, never had sore muscles, never dealt with colds or pain. On a whim, he took hold of the banister and swung over, dropping to the floor some twenty feet below. For a brief moment, he knew that sense of freedom. Then he hit. One of his legs tried to break—he recognized the slight pop. But the bone’s fractures reknit as quickly as they broke, and so it never fully snapped, cracks opening on one side but resealing on the other. He rose from a crouch, whole.