Daniel Newwyn
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Chapter 124 & 125
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 21:33:15 +0000 UTCThings got better and better for Fabrisse over the next three days. He’d easily gotten his rightful position as a Junior Lore Clerk after a brief interview, and aced his Basic Synaptic Control practical the day after. Min Hajin congratulated him as he entered the Wing of Stratal Studies. Even Archmagus Rolen had heard about it, and had sent him an encouraging message via private glyph upon his return. He even gained a random INT after passing the Junior Clerk interview for a second time.
All the more reasons for him to feel a bit giddy today, evident by the sky-blue glow wrapping around the Stupenstone in his hand as a blanket.
“Charge your stone with joy, Fabri,” Liene whispered.
They stood beneath a wide sky daubed with scattered clouds. The Eastern Training Field stretched out in terraces of packed soil and arcanely-dampened stone, ringed by brass poles affixed with faintly pulsing wardlines. Several training dummies stood at various distances, but Fabrisse’s assigned target—a dense, basaltic effigy shaped like a half-scale gargoyle—had been rolled out farther than usual, over ten meters downfield. Someone had chalked a white circle around its heart. Fabrisse’s replacement mentor was yet to show up. They should have been here ten minutes ago.
Fabrisse bounced the Stupenstone lightly in his palm. It pulsed sky-blue in answer, joy humming through the quartz lattice like fizzing soda through a glass rod. He could feel the surge rising as the charge deepened, brightening in both hue and resonance. It was practically singing.
Liene leaned slightly closer, her voice soft but electric. “Your aim’s better when you don’t try so hard,” she said. “Let it feel fun.” That line from her was factually incorrect since every of his better throw had been with careful planning, but he wasn’t in the mood for pedantic corrections today.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Joy was easy today. Things were working. His mind wasn’t tangling itself in spirals, and nothing bad had happened in fifty hours. Even the air felt like it was on his side.
He charged the stone with joy.
Stupenstone Fling (Rank III)—Emotion Charge: Up to 25 EMO points → +1.5% base power & range per EMO, capped at 1.375x multiplier → Required to access emotional feedback effects → Infused emotion alters impact visuals & aetheric pulse
Then he launched it.
→ Trajectory Curvature: Stable
→ Estimated Launch Velocity: 13.2 m/s (80% max) + 13% (Celestial Hoarding) + 5% (Stonebound Synapse) + 22.5% (EMO Boost) → 18.7 m/s
→ Accuracy Deviation: ±5.7%
→ Power: 55 N + 22.5% (EMO Boost) → 67 N
The Stupenstone arced with minimal curvature, slicing through the air in a shimmering trail of sky-blue aether.
Then came the impact.
The effigy cracked. The Stupenstone punched clean through the chalked target zone, carving a conical gouge in the basalt with a burst of force that briefly lifted dust and small pebbles in a halo around the detonation point. The stone then clattered to the ground behind the effigy and bounced once before lodging itself into the soil with a soft tunk.
[Stupenstone Sling (Rank III)—Progress to Rank IV: 3%]
Liene gave an impressed whistle.
“You punched through a mid-density effigy,” she said. “That’s not even supposed to happen unless you’re using a Tier II spell.”
Nearly 19 m/s—that was an extremely respectable speed. That speed was significantly faster than the average person could throw, and would likely result in a strong impact. He had only seen professional slingshotters in local competition fire a stone faster than that. And that was with his less than ideal handling resulting in a velocity of only 80% of the maximum possible number.
He walked toward the shattered effigy with a faint spring in his step, levitating three other stones beside him with easy, unconscious threads of Stonesway. The original Stupenstone came loose with a tug and a light dusting-off. “I think I can connect my emotion better to the spell now.” Fabrisse said, examining the groove in the effigy’s core. “I don’t think I had any trouble connecting joy earlier.”
Liene, who had followed him downfield, tilted her head slightly. “Can you try something you haven’t tried before?” she asked. “Like rage?”
He paused.
Rage.
He’d felt something before—when Severa had insulted him right before he was pushed to the ground by Cuman during Air training. But that’d largely been resolved, and he wasn’t sure he could look at that memory with the same emotion anymore.
Then he thought of when that voidcaster had nearly erased Lorvan’s arm from existence, and that properly itched him. He imagined the way Lorvan had dropped to one knee afterward, breath hissing through his teeth like he was already adjusting to being half a mage.
That should have made him furious.
He narrowed his eyes, holding the stone steady in his hand. He focused on the pressure in his chest, trying to amplify it.
Nothing.
The Stupenstone stayed inert.
He tried again, tighter this time, summoning the image of Severa’s face. But then he realized he didn’t even hate Severa that much.
“You can stop.” Liene clapped on his shoulder. “Anger doesn’t suit you anyway. It makes you make funny faces. So have you decided on where to distribute your 3 attribute points yet?”
“I think I’ll spend them on the same old.” RES—Inner Resonance. That one attribute had been so hard to come by, and for good reasons. While all his other attributes (apart from FOR) had seen random bursts of improvements during training, RES hadn’t, and it likely never would. If his RES grew over 10, it would potentially open up a plethora of ways to handle his spells after he’d cast it.
“I know you’re capable of self-control when you want to!” Liene spoke in a voice that sounded overly proud, which made Fabrisse even more aware of the irony in that statement.
“Though I’ve got these Stone Thaumaturgy Mastery Points to spare . . .”
“I don’t think you should unlock anything now. You should wait, until, you know . . .” Liene looked around to see how careful she should be with name-dropping the headmaster. “He taught you a few skills first. See where he molds you, and you can save the Mastery points for the rest.”
“But I don’t want him to think I’m useless . . .” Fabrisse scratched his cheek. “And if I know a Tier 1 skill already, we can spend that time conjuring a higher-level spell.”
“Hey. That’s a worry for another day. Right now, you know what you should do? Have fun!” Liene walked up to him, so close she almost intruded his personal space again, and poked on his chest with a quill. “Let’s get out of here! The replacement tutor is already fifteen minutes late, which means we’re, by law, required to vacate the building and go hunt some leaves.”
From the far end of the hallway, a voice echoed toward them, “By institutional decree, Article 14-A of the Magus-Student Tutoring Curriculum Mandate, Subclause 9.2—you are required by law to study Water Thaumaturgy this morning, Wind Thaumaturgy this afternoon, Stone Thaumaturgy tomorrow at first bell, and Fire Thaumaturgy immediately after lunch.”
A robed figure emerged from behind a floating shelf-stack, consulting a parchment as though it had just spoken to him. It was Lorvan Lugano.
With both hands.
Fabrisse froze. His brain stuttered, trying to reconcile what his eyes were telling him with the conclusion he'd already accepted: that Lorvan might never cast properly again. That he might not even teach again.
Lorvan had denied all visiting entries for the last three days. Not even Kaldrin had been able to get in. The only person allowed in was his designated healer all the way from the Outer Folds. And now here he was, delivering administrative mandates like the universe hadn’t tried to erase his dominant casting arm.
And worse—he was wearing those rings again. The ridiculous ones. One on each finger, five in total, each etched with a different elemental sigil as if to declare I can still do everything, thank you very much.
“Lorvan! You’re alright!” Liene let out a gasp so theatrical it nearly echoed. “You’re not just alright, you’re symmetrical!” She bolted forward with arms already outstretched, barreling into Lorvan with a squawk of joy that probably violated a dozen personal space conventions and three clauses of the Faculty-Student Conduct Code. She skidded to a stop beside him, narrowly avoiding a full-body collision.
Lorvan side-stepped her with ease. “Call me Mentor Lugano inside Synod grounds, please.”
Liene put her hands on her hips. “And you can call me deeply offended, but here we are. So how is your arm now?”
Fabrisse still hadn’t spoken. He was staring hard—not at Lorvan’s face, but at his left wrist. The skin there looked just a little too smooth, a little too pale.
“The best healer in the Outer Folds lives up to her name. I will be fine,” Lorvan said. The mentor glanced at Fabrisse and narrowed his eyes.
‘How much does she know?’ His look seemed to say.
Fabrisse shrugged and very deliberately looked at a nearby effigy.
Lorvan exhaled. “Congratulations on passing your Advanced Light Invocation II with a Distinction, Miss Lugano.”
Liene blinked, startled. “Wait, you know?”
“Of course I do. I’m your mentor,” he said.
Liene puffed up like a delighted frog. “I was going to tell you! I was just—uh—waiting until you were less . . . medically ambiguous.”
Lorvan raised an eyebrow. Then, with a motion that was so casual it almost hid the significance, he slipped off the ring on his right index finger—the one with a soft golden sheen and a tiny sigil of a rising sun etched into the band—and held it out to her.
“This was meant to be a graduation gift,” he said, “but it seems I may be temporarily mortal after all. You should have it now.”
Liene went very still.
Lorvan continued, “It will sustain your Lightcasting output across longer intervals. More importantly, it’ll help you control the emotional bleed. Your resonance fluctuates too much when you're exhausted.”
Liene reached out hesitantly. “You never let anyone touch these.”
“Correct.”
“And now you’re giving one to me.”
“Correct.”
She looked back at Fabrisse with a puzzled face that looked like she wanted to ask Lorvan ten different questions right now. But ultimately, she took it with both hands, like she was afraid she’d drop it just by being too happy. “I—I’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better. That ring is older than you are.” Lorvan turned, his gaze sliding past Liene and landing directly on Fabrisse. “Kestovar.”
Fabrisse startled like someone had just tapped him in the chest. He stepped forward stiffly, trying not to look like he was thinking about the golden ring still cupped in Liene’s palms. “Yes, Mentor.”
Lorvan didn’t answer at first. Instead, he reached into the inner lining of his robes—some hidden pocket likely sewn in just for dramatic timing—and pulled out another ring.
This one was darker. Iron-banded, with what looked like four nested runes rotating slowly around a central sigil. In thaumaturgy theory, that kind of structure was used to stabilize multi-aspect aetheric channels—a way to keep access to the aether pool open without burning out one's inner lattice. But according to the system’s wording, it was simpler than that. This helped preserve Focus Points.
“I was not joking,” Lorvan said, “when I said you’d have four sessions in the next two days. Archmagus Rolen has returned. He’s reviewed your field metrics from the past few days.”
Fabrisse’s throat went dry. Of course he was not joking. He never jokes.
Lorvan continued, “He is eager to raise your elemental affinity to a standard threshold within your next session. He thinks you’re ready.”
“I—I’m still substandard—”
“Which is why,” Lorvan said, stepping forward and holding out the ring, “you’ll need this.”
Fabrisse reached out slowly and took the ring from Lorvan’s hand. It was cool against his fingers and denser than it looked. The gemstone etched into the center was a perfectly cut polychromatic spinel, rotated along its trigonal axis, with minute inclusions that gleamed like threads of oil under the surface.
That caught him.
Spinel doesn’t fracture like that unless it’s been pressure-grown under artificial flux. And those lines; those aren’t natural growth lines. Those are emotional imprints.
Lorvan modified the lattice by hand.
Item Equipped: Concord of the Fifth Line—Modified (Epic-grade Item)
Inventory Slot: 1
→ Effect: Reduces FP cost of all actions by 50%
→ Amplify the emotional effect of: Calm & Resolve by 20%
→ Status: Calibrated | Owner: Kestovar, F. (Apprentice – Field Calibrator)
That was . . . tremendously powerful. A 50% reduction to Focus Point cost wasn’t just helpful—it was absurd. He could double-cast and still have breathing room.
“You—you’re giving me this?” Fabrisse asked.
“I’m lending it to you,” Lorvan said.
“But you don’t believe in students using enhancements.” He had to destroy the Silvian Quartz after Ganvar’s capture, too, for safety reasons, so he really didn’t have any meaningful boosts alongside his Celestial Hoarding.
“I believe in the best for my students. If that requires me to amend my approach, I’d gladly be proven wrong.”
Liene let out a scandalized wheeze.
Lorvan watched Fabrisse a moment longer, then gave a faint nod. “Your Synaptic Control retake. Twenty-one out of fifty.”
Fabrisse promptly turned into a figurative log. That was barely average. But it was his best Practical result yet, and for one impossibly weightless second, he felt—
“I expected twenty,” Lorvan added. “You exceeded it. Well done.”
Something in Fabrisse stirred; an instinctive, quiet flare of pride that made his chest puff like a balloon.
But Lorvan was already moving on. “Now get to your assigned position. As Kaldrin will be taking over your Air Thaumaturgy training, that leaves me with Water. Now I believe you haven’t awakened your Water affinity yet?” Lorvan turned sharply to Liene, who was still beaming at her ring. “And you, Miss Lugano—”
“Oh no, what did I do—”
“—will kindly take your enthusiasm over there,” he said, pointing firmly toward the edge of the courtyard. “And use this time to review your Restorative Theory units.”
“But I just passed a test yesterday! And I just got a magic ring!”
“Does that change the date of your Restorative Theory exam?”
“. . . No.”
“Then go study. We all have our crosses to bear.”
Liene sighed and took out her book from inside her pouch. “Fine. But I’m telling the ring you were mean to me.”
Water Affinity, huh? An affinity can be built up as long as one has enough exposure and a core understanding of how the element works. If one doesn’t intuitively grasp the function of an element, they won’t be able to cast spells in that element even if their synaptic control is perfect. They won’t know where to channel their intent.
“So, Kestovar? Are we doing water thaumaturgy, or do you want to scale down your ambition and train your synaptic thread another 100 times?”
He knew the significance of learning Water Thaumaturgy. Mastery in both Water and Earth Thaumaturgy past the Second Rank would open up an immensely powerful and flexible affinity: Wood Thaumaturgy, that would in turn open up doors to at least three more affinities. It was just that . . .
“I . . . I don’t know how water works yet.”
“You have a sharper sense and control now. You will find out.” He reached behind one of the stone benches near the edge of the platform, and pulled out a long, slender staff wrapped in sealcloth. The wrapping fell away as he shook his wrist, revealing a shaft of pale, veined ashwood reinforced with a spiraled grip of pearl-lacquered resin.
Lorvan tossed it—underhand, but precise. Fabrisse caught it with a startled grunt, barely steadying the weight. He stared at the staff, hands instinctively tracing along the grain. Subtle notches lined its base: resonance markers. Ilya used something like this once.
Item Equipped: Tideshift Conduit – Ashform Pattern (Rare-Grade)
Inventory Slots: 2
→ Classification: Focus Staff | Elemental Attunement (Water)
→ Equip Condition: INT > 25 (Passed)
→ Effect: Reveals microcurrents and elemental motion in nearby bodies of water.
→ Passive: Grants +15% to INT while deciphering water patterns.
→ Status: Unbonded | Compatible with Kestovar, F.
[Inventory Used: 10/11]
I’m running out of space to store things, Mentor . . .
He made a mental note to definitely leave his backup teacup at home next time. And the parchment detailing how to say sorry. He definitely did not need that.
“It’ll show you the hidden motions and patterns in the water. There’s no excuse for failure now,” Lorvan said, already turning away. “The next few months will be crucial for your development. If you can maintain pace and pass your core subjects—Synaptic Regulation, Runic Analysis, Fire Thaumaturgy II, Water Thaumaturgy I—there may be grounds to petition the Office of Magical Allocation for continued grant support. The Synod likes to give grants to those who can control all four elements.”
Behind him, Liene was fake-reading her book with all the stealth of a boulder. She hadn’t even turned the page. Her eyes peeked just over the top, glinting with barely-concealed curiosity.
Fabrisse’s fingers tightened around the staff. His whole body felt primed, sharp. The worry he’d tried to push down for weeks—the cost of tuition, the fear of expulsion, the sleepless calculations about debt—suddenly found something to attach itself to.
He swallowed. “Then I won’t fail.”
“Good.” It was finally then that Lorvan turned around. For a brief moment, the sharpness of his gaze eased. Strands of deep bronze-black rose and fell in weightless arcs, bobbing against the air like silk caught in a slow current. He reached into the inner fold of his robe and withdrew a small, stoppered vial—glass so clear it was almost invisible, filled with a thimble’s worth of glinting water. He simply twisted the stopper free and tilted the vial forward. The water crawled out, so languid it seemed suspended in time. Each droplet stretched into the next, gliding out like molasses. The water tinged beige.
“All emotions start with calm. All pattern recognition starts with intuition. Control your aether in your stillest, and you will control your emotions in your fiercest.” As the droplets dripped in slow-motion in the air, Lorvan smiled. “Today, we’re learning Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent.”
[END OF BOOK ONE]
Comments
yosef melul
Ah wait also I would change “aced” his synaptic control practical to “passed” I wouldn’t consider 21/50 acing it
yosef melul
Fuck yeah, that ending has me hyped. Love that he has a mentor for each of the basic elements. This first book was phenomenal, really set the scene and started developing the characters nicely. Can’t wait for the next book
