Daniel Newwyn
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(NEW) Chapter 54
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 17:14:39 +0000 UTCHalf of this chapter is new content :) I think it's pretty fun and you should read it.
The ventrafig tree was a peculiar tree.
It didn’t grow like the others in the courtyard grove. While most trees stretched skyward with ambition, chasing the sun, the ventrafig sprawled low and wide, its limbs twisting like lazy serpents. Its leaves were large and fan-shaped, turning yellow weeks before any seasonal change, and they gave off a faint scent of old ink and parchment when crushed underfoot.
Which made them the perfect leaves for Liene to practice transcription on.
She crouched beneath its gnarled canopy now, plucking leaves from the ground and brushing them clean with her sleeve. Beside her sat a small lacquered case filled with narrow inkbrushes and glass vials, as if she were preparing to transcribe ancient lore instead of, apparently, doodling letters onto discarded plant matter.
He didn’t understand the ritual, or the reasoning. He’d watched her do it three times over the past year, always quietly, always with the same serene focus. The leaves she finished writing on were set aside with a kind of reverence, only to be scooped up later and gently tucked into a satchel. None of the professors commented. None of the other students asked, probably aside from her best girl friend Celine. Fabrisse hadn’t either.
Today, though, he’d come with a different kind of question.
He stepped closer, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. Then he said it with all the casualness of someone asking to borrow a quill. “Can I harmonize with you, Liene?”
Her inkbrush froze mid-curve. One of the leaves fluttered from her fingers.
“What?”
“Uh . . .” He scratched his head. “Can we harmonize?”
“W–what?” It came out squeakier the second time.
Fabrisse immediately regretted everything.
“I mean—not like—emotionally emotionally,” he said, lifting both hands like he was trying to calm down a frightened deer. “Just . . . magically. You know. There’s a spell called Harmonization that they teach in Emotional Tuning III.”
Liene’s mouth opened. A flush rose so fast up her neck it looked like someone had dumped red ink down her collar. “Why me? I don’t know how to do it.”
“You just passed Emotional Tuning III . . .” Fabrisse crouched beside her, grabbing the pot before it emptied completely. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just need to try harmonization with someone and you were the only one who—”
“Who what?”
“Who’s expressive with her emotions and not Tom. I figured you’d be good at it.”
Liene narrowed her eyes at him, but the edges of her mouth were already curling upward. The flush on her cheeks lingered, but her voice found its footing again—light, teasing, and just a touch dramatic.
“Oh, I see,” she said, nodding solemnly. “You came to me because I’m expressive and not Tom. Such high praise. Truly, what every girl dreams of hearing.”
“I didn’t mean—”
She held up her hand. “No, no, let’s not ruin it. It’s fine. I’ll try to live up to the towering standard of not being Tom.” Her tone was hurt, but in a mocking manner, and her eyes were twinkling.
He gave her a look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I mean, you did just interrupt a sacred transcription ritual,” she said, gesturing to the leaves with exaggerated offense. “These were going to say very profound things. Possibly Hope or Do better next time.”
He glanced at the one still in her lap. It read:
“The wind does not ask
if it is wanted
for it brings the scent
of time we flaunted.”
He knew she did poetry in her free time. He just didn’t know she’d write them on leaves. And in italics.
She noticed him staring. “Before you ask,” she said, flicking the corner of the leaf with a finger, “they keep the ink. The leaves, I mean. Once they dry and get pressed, they don’t crumble like regular ones. Something about the oil in ventrafig bark or the sap in the veins. I don’t actually know; I just know it works.”
He kept staring at the leaves. “You’re making a herbarium of emotional damage.”
She looked absolutely delighted. “Exactly! A very delicate, highly flammable anthology of feelings. Would you like to be featured?”
“I’ll pass,” he muttered. “But thanks.”
Liene leaned forward, mischief blooming fast behind her grin. “We could start with something small. I’ll write your most repressed emotion on a leaf and float it down the river. A symbolic release. It’s very therapeutic. Or. Or! We can collect feathers from the eastern rookery at dawn and bind them with ventrafig twine. For reasons.”
Fabrisse narrowed his eyes. “What reasons?”
“Unclear,” she said brightly. “But it feels spiritually important. Come on, wouldn’t you like a feather crown for emotional insight?”
He opened his mouth, but quickly closed it before he blurted out something agreeable and possibly stupid.
For a terrifying second, he was almost about to say yes. She was already reaching for another leaf, poised like a priestess of whimsy. But then he remembered—he wasn’t here for bird feathers or emotional leaf therapy.
“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Harmonization. That’s why I’m here.”
“Oh right,” she said, as if only just remembering. “Thaumaturgy. Less poetic, but sure, let’s ruin the mood. Also, pie?” She pulled from her satchel two mini mulberry pies and handed him one. It was unknown whether she brought pie along with her everywhere.
“Thanks.“ He took it from her. “Well . . . Can you help me with it?”
“I can harmonize, but my skill is Rank II at best, and I have no idea how to teach a spell that complicated,” Liene replied. “Why don’t you ask Lorvan?” She plopped on the ground as she watched Fabrisse munching on a tinier slice of the already tiny mulberry pie.
Fabrisse replied, “He’ll ask me to spend weeks honing my Emotional Tuning. That’s so boring.”
“Well then, maybe we should start with Emotional Tuning first. But you struggle at that too.”
“You don’t have to rub salt into the wound . . .”
She wasn’t wrong. A big part of why he failed so hard at hitting the demon with his Invocation of Grief during last week’s training was that his poor Synaptic Clarity didn’t allow him to align the emotional climax of his fake story with the release of the spell, but he wouldn’t have had to do that had he felt actual emotions to begin with. Many expressive students could still make do with poor control because they still had the needed emotions to cast spells, even if their handling of the spell was lacklustre.
This is the tutorial, glyph! Why are the conditions so hard? Who in their right mind makes an impossible tutorial?
[SYSTEM NOTE: Control of one’s emotion is a basic spellcasting prerequisite.]
[ADDITIONAL NOTE: If you lack both emotional access and control, please consider enrolling in a different field. Suggestions include Rune Copying, Ancient Bureaucratic Theory, or Decorative Divination.]
[SUGGESTION: You may initiate a Tutorial Path Recalibration.]
[Would you like to restart Tutorial Protocol with a more compatible discipline? Recommended paths:
– Procedural Glyph Rendering (Low-Emotion Track)
– Administrative Chantcraft (Audit-Focused)
– Bureaucratic Summoning (Form 12-C Required)]
Hey . . . that actually doesn’t sound that bad.
[WARNING: This choice is permanent. You will become emotionally inert.]
He tapped the prompt away in horror.
Okay, maybe not.
[CONFIRMATION NEEDED: Are you paying attention?]
Yes?
[REMINDER: This interface is referred to as the System, not “glyph.” Terminology adherence ensures proper documentation, accurate troubleshooting, and consistency across all interdepartmental communications. Continued misuse may result in flagged entries.]
Oh, okay. You could’ve told me sooner, System . . .
“I’m not sure anyone can teach Harmonization to you if you don’t have decent Emotional Tuning,” Liene continued. “Why don’t you attend your next Emotional Resonance workshop?”
“I’ve skipped too many of those to understand the methods now.”
Liene exhaled slowly. Fabrisse swore she was resisting the urge to throw the rest of her pie at him. “Then you need a tutor.”
“A what?”
“A tutor. You know, those terrifyingly competent people who get paid to fix your ignorance?”
Fabrisse stopped chewing. “Wait, that’s still allowed?” He thought they’d banned tutoring since a few years ago.
“Yes. We are in the Synod, Fabri. It’s basically half a school and half a talent bazaar.” She tapped her fork against the edge of her plate. “There’s a whole registry of magus-certified tutors—some of them are adjuncts, some are specialists on academic rotation. A few are even senior-year students who passed High Distinction and now make side coins helping lower tiers not explode. Also, they can gain credits that count toward their Mastery Ledger or apprenticeship bids.”
“So I can just . . . book one?”
“Through the Arcanum Registry, yes. If you can afford the fee or barter something useful. Some even offer first-time assessments for free.” She shrugged. “If you’re too scared to ask Lorvan, or if he doesn’t have time, this is literally your only option. Unless you want to keep failing grief spells until a ghost starts coaching you out of pity.”
Fabrisse groaned. “What if they laugh at me?”
“They won’t laugh at you.”
“How much does it cost?”
“I’m not sure. The last time Lorvan tried to get one for me, he forked out 85 copper coins per lesson. I was a first-year then.”
He looked at her, then peered inside his satchel. He only had stones. He then looked into his pocket, and saw one copper coin. One. That was to pay for the pie.
Liene studied him further, then reached over to fix a stray curl that had come loose near his temple. “Silly. What are you afraid of?”
“Huh?”
“If it gets you to study . . .” She grinned. “I’ll lend you money for a lesson. Cool?”
