Daniel Newwyn
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Chapter 93
🕑 Added 2025-07-21 16:53:08 +0000 UTCLiene stepped up to the plate like someone ordered to recite ancient druidic tax codes in front of Headmaster Draeth. She winced as she charged her pebble, but the thing buzzed like it was excited to be thrown nonetheless. It would be disappointed.
She raised her arm and released it.
The pebble floated upward a grand total of twelve centimeters, stuttered like a nervous bug, and flopped forward into the grass with a muffled sound.
It didn’t even reach the first checkpoint. The stone just rolled to a passive stop without a spark.
The glyphscript read: “ARC: 0.14 · DEV: 91° · GLY-PASS: ✖”
“I . . . can’t channel into a rock!” Liene threw her hand up. “Why do I have to join, Celine?”
“You volunteered!” Celine chirped, clapping like a goblin coach. “For friendship.”
Ilya said, “Zero point.” She had finished eating her baguette and had pulled out another baguette, this time without ham. She had not started eating that one yet.
Liene sighed and picked up another pebble. This time she planted her feet more firmly and squared her shoulders. Fabrisse, watching from the side, narrowed his eyes.
She was doing the stance properly, for a skill he didn’t have: Twisting Stone. Not just mimicking—it had the quiet rigidity of practice. She’d clearly been doing her homework.
The pebble glowed an ivory in her palm as she concentrated, fingers curling in ever so slightly. She launched it.
It wobbled past the first checkpoint, but took a sudden nosedive halfway through and bellyflopped into the dirt.
Above the field, a thin band of glyphs unfurled.
“ARC: 1.6 · DEV: 47° · GLY-PASS: ✖”
Ilya repeated, “Zero point.”
Third try.
Again, the stance. Again, the correct hand tension, the breath, the balance. Her control wasn't the problem.
It’s the stone, Fabrisse realized.
Earth Thaumaturgy was brutal to break into. It was even worse than water. If you didn’t have any prior experience, no baseline affinity—it felt like trying to sculpt with someone else’s arms. The stone didn’t listen until you earned its trust.
Liene’s third pebble launched with clean intent, only to tumble midair and land with a theatrical bounce far off-target.
“ARC: 2.1 · DEV: 23° · GLY-PASS: ✖”
“Zero point,” Ilya said. “You’re now currently joint-second, alongside those who haven’t thrown yet.”
Liene let out a sigh, turned around, and immediately locked eyes with Fabrisse. He hadn’t said a word. She grinned at him awkwardly as she walked back to her place.
“Next, Anabeth,” Ilya announced.
Anabeth flipped her braids over her shoulder and sauntered up like she’d been waiting for this her entire life. “Let it be known,” she said, holding the pebble aloft like it was sacred, “that I was born for this. My ancestors were literally quarry mages. One of them married a stalagmite. That’s how deep it runs.”
“Yeah yeah,” said Rinna, waving her off. “Just throw before my class starts.”
“The referee’s on her second baguette already,” Celine added.
Anabeth scoffed. “Jealousy is unbecoming.”
Fabrisse leaned forward to catch Anabeth’s form.
She closed her eyes, inhaled, and pulsed the pebble with a soft orange shimmer—so fast and smooth the spark trailing behind it was a perfect comet tail. Then she let it fly.
It soared.
The arc it cut through the air was a gentle curve, rising clean then dipping low like a crescent moon. Four glyphlights lit up one after another—fwoom, fwoom, fwoom, fwoom—as the pebble skipped cleanly between them, tracing a flawless skip-chain path.
Did she even power that? I could barely catch the sparks from the aetherically arc.
Ilya walked over to the official glyphplate and called it aloud, “5.8 ARC, 3° deviation, 4 GLY-PASS, skip-chain. Final tally: 16 points.”
Anabeth smiled without looking back. “You may applaud now.”
No one did but Liene.
Anabeth’s second throw was just as effortless. She flicked it underhand this time, like skipping a stone across a river at sunset. Another four glyphlights lit up in its wake—like she wasn’t even trying.
“5.9 ARC, 4° deviation, 4 GLY-PASS, skip-chain. Final tally: 16 points,” Ilya read out again.
“That’s awesome,” Liene had already clapped. “C’mon, Rinna, clap. You’re just bitter now.”
“Can we remove Anabeth from the competition next time?” Rinna grumbled. “It’s no fun knowing who’s won already.”
Theoretically, 28 was the highest possible score, but anyone scoring half that was already extremely impressive. It was almost impossible for a magus-student to score a 10 in ARC and achieve zero deviation.
Third throw. This time Anabeth didn’t even do her little speech. She just walked up, this time with a mnemonic whispered under her breath, and lobbed the pebble like she was tossing away a bad idea. It sliced through the air like a breeze-painted ribbon in a continuing arc. She didn’t correct the trajectory once. Another four glyphlights. Another perfect glyph skip.
Ilya didn’t even wait for it to land. “6.7 ARC, 5° deviation, 4 GLY-PASS, skip-chain. Final tally: 18.”
Fabrisse tried to track the arm angle, the point of synchronization, even the orange sparks on the stone’s core—but it was like trying to follow the recipe for a symphony.
The third time, he caught it the moment right before she released the pebble. That was when her fingers straightened just a little and the orange sparks flared.
Maybe that was it.
Maybe that was something he could actually copy.
Ilya announced again, “Next. Ploosh.”
The short, stone-faced girl stepped up with none of Anabeth’s grace but all of her stubbornness. Her pebble was thick and flat, not a flashy pick, but she took a long time syncing it to her rhythm. She hurled the pebble low and fast, like she wanted it to punch through the glyphs, not skip off them.
Two glyphlights lit up clean. The third lit up for a moment, then stuttered and died. Then nothing.
“4.1 ARC, 10° deviation, 3 GLY-PASS, no chain.” Ilya glanced up. “Final tally: 7 points.”
Ploosh grunted and stepped back without a word.
“Better than Rinna,” Liene offered.
“Not by much,” Rinna said, eyes narrowed.
“You scored a zero, girl,” Celine scribbled.
Her other two attempts were no better: six points and three points. Her total tally was 16.
He watched Ploosh’s angle again in his head. Watched where her throw veered, where the third glyph had almost rejected the pebble. He couldn’t be that aggressive. Fast charge, but slower throw. Channel my emotions at the right time. Got it.
“Fabrisse,” Ilya called as she pulled out a butter knife and began spreading something onto her newly procured second baguette. “Try not to hit the official.”
He stepped forward.
Behind him, Ploosh was still mumbling to herself about the third glyph. She looked like she was trying to pretend she didn’t care, but the way she kicked a pebble on her way back said otherwise.
Sixteen points. That was his mark to beat.
Fabrisse’s shoulders loosened slightly. Okay. He didn’t have to be a prodigy. He just needed more than six.
Behind him, Liene gave the world’s quietest clap. Her fingers only barely made contact and she glanced sideways to make sure Celine wasn’t watching.
Fabrisse kept his eyes ahead. He didn’t need distractions.
Let’s channel what I know best.
He thought about the moment he ‘hugged’ Liene during the petal ritual, and how both their ears had turned red.
Amber sparks flurried around his Stupenstone.
