Daniel Newwyn
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Chapter 62
🕑 Added 2025-07-07 15:50:37 +0000 UTC“This is nowhere near one meter,” Fabrisse muttered to himself as he closed his palm, extinguishing the fire inside. He’d been able to sustain the spell for more than three seconds now after some practice, and he was no longer burned by his own spells anymore. Apparently, after a while, you got used to your own fire. Professor Markenth once said, ‘A caster’s flame recognizes the intent of its source. Your mana wraps the fire like a leash, tempering it until you choose to unleash it.’ It did make a lot of sense.
[Mastery Training: Basic Combustion Funnel (Rank I)—Progress to Rank II: 4%]
He’d been sitting inside his dorm room, making a fire helix again and again for the past two hours, making little progress. It seemed like brute forcing his way to mastery would be an arduous and painful journey.
He stared at the description of the spell, wondering if relying on the Silvian quartz Ganvar had given him was the cause of the slow progress.
Spell: Basic Combustion Funnel (Rank I)
Type: Active
Sub-Affinity: Fire (Flame)
Tag: [Utility] [Combat]
Description: The caster channels a narrow stream of volatile flame through a focused conduit, creating a pressurized burst of fire that extends up to 1 meter.
The spell’s destructive potential is inherently limited by its Rank I tier. It will not scale with ARC or SYN.
Aetheric Reaction: 44% Emotion: Resolve + 24% Flame Sub-Affinity Core + 17% Gesture Arc (Spiral-Inward) + 15% Mnemonic: “Draw breath, coax warmth, speak bright” → Volatile Flame Helix Projection (≤1m)
Why are there so many components? He thought. His Fire affinity was Suppressed. That alone meant he could only fulfill maybe 10% of the 24% needed for flame attunement—an obvious bottleneck. But even with that limitation, he should still be able to push the other components harder to compensate.
And he had been.
He’d spent days drilling arc-forming mechanics. His spiral-ins were clean, no wasted motion. The mnemonic, too—he’d timed it to his breathing, kept the cadence exact, and recited it with enough dramatic emphasis to impress a stage troupe. So if it wasn’t those two . . .
Resolve. He had resolve, but it seemed as though his EMO was still too low to resonate properly to the aether.
Ah, I hate spells that have emotion as the main component.
When he tried casting without the quartz, though, the results were even worse. Half the time, he couldn’t get the fire to start at all. And when it did spark, it fizzled out as quickly as it appeared—no helix, no funnel, just a hiccup of heat and an embarrassing puff of smoke.
It was like trying to light a torch in the rain with a flintstone.
One more time. If I fail, I’ll just skip this spell and focus on ones where emotions are unimportant.
He took another breath, repositioned his hands, and only managed to conjure a weak flame when the door clacked open behind him.
Greg stepped in with a canvas bag over one shoulder and a lopsided container of soup in the other hand. He looked at Fabrisse, then the flame, then said, “Fabrisse. You cannot practice Fire Thaumaturgy in our room.”
Fabrisse froze, and the flame vanished. “It’s a very small flame.”
Greg set the bag down, then the soup. “Do you know what happened to the last person who said that?”
“They leveled a dorm?” It was always some absurd consequence with Greg.
“No. But they melted their desk and shorted out three glyph conduits. The rest of us had to use chalkboards for two weeks.” Greg sat down in front of his desk. “You cannot practice Fire Thaumaturgy in our room. Fire is a fire hazard.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad, Greg.”
“When’s the last time you see a Fire Thaumaturge use fire anywhere near a building, apart from Synod-sanctioned ones?”
Fabrisse opened his mouth to argue, and that was when something blazed past the window.
A streak of scarlet light flared across the frame, followed by the very loud whoosh of combustion followed by the even louder “YOOOO DUDE!”
Both of them turned.
Outside the third-floor dorm window, a figure coasted past—shirt half open, flame jets bursting from his palms, and one foot propped heroically on a green-tinted, surfing-board-shaped gale like he was trying to surf his way into legend.
“Guess who’s back!” Tommaso Ardefiamme hollered, still rising in altitude. “Linny told me you’d be here, Fabri. In fact, she’s jogging on the ground like some pleb toward you right now!”
The gale immediately dipped too far forward. Tommaso flailed, spun a perfect quarter-turn in the sky, and slammed directly into the upper boughs of a massive campus tree just outside their dorm window.
Startled birds erupted from the canopy. Leaves rained onto the balcony rail below.
Greg closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Three seconds ago, Greg,” Fabrisse muttered. “Three seconds ago.”
There was a long rustling pause. Then a thump. Then a grunt. Then a tap on the window.
Tommaso’s face appeared in the third-story window, upside down and leaf-dappled, grinning like he'd just gotten off a wyvern’s back and wanted to go again.
He was dangling from one of the tree branches by his ankles, having clearly used a combustion burst to vault himself up to the sill.
He knocked harder. “Open up, roomie! I brought vibes!”
“Why do your friends all like to climb in from the windows?” Greg asked.
“Because my friends are the type to be denied entries at the gate,” Fabrisse replied. He got up, and unlatched the window. Tommaso immediately swung one leg over and clambered into the room like a very confident raccoon breaking into a bakery.
He stood, brushed pine needles off his shirt, and flashed a thumbs-up. “No damage to the tree. You’re welcome.”
Greg had already returned to his seat. “No fire inside the room.”
Tommaso raised both hands. A few stubborn embers clung to his wrist and boots, so he clapped once and swept them out with a sharp downward motion. The remaining warmth blinked out.
“There. Fire-free room. For now.” He spun toward Fabrisse. “Anyway, I have a fantastic opportunity for you to hone your stupenstone-flinging skills.”
“Huh?” Fabrisse replied.
Tommaso grinned wider. “There’s a sanctioned target field just outside the east quadrant. Infested with Skitterwhits.”
“Skitterwhits?”
“Magical pests. Harmless to humans, but absolutely wreck low-yield leyfields. Their aether discharge triggers runoff resonance in shallow-buried artifact lines. So they’re ecological nuisance; bad for the gardens, blah blah. They spark wildly if you scare them, and that’s why we must do that.”
Greg turned slowly in his chair. “Students cannot go on pest control excursions without a signed slip from the Department of Familiar Conservation and Unnatural Fauna.”
“I have one!” Tommaso whipped a half-folded parchment from his belt and waved it. “As of this morning. You know, punishment detail for the incident.”
Greg arched an eyebrow. “Ah. So you’re the co-conspirator of the dummy detonation fiasco.”
“Wait. You know about that?” Fabrisse’s voice raised.
“Everyone knows about that,” Greg said.
Tommaso gestured broadly. “I’ve told you, Fabri, detonating dummies brings nothing but opportunities!” He had not told Fabrisse that. “Which is exactly why I now have official clearance to go Skitterwhit-thumping on the edge of campus, and guess what? I need a partner! They only allow one partner and you’re the only one I can count on.”
Fabrisse sighed.
“It’s a violation if you cast anything unauthorized,” Greg muttered, already pulling out his dorm infraction log.
Fabrisse hesitated. He looked at Greg. Then at Tommaso’s absurdly hopeful grin.
“I’ll bring goggles,” he said at last.
Tommaso punched the air. “Yes! We ride at dusk!”
Then came a knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” Fabrisse said as he walked over. On the other side was yet another silly grin, this time from Liene.
She chirped, “Hi, Fabri. Do you want to squash some Skitterwhits—” then she saw Tommaso. “Tom’s already here! So you’ve heard? We can go together as a team. You can join too, Greg, if you like.”
“No, thank you,” Greg said.
“Wait.” Fabrisse turned to Tommaso. “I thought they only allow one partner?”
Tommaso didn’t miss a beat. “They do, unless the second partner is technically your emotional support summoner. They can’t cast spells; they can only, well, provide emotional support. It’s in the fine print. Liene qualifies. Look at that grin.”
Liene’s grin grew wider.
The System pinged.
[Sidequest Received: “Whittle the Whits!”]
✦ Objective: Slay 10 Skitterwhits near the Eastern Target Fields.
✦ Bonus Objective: Slay all 10 using the same Stone Thaumaturgy spell.
✦ Rewards:
+1 STR
+1 FP
✦ Optional Title: “Field-Friendly Exterminator”
Fabrisse stared at the quest screen. Why is that the name of the quest?
