Daniel Newwyn
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Chapter 50
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 16:21:09 +0000 UTCCuman leaned forward with a triumphant scoff. “See? Even Rhel—”
“—But,” Rhel continued, eyes still fixed on the floor, “Cuman already had flairs drawn. I could feel that, too. And everyone knows how he gets when there’s a crowd.”
Cuman blinked. “Wait. What?”
“I’m just saying,” Rhel went on, still speaking to the marble tiles, “if I’d been the one holding the Stupenstone, I probably would’ve thrown it sooner.”
A rustle spread across the room like wind through parchment. Even Miro looked up from behind them, shocked.
Cuman spun toward Rhel. His jaws were so clenched together they looked fused by a glueing spell. “What is wrong with you?”
“Mr. Gollivur. Please do not interfere again,” Norraden said, still calmly, but with a sharper edge this time. “Consider this your second formal warning. There won’t be a third.”
Cuman seethed. Fabrisse could practically hear his teeth grinding. He slowly turned forward, back stiff as a sword.
Rhel’s voice had steadied. “He didn’t deserve to get hit in the head,” he admitted, nodding toward Cuman. “But he did start it.”
That was it.
Fabrisse sank about half an inch deeper into his chair, unsure whether to exhale or just collapse into vapor. His heart felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry.
Tommaso gave a fist pump against his knee, careful to keep it below table level.
The scribe’s quill hadn’t stopped once.
Norraden raised her head again. “Testimony noted.” She lifted her hand, palm outward. The glyph-seal on the record scroll flared. It was binding now. “The Board has reviewed the testimonies and preliminary evidence. Here are our findings.”
A faint ripple of breath moved through the chamber. Even Tommaso straightened.
“Fabrisse Kestovar,” she said, gaze sharp. “Your conduct was impulsive but not malicious. You responded to a perceived threat during an emotionally charged situation in an open demonstration space. While use of a Stupenstone in this context is not encouraged, your response does not meet the threshold for punitive sanction. You will receive one formal caution and be required to attend a conflict de-escalation seminar.”
Fabrisse’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Liene, behind him, nodded quickly—take the win.
Norraden continued. “Tommaso Ardefiamme. Your unauthorized spellcasting resulted in property damage and a cascading escalation of the incident. However, your documented spell parameters, paired with the cited Practice Grounds Manifest, suggest that the dummies were not up to compliance. We have already initiated a review of the dummy lot’s insulation glyphs. Should your claims be verified, your disciplinary infraction will be reduced to a procedural citation and forwarded to your Corps handler.”
What? So the dummies were actually defective? Did Tom know this or did he just luck out?
Tommaso offered a salute. “Understood. Looking forward to being yelled at by a different bureaucracy.”
Aval muttered, “Again.”
“And finally—Cuman Gollivur.” Norraden’s voice flattened like a gavel. “You entered the Ring with active spellflairs during scheduled instruction. You advanced on a fellow student, in a manner that multiple witnesses interpreted as confrontational. Regardless of your stated intention, you contributed significantly to the escalation. Given your prior behavioral record and prior informal warnings, the Board issues the following: you are placed on temporary instructional probation. You are barred from leading, demonstrating, or facilitating peer instruction in any Synod-recognized capacity until such time that this restriction is lifted by review.”
Cuman stood. “That’s not—!”
“Sit down,” Norraden said without looking up.
Cuman sat. The bench creaked under him.
“Further protests will be noted as disruptive behavior,” she added. “This hearing is now concluded.”
The glyph seal flashed again.
The scribe capped her ink with a snap.
The moment the silence resumed, Tommaso exhaled. Loudly. “Whew. That’s a yes to not dying today.”
Fabrisse just stared forward, still a little stunned.
Liene reached over the bench from behind and whispered, “You would’ve been able to attend zero seminars had you followed my notes.”
Fabrisse whispered back, “I—”
“I prepared a diagram, Fabri. A diagram.”
Behind them, Cuman muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the hall, with Miro trailing and Rhel very much not looking at him. As he passed Fabrisse, he stared at him, then at Tommaso, but ultimately said nothing. Fabrisse just knew this wouldn’t be the last of him.
The door shut behind them.
Fabrisse rubbed his forehead. “I think I need to lie down.”
“Already booked you a debrief pie,” Tommaso added.
Liene rolled her eyes. “You two are insufferable.”
“You say that now,” Tommaso said, already rising. “But just wait until I file a petition to officially rename that move ‘The Stupenstone Arc.’”
“Don’t,” Liene hissed, as she grabbed her folder. “Let’s just leave with dignity.”
As the trio gathered their things, Lorvan stepped down from the gallery and approached them. “I don’t know what ridiculous entity you three pray to,” Lorvan said before turning to Tommaso. “But don’t test its generosity again. Especially you, Mr. Ardefiamme. One would expect your current station to have instilled at least a minimal sense of restraint.”
Tommaso gave a two-finger salute, too lazy to be respectful. “You’d think so. They tried.”
Lorvan sighed. “Don’t mistake bureaucratic mercy for approval.” He started to turn away, then added, “That said . . . well played, Kestovar.”
Was that a compliment?
As he gazed at Lorvan’s back, he noticed a figure standing at the edge of the upper columns, partially obscured by a drape of wallshadow.
Rimmar Ciemnosc.
What’s he doing here? Is he Synod-staffed? But he’s a student.
Their eyes met.
Rimmar nodded at him once, then slipped into the corridor beyond the archway. He was gone.
Fabrisse frowned. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Liene asked, already stuffing papers back into her satchel.
“Someone was watching the whole time,” he murmured, more to himself.
“Yeah. Half the Synod was watching the whole time.” She shoved him lightly. “Let’s go before they change their minds.”
Still, as they exited the Hall of Conduct and stepped into the early dusk, Fabrisse glanced back once, just in case.
The gallery was empty.
