Daniel Newwyn
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Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2025-06-30 10:57:18 +0000 UTCThe lower channel ponds weren’t far, but Fabrisse felt like they were venturing into a different ecosystem entirely.
Past the eastern greenhouses and the old chalk tower, the land sloped toward a series of runoff-fed terraces where the Synod kept its minor aquafauna: the silt-swimmers, scale-eels, and the occasional duck-thing that wandered in from the canals and decided to stay. The air smelled even more of moss and charcoal than other parts of the Synod, and a light mist clung to everything as if the water was eternally shrouded by Veil magic.
The duck-things, as Liene called them, were somewhere between aquatic birds and confused garden spirits. They honked like opinionated old men and moved in slow bursts, as though deciding whether they remembered how legs worked.
“There,” Liene whispered, pointing from behind a willow-like vine.
One of the duck-things had a glowing beak, as if it had swallowed a very small candle. It was swimming away from the others, veering toward a section of the pond marked with warning glyphs and a half-collapsed shrine gate draped in algae.
“That’s not normal,” Fabrisse muttered. “Even for them.”
He reached slowly into his satchel and retrieved a flat, speckled Stupenstone named Gravelkin.
“Let’s try this first,” he whispered. With perfect hand movements and intent, he was able to cast the spell.
[Skill Activated: Sedimentary Recall (Rank II)]
He crouched near the edge of the pond, placing his hand on a wide, lichen-dusted slab that looked like it hadn’t been moved in decades. The stone was cool to the touch.
The spell clicked.
A faint shimmer rippled out from the stone.
[Reading Emotional Imprint: Medium-Low Distortion]
Wow, he thought. These notifications are really convenient. It was like he had his own magical secretary.
He saw flashes. The duck-thing was waddling along the bank, then there was the sound of quartz stone clattering from someone’s cloak. The duck-thing had waddled over, pecked curiously at the stone, and then swallowed it whole like a particularly crunchy snack. He saw nothing beyond that. No real imprint. It wasn’t his stone.
“You were right,” Fabrisse said, half amazed. “That thing ate someone’s stone.” But then, that meant someone else was also collecting stones like him, and this duck-thing took that person’s stone. But who else could be collecting stones?
“It imprinted,” Liene said triumphantly. “I knew it. Look at its aura! It’s wobbling like guilt.”
“That’s not how guilt works.”
“How would you know? You skipped emotional theory.”
“Once. I skipped once.”
He stood, brushing moss off his knees. “Alright. Time to lure it. I can animate three pebbles. Gravelkin, you’re one.”
[Skill Activated: Stonesway (Rank I)]
Three pebbles rose from his palm and bobbed lazily in the air.
The duck-thing looked up at them. Some of the other ones looked up too, but they quickly lost interests since they likely weren’t into stealing stones.
“Lure it gently,” Liene whispered.
“It’s a duck. It has the attention span of a spell-fried squirrel.”
Fabrisse made the pebbles wobble in formation, chirping magically enhanced squeaks. The duck-thing honked, honked again, and waddled toward them.
Just as it reached the edge, however, it paused.
The glow around its beak pulsed.
Then it turned and bolted, or rather, flapped with great confusion into the water, kicking up a splash of pondweed.
“Wait!”
[Quest Objective Updated: Duck-thing has moved into the Restricted Sanctuary Basin. Passage requires a Shrine Permit or active stealth effect.]
A permit is an official document or enchanted token issued by the Sanctum Authority that allows the bearer to legally enter protected or consecrated zones, or in the case of a Shrine Permit, a shrine. Affinity-based permits can also temporarily bestow a limited version of the necessary affinity (like Water, Fire, Shadow, etc.) or grant protective enchantments that help the bearer survive or interact with restricted environments.
Fabrisse groaned. “You couldn’t have warned me sooner?”
“How? I didn’t know it’d bolt like that.”
“I was—” He was talking to the glyph. But Liene couldn’t have known that, and she shouldn’t know.
He sighed, then rotated his wrist and whispered under his breath.
[Skill Activated: Veil of Shame (Rank I)]
The memory of tripping into the Eidralith while the entire Synod watched still haunted him. He then whispered the mnemonic, “Veil my face, O fleeting flame,
Hide me now in a cloak of shame.” The shame came easily, and a few wisps of amber clung to the side of his robe.
“What did you invoke?” Liene asked. “Why’s the mnemonic so cringy?”
He crouched low and whispered again the mnemonic, feeling the familiar tightness coil in his chest—the warmth of embarrassment folding around him like a heavy cloak.
He tried walking. His footsteps grew light and muffled as if he were walking through thick molasses.
“That’s my boy! Nice going!” Liene whispered exasperatedly.
Ahead, the duck-thing flapped awkwardly into the Restricted Sanctuary Basin, its glowing beak casting indistinct ripples of light on the mist-shrouded water.
Liene leaned close. “I’ve got you.”
She raised a hand and murmured a chant. Suddenly, a gentle current of air stirred around Fabrisse’s feet, swirling leaves and drifting petals over the damp ground.
He felt something akin to a crisp exhale across his skin. This was probably the Low-Pressure Liftfield, a standard Air-based support veil used to reduce surface presence and scatter minor tracking residues. It was pretty well-cast.
“Perfect,” Fabrisse whispered, eyes fixed on the wavering glow ahead.
The duck-thing waddled carefully along the tangled banks. It paused beneath a gnarled tree root arching over the water, and there was no sign it had detected him.
He didn’t dare step directly into open water—not without a Water affinity or a Hydromancy permit. Instead, he skirted the edge, slipping from stone to muddy patch, keeping to the shallows where reeds grow thick. Liene’s Liftfield thinned his weight just enough that the water’s surface barely rippled.
His boots were already soaked, but the duck-thing hadn’t noticed.
One foot at a time.
The duck-thing dipped its glowing beak into the water, then pulled back with a shudder, as if spooked by its own reflection.
Nearly there.
Fabrisse was only less than five steps behind the duck before—
From the other side of the pond, Liene started waving at him, with movements far from subtle. Both her arms flailed like a weather-vane having a spiritual crisis. She pointed, urgently, toward the northern slope behind him.
He turned his head just enough to glance over one shoulder. Standing amid the glyph-lined stones at the Sanctuary boundary was Lorvan.
He was looking directly in Fabrisse’s direction, and judging from his brisk pace and the way his eyes scanned the banks, the Mentor was clearly trying to find him. He didn’t seem to have spotted Fabrisse yet, however.
The duck-thing honked indignantly and took off paddling in another direction, possibly offended by the emotional spike.
Fabrisse froze.
Very, very possibly, he had seconds.
A puff of air burst from Liene’s fingertips, distorting the light around Lorvan’s face. It was a minor glamor: Displacement Haze, if Fabrisse remembered correctly. Designed to temporarily blur visual perception, commonly used by prankster first-years to swap exam nameplates.
It glittened like cheap candlelight.
Lorvan stopped. His shoulders rose. Then, slowly, very slowly, he turned his head in Liene’s direction.
She immediately sprang from the bushes with an exaggerated grin and a finger-gun gesture. “Ha! Gotcha. Just, uh, testing some effects, you know? I just got this spell to Rank IV the other day! Can you believe that?”
“Miss Lugano. If you’re here, then Kestovar must be close.”
Liene laughed too loudly. “He might be! Or he might not be! Or—what is proximity, really, in a metaphysical sense—”
“Spare me,” Lorvan snapped. “He is to return to class this instant, and I would very much like to have a few words with him. Several, in fact.”
Fabrisse stood torn. He was five steps from the duck-thing, and also one loud syllable from being caught.
But . . . Stonebound Synapse. He needed this one. Stonebound Synapse would boost his Stonecraft rank just enough to clear next term’s prerequisites, and maybe even get Lorvan off his back for a week.
The stone was right there.
Fabrisse felt lucky today.
He moved.
The duck-thing squawked, and its webbed feet shuffled. Fabrisse lunged forward.
Lorvan’s voice cracked like thunder from across the water. “Kestovar! Hold it right there!”
The duck-thing exploded into motion. Not in a graceful way—more like a fluffy feathery sack of rice being launched by panic. Its wings flapped unevenly, its glowing beak zigzagging wildly through the mist. Fabrisse dove after on instinct—
—and immediately slipped on a wet root.
His foot went sideways. He pinwheeled through the air with the grace of a collapsing laundry rack, and collided full-body into the tree root arch.
“Oh no, my rock!” he yelled.
His outstretched hand accidentally smacked the duck midair.
The duck squawked like a kettle being throttled and spun. Something small and shiny flew from its beak, arcing through the air with just enough dramatic glitter to qualify for magical slow motion.
Fabrisse landed face-first in a bush.
The glowing stone thunked off his forehead and bounced neatly into his palm.
[Quest Complete: Trace the Freckle-Star]
[New Passive Skill Acquired: Stonebound Synapse (Rank I)]
[New Item Acquired: Glowing Stupenstone]
[Note: A Stupenstone, but glowing.]
[Notice: Stealth bonus not awarded. Consider falling less dramatically next time.]
Fabrisse groaned, upside down in the shrubbery, one boot in the air and moss in his ear. He turned the stone over once in his palm, grinning despite the mud in his teeth. “Worth it.” Then he heard the stomping.
Across the pond, Lorvan was already storming toward him. Liene slapped both hands to her mouth, either in horror or to hide her laughter.
“Pleasant morning, mentor. I was enriching myself educationally,” Fabrisse said weakly. “With . . . ducks.”
Lorvan’s footsteps thundered closer, but he stopped just short of yelling. His eyes flicked to the glowing pebble in Fabrisse’s hand—then narrowed.
“Class,” he said again, quieter. But with no less steel.
