Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotional Incompetent [A Magical Academy LitRPG]

The lesson wrapped not long after. Ganvar, with her usual measured calm, gave Fabrisse a few additional exercises, then dismissed them both with the kind of wave that could have been either dismissal or benediction. Fabrisse wasn't sure which, and he didn't care, as he was still staring at his wrist like it was a holy artifact.

By the time he and Liene crossed into the walking grounds near the Wing of Light Thaumaturgy, the sky had folded into dusk, and the glyphlights overhead burned a brighter orange against the encroaching dark. Fabrisse kept glancing at the quartz in his hand, tilting it toward the light just to see if the sparkles would return.

Liene, meanwhile, was humming to herself. Fabrisse knew her main elective this semester was Light, and when he asked if she had any exams coming up, she of course said, "Yes, three. But they are also weeks away, and exams are like climbing walls anyway. You can either stress about falling or enjoy the view halfway up."

"That's not—" Fabrisse started, then stopped. He wasn't sure if that was encouragement, avoidance, or just Liene being Liene.

She stretched her arms over her head, spinning a little as they walked down the orange-lit path. "Anyway. We should celebrate."

"Uh . . ." She was going to rope him in by saying something weird like 'pie-worthy' or something adjacent. He could feel it.

"Mm-hm. You actually lit up today." She mimed sparks flying from her fingertips. "That's pie-worthy."

Predictable. Fabrisse couldn't complain when it came to pie, at least.

She squinted, then wrinkled her nose. "No, wait. Pie is too mundane. You deserve something better than flour and fruit pretending to be an achievement."

"I'm fine with pie." Just don't drag me out of the Synod grounds.

"Let's climb the South Spire!" she cut in, her grin blooming. "Race up the ivy-clad face before the watch bells. You've never done it, have you?"

"No." There was a reason why people hadn't done it. You'd get looks; the weird kind.

Liene only grinned wider. "Think of it this way, Fabri. It'll help you develop strength and dexterity. You're always doing those stealthy, twisty moves whenever you travel down the caves anyway. Why don't we do that, but vertically?"

"Then why don't we just go straight to the cave?"

"Huh. Good point." Liene tilted her head.

"There's a small valley past the western edge of the Synod," Fabrisse offered, seizing the opening. "It cuts right against the cliff line. There's a cave down there. I found some of the Stupenstones inside." The relevant Earth Thaumaturgy branches didn't ever send students there, as there were barely any students in the wings to begin with, and the cave had been thoroughly examined. Nothing above common-grade rock.

Liene wrinkled her nose for just a second. She was never into rocks; that much he knew. "A cave, huh? You and your stones." She sighed, then smiled. "If you say it's interesting, it's interesting. Let's go then."

Fabrisse hesitated. The memory of Lorvan's words cut across the back of his mind: Don't be alone.

"But . . ." His voice came out smaller than he intended. "It'll be late. And that valley's not really supervised."

Liene tilted her head, puzzled. "Why would that scare you? You've gone there alone before."

Fabrisse stared at the ground, unwilling to explain. "I just feel like I need another pair of eyes. To be safe."

She laughed. "Fabri, there won't be any danger. The worst that can happen is—" She cut herself off as she caught his mouth pressing thin. The joke died before it reached her lips.

"Okay," she said gently. "We're near the Wing of Light Thaumaturgy. Let me see if I can find any of my friends to come with. Is that alright?"

He nodded. "I guess."

Liene slowed, scanning the students moving across the grounds. Then her face lit up. "Oh! You're in luck." She lifted an arm and waved, animated as always, toward a tall figure striding across the avenue in layered sapphire silks. The figure was holding a . . . staff? Not just any staff; the polished length gleamed dark as obsidian, and the glassy orb crowned on its head glowed with a light too disciplined to be mere ornament. He didn't know much about artifacts, but enough to spot a higher-grade item when he saw one. Water, by the look of the refracted glow.

His brows pinched. Are staffs even allowed inside the Synod? He almost never saw so much as a wand used openly, let alone a full casting staff. Such implements weren't banned, precisely, but they were whispered about. Aides meant you weren't strong enough alone (according to Headmaster Draeth). Reliance was a weakness. Every tutor drilled that in. True spellcasters didn't need the crutch. And yet here was someone strolling the grounds flaunting one, and people parted around him, but not without a few sidelong glances.

"That's a friend of mine. He's a certified Magus!" Liene spun back to Fabri, her grin blooming wider. "With him alongside us, there won't be any problem. See? Destiny's taking care of you already."

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Liene was already stepping forward, waving with both arms now like she meant to flag down a passing skiff instead of a man. The figure's head turned, his stride arresting just enough before he angled directly toward them. Fabrisse realized he might have seen that man somewhere before, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly when.

The Magus reached up and shrugged his cobalt cloak loose with a dancer's ease. By the second step, he had stripped away the silk tunic beneath too, revealing simpler, tighter garb better suited for movement. Layers that looked outrageously expensive only heartbeats ago now trailed over his arm like abandoned stage props. For a moment, surprise blzed in Fabrisse's chest as he caught up to the fact that Liene had a friend like this at all. Then he caught himself. It shouldn't have been surprising. The Lugano household was among the most academically esteemed in the Synod, their name spoken in the same breath as the most decorated scholars. The fact Liene never carried herself that way wouldn't erase her lineage.

Then he thought deeper about the man. Who discarded wealth like that just to cross a lawn? No one he knew. Which meant either confidence beyond reason, or someone who never truly cared what veneers were meant for in the first place.

The man's marine blue eyes found Liene, their faint glow brightening with unmistakable ease, and his smile broke like it belonged solely to the moment. Fabrisse felt a strange pinch in his temple, uncertainty tightening into one clear thought: This man is not from my world.

Fabrisse was still walking a distance behind Liene, but his stride had lost its certainty. Then his gaze slid past Liene and caught on the shorter girl trailing at his side. All will to advance vanished.

He could not mistake those crimson irises for anyone else. No one he had ever met had eyes that color—an impossible shade that seemed carved out of firelight itself. On others, it might have looked ornamental, even pretty. On Severa, it was a blade. The hue made her gaze unbearably intense, so much so that whenever she turned it on him, it felt less like being looked at and more like being cut into.

And she was staring at him now.

Fabrisse felt his heel twitch backward, the ghost of a retreat he couldn't allow. He forced himself still. He'd learned with Cuman what came of showing weakness, and how easily it painted a target across his back. He would not repeat it now, not in front of her. So he stood, doing what he could, praying Severa would pass without a word, without a glance, without anything. Just stand there. Don't approach me.

She approached him.

The click of her stride was precise as a metronome. For an instant, he thought her eyes had dropped away from him, but then realized—no, she wasn't looking at him at all. Her crimson stare was tilted just above his head, fixed there as if something unseen had caught and held her focus. She kept it locked as she drew closer.

Maybe it was an upper-class thing. Maybe there was actually something above his head. Fabrisse dared not follow her gaze to confirm.

Then, without warning, her attention dropped to his wrist. He followed her gaze in spite of himself and froze.

From the pale skin at his wrist, faint threads of pine green were bleeding out, the exact shade of his own anxiety made visible.

Not now, Eidralith.

"Kestovar." Severa's voice landed like a blade point. "You care enough about thaumaturgy now to practice emotional manifestation, I suppose?"

The pine-green wisps around his wrist tightened as though aware of her tone.

Anger. That was what he heard in it, though he couldn't be sure. Maybe it was about humiliating her in front of her father not long ago, far too fresh for someone like Severa to let slip. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that at all. She was the type who might snatch a pebble off the ground and pocket it just to watch him react. In fact, she had.

"I have been practicing, actually," he replied. He hadn't meant for it to sound defensive, yet the moment he heard it, he knew it was too late to reel it back.

Severa's eyes narrowed. The crimson lost none of its cutting intensity, but something in it bent, if only slightly. Not quite softening, but redirecting. "Practicing?" she echoed, the syllables crisp with disbelief. "Where? I have not seen you in practicals."

She noticed? He didn't think Severa would care enough to register his presence (or a lack thereof) at all. Maybe skipping every single practical had finally left a hole obvious enough that even someone like her could point to it.

"Private tutoring," he said as he tapped the side of his satchel four times. "I figured that would be . . . better for catching up."

She didn't answer at once. A thin pause stretched between them before she said, with a sliver of concession so fine Fabrisse might have imagined it, "If that isn't another of your evasions, then perhaps you've finally decided to behave in a manner befitting your . . . situation. The bearer of the Eidralith ought, at the very least, to demonstrate some attempt at competence."

Oh, of course. Severa only ever showed respect when effort entered the equation. As long as he kept quiet about spending his evening sifting through rubble, she might actually let him leave with his dignity intact.

"Fabri!" Liene's voice resounded. "Sven has agreed to come pick rocks with us at the caves!" He turned just in time to see her striding back across the lawn, her grin wide enough to split the sunset. At her side, the (once) cobalt-cloaked Magus moved with unhurried grace.

He turned back, very slowly, to Severa, only to find her irises fixed on him again. They were now burning with a keener intensity than before, honed past simple disdain into something closer to refined contempt.

"Ah, yes," she said. "How could I have overlooked it? The great bearer of the Eidralith, investing his rare hours in the noble pursuit of picking rocks."

Fabrisse's throat tightened, but before he could force a reply, Liene was suddenly at his side. She angled herself in just enough that her shoulder cut into Severa's line of sight, shielding him from her. "Hello!" Liene said in a light voice, "do you have any business with my friend?"

"None in particular," Severa said. Her hand, curled loosely at her side, trembled once. "Have fun picking rocks, Kestovar. Perhaps, if fortune is kind, one day they will amount to something."

Fabrisse stared at Severa's back as she retreated into the dying sunset, hands behind her like a hawk folding its wings. Maybe she was simply having a terrible day and venting it through him. Because really, he could not be that important to warrant such fury from her.