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

As the second vessel was sealed and cleared away, the final bowl was brought forward on a raised stone pedestal etched in newer, less-worn runes. The third vessel had no visible latch or lining. Its crystal was pale, almost translucent, with an odd sheen that refracted like a bubble's skin. It looked unused. Or maybe untouched.

Severa stepped into the ring again. Her tone dropped half a key. "The third verse will begin in ten counts. Prepare your petals."

The students moved more urgently now. No one was slouching anymore, not after those relics. Even the students who had treated the first round like a lark were now drawing their names with razor precision. The only ones who didn't seem to care were those who felt like they wouldn't have a shot, and Greg, who was eating his second scone.

Fabrisse's fingers lingered over the silver basin, hesitating just a second before reaching for the smallest petal left, a threadfern edge, pale-pink with speckled violet veining. It was light, delicate, and almost definitely cursed with a bad float profile.

He barely got his name inked before Liene was behind him again.

"Fabri," she said, voice lower now. "What's your most embarrassing memory?"

"That's not a normal question."

"We need to synchronize," she said, not even slightly apologetic. "The emotion has to match."

He gave her a side-glance. "How do I know you're not just harvesting my trauma for sport?"

"You don't," she said. "But it might win you a relic."

Fair point.

The third stream began to stir. This time, Langley didn't even have to move. The basin responded to a whispered gesture, a more subtle spell that curved the water forward in a long, spiraled arc. The pace was now rapid, like the current had picked up the nervous tension of everyone watching.

Liene stepped in behind him, already adjusting her fingers into the mnemonic positioning.

"Petal Draft again?" he asked.

"Yes, but this time, don't force anything. Let me set the rhythm." She tilted her chin up. "You're bad at rhythm."

"Thanks."

Fabrisse let his hands move into position, guided by hers. At least the joint movements felt smoother than last time. He tried not to overthink it. He tried not to notice how close she was, or how natural she seemed at something so wildly unnatural.

"Breathe in," Liene murmured. "Works best at exactly two seconds."

He did.

Then she began to move.

The chant was quiet again. Fabrisse's sparks stuttered as he tried to match her cadence, and he didn't know where to place his fingers since she hadn't told him. Her current was already gliding, subtle, precise, feathered with restraint.

He wasn't catching up. His SYN was not good enough to act on the spot. Every time she changed the direction of her pressure on the petal, he reacted a beat too late.

So he let go.

His tutor Ganvar had told him once. Don't guide. Just contribute your emotion. That's what Harmonize is supposed to be.

Not of the spell. Not of the petal.

Just of the constant need to catch up.

His breath slowed, shallow but steady, and for once he didn't try to force his spark into aligning with Liene's. Then he felt pressure.

It wasn't dramatic. He didn't see it with his eyes. But he felt its edges in the way the air thrummed against his skin. The way his spark no longer pushed outward but leaned—naturally, instinctively—toward the space above the petal where he'd thought there was nothing there.

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The aether pool.

It was there. Right there. Like it had always been. He just hadn't been still enough to notice it.

What? Oh.

He'd been forgetting the final phase of the tutorial all along.

Liene's spell was soaring now. Their petal slipped through the current with the smooth, rhythmic glide of a bird catching thermal lift. Her aether was on point: neither too forceful nor too delicate.

He wondered what she was thinking about, to be able to cast her shame. Liene seemed like the last person to feel ashamed about anything, so it surprised him to see her being able to channel that emotion with such continuity.

With Fabrisse contributing nothing but emotion—raw, steady humiliation—her casting had found a groove. The petal curved wide to bypass a clump of jittering flameblossoms, then zipped cleanly through the tight second loop, darting past one, two, three petals that faltered in the turbulence.

They weren't first.

But they were among the leaders now.

Liene leaned forward with the spell, controlling it from afar like a marionette master with invisible strings. The distance should've made things harder, and it was. The farther the petal moved along the current, the more stretched her influence became, the finer her tuning had to be. But with the synchronized flow of emotion flowing between them, the spell held.

Until Fabrisse felt joy.

I did it. I finished the tutorial. After all this time.

That was all it took.

The momentary swell of achievement was warm and bright and deeply wrong. Wrong for the spell, wrong for the harmony. The braid of resonance that had been holding their channel in sync shuddered like a frayed rope catching on splinters.

Liene's hand faltered.

The petal staggered in the stream. Its gliding arc broke as if it had missed a step. It wobbled mid-air, not enough to crash, but enough to lose traction in the slipstream.

Three petals overtook it.

Four.

Fabrisse's breath hitched. "Wait—wait, I didn't—"

"Keep feeling joy," Liene stopped chanting and whispered, then resumed chanting in a completely new cadence, lilting and bright.

What? Oh!

The sparks of aether behind their petal now glowed sky-blue. She had changed her casting emotion on the fly.

Brilliant. You're great, Liene. You're so awesome. I'm so happy to be your partner.

Their hands moved in sync now, not because he was copying her, but because something else had clicked; a strange concord that hummed at the edges of his nerves.

Their petal wove through the trailing pack. Two petals bumped and clipped each other on the second ring and spun out. Another glowed too bright and veered off into a side current, drifting aimlessly.

But their petal held.

Third loop.

The finish basin was now visible.