Flinging Rocks at Bureaucrats in a Magical Academy

Fabrisse lingered by the pedestal a little longer than necessary. He cradled the Stupenstone like it might protest being returned, turning it one last time in his palm.

The System’s glyph flashed before his eyes.

[FINAL STEP REQUIRED: Invocation.]

[Manifest attunement.]

The contrast of the interface stabbed at his eyes like someone shining polished metal under a sunlamp, and he blinked fast, trying not to wince.

“Put it back in,” Severa said crisply.

Fabrisse’s fingers hovered over the pedestal, but didn’t move. An Invocation? Right. That makes sense. But how?

He couldn’t expect to cast at Invocation here without triggering the containment ward or making Severa suspicious. But he didn’t need to chant any mnemonic, did he? The glyph had told him so, at least during when he was trying to open the sub-sections.

Concordance isn’t about saying the words. It’s about embodying the state.

“I just need a second,” he said, stalling.

Severa narrowed her eyes. “What for?”

“I want to test something. If this really is about imprinting the emotions, then the posture and placement matters.”

She looked dubious but didn’t argue. Maybe she thought he was adding flair. She liked things done cleanly, ceremonially.

He turned the stone slowly in his palm, as if aligning runic vectors, though in truth there were no visible glyphs. Just an instinct—shame, memory, tether—and the quiet pressure rising behind his ribs.

He angled the Stupenstone a few degrees to the left, tilted it, then moved it back. He then took half a step clockwise.

“Are you just spinning it in a circle?” Severa asked suspiciously.

“No,” he said. “I’m observing emotional feedback.”

That part, he probably didn’t lie.

But his hand was sweating, the kind that made his palm tacky against the surface of the Stupenstone, like his skin was trying to hold on tighter than he was. His fingers felt clumsy. He adjusted his grip again, not because the stone needed realigning, but because he couldn’t seem to make them stay still.

[Invocation Window Available — Confirm Emotional Attunement — Trigger Emotion: Anxiety]

[QUEST OBJECTIVE: Initiate invocation through recovered emotional signature.]

Anxiety? That’s the trigger?

He didn’t even know there were invocation triggers for anxiety. That wasn’t a sanctioned channel—not in Thaumaturgy, not even in the joke papers the undergraduates circulated when they'd had too much scrawlwine.

So what am I supposed to cast? A nervous breakdown?

No. He needed something familiar. Something the stone already recognized. Something that had tied them together once before.

He lowered his hand to just above the pedestal, cradling the Stupenstone like a secret.

He let another shameful memory return. Not the grand, ceremonial failure in front of classmates. This one was smaller but even meaner somehow, for how petty it was.

He was nine. Dubbie had caught him in the backyard trying to teach a frog how to bow.

Not magically, but with string and patience and the solemnity of someone who absolutely believed the frog could be trained into polite behavior if addressed with proper ritual phrasing. He’d even crafted a tiny cape for it out of torn handkerchief and told her it was a ‘formality in channeling respect.’

She’d laughed so hard she’d choked on her tea.

He’d stood there, one hand outstretched with his ‘ceremonial instruction twig,’ the other clutching a scroll titled ‘Basic Tenets of Amphibian Discipline,’ which he’d written himself in red ink and overly large letters.

She never brought it up again.

But he did.

At least once a month. Usually while lying awake at night. Wondering if the frog remembered. Wondering why he’d tried to bow back when the frog twitched its jumpy legs by accident.

Aether pulsed in an amber burst—brief, weak, almost apologetic. It radiated no farther than the edge of the pedestal, thinning like smoke drawn through a cracked door.

[SPELL TRIGGERED: Shameflare (Concordance Variant)]

Invocation Source: Emotional Imprint – Recovered

[QUEST STEP COMPLETE: Invocation Performed at Site of Abandonment]

Bonus Objective: Severa Montreal — Not Yet Noticing

✔ Quest Complete: Weight of the Words Left Unsaid

✦ New Spell Unlocked: Stupenstone Fling (Rank I)

Aetheric force applied to emotionally imprinted object.

Effect: Launches a Stupenstone with aether. Damage and arc after release scale with RES.

Wards and glamors destabilize more easily when object carries failure imprint.

Bonus Reward: + 1 EMO

Fabrisse clenched his jaw. Please, please let that not have triggered the wards.

It did not trigger the wards.

The chamber didn’t even react.

But Severa did.

He could feel her eyes snap toward him like a spell-lock clicking into place. “What was that?”

“What?” Fabrisse replied, too fast. “Nothing.”

“That was amber,” she said sharply. “Aetheric amber. Did you try to cast an Invocation?”

He straightened and tried very hard not to look like someone who’d just weaponized a memory about frog etiquette.

“It’s a—uh—resonant feedback leak,” he said, clearing his throat and praying she didn’t know that wasn’t a real phrase. “The stone’s, um, stabilizing the emotional imprint. I believe it let out a minor discharge.”

Severa took a step forward, and her voice was suddenly sharper. “That wasn’t a containment leakback. That was a cast. Are you a fool?”

Fabrisse’s heart jolted. The spell residue still lingered in the air, curling faintly like heat off stone.

“I—” He swallowed. “I didn’t cast anything. You didn’t see me strike a pose or chant a mnemonic, right?” Like Veil of Shame, Shameflare was extremely easy to cast. Why is Shameflare so easy to cast?

[QUERY RECEIVED]: Why is Shameflare so easy to cast?

Searching database for answer . . .

[RESPONSE]: The aetheric reaction for Shameflare did not require appropriate timing or technique. The main component of Shameflare was the manifestation of the Emotion Shame and the communication of intent through Thoughts. Thinking about casting Shameflare was sufficient.

[ADDITIONAL NOTE: Please enable viewing of Aetheric Reaction Equation for exact breakdown of components. Aetheric Reaction Equation can be enabled via: Diagnostics > Settings > Display > Aetheric Metrics]

Huh. So unlike most Thaumaturgic spells, these skills are actually very intuitive. You just have to think about casting it, then channel your emotion. Why can’t all spells be this easy?

“Are you sure you didn’t cast anything by accident with your abysmal resonance control?” Her voice stayed low, but each syllable was knifed with precision. “There are active ward lines layered beneath the pedestal. Any unsanctioned invocation, even a passive flare, could’ve disrupted the null-field suppression matrix.”

She pointed to the aether haze. “What did you cast? Why is it amber? That’s not a spark we learned. And don’t lie to me.”

Severa has never seen the color of shame before? Maybe even she doesn’t know everything.

His brain flailed. The shame was still clinging to him, sticky as pond water. “It was just a diagnostic trace,” he responded. “I needed to confirm something.”

Severa narrowed her eyes. “No sanctioned trace emits that hue. Are you casting shame on the stone?”

Fabrisse exhaled. “It was personalized.”

That gave her pause. Not because she believed him fully, but because it aligned—tenuously—with the theory he’d been feeding her. Also, probably because of his ominous choice of words.

“Next time,” she said, “you don’t test theories inside a reinforced relic vault with reactive bindings unless you’ve warned me. Or unless you have a death wish. Do you?”

“No,” he said. “Definitely no.”

Her glare didn’t soften. “Good. Then don’t do it again.”

Fabrisse nodded quickly, his hands already sliding the Stupenstone back into the containment pedestal. The stone gave no further glow as it settled into place. The runes around the pedestal dimmed. Whatever power it had shared with him, it wasn’t eager to make a show of it now.

Severa stepped back, brushing a bit of dust off her sleeves like it had offended her. “We’ll file this under minor anomalous activation. Keep the emotional resonance trace if it’s stable. I’ll log it later.”

“Right,” Fabrisse muttered, resisting the urge to wipe his forehead. The spell had fizzled out. The pedestal hadn’t exploded. The wards hadn’t howled, and more importantly, no alarms had sounded. No instructors had burst in.

For once, nothing happened. And that was a small miracle.

Severa keyed the final rune by the door. “We must go.”

He followed, doing his best not to limp from residual tension. As they stepped back into the outer corridor of Lower Containment, the chamber door sealed behind them without a sound.

Fabrisse didn’t relax until they were well down the hallway. Only then did he notice the slight tremor in his fingers. Sensory rebound. The containment lights weren’t loud, but their vibration settled wrong in his bones. He curled his fingers into his palm and released them, slow, deliberate, until the shaking eased.

Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, a single, treacherous thought echoed: That went too well.

But he didn’t say it out loud. Even he knew better than to tempt the architecture.