Chương 25: I am the one with the Eidralith

Fabrisse closed the door behind him and immediately turned to Greg, who was sitting on the floor in front of his bookshelf, carefully re-categorizing their emergency snack inventory by expiry date.

"No," Greg said. Fabrisse paused.

"I haven't said anything yet." Greg adjusted his glasses.

"You paused meaningfully in the doorway, looked contemplative, and made a beeline for me instead of your desk. That only ever means 'Greg, I have a bad idea and need someone to help me.' So: no." Fabrisse deflated.

"Fine." He flopped onto his bed, mind awhirl with forbidden containment wings and ambiguous glyph quests, stared at the ceiling for a while, then rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. The scent of ink and chip crumbs clung to the fabric. He sat back up and stared at the floating glyph still hovering in his peripheral vision. [QUEST PROGRESS: Incomplete] Target Location: Chamber Seven, Lower Containment Priority: Elevated (Path-dependent) He squinted at it.

'Path-dependent' was a probably very ominous way of saying 'you can ignore this if you want, but there will be consequences.' He groaned, draped an arm over his eyes, and tried to brainstorm. Could he bluff his way in? No, not with his face. Could he sneak in? Maybe, though he didn't think he was that good at slinking into places. Maybe Veist could help? She was a research student doing an aquathaumaturgy project, if he recalled correctly. She'd actually spoken to him again just now, in the aquatics corridor.

She was working on something about the resonance patterns in spiny kelpfish, but he was too anxious to pay attention. Greg suddenly said, "Whatever you're planning: not worth it." Fabrisse turned to him.

"Huh?" Greg flipped the page.

"That girl's planted some ideas in your head. Now you think breaking the rules is fun and games."

"I'm just thinking."

"So are you or are you not thinking about breaking the rules then?"

"That's different."

"If you say so." Greg moved to his desk, and soon was off doing his own thing in silence again. Greg had been right, even though he'd been wrong. Do I need to go that far for the quest? The glowing glyph couldn't go away, and neither could the very inconvenient awareness that part of him wanted to pursue this. To see how far he could get. But he still had four months left to become a better version of himself. He could definitely take this slow and wait for another quest to come up; an easier one.

Wouldn't that save me from the trouble?

"Why now?" he muttered to himself.

"Why suddenly now do I need to be some kind of magical prodigy?" The glyph offered no answer. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he could keep doing things at his own pace.

"Don't you have Aerothaumaturgy this afternoon?" Greg spoke again. Fabrisse shot up from his bed.

"Oh no." By the time he sprinted into the Aerothaumaturgy field, he was wheezing, one sock was inside out, and the instructor had already started outlining today's skybinding array. The open practice grounds stretched wide under a bleached blue sky, ringed by slowly rotating wind glyphs. High overhead, a few students were already airborne on controlled wind lifts, bobbing through the air like anxious kites. Fabrisse tiptoed toward the group, trying to sneak behind a hedge of weather-stabilization runes.

He didn't quite make it.

"Ah! Mr. Kestovar. So good of you to join us," boomed Magus Instructant Ovrien from across the field. He was fortunate it was Ovrien today. Most other instructors would've marked him as absent, and one more absence would hamper any chance of ever renewing his scholarship. The wind picked up conveniently to carry his voice to every ear present. Fabrisse grimaced and bowed apologetically. He heard chuckles. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

It was from Cuman. It was from Cuman, every time. Cuman Gollivur idled overhead. Sparks of green light from his triumph-aided amplification spell danced around his outstretched hands like miniature stars. He was sixteen, the perfect age to act like a flairless bully.

"Look sharp, Rock Witch," Cuman called out.

"Wouldn't want you floating away by accident. Or maybe you just didn't want to fly today. Or ever?" Miro Hirosagi, his ever-present tagalong, snorted.

"Maybe he's still recovering from the head trauma." Fabrisse gritted his teeth and kept walking toward his assigned rune circle. The field was far too vast for a single instructor to watch every corner, and Ovrien had already turned back to calibrating the central skybinding array. Cuman, naturally attuned to these openings, lounged at the perfect hover height, keeping one eye on the instructor. The moment Ovrien looked away, he sent a ripple of summoned current Fabrisse's way. The gust clipped him.

The air puffed beneath his robes and launched him a full meter into the air. His legs bicycled midair before he dropped with a squelch into a nearby puddle, left over from some weather manipulation exercise. A small note appeared above his head. [DAMAGE TAKEN: Minor Emotional Damage] A muddy silence followed, broken only then by a wave of laughter.

"Oh no! Downed already?" Cuman grinned, descending for effect.

"Thought the chosen ones were supposed to stay upright." Fabrisse lay there, staring at the sky, soaking wet, with grass in his ear and dignity leaking from his shoes. He rolled onto his side. The laughter was finally fading, but the humiliation lingered like water in his ears. Magus Instructant Ovrien took a step forward, brow furrowing as he began to descend from the central casting platform.

"Mr. Kestovar, do you require assistance?"

"Allow me, Magus," came a crisp voice from the other side of the circle. Heads turned. Severa Montreal was already striding toward Fabrisse with an unflinching posture. The Magus paused, mildly surprised.

"Miss Montreal?" Severa offered him a deferential nod.

"I believe I can assist. A touch of elementary wind redirection, if you would permit me. It's hardly taxing." Ovrien frowned. Students, and definitely High Distinction students like Severa, rarely volunteered to assist one another unless it was for extra merit points or to show off. But Severa looked neither eager nor boastful. If anything, she looked slightly bored.

"Very well," he finally said.

"Mr. Kestovar clearly needs a bit of help with basic lift stability. You may proceed." Fabrisse stared at her.

"What are you—""Hush. Do you want to be embarrassed further?" She traced a precise series of motions in the air. A small spiral of wind gathered around Fabrisse. It did little to lift him, but was enough to ease the weight and dry the worst of the muck. She twirled her finger.

"Now. You will mirror this motion. Exactly. Do try not to trip over your own fingers." Fabrisse raised his finger.

"Stop," she said. He stopped. She said, "Your positioning is wrong. Third finger lower. The airflow collapses if you pinch like that. Honestly, Kestovar, have you never cast a wind-channeling spell before?"

"I know the gesture. I've just—""Yes, yes. You've 'just.' You've just been tragically behind in every core subject. You've just barely managed to pass Basic Thaumaturgy last year, and the only reason why you're in this class is because Lugano, from the kindness of his heart, has enrolled you into Limited-Spot catch up classes. And now you've just stumbled into a bond with an artifact of incalculable value." Her eyes narrowed just a smidge.

"Some of us have trained since childhood for such an honor." Right… She was weaponizing words again. This must've been because of his 'rejection' yesterday. Fabrisse gripped the side of his satchel.

"It wasn't on purpose."

"No, I imagine little you do ever is." She smiled.

"Still, if you had a shred of dignity, you might consider stepping aside." Her hand twitched.

"Now. Again. Wrist higher. You're drooping." Fabrisse, cheeks burning, mimicked her gesture. He'd learned not to argue with people who sounded more confident than him. That never ended well. A sliver of wind answered his call, sluggish and clumsy compared to hers. Still, it formed, and a thin ribbon of curled movement materialized from his palm.

"Oh, look," Severa said.

"It wiggles." His spell fizzled out. Severa rose to her feet.

"Magus, I believe that concludes my assistance." Magus Ovrien gave her a brief nod.

"Well done, Miss Montreal." Fabrisse remained crouched on the ground, wand limp in hand, half-mud, half-mortified. Severa smiled down at him one last time.

"Chin up, Kestovar. Everyone loves an underdog. At least until they stop being amusing." She strode away. He sat down. His face felt hotter the longer he sat. The sounds of the training field swirled distantly, but it all blurred. Another sudden burst of air slammed into his back. He faceplanted again with a wet splat. [DAMAGE TAKEN: Slight Grazing (Knee)] [DAMAGE TAKEN: Advanced Emotional Damage] [Understanding of Rage: 34 (88%) → 35 (24%)] Behind him, someone snickered. Probably Cuman. Definitely Cuman.

Fabrisse stared at the mud inches from his nose. This mud was cakey and too lightly-colored; possibly containing several rich nutrients. Stop thinking about mud! Look at yourself! A voice screamed in his head. You're nineteen, three years older than that little wretch, and you just let him dunk you in a puddle like a helpless pug. How dare you think about taking it slow when you are this far behind.

"Did Montreal say she's a research student?" he mumbled to the dirt. He rolled over slowly, eyes narrowing at the empty sky. The glyph still glimmered in his periphery. She's not the one with the Eidralith. I am the one with the Eidralith.

"I will show you," he muttered. He staggered upright, slinging mud from his sleeves, and bolted, ignoring the calls behind him, sprinting after the silhouette receding toward the far end of the field.

"Montreal!" he shouted. She didn't stop.

"I said—do you want to bind with the Eidralith?" That made her stop.