Chương 39: I didn’t expect him to be... short

.. short The parlor was perfectly round. There weren't any corners, which meant there weren't many shadows either. Light filtered in from a domed ceiling etched with converging golden runes, none of which appeared decorative. And at the center of the chamber was the most terrifying man Fabrisse had ever seen. Magister Trastin Montreal. Magisters were high-ranking administrators or executive specialists.

They typically handled department leadership, sensitive diplomatic roles, or oversight of dangerous magic (like the Eidralith). Magisters weren't members of the Synod, but often worked under the Order directly. And anyone who worked under the Order was, by definition, scary. Trastin wasn't tall, but the room deferred to him. His robes were a dark navy that refracted like deep pressure stone under the spelllight.

His hands were bare, resting atop a thin walking rod carved from something glossier than obsidian, a material Fabrisse couldn't name. His eyes didn't rise immediately. Fabrisse would've preferred being glared at.

"Fabrisse Kestovar," he pronounced his name flawlessly without a hint of emotion.

"You're the one who caught the Eidralith with his face."

"Magister," Severa said.

"It is him." You don't call your father 'father'? Fabrisse thought, not daring to turn to Severa. Trastin didn't stand.

"I didn't expect him to be... short." Fabrisse made the mistake of dropping eye contact. I'm not short. I'm 178 cm tall. The Magister's voice cut through the air.

"If you are spoken to, Mr. Kestovar, you are expected to remain present. I know Earth Thaumaturges are taught patience. Try to apply it to your attention span."

"Yes, Magister. Sorry, Magister." He knows I'm just enrolled in the Wing of Stratal Studies too.

"Don't apologize unless you mean it. And if you mean it, fix it." Fabrisse immediately regretted saying sorry. Did that mean he was supposed to somehow repair the conversation? Was there a correct procedure for that? Was this a test? It sounded like a test. Perhaps he should have responded. Perhaps he already should have responded. The longer he spent determining the correct response, the more obvious it became that he was not responding. A sharp nudge from Severa struck his elbow. Right. Conversation.

"Fascinating," Trastin said.

"You've been in my presence for less than two minutes, and already you've drifted into private thought. Severa, I trust this is the strategic intellect the Order believes warrants an artifact's attention?" Severa said, "He's under observation."

"Mhm. So is moss. Which begs the question." It was the first time the Magister lifted his gaze, and it landed on Severa.

"Why aren't you under the Order's observation?"

"Because I report to my mentors, not my bloodline." Her voice wasn't sharp, but it was exact, the way a scalpel is exact. The meaning of what she said though… Fabrisse struggled to understand. He didn't handle vagueness well, and that line was a solid 8 on the scale of vague.

"Ah. So that's how we're branding independence now." He pressed his staff against the floor and rose. The sound it made wasn't loud, but final like a full stop. Fabrisse thought it would feel like standing in front of a senior instructor or a headmaster. It didn't. It felt like standing in front of the reason headmasters went gray. Trastin Montreal circled the edge of the room. He didn't speak for several breaths. When he did, his tone was as neutral as before.

"You were holding a stone when the Eidralith made contact." Fabrisse stiffened.

"Y-yes, Magister."

"What kind of stone?"

"A Stupenstone, I think, Magister." Fabrisse resisted the urge to gulp. He should've gone with the scientific name. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. At least, the Magister didn't seem to mind. His voice slowed.

"You think? Or you know?" Fabrisse's throat worked.

"I—I know. I brought it with me." He didn't know why he lied.

"Describe its resonance profile." Fabrisse gulped now.

"It had a low static signature and a mild echo imprint. I didn't feel any spike until after the Eidralith, I swear—" He stopped himself, realizing the moment he said 'swear' he sounded guilty. He braced for the Magister's retort. Trastin Montreal turned slightly to Severa.

"You brought him here to explain the stone?" he asked.

"No. I brought him here because I need your guidance on the Eidralith's current behavior. It's still dormant, and I'm afraid we do not know what it wants. I believe it's binding to him."

"You believe. And you thought my parlor was the appropriate venue for discussing premature artifacts and accidental entanglements?" Severa's jaw tensed.

"You're the only one with a pre-binding codex and a Rank VIII disjunction record." A pre-binding codex? Does this mean he can understand the metaphysical architecture of artifacts even before they fully bond? Some people actually study Earth, Metal, or Crystal Thaumaturgy as their secondary affinity for decades just to get to know some artifacts better, and they don't have access to that. But still, it's the Eidralith we're talking about.

"Ah. So we've arrived at flattery." He looked back at Fabrisse.

"Do you wish to be unbound, Mr. Kestovar?" Fabrisse opened his mouth, but snapped it shut. He needed to think harder. Do I want to be unbound? Absolutely flaming not! Not when this glyph had finally broken the dam that kept his magic from going anywhere beyond simmering sparks and useless pings. He glanced sideways at Severa. She stood as straight as ever, but her eyes never left her father. They were fixed on her father. They weren't close. He knew that now. And maybe… maybe that was the lever.

"I don't want to be unbound," he said.

"I want to understand it. And if anyone feels like they're more qualified to bind with the artifac…" He looked directly at Trastin, and then—deliberately—at Severa.

"Then they're free to impress it, and take it from me." Severa turned to him. She was expressionless. Maybe she wasn't that angry? Trastin raised one brow.

"Very well. The binding stands, for now. I have no interest in prying apart resonances on behalf of wounded pride." He gestured once toward the door.

"You may go."

"Thank you, Magister." Fabrisse walked before anyone could realize his fingers were shaking. The head butler was waiting for them by the door. He widened his eyes for a second when he saw Fabrisse walk out first, but immediately reassembled his expression into polished neutrality.

"Miss Montreal, and her companion," he said, bowing with the exact degree of formality required for people who had not, technically, disgraced themselves but were also not likely to be invited back anytime soon. Fabrisse nodded stiffly.

"Thank you." Severa hadn't spoken. Fabrisse didn't speak. He didn't even breathe too loudly. Only once they were outside the manor gates—past the shadowhewn myrrenwood doors, past the ancestral sconce-portraits, past the fourth-dimensional chessboard and its smug knight still winning diagonally through time—did Severa stop.

"What in all the shriven echoes was that?" She snarled. Fabrisse opened his mouth." No." She finally turned.

"You don't get to play stupid. You knew exactly what you were doing." She stepped forward, stopping just short of his shoulder, looking at him the way a sculptor looks at a block of clay that refuses to shape. Her voice never rose.

"You're not clever. You handed him the bow, and you let him string it with me. And you think walking away with that artifact bound to your stupid head makes you the winner?" Yeah... she was definitely angry. At least prolonged exposure to Severa would eventually raise his understanding of rage to the level he could use for spellcasting. He wondered what the threshold was. 40%? 50%? [SYSTEM NOTE:] Minimum Emotional Resonance for Rage-Linked Spellcasting: 40%. Current Resonance: 33% Estimated survival required. Ah.

Good.

"I must admit, I have underestimated you, Kestovar. But now I know you're hiding something." Severa's voice barely rose above a whisper, and Fabrisse realized she was still talking.

"Very well. Keep your artifact." Her eyes burned. Sparks of crimson loomed over her head. In hindsight, antagonizing the daughter of a Magister had perhaps not been the optimal diplomatic strategy. If he had been more graceful… he could've delayed the unbinding and not risk making a powerful enemy. [Understanding of Rage: 33% → 34%] Delightful. It would take him maybe less than a month at this rate. She took another step forward.

"I will watch. I will watch you fail your Fire Examinations. I will watch you fail them again. And when you inevitably fail them a third time, I will watch the Academy remove you. You may very well become the first Chosen One in recorded history to be expelled from the Synod." Severa was too close now. He was once again feeling the warmth of her breath. Fabrisse found himself gripping his satchel. Severa folded her hands behind her back.

"Enjoy your time while it lasts, Kestovar." She stormed off. It took Fabrisse several seconds to release his grip on his satchel. That was a tactical error. He should have buffered for her pride. But he couldn't dwell on that mistake for too long. He had more important things to attend to.

"I need to feed the clucklebeak," he said to himself.