Chương 4: No stone, totally empty-handed today

The cathedral had smelled like wax. T he Grand Gathering had already begun. Technically speaking, the Unified Synod of Thaumaturgic Study was an academy. Technically, it was a monastery as well. Occasionally, it was the final line of defense against cosmic destruction, depending on which Archmagus was speaking. Today it was hosting the Grand Gathering, which Fabrisse had already managed to be late for. Fabrisse slid through the side passage and occupied the shadow usually reserved for decorative plants.

From here, he had a clear view of the dais. The demonstrations were already underway. One by one, fourth- and fifth-year students entered the sigil-ring, evoking a wide range of emotions in a somber yearly custom intended to persuade an ancient rock that they were incredibly earnest. They had already reached Grief. Fabrisse exhaled. He' d arrived just late enough to avoid public humiliation, but unfortunately not soon enough for the breakhour crumblecake.

Thank every reasonably inert geological formation in existence. As he slipped into a column's shadow, Archmagus Murelien Draeth raised his arms in oration.

"... For it is through alignment of thought and spirit that the Reliquary shall yield! That is the teaching of Thaumarch Muradius, the luminous shepherd of our era..." Ah. It was the same speech again. Soon he would go on about how our great leader Muradius had brought wisdom to the new era of whatever.

"… whose insight guides the Twelvefold Path, whose will shields the weak from false flame, whose wisdom brought forth the Era of Unified Doctrine." There it is. At least Fabrisse had arrived late enough to avoid the scene where a line of archmagi dressed in ceremonial robes alternately demonstrated the difficult art of speaking at great length without accidentally cornering a conclusion. Keeping his head low, he angled his body behind a broad scry-pillar obscured by incense haze and ceremonial banners.

From here, he could just make out the high-ranking magi in brocaded robes occupying the front row, each one still as a warded statue, apart from Archmagus Rolen, who was solemnly scratching his behind. And behind them stood Mentor Lorvan, s tern as ever, back ramrod straight in the way it always was whenever Fabrisse did something predictable and mildly embarrassing. Judging by the tick in Lorvan's left eyebrow, that moment was approximately now.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Their eyes met. Fabrisse tried an apologetic smile. Lorvan did not return it.

"And so it is decreed by the Will of the Flamus," came the booming voice from the dais, "that only the Worthy may draw forth the knowledge sealed within the Astral Reliquary! Only the Devoted shall behold the glyphs of awakening!" Every eye in the sanctum was fixed on the dais. Excellent. It was time to employ the only discipline in which he had achieved unquestionable mastery. Stealth. Fabrisse started executing the 'Side-Slink of Moderate Dignity' as he wiggled behind the crowd.

He intended to disappear into one of the outer rows before anyone— A hand grabbed his sleeve.

"Where are you off to this time?" Lorvan hissed, just quiet enough not to draw the dais' attention.

"Bumbling around collecting Stupenstone again?" Fabrisse winced.

"It's called Silico-Dormant Obscura—""I read your notes, Kestovar. You call them Stupenstones."

"That was a working title." Lorvan's eyes narrowed into pale slits.

"If you embarrass yourself with those rocks again, I will personally transmute your lunch rations into beet paste for the next Span of the Sundering." A Span equated to roughly twenty years, because apparently Mage Orders couldn't afford to count the days like the inept civilians. Fabrisse tried to come up with something clever to say, but all he could come up with was, "Yes, Mentor. No stone, totally empty-handed today." He said, with both hands conspicuously behind his back.

The satchel pressed against his side like it knew it was about to betray him.

"You're telling me that lump is not a stone." Lorvan's glare intensified as he stared at the bulging satchel underneath his robe.

"Yes, Mentor." Fabrisse offered a hopeful smile and pressed the satchel further inside his robe.

"I've only brought a stoneless stone satchel today," he whispered. It sounded ridiculous now that he'd said it out loud. Lorvan sighed and released Fabrisse's sleeve.

"At least you didn't miss the most important part. Today, you are meant to witness thaumaturgy as it was intended to be practiced. Pay attention, Kestovar. This is the beauty of magic, and why you should stick to it." Lorvan's words should have washed over him the way speeches always did. They didn't. The warding around the sigil-ring was unfinished. The usual student-grade dampeners weren't in place, and there weren't any resonance throttles or emotional stabilizers layered to keep the aether obedient and small.

Fabrisse leaned forward without realizing he'd done it. So this was thaumaturgy without training wheels. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn't something he'd seen in class. And the Headmaster confirmed it.

"This gathering, however," Murelien Draeth said. His voice was suddenly devoid of pomp.

"was not called simply to reaffirm our commitment to the Reliquary." The crowd stilled. Rolen stopped scratching. That wasn't part of the script. Draeth continued, "For the first time in forty-seven years, the Eidralith has responded."