"You know you have to pass Basic Thaumaturgy II before registering for any new elective, right?" Said Liene as she stuffed Fabrisse's face with a slice of pie.

The familiar scent of cinnamon and baked merryberry curled around them as Fabrisse, Liene, and Tommaso settled onto the worn wooden bench outside the little pie shop they'd claimed as their unofficial meeting spot.

Fabrisse bit into the pie, the sweet filling distracting him for a moment as he chewed. He already knew the rule. He'd tried to push his limits, juggling Wind Thaumaturgy II, Fire Thaumaturgy II, Basic Thaumaturgy II, and Synaptic Control I—all capped at four electives per year. None of those courses were wrapping up anytime soon, except Basic Thaumaturgy II, which was the one he was retaking after failing just two months ago.

Tommaso grinned beside him, swirling the last dregs of his mulberry cider in the glass. "Maybe this time, Fabri, you'll actually pass," he said with a playful nudge.

Fabrisse gulped, swallowing a piece of pie in the process. "I have to," he muttered. "Otherwise, I'm stuck."

Liene tilted her head. "Well, you could always apply for Accelerated Proficiency Assessment. If you improve your synaptic clarity enough, maybe you can ace the test for Syn Control I."

Accelerated Proficiency Assessment was basically a way to test out of courses one already knows the fundamentals for. Veliane Veist did it last term, skipped half her classes just by acing those exams.

Tommaso raised an eyebrow. "But ah! Can he hold a flame for more than five seconds? Might be hard to cut corners if he can't."

"I think I can do Syn Control I," Fabrisse exhaled.

The final test for Synaptic Control I consisted of two parts. First, you need to demonstrate solid Synaptic Threading techniques—basically how well you can weave your mental focus into aetheric currents. Second, you pick from a set of ten basic, Rank I skills—fire, water, earth, and air elements all included—and you have to cast five of them with good control and timing. The examiner scores you on how precise and fluid your spellcasting is, especially how well your timing aligns with the synaptic threading.

Two months ago, the idea of a test that tested you on more than one affinity had felt like a looming mountain. But now . . . now he actually felt something else. Confidence. He wasn't sure he'd ace it yet, but he knew he could improve his synaptic clarity enough to get there before time ran out.

Tommaso elbowed Fabrisse lightly. "Well, if you need help with fire, dude, I'm your guy."

Fabrisse raised an eyebrow. "You're leaving in three days."

"Which means you get three days of free tutoring," Tommaso said. "I usually charge 200 Kohns per lesson, you know. And no refunds. Though I'd very much prefer our last day here is spent on having fun and not studying."

"I can't afford fun right now," Fabrisse winced at how much he sounded like Severa.

"Even if it's leaf hunting?" Liene chimed in. "You know, like you promised?"

My schedule's jam-packed. Between the four subjects and the job I'm about to take with the von Silberthals, there's barely room for anything else. I haven't even been able to go on a field excursion with the Wing of Stratal Studies yet.

But . . . he did promise Liene he'd go leaf hunting.

Maybe we can manage it this afternoon, after four, once my fire class is done.

As much as he hated Fire Thaumaturgy, he couldn't afford to skip any more important lessons. He'd also promised Severa he'd come to Fire practicals.

"So . . . after four?" Liene tilted her head until her peering directly aligned with his line of sight.

"You remember my schedule?"

"Of course! I'd be a bad friend otherwise."

"That makes me a bad friend then," Tommaso coughed before chugging down his cider.

"That's nothing new! You've always been a bad influence!" Liene reached over Fabrisse's shoulder to try and clap Tommaso on his shoulder, but her arm wasn't long enough.

"Being good ain't fun." Tommaso shrugged.

"But leaf poetry is," Liene grinned at him before widening her grin as she turned to Fabrisse. "So . . . four?"

He didn't see Severa Montreal in practical today.

That, in itself, was strange. She had been the one to insist he show up, and reminded him twice when they ran into each other in the corridor. And yet, when he arrived, her immaculate braid or folded arms or that particular brand of disapproval she radiated was nowhere.

Montreal simply didn't skip classes. Not the woman who once filed a formal complaint because a lecture started three minutes late.

So where is she? Should I ask someone if she'd come?

"Form pairs!" Professor Markenth called out, clapping his hands once. "With whoever's nearest. You'll be demonstrating the fire spells we practiced last week."

Fabrisse stood, unmoved. Last week? I wasn't here last week. He had no idea what they'd covered. For all he knew, they were about to start juggling flame spheres or setting their sleeves on fire in the name of pedagogy.

He glanced around the room, quietly hoping the nearest person wouldn't be someone who'd sigh at him or, worse, try to instruct him mid-demonstration. Luck, for once, didn't desert him.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Aldren Ranan stood a few paces away, already rolling up his sleeves. Competent, calm, and—most importantly—without the ego that usually came with competence. Fabrisse could work with that.

Markenth strode between the pairs, calling out reminders about focus and breath control.

"Kestovar, isn't it?"

Fabrisse looked up. Aldren Ranan was already walking toward him, loose-limbed and unhurried. Emberlight danced over his fingertips as though he'd been idly testing his control.

"Yes," Fabrisse said.

"I haven't seen you here much," Aldren went on, tilting his head with an easy sort of curiosity. "So I'm actually rather curious about your Fire form. Are you ready to demonstrate?"

Fabrisse hesitated. "I'm supposed to wait for someone . . ."

Aldren raised an eyebrow. "Who is it? All the others are in class today."

"All of them? Then where's Montreal?" The words slipped out before Fabrisse could stop them.

"Montreal?" Aldren's voice actually had surprise laced in it. "Technically, she's enrolled, but like you, she's only been here like three times."

"Really?" Then she really talked big about hard work and discipline just to also . . . skip class?

"Fire Thaumaturgy is not a required unit for Montreal, although she technically hasn't passed it," Aldren said. "It's said that she already mastered fine Fire control even before she was enrolled, so she was allowed to skip the basic subjects."

"Huh? Is that possible?"

"Yeah, but we can talk about it as we cast spells," Aldren rotated his wrist and cast a perfect floating Fire Candle, powered with green triumphant sparks. "This is what I practiced last week. Why don't you show me yours?"

Fabrisse watched the flame hang steady in the air. It was a perfect candle; thin, upright, unbothered by the air currents that shifted robes and hair around it.

"So you're saying you can just skip basic units? I haven't heard of that before," Fabrisse said as he observed the candle. Ten seconds passed. Then twelve. Not a single tremor in the light.

"You can't skip basic units. I guess it's different when it comes to Montreal. Montreal's already Synod staff while still in class, so she's special in that way. She's in Advanced Light Thaumaturgy and Crystal Manipulation. Those units are so high above this level." Aldren ceased channeling, and only then did his Fire Candle disappear. "So what's the Fire spell you've been working on?"

Fabrisse fiddled with his satchel. "I don't think this was covered last week, but . . . can you cast an unstable flame?"

Aldren raised a brow then said, "Sure." He cast another Fire Candle, and this one fluttered more wildly. It was impressive how he made it unstable this time, and looking at the way the green sparks underneath spun around restlessly, Fabrisse guessed he destabilized the spell by overloading it with confidence, which made it all the more remarkable how he could decide just how much emotion to put into the spell.

Fabrisse used Spectral Appraisal on Aldren, and sure enough, his EMO was 61.

"Can you channel less emotion into a spell than required?" Fabrisse asked.

"I can. I just need to distract myself from my feelings enough," he said. Immediately, the green sparks dwindled. The flame steadied, its fluttering subsiding into a small, deliberate glow—still precise, but noticeably weaker.

Just like that, Aldren had throttled the emotional current, dimming the output without losing control.

He's so good at restraint. While Aldren was out here deciding how much of himself to feed the spell, Fabrisse was still locked in the beginner's mindset: pour in everything, hold nothing back, hope things didn't explode.

He dispelled his current candle and cast another one. This one overflowed with excessive confidence and once again, the flames fluttered.

"My unstable fire," he said. "Now do what you're going to do."

Fabrisse chanted his mnemonic, fingers sketching the precise sigil of Embertrace.

The fluttering flame before him shivered once before steadying. Its wavering edge reformed into a smooth line of orange, even as the green sparks underneath grew more erratic.

Aldren nodded. "Oh. You have good control."

"It's only a beginner spell," Fabrisse said.

"It's a good spell nonetheless," Aldren replied, studying the still candle with faint approval. "Unfortunately, you'll have to make your own fire for the final exam. Stabilizing someone else's won't count. Have you learned spells specifically for the final exam yet?"

"No . . ."

"Then I guess we'll have to fix that before the term's over."

What can I do then? I need good basic control; I don't want to ask Rolen to skip his process just so I pass the test.

He turned back and stared at the entrance to the practical field. If Severa was here, maybe he could ask her for help. But she wasn't.

"Are you still waiting for Montreal?" Aldren asked.

"Maybe . . . Can we ask where she is?"

"I don't think any of us has her contact. Do you have her contact?"

"Kind of . . ."

"The only person I've seen her talk to who isn't a Synod staff member is you," Aldren said, as if it was a well-known fact. "I think you should ask her yourself why she hasn't come."

"I should." He didn't want to, though. He'd never sent her a message. Contacting someone you'd never contacted before was a whole new dimension of awkwardness.

Aldren spoke, "Understandable if you don't want to. It's already bizarre enough that she bothered to enroll in a unit as basic as this one." He paused for a second. "I suppose it's expected that she doesn't show up."

"Who doesn't show up?" Came Severa's voice. Both of them jolted and looked her way.

Severa Montreal was about ten paces away from them, striding past another pair of practicing students as she approached. Her braid was simpler today, without any intricate weaving or polished pins, but somehow it still lay perfectly still, unbothered even as the courtyard wind stirred robes and banners.

"Where did you come from?" Fabrisse asked. It was like she decided to materialize from thin air just to jumpscare him.

"This field has two entrances, you know," she gestured at the entrance door behind her.

Oh, yeah, right.

Severa approached him before turning to Aldren. "Good morning, Ranan. I see Kestovar is in capable hands."

"Good morning, Montreal. I'll leave him to you, if you two have had prior appointments," Aldren said with a smile before retreating.

Fabrisse stared at her. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. Beneath her formal outer robe was a fitted leather jerkin, the kind worn for fieldwork, and a utility belt strapped close at the waist. Pouches and clasped vials clipped at her hips, none of which belonged in a Fire Thaumaturgy class. She also wore a cloak today, a deep blue that he didn't see her use often.

A few strands of hair clung to her cheek; her breathing was quick, as though she'd come straight from somewhere that required running or climbing.

Severa had arrived in a hurry and did not look performatively perfect. That rubbed Fabrisse the wrong way.

Folding her arms, she regarded him for a moment. "So? What are you standing there for?"

"Do you want me to sit down or something . . ."

"Cast your spell. I want to see this effort you've promised."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.