Chương 23: Chapter 22: Why do I need to understand anxiety?

Why stone proved to be the finest medium for preserving emotion had puzzled thaumaturges for centuries, a question only eclipsed by the considerably more frustrating one of why it was simultaneously among the worst materials for preserving the aether those emotions produced. At that particular moment, Fabrisse would've preferred if stone had never possessed either property in the first place. He had absolutely no desire to continue feeling Veliane Veist's shame.

The possibility that she knew he'd already tapped into it was, at the very least, unfortunate. Fabrisse offered the stone back at once. It barely spent a second between them before Veliane reclaimed it and slipped it into a pocket somewhere behind her hip. Behind? He hadn't known Academy robes came with a pocket there. Academy robes officially came with two. Fabrisse had modified his to seven over the years.

Veliane's apparently wasn't standard issue either, though he couldn't tell whether she'd yet reached his level of ambition.

"Thank you. It's my lucky charm," Veliane said before he could ask.

"It helps with spellcasting."

"Really?" Maybe she meant it in some vague spiritual sense. Materials that aided spellcasting were almost always chosen for their intrinsic aetheric properties, say, metal and crystal. Ordinary stone wasn't supposed to do anything of the sort.

"If you advance far enough down the Imprinting branch, you can eventually choose to imprint your memory into the stone." She looked away.

"Some things are easier to carry that way. It's... not unusual."

"I have no idea what that means," he admitted. It was becoming something of a pattern. Veliane spoke fluent Common, yet somehow managed to arrange it into a dialect Fabrisse consistently failed to understand. At least he could deduce with reasonable confidence that whatever branch Veliane had invested in, Tracking and Imprinting were almost certainly somewhere near the top. [Side Quest Received: Borrowed Expertise] Objective: Convince Veliane Veist to teach you one spell.

Reward: +10 Stone Thaumaturgy Mastery Points Unlock: Emotional Link (Veliane Veist) — Rank I Brilliant, Eidralith. That made perfect sense. He'd just unlocked a trait that dramatically accelerated mastery whenever he learned a Rare spell. If Veist specialized in Imprinting, then convincing her to teach him one was practically an investment. Wait. Emotional Link? [Emotional Link (Veliane Veist) — Rank I] Accelerates Understanding of Shame and Anxiety by 20% while accompanied by Veliane Veist. Excuse me?

What is this? You've neglected to mention this entire category of mechanics until now. [Reminder: Emotional Links are unique interpersonal quirks. Additional Links may be unlocked by strengthening relationships.] This one is terrible. Why do I need to understand anxiety? [Clarification: User feedback has been noted.] I wasn't giving feedback. Eidralith said nothing. Fabrisse sighed. Do I have any with Liene? Or Lorvan? Inquiry Received... Response: Yes. (Currently Dormant.) Dormant Emotional Links may be activated by fulfilling specific side quests. [Observation: Spending meaningful time with others may produce measurable benefits.] [Suggestion: Friendship has been statistically associated with increased progression.] Horrific. The Eidralith was starting to sound like Greg. [Reminder: Relationships are not solely a narrative device.] Fabrisse winced. Was the Eidralith seriously suggesting he further his magical prowess by making friends?

Surely it merely meant prolonged academic collaboration. Then again... a school of magic centered on emotion benefiting from interpersonal relationships was regrettably a coherent design philosophy. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. He became vaguely aware that someone was looking at him, and rubbed his eyes. Veliane was still standing exactly where she'd been.

She'd apparently decided the polite course of action was to wait until whatever profound internal crisis he was experiencing had concluded.

"... We're at the pie shop," she said. He turned around. The pie shop was within his peripheral vision, though not close enough to be categorized as immediately relevant. The pie shop proved to possess exactly the qualities one hoped for in a pie shop. It smelled of pie. It also had a large framed portrait of Thaumarch Mura Muradius hanging directly above the counter.

Muradius, the Supreme Leader of the Twelvefold Flames, stood upon a cliff in full ceremonial robes, one hand extended toward the heavens as twelve concentric rings of incandescent sigils revolved behind him. Fabrisse had long since abandoned trying to understand why portraits of the Supreme Thaumarch appeared in places that possessed absolutely no obvious connection to supreme thaumarchy. Libraries, lecture halls, municipal offices? Those made sense. Those places also hung portraits of the Leader. Here?

Not so much. Perhaps Muradius simply enjoyed pastry. They found a small table by the window. Neither spoke. Two slices of thornberry pie arrived. Not Fabrisse's favorite, but he certainly wouldn't turn down pie. Veliane carefully cut hers into perfectly even portions. Fabrisse had almost finished his first bite when she finally spoke.

"May I ask something?"

"... Okay." She hesitated.

"... You and Mistress Montreal…" Mistress Montreal? That sounded remarkably formal. Most students simply said Montreal, usually with some combination of admiration and mild terror.

"... share an interest in artifacts?" That was also a remarkably dangerous question to ask in a pie shop. Artifact research beyond introductory theory was tightly regulated throughout the Synod. Students were actively discouraged from discussing active artifact investigations, partly because they inevitably devolved into rumors and partly because the Thaumarch demanded that they would not inevitably devolve into rumors. Archmagi, naturally, were exempt.

"I cannot answer that," Fabrisse said.

"Oh. Okay." Then they started eating pie in silence.

"I wasn't asking because of classified research," Veliane said.

"It's fine." They continued eating pie in silence. This lack of sound was becoming surprisingly durable. Fabrisse searched for something to say. Unfortunately, conversation had never been among his stronger disciplines. [Understanding of Shame: 93% → 94%] He nearly dropped his fork. What? I haven't even unlocked the Emotional Link. [Cause Identified: Shared Silence.] I don't need this. Had he already done something wrong? Maybe he had been wrong from the start.

His previous confession abruptly resurfaced from whatever merciful corner of his memory that had been suppressing it. It was entirely possible she was still recovering from the embarrassment of it all. Screw the side quest. Imprinting magic suddenly seemed like a remarkably inefficient use of his afternoon. A strategic retreat was beginning to present itself as the objectively correct course of action.

"Cakil said you might be here," came a familiar voice from behind them. Lorvan strode through the door as though it were a lecture hall he personally owned. Or maybe he was just innately imperturbable, all the time.

"I have business with Mr. Kestovar, and it concerns many responsibilities. It has been sufficiently difficult locating him already, and I would prefer he not wander." Fabrisse closed his eyes. He had never before experienced relief at hearing Lorvan Lugano's voice, until today. [Understanding of Joy – Progress: 8. 55% → 8. 57%] Veliane gave a small incline of her head, followed by a perfunctory bow.

"Good afternoon, Mentor." Fabrisse didn't know why she went out of her way to keep the nod and the bow as separate gestures.

"Miss Veist. You're staying late."

"We're having supper," she said.

"I see that. And your work with Derian Glyph Inversion? Has it stabilized?"

"It has," she said.

"The third rotational bind was the issue. I was overcompensating for drift in the upper sigil ring, but the instability originated in the anchor array." They were talking about glyphcrafting. The language was complex enough that Fabrisse couldn't follow.

"Well done," Lorvan said.

"Be cautious not to internalize the inversion reflexively. The Derian method rewards elegance. It punishes ambition."

"Yes, Mentor. I've noticed." After another short exchange, Lorvan finally turned back to Fabrisse.

"Mr. Kestovar." Veliane stepped back.

"I'll take my leave," she said, folding the unfinished slice of pie into a square of waxed paper. Sensibly economical, Fabrisse thought. Waste not. Lorvan inclined his head.

"Do not neglect your rest."

"I won't." She walked off, and Fabrisse was already replaying every syllable in his head like a spell loop. In the end, he still hadn't figured out why in the seven flames she had asked that question about artifacts.

"I heard from Cakil. So you've been spending your time productively," Lorvan said. Fabrisse shoved the rest of the pie into his mouth.

"Yes. Business. Consequences. Got it."

"That wasn't what I said." Lorvan sighed.

"Now follow me." Lorvan led Fabrisse past the Core Library spires, past the astrolith garden, and toward the high balconies where only upper faculty or guests of the Bellatorium were usually allowed. Fabrisse was already beginning to regret wherever this was going. Nothing good ever started with being escorted toward ritual chambers. The Bellatorium was just one of the possibly dozens of chambers used for declarations of magical law and high-level negotiations with extraplanar entities.

It was also used for magical convocations. Headmaster Draeth had long maintained that one could never have too many ritual chambers. Fabrisse's boots squeaked on runeslate tiles. He was about to open his mouth, but it seemed as though Lorvan had telegraphed what he was about to say.

"You're not in trouble," Lorvan said, which of course only made Fabrisse more anxious.

"Though you are extremely inconvenient to explain."

"Explain to whom?" Fabrisse asked, half-trotting to keep up.

"To the Archmagi. And a few curious entities who are wondering why their sacred artifact decided to nibble on your presence."

"Oh. So, like. A chat." Curious entities? He thought. Can't be more curious than Veliane, I hope.

"Yes. A very polite one. Please act like the young adult you are and try not to babble."

"It's not my fault the Synod teaches thirty-seven different veil forms but zero conversation skills," Fabrisse muttered.

"You're babbling." He wasn't sure if that was meant as a correction or a warning. Either way, he noted it and tried to shift to half-sentences.