Chương 24: Chapter 23: They never miss a chance to audit someone else’s disaster

There existed, Fabrisse suspected, an unwritten administrative law stating that no official business could be conducted more than thirty paces from a portrait of Supreme Leader Muradius. Bellatorium Wing certainly obeyed it. Muradius looked down every corridor, over every junction, and across every waiting alcove in poses of steadily increasing administrative magnificence. At first he was merely signing documents. Then he was signing documents while thoughtfully gazing into the middle distance.

Then he was signing documents while standing. Eventually, he'd progressed to signing documents one-handed while using the other to direct the future of thaumaturgy, all the while gazing into the far distance. It occurred to Fabrisse that if Muradius had truly spent as much time posing as the portraits suggested, modern thaumaturgy might've been invented by somebody else. They reached a tall set of opaline doors etched with celestial runes. Lorvan didn't knock. The doors opened on their own, soundlessly.

They had been expecting him. Inside, the air was even cooler, approaching the temperature that'd require Fabrisse to wear a coat. The circular chamber beyond was paneled in moonwood and shaped like a perfect dome, the acoustics designed to magnify even the softest sound. Fabrisse was suddenly very aware of the dry, decidedly old-leather squeaks his boots made against the tile as he crossed the threshold. He should have worn newer boots.

Three figures stood waiting, though notably not Headmaster Murelien Draeth, who, by all accounts, rarely involved himself unless politics or dragons were at stake. Still, these were no minor faculty members. These were Archmagi. At the center stood Archmagus Terevin Sil, clad in robes of such absolute black that every seam disappeared. To her right stood Archmagus Lellian Dir. One cuff was dusted with chalk, the other with ash, and there was an alarming amount of ink on his sleeves for someone entrusted with magic.

To her left, Archmagus Mikhael Rolen was scratching his shoulder. I was meant to report to the Department of Aetheric Irregularities, wasn't I? But this doesn't look like that department…

"Why... was he the one left in charge?" Fabrisse whispered to Lorvan out of the side of his mouth. Lorvan didn't look at him, but his sigh was world-weary enough to count as a response. The three archmagi turned to face Fabrisse in sync. It did not feel good.

"You're certain the headmaster won't be attending?" Dir asked Lorvan.

"He's preoccupied with the arrival of our esteemed guest," Lorvan replied.

"Apparently, Professor Kaldrin of the Outer Fold has finally accepted the invitation." Dir said, "Well, that's inconveniently timed."

"Worse still, a Celestial Investigator is en route. From the Bureau of Arcane Irregularities." Sil added. Her voice was unnaturally cold for inexplicable reasons. Fabrisse had heard about the Bureau. They weren't aligned with any academy or magical order, and dealt with things like spontaneous realm-folds, miscast summoning echoes, ancient spell-anchors coming loose, and the like. Basically, nothing that would ever concern Fabrisse.

Fabrisse hadn't seen both Sil and Dir before; they seem to have arrived from the Order itself. It seemed a terrible idea to leave Archmagus Rolen in charge of welcoming an ancient semi-sapient relic of unknown temperament. Or am I the unknown temperament? Dir sighed.

"Of course they're coming. They never miss a chance to audit someone else's disaster."

"They are precise," said Sil.

"Which is what this demands." Rolen was now scratching his eyebrow.

"Do they know it's a student?" Oh, I am the temperament. Sil's eyes, pale as misted glass, turned to him.

"We'll be direct, Mr. Kestovar. We believe there have been irregularities surrounding this year's Eidralith trials." Fabrisse asked, "Irregularities?"

"We have yet to determine whether it was a breach in containment, a misclassification of the soul-aetheric field, or… a misbehavior on the part of the Eidralith itself." Fabrisse thought of the glowing box before it had flung itself at his forehead, then about what it had done after that. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

"Um… Hypothetically, if a sacred artifact were to, say, stop glowing entirely... is that, uh. Bad?" All three Archmagi stared at him. Lorvan rubbed his temple.

"Did it stop glowing?" Dir asked. Wait… they didn't know? Lorvan answered.

"Momentarily. But glow fluctuation has precedent. The logs show multiple aetheric dips with previous candidates. None as stark, but within tolerances." That was a lie. Probably. But a smart one. Rolen, still scratching his eyebrow, chimed in, "It's in the trace logs. Went dark the moment it hit him. You should've seen the velocity! I personally noted down the sound it made on impact. It was 'BAM!', for lack of better words." Dir turned.

"And you didn't bother to mention this, Archmagus Rolen?"

"You should've read the logs." Sil's eyes narrowed.

"Your diligence is always appreciated, Archmagus Rolen. Though next time, kindly preempt the need for archival excavation." Rolen scratched the side of his head again.

"I flagged the entry in blue. Thought that meant something."

"Blue?" Sil repeated.

"For a containment-class anomaly?"

"It's a nice color," Rolen said. Dir coughed into his sleeve to hide a laugh. Fabrisse didn't dare breathe. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Sil out-coughed Dir.

"Back to the matter at hand. Mr. Kestovar, we are not here to chastise you. But we do require clarity." Dir added, "The Eidralith reacted to you in a way it never has in recorded history. It chose contact. Direct, unsanctioned, and—to be frank—violent contact." Rolen didn't have anything to add. Sil ignored him.

"Since then, it has remained dormant. The traces show no further resonance. We cannot determine whether you severed its link… or completed it." Fabrisse's mouth stayed shut. Dir leaned in.

"You didn't do anything, did you? Did you whisper a forbidden name or perform a Soul Feeding?"

"No?" Fabrisse said. He didn't even know what Soul Feeding was.

"I didn't try to do anything. I just… I was holding the Stupenstone."

"Silico-Dormant Obscura," Lorvan corrected. Sil's eyes stayed fixed on him.

"Did you feel anything, Mr. Kestovar? Any irregularities or anomalous sensations within your… essence? Or anything that might suggest a tethering of will?" Fabrisse stared at her. He hadn't even learned about will tethering. That was a technique so advanced it fell outside of the scope of his lifetime. Dir leaned forward again.

"We ask because, as Archmagus Rolen noted in the logs, you were heard muttering something about a 'sky-thing' after you regained your consciousness. That's not terminology we recognize from sanctioned ritual mnemonics." Oh no. He hadn't expected Rolen to be so attentive. Why did I say 'sky-thing'? Stupid stupid stupid. Don't look at Lorvan. Don't look at Lorvan. He looked at Lorvan. Lorvan didn't look back at him. Fortunate.

As Dir spoke, a tendril of smoke curled from the tip of his index finger, tracing idle loops in the air before fading. Fabrisse widened his eyes. Was that intentional? The smoke didn't smell like anything in particular, and Dir didn't seem to notice it, which made it all the more bizarre. Fabrisse was about to answer, but Lorvan spoke first, "An internalized metaphor, likely. Mr. Kestovar has previously recorded dissociative phrasing during high-aether events. I've annotated it." You WHAT? Fabrisse blinked.

Since when?

"He described similar imagery in a First-Year breath chamber test," Lorvan added. Dir squinted. Sil's gaze was as piercing as ever as she turned to Fabrisse.

"A metaphor, yes? You are certain?" Fabrisse nodded with desperate conviction.

"Yes, ma'am. Just a, uh, general metaphor. I didn't have something literal hovering around me. Or inside me. Haha. That would be weird." Lorvan spoke, "Mr. Kestovar has been under observation since the incident. If there were signs of latent internal tampering or emergence, I would have logged them." Okay, he's just straight up lying now. I went home for a day. Home! Unsupervised! Nonetheless, he said it with such crisp authority that even Dir seemed satisfied. For now. Sil gave a fractional nod.

"Very well. But understand, Mr. Kestovar. If anything surfaces, no matter how minor, you are to report it immediately."

"Yes, ma'am." Fabrisse swallowed and managed not to glance at Lorvan again. He'd just watched his mentor lie outright, and effortlessly at that, to protect him. He really ought to thank him for that, or at least say something about it. But he already knew how it would go. Lorvan would wave it off, mutter something about protocol, and then assign him ten hours of aetheric trace transcription just to reestablish the balance of the universe. Okay, the last part was a tad exaggerated.

But he would definitely get assigned to glyphcraft annotation or something. Dir made a note with a stylus that looked unnecessarily sharp.

"We'll continue containment analysis on the Eidralith itself. But the lack of resonance doesn't rule out a secondary trigger." What does she mean by 'a secondary trigger'? Rolen finally chimed in, scratching the side of his head.

"Might be worth mentioning—we've also locked away the object Mr. Kestovar was holding at the time of impact. Not the Eidralith," he added quickly, "the stone the student was holding before the incident." Ah.

"A very launchy stone, that one," Rolen nodded to himself.

"It's being kept under a wardlock in Lower Containment, Chamber Seven, if you're wondering. Bit of a sulky artifact now. It's not reacting to any test I've personally conducted, but I guess we shouldn't expect too much from a Silico-Dormant Obscura." That's my rock! The rock the Archmagi have taken from me! [SYSTEM NOTE: Key Clue Received – Stupenstone Location Logged: Chamber Seven, Lower Containment] Hearing this clue did not make him feel any better. Chamber Seven was deep-research clearance.

It was off-limits unless you were a lead researcher, a relic-handling apprentice, or one of the handpicked graduate students with a badge enchanted to not explode upon entry. Lorvan didn't even have access—he'd said so once while very grumpily waiting outside the Archives with two coffees and a grudge. Fabrisse, on the other hand, was neither a researcher, nor a graduate, nor even someone who remembered to label his lab jars correctly. He didn't even know where Lower Containment was. Wait.

Maybe Greg can fill out a Research Interest Declaration Form. If anyone would gleefully sign up for paperwork, meetings, meeting paperwork, and seven levels of containment training just for the chance to be within arm's reach of a sulky Stupenstone, it was Greg. I just need to tell Greg the stone is essential for the Preservation Annex of the Sanitation Codex and he'll be in. Probably.

"So, Mr. Kestovar?" A sudden voice jolted him from his thoughts.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?"

"Yes?" Sil lifted her eyebrow.

"You are agreeing to a memory transference ritual supervised by the Bureau?" Fabrisse started to speak, realized he didn't know how to answer that truthfully without making things worse, and settled for a noncommittal noise that could pass as assent or protest. Unfortunately, that noise sounded like a dying flute.

"Aha," Dir said dryly.

"Bold choice."

"I—I mean—" Lorvan stepped forward.

"He meant to say he declined. Under Charter clause 4. 3a, memory rites conducted without prior consent and third-party review constitute cognitive breach. I'll submit the necessary waivers for pre-ritual disclosures." He met Sil's gaze evenly.

"Unless, of course, the Council prefers this matter to escalate to inter-order arbitration." Sil's eyes narrowed. Dir raised an eyebrow. Rolen looked impressed, possibly. Fabrisse nodded far too fast.

"Yes. That. What he said."

"Very well," Sil said.

"We'll reschedule the transferral hearing pending Bureau oversight. In the meantime, you are not to approach the Eidralith, the artifact or attempt any self-initiated recall rituals."

"Understood," Fabrisse said.

"We do not assume guilt, Mr. Kestovar," Sil added.

"But the Eidralith is a relic that prefers clarity. If it chose you in error… we must consider what that says about its design. You see, there have long been debates about whether the Eidralith is passive or adaptive. You may have unknowingly answered that question for us." She tilted her head, not quite smiling.

"Which would make you a significant anomaly, Mr. Kestovar. And possibly, a proof of concept." That made Fabrisse's stomach turn. He wasn't sure which word was worse: 'anomaly' or 'concept.' Dir sighed.

"You're free to go, Mr. Kestovar. Remember this. Contact your mentor if you sense any irregularities in your psyche." As Dir turned away, another lazy ribbon of smoke unfurled from his fingertips, drifting like he was exhaling through his hands. This time, Fabrisse was sure he was doing it on purpose. That was Smoke Thaumaturgy. Tracking magic? Fabrisse wondered. That seemed unlikely. If an Archmagus wanted to track someone, he probably wouldn' t announce it by trailing smoke through the air.

Whatever Dir had just done, it was either far subtler than that or had nothing to do with him at all. He opened his mouth to ask Lorvan, but promptly close it. Maybe now wasn't the time for conspiracy theories.

"Yes, sir," Fabrisse said, already halfway turned around. Lorvan gave the Archmagi a perfunctory bow and placed a firm hand between Fabrisse's shoulder blades. They departed. If Fabrisse never saw the interior of that chamber again, it'd be far too soon.