Fabrisse now stood in the middle of what he could only describe as the Von Silberthal family's private proving grounds, an amalgamation of a practice hall, an alchemist's workshop, and a suspiciously well-furnished dungeon. The walls were lined with racks, jars, and carefully labeled specimen drawers, while a target circle had been painted on the far wall in the same neat hand one might use for botanical diagrams.

And around him, the entire Von Silberthal family had gathered in a semicircle.

They did not look like an audience. They looked like a committee preparing to observe the controlled detonation of a volatile experiment.

Maribel was bouncing on her toes, clutching a notebook. The broad-shouldered brother (whose name, he had learned, was Koschak) had his arms crossed, frowning like a skeptical reviewer. Anabeth was practically glowing, as though she had smuggled a star into the room just to make him shine under it.

Actually, she had.

At some point between the dining hall and here, she had procured a starstone, a fist-sized mineral whose veins of pale feldspar shimmered like captured moonlight. She'd wedged it into the crook of her elbow and was now holding it aloft like a sports fan with a glow-stick.

Fabrisse swallowed.

So this was how it would end. Not with a voidspawn. But with a roomful of rock academics treating him like the world's most interesting beetle.

Anabeth lifted the glowing starstone higher, her braid swishing behind her like a banner. "Ahem. Attention, please," she announced in the tone of someone about to open a symposium. "What you are about to witness is a demonstration of a rare technique, conducted by none other than Mr. Fabrisse Kestovar, student of the Wing of Substratal Studies. Kindly note his form, his control, and the sheer elegance with which he will defy the inert nature of Grade Theta silicates."

Fabrisse stared down at the rock in his hand. This isn't even a Grade Theta Stupenstone.

The surface was too smooth and its opacity was a touch too uniform. Grade Theta always carried an uneven, cloudy mottling.

[IDENTIFIED: Silico-Dormant Obscura, Grade Λ (Lambda)]

Status: Harmless.

What he held now was a milder cousin, Grade Lambda, if he wasn't mistaken. Still stubbornly inert, but not something he'd ever thrown.

I don't know if I can channel my aether into this.

She paused for dramatic effect, then gave Fabrisse a dazzling smile. "Do perform admirably, Kestovar. You have, after all, been given the honor of my personal starstone."

At this, the other siblings broke into a loud, vigorous, and absurdly enthusiastic applause. Only Koschak remained still, arms crossed, his frown deepening with every overzealous clap.

Don't look at me like that. Actually, don't look at me at all.

Fabrisse curled his fingers around the stone, brushing his thumb against the faint ridge where two crystal faces met. His other hand hovered, uncertain, before he clenched it into a fist at his side.

He tried to push aether down through his arm. Just a trickle, nothing reckless. The stone gave the faintest prickle in his palm, like static brushing over skin. Was that real resonance, or just his own nerves fizzing at him?

Too many eyes were watching him. He felt every flicker of motion magnified: the tremor in his hand, the shallow scrape of his heel against the tile, the breath that caught and wouldn't leave.

If only Liene was here.

But he made the mistake of glancing aside just once, and saw Lady von Silberthal watching him. Her eyes were sharp and still, like a jeweler measuring flaws through crystal.

His stomach turned.

He should have said something earlier. He should have told them this rock wasn't the right grade before stepping inside this . . . lab theater. He hadn't. And now it was too late. Not throwing now would mark him a fraud, and he wasn't a fraud.

Throw anyway. You're different now. You're a proper stone thaumaturge student.

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He threw.

The motion was too quick and too stiff. Yet the moment the stone left his hand, he felt the aether releasing.

He felt it streak out of him in a rush, weaving around the Lambda's inert lattice. It shouldn't have taken, but it did. For an instant, the air between his fingers and the rock burned with a visible line, a faint current of force cutting through the space.

[Skill Cast: Stupenstone Fling (Rank III)]

Trajectory Curvature: Stable

Estimated Launch Velocity: 9.38 m/s (70% max) + 5% (Stonebound Synapse) + 12% Lodestone + 24% EMO Boost

Accuracy Deviation: ±9.3%

The stone launched, veering clumsily to the left, nowhere near the painted target circle. It clattered against the wall with the anticlimax of a dropped brick. There was a visible resonance line, pale as chalk dust in moonlight, threaded with small, sputtering sparks of shameful amber.

It was beyond doubt. His throwing sucked. It was also beyond doubt that he aetherically threw that stone.

Anabeth gasped so audibly it might have been rehearsed. She clutched the glowing starstone tighter, her voice rising with triumphant clarity. "Behold! A flawless manifestation!"

He turned to her with a little smile while thinking about something else entirely.

So a different grade still counts as a Stupenstone, according to the Eidralith.

The semicircle erupted. Koschak's arms uncrossed. His jaw slackened a fraction. Then dropped further, as if the hinges had failed him altogether.

Lord von Silberthal, however, did not clap. He only arched a brow and tilted his head minutely toward his wife, the sort of signal that said everything without breaking dignity.

Lady von Silberthal, who had been stone-still until now, stepped forward.

Fabrisse gulped. Maybe, just maybe, he could angle this into a request for a private audience in the Von Silberthal archive. He scrambled in his mind for the right phrasing, some careful preface about research permissions, when Lady von Silberthal's voice cut through like a scalpel.

"Is your name Kestovar?" She asked.

"Yes," he blurted, throat dry.

"Are you graduating soon?"

"Hopefully, in a year . . ."

She inclined her head once, brisk as a ledger entry. "Pursue higher education. House Von Silberthal will sponsor your education."

The room seemed to tilt. Maribel squeaked and nearly dropped her pen. Anabeth's grin spread as though she had orchestrated the entire moment. Koschak's jaw, already dropped, found a way to descend further.

"I beg your pardon?" Kestovar asked. His hand trembled. Why is she offering me that? Does she know I've bonded with the Eidralith? That must be the only reason why.

Lady von Silberthal's gaze never wavered. "The moment you graduate from the academy, we would like to employ you. You do not yet know what your talent is capable of."

"W-what am I capable of?" He pointed at himself.

Her husband's voice rolled in then. "If we can shape inert rocks to our will, we can finally forge an aetheric insulator strong enough to line the caches."

The caches? Oh. The aethercaches.

Fabrisse's mind skittered to the skyship models inside Lorvan's private room. Aethercaches—those great, glimmering cores that powered skyships—were notorious for bleeding. The stone chambers meant to contain them were never perfect, never sealed enough. Energy wasted away into the air, or worse, combusted in a runaway burn. Whole ships had been lost to cache-flame.

If inert stone could truly be shaped into insulators that actually held against bleed . . .

Anabeth took a step forward, still brandishing her starstone like a torch. "The same inert strata that strangles resonance could be honed into bulwarks! Imagine an anti-aether bastion. A fortress wall no spell can pierce. A blade that severs enchantments at the root. And, naturally, its counter—stones refined into weapons that break those defenses. Both paths open together."

"Always weapons with you," a sister scoffed.

His fingers twitched. "But . . . why not simply ask stonewrights to shape the bulwarks? If it's a matter of form, surely they could chisel blocks, carve panels, even set armor plates . . ."

Lord von Silberthal spoke, "Because stonewrights may shape form, but not function. They can cut, they can polish, but fractures may allow for porous seepage of aether. A bulwark that bleeds even a hair's breadth is no bulwark at all."

Fabrisse opened his mouth to protest to the Lady, but she didn't look his way. Lady von Silberthal turned a single glance toward her husband. The Lord gave the smallest shrug.

She swiveled back to Fabrisse without missing a breath. "Are you of age for work?"

"Yes . . ."

"In fact, we would like to employ you now. We can discuss your compensation and benefits in the study."

What? There should have at least been an interview or something; something that's ideally not over dinner. And . . .

He knew what they needed him for. But they must have been mistaken about the extent of his ability. They must be thinking that if he could channel aether into inert stones, he could eventually master how to mold them. His Stupenstone skill tree was a dead-end, at least from what he could observe. There was no higher-level spell for him to branch into.

"Lady. Thank you, but . . . I'm . . . I am the worst student in the Synod . . . And I'm just here for dinner . . ." he stammered.

"Starting compensation at five thousand Kohns," Lady von Silberthal said crisply, "plus any benefits negotiated."

That shut Fabrisse up.

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