The cat-thing had turned at a new corner. She stalked ahead, tapping her hand against her thigh, and he followed, careful to keep the crates behind them in view, lest they topple.

His hands brushed against the wall for balance; the dust smelled faintly metallic, mingling with the distant sweetness of fruit left abandoned at the market.

A sharp mew echoed from a shadowed corner, and they stopped. The cat-thing had doubled back. Severa's head snapped in that direction. "There! It's trying to be clever." He squinted. The creature's ears twitched, tail twirling, eyes glinting in the fading light. It darted again, faster than before, toward a narrow doorway between two shuttered shops. They jogged after the creature for a few seconds, but this time, Severa was the one who stopped first. "We cannot just chase after it forever," she declared.

You should have said that ten minutes ago . . .

"Do you have any spells that can strike the creature from afar?" She continued asking when she didn't hear an answer.

The only spell I have is Stupenstone Fling, and how far away is the cat from me? He squinted at the shadow of the creature from afar. Easily thirty meters. I cannot possibly hit the target from here even if I can see it fully, much less when it's in the shades.

"Nothing that would work from out here," he finally said.

"Anything that would get you close to it without it noticing?"

That, I do. I have spent years stealing pies for skills like this.

He scratched the back of his neck and let out a noncommittal sound. "Maybe—" He stopped as the implication hit him. "So you allow aetheric spells now?"

Her mouth twitched. For half a second, her whole posture said yes then she flattened it into disapproval so fast it felt unnatural. She said, "I am offering you a chance to capture the creature under my guidance. I'll have you know I have years of experience capturing aetheric monsters out in the wild."

He heard two messages at once. One is the same old Severa delegating the mess to a subordinate. That message would have made him bristle last month. The other . . . was an offer of help, however genuine it was. Did she say she has years of experience fighting monsters? From when?

Not like he knew much of what Severa did outside of school to begin with.

". . . Do you have Stealth spells?" He asked.

He noticed yet another pause from her. Usually, Severa snapped back almost before he had finished speaking as though her reactions were instinctive. Today, though, that delay had been persistent. Her brow furrowed, lips parting as if to speak, then hesitating.

"Can you show me the spells you have?" She finally said.

"They're . . . not really spells," he said carefully, as if the words themselves might explode inside the roof of his tongue if spoken too loudly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Show me."

He hesitated, tilting his head, fingers brushing the edges of his satchel as if weighing the decision. "They're more like . . . skills."

"Just show me." Instantaneous answer. This was the Severa Montreal he knew.

His fingers brushed the satchel again. "I need you to . . . move to a position where you don't directly observe me."

Her brow raised higher, but she did as told anyway.

He stepped forward, letting his feet fall softly against the dusted floor. The first skill unfolded around him.

[SKILL CAST: Liminal Presence Drift (Rank II)]

He could now move in plain sight without being fully observed, as if he were a shadow brushing past other shadows.

Next came Auditory Dissipation Field. He exhaled and felt the field shrouding over his body. The scrape of his boots against the stone muffled; the rustle of his robes against his legs almost disappeared. Even the clink of the rocks in his satchel, spiritually significant though they were, seemed swallowed by the dampening field.

Finally, Aetheric Veil: Echofold activated. He could feel the trick working even in the small confines of the alley: the cat-thing's ears twitched, its body paused, confused for just a fraction, and then it moved again, unaware of his precise position.

Is she looking? He turned around and finally noticed Severa. She was staring at him from the corner of her eye, her mouth slightly parted, her brow lifted in a mixture of disbelief and shock. She had been close the whole time, inches nearer than he had processed. It seemed as though she was deliberately holding her gaze sideways, just enough to track him, but not enough to fully register the subtle shifts he had wrought.

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So is my Stealth working on her?

"Have you ever gone on field excursions, Kestovar?" Severa suddenly said.

The question sounded innocent enough, but in his mind it sparked a quick cascade of context. Field excursions were usually organized for pest or animal population control. These animals were real creatures that weren't spawned from the Aetherrealm but had merely been tainted or influenced by it. A rabbit might be tinged with a minor aetheric signature; a fox might have eyes that glowed faintly in the dark.

"No," Kestovar answered, still continuing with whatever 'Stealth' spellform he was conjuring. She stared at him more fully for a few more seconds, but said nothing.

He felt the weight of her gaze. It was familiar, yes—Severa's gaze always came with that edge of evaluation—but now it felt even more surgical. He could feel the mental tug of her attention, and it made his stomach twist with the tiniest pang of unease.

Why did she ask that? Field excursions? Did she really think he'd ever been on one? He had spent years learning basic spells, and for the longest time had no spell that could even deal damage reliably. How could she imagine him sneaking through real-world hunts, managing a creature in its natural habitat?

The cat-thing darted right before his nose.

"Grab it!" Severa barked.

What! Where?

He didn't actually see the creature, but he grabbed where he thought it would be anyway.

He lunged, hands opening without the courtesy of a plan. His fingers closed on air. The creature slipped through the gap between his palms as if he'd grabbed at smoke. For a second—an absurd, suspended second—he felt only the faint thud of failure inside his chest, the soft, delayed echo of a footstep several paces behind his reach.

He fumbled for the satchel, produced the rock because producing things was what he did when neat solutions failed: Stupenstone Fling.

Then he threw it without looking.

For half a beat he watched the arc in slow, horrible clarity. The stone did not fly toward the shadows. It sailed, riotous and wrong, and smacked something with a dull thwack.

Did I hit something?

→ Trajectory Curvature: Stable

→ Estimated Launch Velocity: 8.4 m/s (63% max) + 12% (Celestial Hoarding) + 5% (Stoneborn Synapse)

→ Accuracy Deviation: ±33.5% (Cat-Thing)/0% (Severa Montreal)

33.5%? Oh no. I didn't even know where I was aiming at . . .

[Damage Dealt: Nose Bleed]

Wait. Did I hit Montreal?

He slowly, very slowly turned aside to see a tiny rivulet of blood running from her nose. She clutched her nose and stared at him in even more disbelief than before.

Uh oh. I messed up. What do I say to de-escalate?

". . . If anything, red really suits you," he offered. "It makes you look . . . feline."

It took her another second to process his words, between tasting and wiping away her own blood. Then, as if every ounce of her meticulously cultivated poise had been shredded in one instant, she exploded, "By the ballsacks of the Synod, Kestovar! Did you just—are you trying to murder me with a pebble? A pebble! What was inside that stone head of yours? You absolute . . . aether-twiddling, rock-chucking nincompoop!" Dust puffed around her as she stomped, voice cracking with outraged theatricality.

"Why didn't you cast a ward?" He asked.

Severa's hand flew to the side of her head, wincing, then she whirled. "I—Argh! That does not matter! The cat is still there! Catch it, Kestovar! Do something before it vanishes into the shadows!"

The cat-thing paused atop a shuttered stall, tail flicking lazily, eyes glinting with what could only be described as pure mockery. Fabrisse's chest tightened. He could feel the tension coiling in his shoulders, the familiar spike of frustration and hesitation. No more reflex grabs. He exhaled, narrowed his eyes, and raised a hand, trying to channel his aether deliberately, focusing this time.

[SKILL CAST: Stupenstone Fling – Targeted]

The rock left his fingers in a clean arc, aimed carefully at the creature's shadowed form. But before it could reach, the cat-thing went on a streak of impossibly fast motion, and the stone struck only the empty air where it had been a heartbeat ago.

→ Trajectory Curvature: Stable

→ Estimated Launch Velocity: 8.9 m/s (66% max) + 12% (Celestial Hoarding) + 5% (Stoneborn Synapse)

→ Accuracy Deviation: ±5.7%

It's too fast. I can see it, I can aim, but I can't yet match its motion.

He was about to pull out a third rock, but then he heard Severa's stomping again. "Stop throwing rocks!"

He paused and tilted his head toward her.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped. "Do I look like a cat-thing?"

"No."

"Then—" she jabbed a finger toward the shadowed doorway that the cat had darted away from, "—go after it!"

He hesitated a fraction, clutched a third Stupenstone in hand, then started forward.

"No! Put your rock back in!" Severa shouted before she could stop herself. "Use your feet! Silent! Do you see what you're doing? Argh!"

What do you want me to do . . . You wanted me to get it quick. That's literally all I can do.

He swallowed, sighed, and slipped the rock back into his satchel. Fine. Feet. Feet it is.

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