"Pardon?" She stared at him as if he were a slime that had just learned to talk.

"It is rare," he repeated, providing absolutely no additional context.

"Rare in what sense? That I happen to have it, or that you know something useful?"

"Both," Kestovar replied, without the faintest trace of irony. "It's a glacial imprint quartz. It holds a resonance until the right thermal threshold releases it."

"You supposedly spend all your time looking at quartz to not be able to name them."

Fabrisse's lips twitched. Do you know how much it goes into classifying a quartz? You have to start with precise measurements of refractive indices, sometimes down to the thousandth decimal, then map lattice irregularities through internal diffraction or spectrographic analysis. Not to mention identifying any trace aetheric saturations that might skew physical properties. And that's before even touching on growth conditions, trace element content, or microfracture patterns. Plus, many rare types don't even have formal taxonomy because the process requires collaboration between geologists, thaumaturges, and historians—and it can take years to confirm if a specimen is truly unique or just a regional variation. It's not something you just slap a name on because it 'looks cool.'

"I can still determine its refractive index, map its lattice irregularities, and test for residual aetheric saturation without knowing its formal designation," he finally responded. "Classification is just nomenclature."

The rant in his head apparently meant nothing to her, as she simply carried on with another question, "Did you notice anything unusual when you held it?"

Fabrisse's eyes brightened. At least this was a question he could get excited about. "Well, yes. Its thermo-resonance curves deviate from standard glacial quartz. There's a subtle hysteresis in lattice vibration when exposed to ambient aetheric flux. It's—"

"No, not that," Severa interrupted. "I mean anything peculiar in sensation? To touch, to smell, perhaps . . . visual anomalies?"

I was getting to the explanation too! With a slightly annoyed purse of his lips, he shook his head. "Then no."

"Ah. Provided you possess the requisite instruments, one could, I presume, conduct analyses upon the quartz?"

"Yes."

"Well then, you have been rather difficult to work with today, but I suppose something more in your element will make you more willing to cooperate," Severa said, allowing herself the faintest curl of a smile. "Of course, I'm offering for you to help me crack the stone's hidden imprint. I could do it myself, naturally, but it's far more efficient to let someone who already knows their . . . thing handle it."

Me? Why me? I haven't even been allowed to conduct Aetheric Grain Analysis yet.

Kestovar's eyes narrowed. "You must know a few geologists who would surely know a thing or two," he said.

"I suppose I could extend the opportunity to you," she said lightly, as though granting him permission to reach for the last tart on the tray. "Helping a fellow student does reflect well on my record. And if your work is thorough, I might even mention you to someone who is in need of this type of work. You are to gain plenty of exposure for your talent."

A quest showed up just in time.

[New Sidequest Received: "Shards Beneath the Ice"]

Objective: Conduct a 3-point aetheric grain survey on Cryoflux Quartz under coldfield conditions

Recommended tools: sub-zero emulation matrix, fine-tuned aether probe, patience

Estimated completion time: variable, depending on user competence

Reward:

+65% Understanding toward unlocking Aetheric Grain Analysis (Rank I)

+3 Stone Thaumaturgy Mastery Points

Bragging rights (local)

Would you like to accept the quest?

[Yes] [No]

[SYSTEM NOTE: Just do it.]

Aetheric Grain Analysis? The Eidralith is offering me a way to learn this skill without even having to consult Hajin?

He'd always dreamed of being able to deduce the internal structure of a crystal simply through resonating with the aether. The sooner he mastered this, the better. Every hour wasted waiting for instruction was an hour not spent unlocking the subtle truths of the stones.

Of course, he accepted it.

But . . . did Severa say she was going to pay me via 'exposure'?

Kestovar finally said, "Exposure isn't a form of payment."

They both noticed the cat-thing attempting to slink away, its movements comically hindered as every paw stuck to the thin layer of paper littering the floor. Severa stepped forward and scooped it into her hands as she said, "If you succeed with this analysis, Kestovar, I will pay you two thousand Kohns."

"T-two thousands?" His eyes widened like a goblin seeing a hoard of gold. That was like two weeks' worth of instructant pay! For a single analysis?

Her eyes narrowed. "Too low?"

"I mean—"

Before he could protest, she waved her hand. "Then make it three."

He couldn't believe his ears. Three thousand Kohns. A single morning, and he would be able to pay off over ten percent of his tuition.

"I mean—" he began, then stopped, as though the very notion of bargaining had thrown him off balance. After a pause, he exhaled and nodded. "All right."

"Very well," she said. "Unfortunately, we shan't be able to begin today. You are to make time tomorrow for the analysis. No excuses."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

He shifted on his feet. "I can't tomorrow. I have a disciplinary hearing."

"A what?" Her voice went sharp, incredulous.

"Disciplinary hearing."

"Have the Synod finally decided to expel you for your non-effort?"

"I threw a rock at a classmate," he admitted.

She stared at him for another second. "Which one?"

"Gollivur."

"Ah. Understandable. I'd stone him too."

At least Severa and he agreed on one thing.

She considered him for a moment, brow slightly arched. "Very well. Friday, then. I will make time for you. We have the instruments in one of our estates, but feel free to bring your own."

"Friday." He cast his gaze down, murmuring to himself before saying, "Nine in the morning should be okay."

"Splendid." Severa brushed her hands together as if the arrangement were a formal contract now sealed. "Now please follow me to the back garden if you don't mind."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He didn't object, and she led him out through the glass corridor and into the estate's back garden. Beyond, even more mechanical birds with jeweled eyes perched along the hedge, and a pair of bronze swallows hovered near the fountain, propelled by invisible aether currents, singing soft trills that sounded almost real. The Magister had really gone all in on the avian aesthetics today.

There was nothing to do. He didn't know what to talk to Severa about. She was one of the students who talked to him the most, mainly through nagging him to study, so their interactions had never had any substances.

They sat beside a fountain imbued with eternally glowing aetherlight, saying nothing. After a few moments of silence, Kestovar turned slightly toward her. "Don't you have to return to dinner?"

"It's too late now," she said, not even glancing toward the manor. "If we return to the Atrium after disappearing for half a bell, it will be catastrophic."

"So . . . can I leave?"

She turned to him, eyes narrowing in mild disbelief. "No. You are to stay until the dinner concludes. Otherwise, it would appear that I've been abandoned. You are, for the next hour or so, my proof of social engagement."

"That sounds sad."

"Silence." She said as she stared down as her wristglyph glowed, and she jotted down a reply to whatever message she had just received.

Severa got what she wished for. Silence dropped between them again; even the cat-thing had gone still in her hands as if it had accepted its fate. Severa tapped its head once with an absent thumb. "So," she said, "why did you need this cat-thing?"

"This cat is from the Synod's scullery. The kitchen maid asked me to find him."

"You'd rather do literally anything apart from studying."

He shrugged, surprisingly earnest. "Finding the cat gives me meaningful progression."

She stared at him as if he'd just spoken an alien language. "I don't suppose this is your attempt at a metaphor? Did throwing a stone at a class bully constitute some symbolic act as well?"

He looked genuinely affronted for half a breath. "You stuck sticky paper under a cat's paw, Montreal."

"Don't test my temper." Her words dissolved into a laugh—brief, airy, almost a wisp of sound—but it caught him entirely off guard. He'd never heard her laugh like that before. It lasted no more than half a heartbeat, but in that fraction of time, Kestovar knew it was real. It existed.

He froze for a fraction of a heartbeat, realizing how his words must have sounded. Progression? To anyone not familiar with the Eidralith (which would be everyone but him), it sounded like nonsense.

So, he made a mental note: Think before speaking. Not everyone knows about quests, progression, or the artifact.

"Kestovar," Severa pulled him out of his own train of thought.

He turned his gaze toward her, blinking rapidly as if waking from a deep reverie.

"Thank you for your company today. You have been an . . . acceptable companion."

"Uh, thank you?" He said. Thank you? She thanked me? Is this niceness a temporary feature or a permanent addition?

"I have had . . . difficulties today, you see," she continued, letting the words simmer. "I would appreciate it if you pretend whatever oddities you have observed today didn't exist."

"Oddities?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, almost whispering, "the cat, my brother's study, and . . . other matter."

He fell silent for a beat. The other matter? Like how she tackled the cat and dropped from a stack of crates? Or maybe, it was . . .

He said, "That you can't resonate with the aether?"

Her eyes widened. From his angle, her pupils darkened into a bloodied red, as if she was trying to asphyxiate him with a glare alone.

So . . . what did I do wrong, or is the niceness a temporary feature?

He barely noticed the garden around him, the fountain's aetherlight, the mechanical birds, until an unfamiliar sound resounded. "Is there something wrong with your aetheric reserves, dear sister?"

The words detonated through his concentration. He looked up and saw Severa's older brother, Forsing. He hadn't noticed the man step into the garden at all.

Severa's reaction was immediate. Her cheeks flushed as she turned aside to face him. "Nothing! I was just fatigued, that was all!"

The older man's gaze swept over her, eyebrows arching in that infuriatingly knowing way, and Fabrisse realized he had been caught entirely unaware. "That is precisely why one ought to be especially cautious in a dungeon," Forsing continued, voice even. "All too often, imprudent actions bring about consequences most disagreeable. We can arrange for a capable healer, so you may be restored and continue your . . . amusements without further interruption."

Does this guy always talk like this? Maybe rich people swallow a dictionary every year to help with vocabulary retention, leading to all these mighty-sounding words you see them sneak into every line.

"No need. I have already recovered," she snapped.

"Suits yourself, sister." Forsing smiled. "So, what is your friend's name?"

Severa turned her gaze to Kestovar, grinding her teeth so hard it looked like her lower jaw was biting back. "Kestovar."

Fabrisse turned away.

Forsing nodded once, ever-so-slowly. "Kestovar seems like an honest person, sister. You should keep a few of them close." Then, with a tip of his head, he turned and strolled away.

Then, with a tip of his head, he turned and strolled off.

Fabrisse stared at Severa's back. That was an adequate showing, right? I didn't do anything; I kept my composure, I—

She spun back to Fabrisse, eyes blazing. "He walked into your line of sight, and you still said that? You! You! Just as I thought—you're just here to sabotage me! I let my guard down for a second, and you pounced on me like . . . like . . ." Her hand went to her pocket, trembling, and she ripped a thousand Kohns from it, throwing the coins at him with more force than grace. They clattered around his feet. "Take your money and leave! Get out of my sight!" Then she tossed the cat-thing at him. "Out!"

Fabrisse felt his own head tilt down, cat and coins clutched tightly, wishing the ground could swallow him. He was careless and didn't even see Forsing there, but that surely couldn't justify the outburst?

I didn't actively sabotage her at any stage. All I said was a few misplaced lines. Why is she so mad?

His lips parted, perhaps to protest, perhaps to explain, but she cut him off with a single pointed glare that pinned him in place.

The cat-thing meowed once.

Fabrisse looked down at the scattered coins and the flailing cat-thing, completely unsure what to do. After a moment, he stooped and scooped the coins into a loose fist, letting a few slip through his fingers before finally gathering them. He tucked them awkwardly into his robe pocket and began toward the garden gate with the cat still wriggling in his other arm. Then, as if remembering something important, he paused and glanced back.

"Will I still get a carriage back home? It's unsafe alone at this hour," he asked.

"Just get out!" Severa yelled at him. He knew that he had to remove himself from her sight. She'd never let a grudge go, which was rather unfortunate. Sucks that this happened. Severa even thanked him for his company earlier, something she had never done before.

Fabrisse inclined his head slightly and disappeared from view. Guess I'll walk home.

QUEST COMPLETE: "Trial by Table Etiquette"

Objective: Survive a dinner in the Montreal household without embarrassing yourself.

Reward: +50 EXP, +2 FOR,+2 INT, +3 Water Thaumaturgy Mastery Points

Bonus Objective: Embarrass Severa Montreal in front of the guests.

Reward: +1 Fire Thaumaturgy Mastery Points

Water? This is useless. I don't even have Water affinity. And the Bonus Objective too . . . I swear I didn't intend on meeting that . . .

"Unsafe to travel alone . . ." He already knew the route back. Between darkened streets and unsupervised alleys, it was a recipe for mishaps. Not to mention his luck. Not an option.

QUEST COMPLETE: "Trial by Table Etiquette"

QUEST ONGOING: "The Cat-Thing Caper"

[TIME REMAINING: 5 minutes 22 seconds]

It would be impossible to finish the quest in time, so he reckoned he would just prioritize safety. Fabrisse pulled out his wristglyph and began drafting a brief message to Liene: "I need a favor. Only a 20-minute walk. l'll send you the coordinate—"

"Mr. Kestovar!"

He turned toward the voice. A servant in a neatly pressed uniform bowed at him as his eyes wandered toward the garden gate. "Young Mistress requested that a carriage be prepared for your return. There will be a guard traveling alongside, as she insisted it be done. She wishes the promise fulfilled."

Wait—what? A guard?

"Why?" he asked cautiously. If Severa had been about to lash out at him seconds ago, would she really . . . extend a genuine offer of safe passage?

The servant inclined his head with measured politeness. "It is as the Young Mistress instructed, sir."

Fabrisse hesitated. He'd survived her tirades, her sudden outbursts, and her scorn. Why now—after all that chaos—would she grant him something so considerate?

He started walking toward the estate gate, cat tucked securely in one arm, and the sight that met him made him pause.

There it was: a carriage, glossy black with the Montreal crest gleaming on its doors, polished to a mirror finish. A mounted guard in overpolished armor nodded once toward him.

Fabrisse exhaled. There's at least one honorable trait about Severa, he thought. She might be volatile, but she keeps her promises.

He inclined his head to the servant and the guard, acknowledging them, then carefully lifted the cat into the carriage, making sure it was comfortable. As he settled into the carriage, the cat-thing wriggled furiously. Fabrisse groaned, leaning forward to peel one of the sticky papers free. The adhesive clung, threatening to pull fur along with it, so he had to methodically peel them out extremely slowly, one by one.

He shuddered. I've pissed Severa off again. This is what she did to a cat she just met. What will she do to me?

That's a story for next week. She still needs me on Friday, so she can't do anything yet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last bit of paper came free. Fabrisse let out a quiet sigh of relief and set the cat gently on the plush seat beside him. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the treat he'd been using to lure it all afternoon. Holding it out, he said, "Eat up, kitty. You also deserve a breather."

The cat sniffed, then eagerly accepted the treat. Fabrisse leaned back against the carriage's velvet upholstery, allowing himself a small smile.

QUEST ONGOING: "The Cat-Thing Caper"

[TIME REMAINING: 0 minutes]

[QUEST FAILED]

He stopped smiling.

At least, the rest of the trip was rather uneventful, and he managed to return the cat to the scullery, not before getting a handful from Marla for not returning before eight. She told him Laika would've eventually returned by himself, but a student should not have left Synod grounds to begin with. He didn't argue with that.

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