“Pardon?” She stared at him as if he were a sli 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 sothing 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 ti looking at quartz to not be able to na them.”
Fabrisse’s lips twitched. Do you know how much it goes into classifying a quartz?You have to start with precise asurents of refractive indices, sotis down to the thousandth decimal, then map lattice irregularities through internal diffraction or spectrographic analysis. Not to ntion identifying any trace aetheric saturations that might skew physical properties. And that’s before even touching on growth conditions, trace elent 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 specin is truly unique or just a regional variation. It’s not sothing you just slap a na 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 nonclature.”
The rant in his head apparently ant 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 an anything peculiar in sensation? To touch, to sll, 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 instrunts, one could, I presu, conduct analyses upon the quartz?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, you have been rather difficult to work with today, but I suppose sothing more in your elent 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 crack the stone’s hidden imprint. I could do it myself, naturally, but it’s far more efficient to let soone who already knows their . . . thing handle it.”
? Why ? I haven’t even been allowed to conduct Aetheric Grain Analysis yet.
Fabrisse’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 ntion you to soone 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 ti.
[New Sidequest Received: “Shards Beneath the Ice”]
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not ant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Objective: Conduct a 3-point aetheric grain survey on Cryoflux Quartz under coldfield conditions
Recomnded tools: sub-zero emulation matrix, fine-tuned aether probe, patience
Estimated completion ti: 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 a way to learn this skill without even having to consult Hajin?
He’d always dread 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 via ‘exposure’?
Kestovar finally said, “Exposure isn’t a form of paynt.”
They both noticed the cat-thing attempting to slink away, its movents 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 an—”
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 an—” 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 ti 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 mont, brow slightly arched. “Very well. Friday, then. I will make ti for you. We have the instrunts 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 arrangent were a formal contract now sealed. “Now please follow to the back garden if you don’t mind.”
He didn’t object, and she led him out through the glass corridor and into the estate’s back garden. Beyond, even more chanical 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.
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