Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

“This,” Lorvan said as he adjusted his stance. His coat fluttered in the breeze, lined with glowing wards that darkened at the seams, “is Synaptic Threading, Rank I. Mastering this is the first step towards casting under pressure.”

He raised his right arm in a wide arc that narrowed as it looped until his fingers hovered just above his shoulder line. No spell ignited, but Fabrisse felt a ripple of tension that passed his skin.

Most of the time, that was all you got: a sensation. The tension just now felt nothing more than a fleeting shift in temperature and pressure. The aether didn’t make itself obvious unless you coaxed it. Unless your form, breath, and intent lined up just right. When it did, and only then, the threads became visible, like wisps of motion just beyond the skin of the world, followed by sparks of color that either curl like smoke or fall like chalk if you had imbued the spell with emotion.

Fabrisse stood a few paces away, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly unsure where to put his hands.

“You should stop before you actually cast something. Stop at almost-casting. That’s the point.” Lorvan dropped his arm and turned to face Fabrisse. “Spellcraft isn’t just about knowing words or channeling energy. Your body betrays you before your mind does. Every misfire, every early release, every time your focus lapses in a duel—it starts here.”

Every month, Fabrisse could schedule up to five tutoring sessions with his mentor, with a minimum requirement of two, or he’d risk disciplinary action from the Department of Disciplinary Action.

This month was the first time he’d voluntarily requested a session in half a year.

And standing alone with Lorvan in a wind-bitten courtyard before the sun had fully risen, he was starting to regret it. The cold scraped against his skin with a precision that made it hard to focus. The seams of his coat felt too tight; the wind got in anyway.

“Your turn,” Lorvan said. Fabrisse gulped.

His palms were clammy. His focus was jittery. He hadn’t even drawn a spellform yet.