Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

Severa’s staff struck once more, signaling the closing of the first round and the beginning of the next.

“All recipients clear the sanctum,” she called, her voice echoing with trained ritual precision. “Second verse initiates in ten counts. Participants—ready your petals.”

Around the circle, students bent over the silver basin once more, collecting a new round of starpetals and microglow quills. The ritual ink shimmered faintly violet this time, and the petals were smaller and more delicate than the last batch. Fabrisse was afraid they’d be harder to control.

Fabrisse picked up a petal of his own, and for some reason, Liene had to be right behind him for this part of the ritual as well, as if he’d run away if she strayed too far. His hands weren’t shaking, but they weren’t exactly calm either.

The tri-looped ribbon of water still curled and shimmered like glass thread, but now its pace had increased. Not dramatically, but enough that it required sharper coordination. Less luck. More clarity.

Fabrisse bit the inside of his cheek. His eyes hadn’t left the second stream since Lyessa Halden walked off with her fancy SYN-boosting relic like she hadn’t just won the arcane lottery.

The competition was too steep. There was no way he could win.

He didn’t have a single spell that could help. He had no targeted current guides nor any specialized petal-buoyancy techniques. There was nothing in his current loadout that could substitute for an actual channeling ability.

He wracked his memory. Water-based Thaumaturgy would work best, but he sucked at it. Wind Thaumaturgy might work in theory. Specifically, Basic-level skills like Gust Nudge, which could nudge petals in the direction he wants. But the last time he tried that, he’d knocked over someone’s notes and got hexed with hiccuping sparks for an hour.

That’s when Liene’s voice brushed over his shoulder.

“Fabri?”

“Hmm?”

“You look like you want to win.”

He hesitated. “Well . . .” He sighed. There was no shame in admitting the truth. “I can’t win with what I have.”

Liene didn’t answer right away. A second later, she said, “Would you like some help?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled. “I mean, do you want to see if we can win with what we have?”

Before he could process that, she moved behind him.

Oh no. Nope. Absolutely not prepared for this.

He went still as her arms came around him. Her hands lightly overlapped his, guiding his fingers into a specific shape. He recognized this particular stance. It wasn’t something as simple as Gust Nudge. It looked like they were attempting Petal Draft, or more eloquently called the Invocation of Dancing Petals, a finesse variant of Wind Thaumaturgy—one that used microcurrents, not bursts. It was usually taught to Invocation majors who specialized in mid-air sigilcraft, and it got its name because students had to specifically practice on petals. Definitely not beginner level. Definitely not something he should be doing right now.

Langley tilted the crystal basin anew. The other two High Magi followed, setting the flow in motion.

The streams arced with a more aggressive lean, and the petals would have to contend with tighter turns and sharper convergence angles.

The ritual circle dimmed, and a shimmer passed through the air as Severa lifted her staff again.

“Release your petals,” she intoned.

Liene’s breath tickled the edge of Fabrisse’s ear as she leaned close. “You’re not pushing the air,” she murmured. “You’re inviting it. You’re shaping its attention.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he whispered back.

“Just follow my lead.”

He nearly choked on a reply but shut up when her hand nudged his thumb into alignment. A warmth stirred in his wrist: faint aether movement.

Liene began to chant.

It was soft, almost melodic. Not a standard incantation, but the barebones mnemonic structure for wind-channeling. He recognized the cadence from his first-year theory texts, the ones he’d skimmed and abandoned because his execution was always half a beat late.

But now his hands weren’t moving on their own.

They were moving with hers.

And she wasn’t rushing.

“Breathe in,” she said gently. “Don’t think about the spell. Just think about happy memories, okay? Can you invoke joy?”

“Uh, yes, but only when I’m sprinting.” He had a skill literally named Joy-Sprint.

“Uh . . . okay. Don’t sprint. Just think of a happy moment that’s happened recently.”

“Well . . .”

“You must have one happy moment in your life, right?”

“Yes.” He thought about mingleberry pies. For a moment, it seemed like the emotion was surfacing.

Fabrisse watched his petal hover for a brief second on the surface of the Grace Stream, wobbling like a coin caught between flip and fall. His hands were still guided in Liene’s shape—fingers open but curved, elbows gently bent inward.