Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

“There’s absolutely no problem with the Varnic pose,” said Kaldrin as he demonstrated his own take on the Varnic pose for synaptic threading. “And there’s no problem with rapid, precise micro-adjustments to get your synaptic control to where it should be, either. In fact . . . Here, watch this.”

Before Fabrisse could ask what this was, Kaldrin’s hands darted through the threading sequence. “It’s all about cadence,” he said, tapping a small brass timer at his belt. “You hit your release exactly when the tick changes. Not before; not after.”

The timer gave a crisp chick sound. Kaldrin’s fingers splayed, releasing the thread in a clean snap, then he reset in the same breath. At the second chick, a scatter of golden aetheric sparks ran from his palm like startled fireflies, tracing the air before fading.

“Golden is the color of reverence,” Fabrisse said slowly. “How can you be reverent and not follow the standard form?”

Kaldrin smiled. “I can believe in many things aside from the standard form.”

For someone who seemingly went way back with Lorvan, Kaldrin had already shocked Fabrisse with his approach to, well, everything. Lorvan would have swatted his knuckles for even thinking about a non-standard form, let alone using one. Every drill under him had been done strictly by the book, feet and fingers exactly where the diagrams said, no deviation allowed. Kaldrin was demonstrating to him the deviations.

“You keep this running for the whole session,” Kaldrin continued, winding the device as he restarted the motion. “Your body learns to match the beat.”

Liene, already leaning over, plucked the timer from his hand. She turned it over with a studious squint, then—without asking—started copying his movements behind him, glancing at the ticking face like she’d been doing this for years.

Kaldrin took the timer from Liene and passed it to Fabrisse. “Your turn.”

He set his Varnic stance. The chick sounded; he moved, but his fingers landed the pose a breath too early. The next tick, he overcorrected, hitting the arc just late enough to feel the aether slip past him.