Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

Fabrisse took a careful step toward the far corner of the cavern. Every loose quartz underfoot threatened to betray him with a clink, so he tested the stones in his path with gentle taps, trying to sound casual.

“This way,” he said in a hopefully steady enough voice and gestured toward a shadowed recess that neither of them had lingered near. “I think there might be an interesting cluster I overlooked before.”

He edged closer to the corner, peering at every formation until one caught his eyes: a cluster of dense, dark quartz with veins of green twisting through the surface. Its refractive pattern didn’t scatter the glow but seemed like storing it, which would be a hallmark of the conductor family, quartz known for retaining light or sound within its structure. Maybe he wouldn’t have to keep weaving lies.

He pointed at it, holding his breath. “There. See that cluster?”

Anabeth stepped closer, leaned forward, then pouted. “Hmm . . . yes. It does have the structure and density that suggest epic-grade potential. But,” she continued, narrowing her eyes slightly, “the coloration and vein pattern suggest it shouldn’t have reacted to the Stormglass the way it did. That’s odd. Highly localized resonance, perhaps?”

Probably because the reaction part was a lie . . .

“Exactly,” he said. “The ambient field must have triggered a temporary harmonic overlap. Very rare, but documented in some conductor variants. Timing-sensitive.”

Anabeth’s brow lifted. “Ah. Fascinating. So it could be epic-grade, but only under very specific conditions.”

“Yes,” Fabrisse said. “Which is why I missed it initially.” He sounded very confident just now, which meant the lie was obviously working.

Her eyes glittered, clearly intrigued, while Fabrisse felt a small surge of hope. I’ve got this.

“You know,” Anabeth said, tapping a finger against her chin, “I might have just the right spell to test this properly.”

Wait, no.

Before he could even open his mouth, Anabeth’s hands were already weaving the motions of her spell, the pale light from her fingertips stretching toward the cluster of dark quartz. “Stand back,” she said casually. “We shall see if it responds.”

His stomach twisted. She’s actually doing it. Right now. Her fingers traced the familiar runes and arcs in the air, flowing with the spell’s rhythm without a single mnemonic. Come on, come on . . . please be real, please be epic, please . . .

A pulse of light shot from her fingertips, touching the dark quartz. Anabeth clapped her hands together, eyes wide with delight. “By the Aether, it is epic-grade!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in place. “Kestovar, this is a true Conductor’s Resonant Quartz. It can store imprinted human-made sound and light within its core, perfectly stable over centuries. A single strike of energy could preserve a melody, a signal, even the pattern of a ritual’s illumination!”

“Wait, really—” He shut himself up before he could rat himself out.

She leaned closer. “These are among the most invaluable quartz in stone thaumaturgy. Rare as they are, their applications have been extraordinary, used to record testimony in courts, preserve official decrees, even capture fragments of scholarly discourse.”

“I know that.”

Of course, the practical limitation was severe: only a handful of practitioners possessed the skill to trace an imprint centuries or millennia old. If more than three people in a generation could reliably read them, the archives of history would be incomparably richer.