Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

Where the second mantis humanoid had collapsed, a blinding light erupted, and a loot chest hovered above the scorched stone, golden-green light pooling at its base. Fabrisse had never seen an aetheric loot chest before, but he knew what a chest looked like, and this one was just a chest but radiating with aether.

What would be in a chest, and how would it aid him, he wondered.

The older raven-haired man stepped forward, reaching for the chest. His long fingers curved around the glimmering form, ready to pluck it from the air. But Severa moved faster.

She placed squarely between him and the chest and stood in her usual rigid form. Her spine was now once again too straight to be that of a normal human. “This is ours,” she said. “We have acquired the right to this chest in accordance with the Dungeoneer Code, Article IV, Section 7: ‘The party with majority contribution to the dungeon encounter has the prerogative to determine loot distribution.’ You may challenge us, but the majority contribution is ours.”

The older man’s eyes narrowed, then he spoke in a language Fabrisse recognized from the few times Zan had spoken it—but he had never understood it. It was authoritative and edged with what Fabrisse could only describe as restrained aggression.

Zan then stepped up with measured hesitance and the slightly hunched shoulder she’d always carried undermined the otherwise proud lines of her frame. Her tone was gentle, almost deferential, yet when the older man barked back, she didn’t step aside. Apart from the attire, she still seemed like the Zan he knew.

They had never really parted in bad blood, nor had they ever officially ended things. One day, she had simply returned to her kingdom, and both of them had silently assumed it was the last time they’d ever speak. Fabrisse had barely thought of her since; he didn’t dwell on romance, and never truly understood the intricacies of it. By most standards, they were probably never all that invested in each other, and the time spent with her had felt like an easy friendship left unresolved rather than a love story cut short.

“What are they talking about?” Tommaso whispered to Fabrisse.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back. “I don’t know the language of the Jade Court.”

As the two conversed, he saw Zan’s shoulders dipping as if she were being scolded. The older man stood as rigid as a carved statue, and his voice rose again in heavier and heavier syllables. The intent was clear: reprimand.

Zan gestured briefly toward Severa’s group, then back toward the hovering chest, as if to explain the situation. Fabrisse could see her fingers doing some sort of ritualistic motion that vaguely resembled wind spell sequencing, yet he couldn’t recall any such movements in thaumaturgy. The older man’s gaze stayed fixed on her, then he snorted, and brushed a hand along the flowing robe, dismissing the moment entirely. Without another word, he turned and left the corridor.

Zan turned to the party and bowed. “I apologize. My elder, the Grand Luminary, can be . . . exacting at times, but his intent is honorable. We are striving to purge the core of this dungeon, and if your objective aligns with ours, you are welcome to combine efforts.”

Tommaso leaned even closer to Fabrisse. He wasn’t even hiding that they were whispering about her. “Yo . . . still the same Zan we knew? The old Zan could’ve won a competition for least words spoken in an hour against you.”

Fabrisse didn’t know, and frankly, he cared more about what was in the loot chest right now.

Severa did not bow, but she inclined her head with the minimum polite angle needed to qualify as courtesy. “Very well. Proceed. If our paths converge again deeper in the structure, we will reassess cooperation at that time.”

Zan nodded, and with an apologetic glance, she hurried after the Grand Luminary, but not before giving Fabrisse a small smile on her way out. He thought he’d smiled back; he didn’t know.

As her footsteps faded, Severa finally turned toward Fabrisse. “Is your back intact?”

The question caught him off guard. Only then did the pain roar back through his nerves.