Daniel Newwyn
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Fabrisse Book 2 (Chapter 16)
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 21:38:07 +0000 UTC[Nibberhare Count: 2/5]
They tried the same routine twice more, crouching through the undergrowth with Fabrisse coaxing the wind and Liene playing with her golden lights. But the nibberhares were far from stupid. After the first capture, the colony seemed to realize something was wrong. The brush went quiet except for their own footsteps. Every crackle of leaves turned out to be nothing but the tail of a squirrel or the flutter of a bird lifting away.
By the time Fabrisse finally coaxed another one into the open, it bolted halfway toward Sven’s lure, then doubled back with a twitch of its whiskers, vanishing into a hollow tree root so fast he nearly lost sight of it. They walked back to regroup with nothing in hand.
“They’ve gone into their hideouts,” Veliane observed, straightening from her crouch, her cloak falling back into neat folds. She brushed soil from her hands, unruffled as ever. “That’s the flaw of luring. After the first few, they learn. It may be hours before they risk coming out again.”
[SYSTEM NOTE: Vermin encounter difficulty has escalated. Colony threat level: Wary.]
Sven tapped the butt of his staff against the loam. “Then we change strategies. Forget luring; they’re not biting anymore. We’ll have to search for their hideouts and smoke them out.”
Veliane inclined her head. “That can be arranged. I have a detection glyph that can resonate with animal burrows.”
“I’ll go with you,” Liene volunteered instantly, already taking a step forward.
But Sven turned with his easy grin, cutting her off almost before she finished. “Fabrisse should go, shouldn’t he? He’s the one who’s learning.”
Liene tried to protest, “But—”
“Think about it,” Sven spun his staff casually. “He’s just had success with Whirlweave. If he goes with Veliane, he’ll see how the glyphwork and the tracking mesh together. If he doesn’t learn the technique, he’ll learn which spell he has complements the technique. That’s real field experience. Whereas you—” He gestured toward her with his staff. “You’ve already done this sort of thing a dozen times, haven’t you? You’re too good at it. Not much point in you tagging along when the point is for everyone to grow.”
He’s not wrong. Liene’s only here because I asked her to come along.
The way he said it left no room for contradiction. He wasn’t insulting her—quite the opposite, in fact. He’d complimented her right into a corner.
Liene grimaced. It seemed like she was trying to think of something clever to say.
But Sven only added, with a conspiratorial wink, “Besides, you’re better at herding than burrow-sniffing. Someone has to stay ready to pounce when we flush them.”
That reason—annoyingly—was airtight.
Liene exhaled and let her hands fall to her sides. “Fine. But Fabrisse, you’d better come back with something useful.”
Veliane was already moving before the argument fully settled. She drew a slender stylus from the inner fold of her cloak—bronze capped, its shaft faintly veined with quartz—and let a pale trail of aether run along its length. By the time Fabrisse noticed, she was inscribing arcs into the air itself. Only once, as she slipped between two roots, did she glance back over her shoulder to check whether he was following. Fabrisse stumbled a step forward, clutching his sleeve where Liene had let go. He realized belatedly that Veliane expected him beside her, not behind.
“I’m coming,” Fabrisse murmured as he looked back at Liene one last time.
“Careful not to drop your satchel!” Liene said. He should’ve really left the stone satchel at home if he wasn’t planning on using them.
***
Veliane Veist moved with a steadiness that made Fabrisse think of Lorvan. Every line of her stylus was deliberate, unhurried, as if she already trusted the glyph to hold before the last stroke even settled. Beige aether threaded across the air, folding into neat lattice curves that clung to the world like spider silk.
Veliane was the only other person Fabrisse had ever met, besides Lorvan, who preferred calm. Most thaumaturges he knew avoided it, citing its ‘flatness’ as the main reason for low offensive output. But if you were only trying to contain or detect things, you wouldn’t need higher damage. Also, calm required patience, a kind of emotional self-regulation most students didn’t bother with.
It was rare to see Fabrisse start a conversation first. But today, he had to, or they’d just be walking in silence (which was alright, but not when you need to team up). “So, uh . . .” He tapped on the side of his satchel three times. “Did you choose Mentor Lugano, or did he choose you?”
“I chose him,” Veliane said. “He’s great with glyphcraft, which is also something I want to learn.”
Of course. She likes things with finesse.
The stylus in her hand moved in a final loop that sealed the glyph into place: three layered curves aligned within one another, all tapering to a single point. Fabrisse felt a low vibration that didn’t travel through sound but through the ground. A shimmer rose in his peripheral vision: lines of beige aether spreading beneath them in a web, mapping the top layer of soil.
Veliane pressed two fingers to the stylus and murmured a single word of command that he couldn’t hear. The lattice responded, bending toward a shallow depression to their right.
“Burrow,” she said as she set another containment trap near where she stood. “Don’t run toward this spot, okay?” She pointed at the trap. “This is for the hares.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a spell to pull the hares out?”
“I can throw rocks.”
“You’ll lose the rock.”
“Maybe not.”
Fabrisse crouched, peering at the glow. The pattern didn’t just reveal the hollow; it showed warmth, subtle movements, and quivers of displacement in the loam. He could almost see the nibberhares curled inside as their tiny bodies got mapped as distortions.
I don’t have a spell that can hurt the hares. But I have one that can frighten them.
“I’ll fire the spell now, from . . . this angle.” He walked to a spot that’d align with the traps Sven’d set up. “Can you draw a containment glyph on the fly? Just in case.”
“Yes.” She stopped for a second before adding, “I have a mnemonic for quickcasting. It’s even quicker if I cite it backward like you did, but I can’t.”
“Why do you need to mention that . . .” He murmured to himself as he aligned his hands with the mouth of the burrow. The memories of him confessing to Veliane by citing Draeth’s speech in reverse returned, and the tips of his finger glowed amber.
“Huh?” Veliane raised her voice just a little. “You mean, citing backward? I thought that was a funny thing about you.”
Fabrisse was busy chanting mnemonic for his spell, so he wasn’t thinking much about Veliane’s statement.
“Ash above, ember below. Sight the flame and let it go,”
He then opened his mouth without thinking, “There’s nothing funny about a botched confession . . .”
Her brows furrowed. She cocked her head. “Huh? What confession?”
“What do you mean ‘what confession’?”
[SKILL CAST: Cindermark (Rank I)]
[Estimated Range: 2.2m (86%) + 12% from Celestial Hoarding]
The flare spell shot straight into a burrow. A second later, an entire colony of hares rocketed out of the hole like water smashing through a floodgate.
Comments
Adunn
I don’t trust Sven
yosef melul
Seems like Veliane might be even more socially unaware than our Mc
