He can’t conjure grief, can barely levitate a pebble, and once submitted a stanza instead of a spell schematic. Meet Fabrisse Kestovar: aspiring thaumaturge rock collector, confirmed pastry enthusiast, professional bird whisperer, and perhaps the least emotionally competent student in the Order’s seven-hundred-year history. Which makes it all the more confusing when an ancient magical relic suddenly wakes up after forty-seven years of silence, launches itself across a holy sanctum, and crashes into his face. Now bonded to a forgotten epochal calibration system buried beneath layers of ritual and myth, Fabrisse gains access to the PRAXIS NODE, a long-dormant, possibly AI-driven interface that delivers cryptic quests, sarcastic prompts, and calibration objectives measured in light-years. He has a Legacy Token, no combat thresholds, and a growing collection of useless rocks the system insists are ‘historically significant.’ He’s also the only one who can see any of it.
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