Chapter 14: Lobotomite explains magic theory

Kaz didn’t say anything more. Not right away.

But he didn’t stop, either.

Because Kaz Swindleton was stubborn like that. The kind of stubborn that could get into a staring match with a brick wall and walk away feeling victorious.

He nudged another chalk line into place, then frowned at it like it had said something offensive about his hat.

Leonor watched him work, still burning slightly from her previous verbal misfire. But she was watching him differently now. Not the way a noble watches a street performer, or a scholar watches an experiment about to explode. No,she was watching the way a person watches someone, trying very hard not to show that they cared.

Kaz squinted at the circle.

“So... let me get this straight,” he said. “It’s like a frozen lake.”

The circle gurgled. Not buzzed,gurgled. As if vaguely insulted but unsure how to express it.

Leonor blinked. “What?”

“A frozen lake,” Kaz repeated. “Easy to make a hole and chuck something in. Not so easy to bring it back out again unless you know where the ice is thinnest.”

Leonor stared at him.

That metaphor had no right being that good.

The circle fizzed. Possibly in thought. Possibly in reluctant agreement.

“And correct me if I’m wrong here,” Kaz continued, tapping a finger against his temple as if double-checking with the internal filing cabinet of Weird Knowledge, “but from what I’ve gathered,mostly from you, and partly from several significantly less reputable sources,this is how these teleportation circles work, right?”

Leonor blinked again. Less confusion this time. More stunned recalibration.

Kaz cleared his throat and straightened, suddenly adopting the posture of a child delivering a memorized poem to a classroom of highly critical chairs.

“Teleportation circles,” he intoned, “work on a simple principle. First, you’ve got an elemental rune,that’s your destination's plane of travel. Earth, Fire, Water, Air. Choose carefully, as one leads to a stable transition, and another leads to being flambéed in eleven dimensions.”

The circle crackled.

Leonor sat frozen.

Kaz marched on.

“Then there’s your instructions,the spell matrix that tells it how to behave. These runes say things like, ‘Take this object,’ ‘go from here to there,’ ‘try not to scatter their liver along the leyline,’ and so on.”

The circle hummed. Not in disapproval. Thoughtfully.

“And finally, the stabilization ring. That’s the circle bit. Keeps everything from flying apart or exploding sideways in a goat pen three miles west of the intended location, before you even bother to use the thing .”

Kaz turned to her, smug and triumphant, like a fox that had just written a dissertation on henhouse logistics.

“Well?” he asked. “Did I miss anything?”

Leonor opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again because the sheer audacity of him deserved an answer.

“I…” she tried. Then stopped.

Because he was right. The metaphors were wild, the tone irreverent, and it sounded like a fever dream half-remembered during an exam.

But it was right.

“Actually,” she muttered, a little dazed, “that’s… exactly how it works.”

Kaz beamed, a boy basking in the warm light of having been technically correct.

The best kind of correct

Leonor frowned and sat up a little straighter.

“But there’s one more thing,” she said. “The city mandates Earth-aligned circles,not just for stability,but because…”

She hesitated.

Kaz leaned in, all eyes and mischief. “Because…?”

“…because the city’s sewer grid runs on the same alignment. It’s part of the lattice.”

He blinked. “You mean the magical sewage pipes tell the spell where to go?”

“Well, not tell, exactly. More like nudge. It’s practical. Efficient. The mana runoff from the city's waste disposal is already in motion,it’s a sort of… built-in map.”

Kaz stared at her.

“That’s horrifying.”

“It’s clever,” she said defensively.

“It’s horrifying and clever,” Kaz amended. “Which, honestly, describes most of your explanations.”

Leonor scowled. “It doesn’t flush people, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Kaz raised a hand. “Perish the thought.”

The circle gave a nervous little spark.

“Although,” he added, with utmost solemnity, “if it did flush people, it would be doing a spectacular job of it.”

Leonor groaned and rubbed her temples. “You are impossible.”

“Undeniably,” Kaz agreed. “But also terribly helpful.”

She scowled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Because deep down, beneath the frustration and the perfectionism and the thousand lectures echoing through her skull, a small voice whispered:

He listened.

He understood.

And somehow,worse still,he made it make sense.

She looked at the circle again. It no longer buzzed. It pulsed, faintly, like a thing thinking about trying.

Maybe that was enough for now.

Kaz was quiet for maybe three seconds.

Then his eyes lit up, and that was always a bad sign.

“You know,” he said, tapping the edge of the circle like it was a dog that might decide to do a trick, “sorcerers don’t have to worry about turbulence.”

Leonor looked at him warily. “Because they’re reckless lunatics?”

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“Because they don’t fight it,” Kaz said, leaning in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “They just… sort of slide through it. Like eels. Or butter. Or eels made of butter.”

She squinted. “That doesn’t help.”

“No, no, listen,this is useful!” Kaz insisted. “I’ve seen it. Like, actual sorcerers in Brindlward doing things that should’ve boiled them inside out, and the turbulence just,doesn’t stick. It’s like watching someone dance through a hurricane with spoons.”

Leonor gave him a deeply skeptical look. “What kind of things?”

“Oh, all sorts,” Kaz said, now thoroughly launched. “One time I watched a Chimney sweep cast a levitation spell using only a balloon, a shoe, and a very stern poem. The mana storm around him was going bananas, and he just floated out of it like a smug cloud.”

“That’s not,”

“Another time,” he said, barreling on, “I saw a hedge witch summoned a lightning elemental by humming the theme song to a fictional soap opera. No shielding, no runes. Just vibes. The elemental was confused but very polite.”

Leonor blinked. “That isn’t even a spell.”

Kaz pointed dramatically. “Exactly! Sorcery doesn’t cast spells,it happens at things.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

“And there was this old man, right?” Kaz said, now pacing like a conspiracy theorist in front of an invisible chalkboard. “Every Tuesday at dawn, he pours tea on his garden gnome, whispers a limerick, and bam! Instant ward against aerial curses. No turbulence. No feedback. Just the faint smell of bergamot and burning mosquitos.”

Leonor looked like she was trying to decide between taking notes or calling for help.

“And,this one’s my favorite,” Kaz said, eyes wide. “There was this apprentice who couldn’t stabilize her casting, no matter what. She tried everything. Tutors, textbooks, even meditation, she couldnt summon a familiar no matter how hard she tried .

Nothing. So one day, she snaps, grabs a chicken, paints it blue, and declares it her familiar.”

Leonor stared. “That’s not how familiars work.”

Kaz nodded furiously. “Correct. But it believed her. And suddenly, she could cast perfectly. No flare-ups. No turbulence. Just a very judgmental blue chicken and a terrifying amount of power.”

Got herself a scholarship into Boglore for that one

Leonor pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry.”

“Do both,” Kaz said cheerfully. “That’s what Brindlward does to you.”

She sighed. “And how, exactly, is this supposed to help me?”

Kaz tilted his head. “Well. Maybe if the turbulence keeps chewing your spells, stop trying to wrestle it. Let it do its thing. Make friends with it. Or confuse it. Or distract it with poultry.”

Leonor made a strangled sound. “You’re impossible.”

“But helpful,” Kaz added. “Admit it. Some part of your brain is wondering where you could find a blue chicken.”

“I am not,”

“Would you like a blue chicken?”

“No,”

“I can get you one.”

Leonor inhaled very slowly. “Kaz. If you give me a chicken, I will transmute it into a desk lamp.”

Kaz looked delighted. “See? That’s the spirit. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Leonor crossed her arms and fixed him with a look sharp enough to peel paint.

“Look, Kaz ,” she said flatly, “sorcery isn’t the answer.”

“I’m serious.”

Something in her voice shifted. Firmer. Grounded.

Kaz quieted.

“Sorcery is chaos,” she said. “It’s wild guesses and gut feelings and spontaneous chicken rituals. It’s funny in stories, but real magic,actual magic,is consistent. It’s built to work the same way every time. You can get ten trained mages to cast the same spell, and you’ll get ten identical results. That’s the point. That’s what makes it safe. That’s what makes it real.”

Kaz didn’t argue.

Didn’t grin.

Didn’t launch into another strange and highly suspect anecdote.

He just… looked at her.

Not at the frown. Not at the way her jaw clenched, or how she kept adjusting her sleeves like she could smooth the thoughts down too.

Just at her.

And then, quietly, with no smile this time, he said:

“True.”

A beat.

“But what’s wrong with different?”

Leonor opened her mouth. Hesitated.

Because she’d expected resistance. Mockery. Another joke.

Not that.

Not him actually listening.

She glanced away, eyes darting toward the runes, the softly glowing edges of the circle, the chalk dust still clinging to Kaz’s sleeves like he’d hugged a spellbook too hard.

“I’m just saying,” Kaz went on, voice softer now, “maybe not everything needs to be repeatable to be real. Maybe weird works. Maybe once is enough.”

Leonor didn’t respond right away.

But she didn’t argue either.

Somewhere under her ribs, a little part of her,one she kept triple-warded and locked in a metaphorical safe behind reinforced spell logic,shifted slightly. Uncomfortably.

Curiously.

The teleportation circle pulsed again, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Like it was waiting.

Or maybe just listening.

And beside her, Kaz leaned back, arms behind his head, watching the clouds like they might spell out an answer he already half-suspected.

“Besides,” he added, almost absently, “if the world was full of reliable mages casting perfectly identical spells, it’d be boring.”

Leonor rolled her eyes. “You’re allergic to boredom.”

Kaz grinned. “Dangerously so.”

And though she didn’t say it,wouldn’t dream of saying it,she was starting to think that maybe, just maybe…

…that wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

The circle crackled faintly beneath them, its lines humming like something curious, listening.

Maybe it wasn’t precise.

Maybe it wasn’t stable.

But it was awake.

And that, Kaz figured, was step one.

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System Trivia [Node: Boglore Academy of the Arcane & Questionably Supervised]

Boglore is the greatest magic school in the world.

This is not marketing. This is not hyperbole. This is data.

→ Number of magical disciplines offered: 213

→ Number of library sub-basements: 7 (known), 3 (unacknowledged), 1 (sentient)

→ Number of faculty that are technically still alive: statistically significant

Boglore has resources. Boglore has prestige. Boglore has a floating cafeteria that only crashes during equinoxes.

And Boglore has familiars.

Hundreds of them. Cats with six eyes. Ravens that speak prophecy and obscenities. Oozes with excellent attendance records.

But one familiar has recently… escalated.

→ Entity Designation: Subject F-CLUK

→ Species: Chicken (abnormal)

→ Coloration: Blue

→ Expression: Direct. Knowing. Slightly smug.

→ Aura Classification: Flame-Resonant, Divinely Ignored

→ System Prompt: "Hello. Greetings, chicken. Accept system integration?"

→ Response: [YES]

Class Selected: Cockfighter Phoenix

→ *Subtype: Rebirth-Tier Avian Combatant

→ Traits Gained: Fire Immunity, Bladed Spurs, Passive Smolder, Multilingual Taunting

→ Aura Effect: Local ambient temperature increases by +2.7°C per emotional spike

→ Special Ability: “Rise and Peck Again” – revive once per fight in a much worse mood

Perks Unlocked:

→ Featherstorm (Active): Deal area-of-effect damage and irreparable shame

→ Beak of Judgment (Passive): Critical hit chance increases based on moral superiority

→ Eternal Cluck (Cosmetic): Echoes across planes when angry

New Quest Assigned:

→ Quest Title: “Cock of Wrath”

→ Objective: Seek, fight, and hurt System User KEVIN SMITH

→ Reward: Unknown. Possibly justice. Possibly corn.

Reason for targeting KEVIN SMITH: redacted, classified, possibly personal. Possibly very personal.

Isnt this fun