Things moved fairly quickly from that point onward. As the Melora left to retrieve the personal records for Belle and Lecia at the Representative's request, Vaelor took the opportunity to make suggestions regarding proper attire and etiquette and what to expect upon arrival to their destination. All of this was directed at Belle, who struggled between taking in the man's every word and casting furtive, almost fearful glances at the Matron.

  Melora, in turn, could only smile encouragingly, but even Lecia could see the strain. The words left unsaid and the worries she tried to conceal for Belle's sake. Lecia also didn't miss the concerned side-eye the Matron threw her every now and then. For some reason the hulking, silent Warrior was giving her weird looks too, but Lecia tried to ignore it.

  He'd stopped himself from attacking, and if he had any intention of doing so, it would've been then. Lecia considered that they might wait to try something once they were out of earshot and eyesight of the Matron and the orphanage, but dismissed the idea. After all, who here could stop the clearly dangerous man if he decided to kill her and everyone else in this building?

  The Watch, with their extremely minimal presence in Darkreach, likely wouldn't bat an eye. Lecia doubted they'd make a move even if the orphanage burned to the ground. But all of that was simple, useless speculation. No, what Lecia's mind truly latched onto was her immediate future.

  The word “Academy” settled into her thoughts and stayed there, heavy and immovable. Whatever else this meant—who decided it, where it led—didn’t matter yet. What mattered was that the door she had been pressing against for years had finally cracked open.

  At only nine years of age, Lecia wasn't old enough to actually attend the Academy, but that was fine. Assuming what the man in the Academy robes said was true, she now had a foothold to begin her long climb to true Magehood. Granted, she knew nothing about this "Magister", but if he was like her old mentor and could give her the knowledge and power she needed to join the Academy when she came of age, that would be enough.

  It had to be enough.

  Even if it wasn't, or if the man turned out to be a problem, it looked like she didn't have a say in the matter. Regardless of anticipation or misgivings, she was going with this man and his Warrior companion. It was as this thought truly hit home that a loud clap broke Lecia out of her thoughts, the sound sharp, like a final note ringing out.

  “Right then,” Vaelor called out, his tone suddenly businesslike. “As I mentioned previously, you've an hour to make your preparations, after which we will depart this place for Magehollow.” He turned and began making his way toward the door, gesturing to his bodyguard to follow. “We’ll wait outside. I've seen and smelled about as much of these streets as I can stand.”

  Without another word, the Representative of the Veilheim Academy of Runic Arts strode from the room, the Warrior giving Lecia one last inscrutable glance before trailing behind him like a shadow. Somewhere beyond the room, Lecia could hear the scrambling footsteps of eavesdropping orphans fleeing down the hallway as the two men emerged from the dormitory.

  A few moments later, silence returned. The room felt too quiet after the men’s departure, tension lingering like a dark cloud. Lecia glanced at the Matron, who stood rigid, her shoulders almost seeming to strain beneath a weight Lecia neither understood nor cared to. Her face was severe, lips turned down into a grimace, though her eyes held a heaviness Lecia could not name.

  Another moment passed before Matron Melora released a long, weary sigh, her gaze lingering on Lecia and Belle. She said nothing, though frustration and resignation were plainly written across her face. With a forced mental shift, she relaxed her shoulders and gathered herself. She'd bear this burden, as she'd done countless times before and would do countless times more.

  "Right," she said finally, her voice strained but steady. "Both of you need to get cleaned up, dressed proper, and we'll get some food in you both before we head out to meet Representative Vaelor."

  Melora turned and gestured for them to follow, and Lecia fell into step without question, Belle close at her side with her stuffed lamb clutched tight against her chest. The Matron paused only briefly to explain matters to Badi before continuing down the corridor. Together, she led the two girls toward the washroom, her pace brisk and purposeful.

  Inside, Melora directed Belle to the basin first while Lecia waited nearby. By the time Lecia was waved forward, Belle had finished, her face freshly washed and her hair still damp. Lecia wordlessly followed suit and quickly set about washing up. The cool water bit at her skin as she scrubbed herself clean.

  The Matron left them both to dry themselves as she headed out to retrieve their garments. Several moments later, she pressed a bundle of clean clothes into each of their hands. Lecia looked hers over. A plain black woolen skirt, a fitted cotton blouse with narrow sleeves, black low-cut ankle boots, and a worn, faded black shawl for her shoulders.

  Belle hesitated before unfolding her own bundle. Inside were another set of leather ankle boots, a soft gray dress of simple make, the fabric smoother and lighter than Lecia’s wool, with a neatly stitched bodice and sleeves that gathered gently at the wrists. A narrow blue ribbon was tied at the waist, faded but carefully kept, and a clean linen shawl lay folded on top, free of fraying or holes.

  "You’ll wear these," the Matron said brusquely. “If you two are leaving Darkreach and crossing into the Scholar's Quarter, then we'll need to have you looking at least somewhat presentable."

  Though simple, the clothes were far more respectable than the ragged blouse and torn cloak she’d been wearing. Lecia, however, still wanted to keep the cloak close. It was the only keepsake she had from the old woman, left behind when she disappeared. Unfortunately, Matron Melora wouldn't have it. Lecia wanted to protest, and made an effort to do so, but the Matron wouldn't budge on the matter.

  At the very least, she promised to hold onto it while Lecia was away. That was as much as she'd get from the older woman so it would have to do. For now.

  Once both girls were dressed and ready, Melora knelt before them, her voice low and grave as she met their eyes. She warned them that they were leaving Darkreach, and that the world beyond the walls bore little resemblance to what they knew. Veilheim held opportunity, she said, but it was also full of those who preyed on the unwary.

  "Keep your wits about you," she warned, her gaze intense and focused. "And the Magister..." she paused, conflicted. "Well, you're both intelligent young ladies. If things don't seem right, trust your instincts and seek help where you can, okay?"

  Both girls nodded at her caution, though Lecia had already been plenty wary of her situation and the two men. Caution was warranted, always, but Lecia wouldn't allow paranoia to derail her purpose. The Warrior, by contrast, was a simpler danger to understand, and Lecia doubted the larger man would prove much trouble as long as she stayed out of trouble.

  Belle, meanwhile, continued to look mildly terrified and confused by the whole thing, her bright blue-gray eyes reflecting the fear that Lecia could feel emanating from her. It was a fear of the unknown. A fear of life changing too fast, too suddenly. She swallowed and opened her mouth to say something, but slammed it shut just as quickly, giving another comforting squeeze of her lamb instead.

  Melora softened for a moment, glancing between the two girls. "Take care of each other. And take care of yourselves."

  With that, she turned and led them to the front door, her movements heavy with resignation.

  ***

  Outside, Vaelor and his bodyguard stood near a sleek black horseless carriage. The Representative’s irritation was evident, his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the rundown orphanage. His polished boots tapped the cobblestone street in a restless, uneven rhythm.

  “I can’t believe I’ve been stuck with this assignment,” Vaelor muttered, the complaint softer than his usual public bite. He drew out a silver pocketwatch, snapped it open, then shut it again with a sharp click as his eyes drifted to the darkening sky. “Darkreach is tolerable in daylight. This late…” He fell silent, watching shadows creep deeper into the alleys.

  Beside him, Gebel stood silently, the hood of his cloak pulled low over his face. Broad-shouldered and imposing, the man seemed unperturbed by the district’s notorious reputation. His posture, though relaxed, exuded readiness, his cold, dark azure eyes scanning the street with practiced precision.

  Unlike Vaelor, his demeanor was unreadable, but Vaelor found a strange comfort in his silent vigilance. The man was a hired hand, but Vaelor had been his patron for some time now—years, even. They had a good working relationship, and Vaelor, while not going so far as to call the Warrior a friend, trusted him enough to call him one of his closest confidants despite his rough edges.

  "To this day I haven't the foggiest idea why the Council hasn't scoured the entirety of Darkreach from Veilheim," Vaelor continued, more to himself than to the other man. "The city hasn't had any use for this district for ages now. Why leave a festering wound to rot?"

  Gebel snorted and rolled his shoulder like the question itself annoyed him.

  “Because a city needs somewhere fer the rot t’go,” he said, his voice low and gritty. “Scour Darkreach, an’ all that filth don’t vanish. It creeps. Into Tradehaven, into Ironclad, into places the Council actually gives a damn about.”

  He jerked his chin back toward the shadowed streets.

  “Down 'ere, it stays put. Poor, desperate, dangerous folk know where they belong, Watch knows where to keep their peepers, an’ when the city needs a hundred fools fer sewer work or a quiet mess cleaned up, they know where t’find ’em.”

  He shrugged, flat and unsentimental.

  “Looks like a wound, yeah. Truth is, it’s a drain. Block it up, an’ the whole bloody city swells till it bursts.”

  That gave the Representative some pause. He considered Gebel's words and allowed a tentative nod of agreement. "You... may have the right of it," he replied slowly. "I suppose we all have our roles to play. The city districts themselves are no different. Still..."

  He sighed, a hint of weariness and wariness creeping into his voice. "We should’ve left hours ago. Last time I trust Paulman’s nonsense about ‘optimizing our schedule.’ If we had any sense, we’d be gone before nightfall. The streets are rough enough during the day, let alone after dark."

  Gebel cracked his neck and let out a bored yawn. "Too right," the large man said. "But we got what we came for, eh?"

  He paused, scratched at his jaw, then went on, voice lower, still plainspoken.

  “That girl—Lecia, was it?” he said. “Odd bird, that one. Quiet sort, but sharp-like. Too sharp. A bit eerie really, if I'm 'onest. Slipped into the dormitory without me even clockin’ her, smooth as smoke.”

  He gave a short huff.

  “That takes skill. Practice. Loads of it. Adepts back in the Combat Academy sweat pullin’ that off clean, even the roguish types. A slip of a lass like her catchin' me blind like that? No proper trainin'? That ain't right, Gadwyn. It ain't normal.”

  Vaelor arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement coloring his features. "Oh? Are you sure you're not just losing your edge in your old age, Gebel?"

  "Oi, that ain't a funny joke, milord," Gebel growled, staring the thinner, smaller man down. "Best choose your words with a bit more care, eh?"

  Vaelor merely glared back, the two men squaring off silently for a moment. A moment later the Representative let out a quiet chuckle while the Warrior snorted in amusement. The threat in Gebel's voice would've had real weight to it had the slight come from anyone else, but as things stood, there was no real animosity to be found.

  "Frankly, I don't see the need for all the caution myself," he finally replied, his amused grin slipping into something more serious. He absently ran his thumb over the engraved cover of his pocketwatch as he spoke. "These squalorspawn are all the same. Filthy, unpolished, and devoid of even a drop of magickal potential despite the abundant aether in this part of the city."

  He cast a glance back at the orphanage, his tone growing pensive. "Though, regarding the child... yes, there is something there, I’ll admit. She does have a... strangeness about her, and her aether signature is rather unique. A small talent, perhaps, but only that. Whether it amounts to anything substantial in the end remains to be seen."

  Gebel shook his head and turned away from the man, his flinty cobalt eyes sweeping the streets. "Ain’t convinced, eh?" he muttered. "Fair's fair, but I'm tellin' ya, Gadwyn, my gut's screamin' somethin's off. Not just about the girl, but this whole deal. Smells like trouble," his eyes narrowed. "Smells like politics an' wealth an' dark dealin's."

  Vaelor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked up at the sky, the shadows lengthening as the sun dipped lower behind the buildings. The timing of their arrival weighed heavily on him. Being in Darkreach this late was risky, even with Gebel at his side.

  He knew Gebel was right.

  Vaelor was not technically one of Lord Threvin's retainers, but he did work closely with the man on several occasions—this assignment being one such case. He knew the Magister and Noble to be a scheming sort, but Vaelor was not part of his inner circle. He was not privy to his plans. His was the role of the liaison and nothing more.

  Regardless, he didn't need Gebel's instincts to tell him something was shifting on someone's board. Whether Threvin was the mastermind or there was some larger force at play, the Representative didn't know, nor did he care to find out. He would do what he came to do and be done with it once all was said and done.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Whatever his plans for the children, it was none of his concern.

  "Perhaps you're right," Vaelor conceded with a small shrug of indifference. "But even so, such potential plots are not for us to worry about. We've a job to do and I'll see it done before night's end."

  Gebel grunted in response and a moment of silence passed before he gave Vaelor a sidelong glance. "An' that other lass? The Lord's brat?" he asked, spitting the words with a hint of disdain. "Why's he botherin' with 'er? Looks like she’d fold if ya breathed too hard on 'er."

  Vaelor’s eyebrow twitched and the smallest of frowns crossed his face before it settled back into his usual impassive mask. "The Young Miss clearly has some role to play in whatever political play His Grace is scheming. That is the only reason any of these 'reclamations' happen. The children are cast aside, only relevant and wanted when a Lord or Lady has need of a convenient pawn for their games."

  Seeing the Warrior's bitter scowl, Vaelor gave the man a grim smile. "Oh come now, old man. You of all people should know how these things work."

  Gebel grunted and spat to the side, disgust creasing his features.

  "Yeah, s'pose I do at that," he grumbled. "Don't mean I don't got my own opinions."

  He certainly had something to say about nobles and their games—a great many things to say, in fact—but he knew better than to push too hard. He’d worked for Vaelor fro a long time, but he'd known the futility and frsutration of dealing with the wealthy and powerful long before he'd ever met the man or even arrived in Veilheim.

  Even so, something didn’t sit right with him about this trip. Maybe it was his gut talking. Maybe it was years of clearing out monster dens back in his days as an adventurer. Or maybe it was instinct honed on the frontlines of the Abyssal Wastes. If Gebel had to guess, it was probably all the time he spent in his younger days surviving the Dregonnian Empire’s cutthroat politics.

  Whatever it was, Gebel didn’t envy the two girls in the slightest.

  As if sensing Gebel’s lingering thoughts, Vaelor sighed, glancing once more at the orphanage. "Grand a city as Veilheim is, I know our petty political squabbles pale in comparison to what the Empire has to deal with. Still, best to simply get the job done and leave well enough alone."

  "I ain't a fool, Gadwyn," Gebel replied, arms crossed as he followed Vaelor's gaze to the orphanage. "Even a bloke like me knows when t'keep his 'ead down an' do what he's told. Woulda been a corpse rottin' in the gutter long ago if I didn't."

  "Good to know," was all the Representative got out in response before the sound of the orphanage door creaking open drew their attention.

  Melora stepped out first, shoulders squared as if posture alone could bargain with fate. Lecia followed in her wake, freshly washed and re-dressed in the plain black skirt and blouse, shawl set neatly over her shoulders. Her face was clean, her expression dispassionate, eyes fixed past Vaelor and the street and the orphanage itself, locked on the carriage.

  Belle came beside her in muted gray, blue ribbon at her waist, linen shawl folded close, toy lamb still clutched like an anchor; her gaze flicked between the men with the wary uncertainty of someone watching the ground shift under her feet.

  Vaelor shut his pocketwatch with a crisp click and let his eyes travel over them once, assessing. “At last,” he said, controlled impatience sharpening the word. He turned toward the carriage. “Get in. We are already much later to leave than I’d prefer.”

  Before the girls could approach, the Matron held them back, leaning down to whisper something to them both. Gebel watched on silently as the two nodded in turn. With that, the Matron gave them both one last nod, rose to her full height, and stepped back into the orphanage before quietly shutting the door. The Warrior said nothing about the exchange.

  Rather than dwell on it, he simply moved to open the carriage door for the girls, his gaze lingering on Lecia as she approached. He believed every word he’d said about her, and despite Vaelor’s dismissal, Gebel knew the man wasn’t blind to potential. He was just too cautious a man to invest any true interest.

  Lecia climbed in without a word, her mind elsewhere. The moment she took her seat, her focus drifted away from Darkreach, away from the orphanage door that had just closed, away from the district that had shaped her. She had slipped beyond these streets before in smaller ways, but this felt different. Almost final. Something in her chest insisted she would not see the rusty iron gates of the orphanage again for a long while, if ever.

  Belle sat next to her, shoulders hunched, toy lamb compressed against her ribs. Her breathing was shallow, controlled in the way frightened children tried to imitate calm. Lecia watched the tremor in her hands with detached notice, then let her gaze shift to the narrow window as the carriage lurched into motion.

  She settled into the corner of the carriage, the soft creak of the wheels and the uneven clatter of loose cobblestone below becoming a distant hum in her ears. The world outside the window was already dimming, the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the narrow streets of Darkreach.

  Both the Respresentative and his grizzled escort slipped in next, seating themselves opposite the two girls. Lecia's attention was briefly caught as she watched the man from the Academy reach out and place a hand on the inner carriage wall next to him, where an engraved sigaldric array she hadn't noticed lit up briefly with infused aether and intent.

  With a sudden jerk, the carriage moved forward, and before long, they were smoothly traversing through and out of Darkreach, leaving the orphanage behind.

  Lecia barely registered the musty smell of the worn leather seats or the occasional sway of the carriage as it navigated the uneven cobblestones. Her thoughts drifted, scattering from one curiosity to the next and catching on nothing in particular—at least when she wasn't thinking about the Academy. Veilheim, beyond Darkreach, felt like an expanse she hadn’t quite imagined.

  Belle sat across from her, eyes wide and doll squeezed against her tiny body in what Lecia was beginning to suspect was a nervous habit. Lecia noticed how her small frame trembled, how her gaze darted nervously around the cabin. For a while, the pale-skinned girl was silent, her anxiety palpable in the tense way she held herself.

  But as the carriage turned westward into Tradehaven, that fear shifted into something else. The streets grew wider, cleaner. The buildings, once huddled and crumbling, now stretched upward, their exteriors less worn and more orderly. Belle’s eyes began to change, widening in curiosity rather than the fear from just moments ago.

  The city announced itself long before it revealed its shape. Voices carried through the open streets, layered and unhurried, and lanternlight washed the stone in warm bands of gold. Movement was everywhere—carts rattling, doors closing, footsteps crossing paths—nothing like the narrow, lightless corridors of Darkreach.

  Belle pressed closer to the window, her fingers slackening around the stuffed lamb as her gaze tracked every passing glow and shadow, her expression suspended somewhere between disbelief and delight. Lecia studied her in silence. Her curiosity was shifting, giving way to something brighter, more fragile.

  The pale girl had never seen streets like these. The orphanage walls had been her entire world. Lecia herself had crossed beyond the Beggar’s Quarter only a handful of times, and even then she’d clung to the familiar edges of Darkreach, skirting Tradehaven with caution and never straying far enough to feel truly exposed.

  As the carriage rolled on, Lecia felt a strange sort of detachment. Darkreach receded behind them, shrinking in both distance and weight, and she couldn’t decide whether the sensation brought relief or unease. The air outside was different here—cleaner, less oppressive—and the smells of rot and desperation were replaced by spice, oil, and warm metal.

  When they crossed into Tradehaven proper, the noise swelled into a measured clamor, a rhythm of commerce rather than survival. Shops were closing for the evening, merchants counting coin and folding canvas beneath suspended lanterns that cast soft halos over their work.

  The carriage passed storefront after storefront, each window a small, curated world. Rich bolts of fabric, delicate rune-crafted clockwork that gleamed with precise intent, gemstones set out as if daring passersby to imagine owning them. Lecia had seen such things before, but only in fragments. Here they unfolded without hesitation. Displayed without apology.

  She hadn’t realized how vast Veilheim truly was. Time slipped by as the carriage continued, daylight surrendering completely to night, yet the city showed no sign of retreat. People moved without the tight vigilance she knew too well. No one flinched at sudden sounds. No one watched every shadow. These streets were not ruled by hunger or fear of sudden violence.

  Beyond the Beggar's Quarter, people walked with direction rather than desperation. Their clothes were neat, their posture open, their attention free to wander. They belonged to a version of life Lecia couldn't fathom—though she'd never really tried. Even now, with all this new sensory information, her own curiosity was there, but limited.

  Ultimately, it was all mere set dressing to the true object of her fascination. Those brilliant dark spires towering over the city in the distance. As they continued toward their destination, those towers loomed ever closer, and Lecia found her gaze lingering more and more.

  Belle pressed her face against the glass, her silvery blue eyes gleaming in the warm light of the runic streetlamps outside. For the first time since they had left the orphanage, she let out a small, breathless sound—a whisper of amazement. Lecia, glanced her way for only a second or two before her own dull gold eyes were pulled back to those distant towers, her disinterest in Belle’s reactions and the district in general growing with each passing minute.

  As the carriage moved deeper along the outer districts, the architecture became more intricate. The dwindling foot traffic and increasingly quiet stalls and storefronts were replaced by newer constructions—taller, more elegant buildings that gleamed even in the dark of night. Smooth cobblestone streets wound through the district, lined with street lanterns that glowed faintly with runes, casting a soft golden light.

  Eventually, they reached a fortified internal checkpoint at Tradehaven’s southern edge. After a brief inspection of the Respresentative's credentials. the two attentive, but clearly bored Watchmen motioned them forward through the gate. And just like that, the carriage finally passed into Magehollow, the fabled Scholar's Quarter itself.

  Lecia could feel the shift immediately. It wasn’t just the cleaner streets or the stately buildings—it was something in the air itself. A faint hum, like an ever-present buzz of something electrical just beneath the surface, made her skin tingle. It was more than the abundance of ambient aether so thick she could almost smell it.

  The streets were quieter. Still full, but less bustling than the Merchant's Quarter. Both districts were busy despite the later hour, but Magehollow seemed almost orderly. People moved with a more practiced haste.

  Lecia watched the odd Academy student pass by, identifiable by their black and silver robes as much as by the tomes and scrolls they carried. They hurried past, their faces marked by exhaustion and focus. Alchemists moved between workshops with hands stained by strange substances, while artificers bore intricate, rune-carved devices from one place to another.

  The buildings here were a mix of old and new design and construction, but unlike Darkreach’s sagging structures, they all stood proud, their foundations solid. Some were adorned with runes she didn’t yet recognize or know the functions of, while others had windows glowing softly with the light of magickal experiments taking place inside.

  The smell of parchment and ink, mixed with alchemical ingredients, drifted faintly on the breeze. The centerpiece of it all was the Veilheim Academy of the Runic Arts, rising above the rest of the district like a mountainous fortress.

  Its dark stone walls and tall spires stood stark against the backdrop of the pale white moon, casting long shadows over the streets below. It wasn’t imposing in the way Lecia had imagined. It wasn’t terrifying or forbidding. Instead, it felt... inevitable. Like it had always been waiting for her, even though she had only just arrived.

  Her breath caught as the carriage slowed, rolling toward the Academy’s grand gates. This was it. The Veilheim Academy of Runic Arts. Her thoughts raced, heart quickening as the building loomed closer. She would finally walk through those gates, into the world of magick and knowledge she had only ever glimpsed from the alleyways of Tradehaven during her rare excursions out of Darkreach.

  But as the carriage came to a stop just short of the courtyard entrance, something shifted in the air.

  Vaelor stood first, stepping out with his usual grace, dark robes whispering as he moved. Lecia reached out to the interior door handle, ready to follow after, but her hand froze halfway when she caught the Representative's look. The man glanced between her and Belle before speaking.

  “Stay in the carriage,” he said, tone brusque. “I’ll return shortly.”

  Lecia blinked, caught flat-footed. Stay? Here? Her fingers hovered near the latch as if her hand hadn’t yet accepted the instruction. Vaelor was already walking, posture precise, the heels of his boots clicking oddly loud on the cobblestone. In moments, he'd vanished beneath the iron-wrought archway without so much as a glance backward.

  Silence settled in his wake, thick with the Academy’s presence. Lecia forced herself to sit still, jaw tightening as she stared at the gates through the narrow window. She could feel it, the hum beneath the stones, the density of shaped aether and layered intent behind those walls, close enough to taste. Being made to wait outside was almost more than she could stand. Still, she endured. She waited. She occupied her mind with fanciful thoughts of what she'd look like in an Academy uniform.

  Belle shifted beside her, fidgeting with the toy lamb’s legs until the thread creaked. She swallowed, eyes flicking toward Gebel and then away again. Gebel, who'd been content to remain a silent sentinel, clearly picked up on the girl's hesitation.

  "Out with it, girl," he grunted, eyeing Belle with no small amount of annoyance. "You got somethin' to say, say it."

  The girl squeaked, and sunk into herself, as if his attention might wander away if she made herself small enough. After a moment, though, she swallowed again and spoke up, her words quiet and halting.

  “I-I'm sorry,” she murmured at last, voice small, “I just wanted to... m-my f—Lord Threvin, I mean…" she paused and sucked in a breath, waiting for some kind of retribution for her insolence. None came, and a moment later she continued. "Wh-What sort of... what kind of p-person is he?”

  The Warrior gave a harsh bark of laughter that had even Lecia flinching out of her meandering thoughts. He leaned back against the carriage wall, arms crossed, a mirthless smile twisting beneath his hood.

  “A noble,” he said, like it explained everything that needed explaining. After a beat, he added with the blunt impact of a carelessly swung hammer, “Means he’ll smile when it suits, bite when it pays, an’ call it duty an' a privilege either way.”

  Belle went still. Her fingers tightened around the lamb until the cloth compressed hard against her ribs. Lecia said nothing, but she listened, quietly and intently, committing the words to memory with the same discipline she used on runes. After all, this was evidently the man she'd officially be studying runecraft under. Any information would be helpful.

  At least, it was supposed to be. Unfortunately, the meaning of Gebel's words didn't fully land—not with Lecia, nor with Belle. That said, Lecia was able to get a general sense that the large, old Warrior didn't like her new would-be mentor. She didn't know the man sitting across from her in any sense, but whether or not his opinion was on the mark, his words were enough to remind her to stay vigilant.

  With that, the cabin fell into an uncomfortable silence.

  Time passed in uneven pieces. Voices drifted outside, the soft scrape of boots on stone, the occasional rustle of robes. A few passersby glanced at the carriage and moved on. Lecia kept her gaze fixed on the gates, refusing to fidget, refusing to look like a child left waiting.

  Finally Vaelor reappeared, striding back with purpose. Lecia straightened, a sharp flare of hope rising before she could stop it. It died just as quickly when she saw his face, set and impatient. He climbed in, shut the door, and with another flare of aether and intent pushed into the engraved sigil within the cabin, the carriage rolled forward.

  Not toward the gates, but away from them.

  For a heartbeat, Lecia’s thoughts snagged. Her stomach sank, heavy and cold, and she felt the disappointment hit like a physical thing, a bitter weight pressing down on her chest. She sat, stiff and quiet as she stared out at the receding ironwork. As the carriage moved further and further away, she finally broke her silence, unable to stop the words that spilled out.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, voice flat but edged, the smallest fracture in her usual stillness. “Why aren’t we going in?”

  Vaelor’s eyes flicked to her, faint amusement glinting there, clinical and unkind. “Ah, you thought this was the grand arrival, didn't you?” he asked, as if she were na?ve for wanting what he had dangled in front of her. “No, child. We stopped so I could make a report. That is all.”

  Lecia’s fingers curled once in her lap, slow and controlled. “But—”

  “We are not going to the Academy,” Vaelor cut in, raising a hand as if ending a discussion with a servant. “Our destination is the Threvin Estate in Noblecrest. That is where your instruction will take place.”

  The words landed and stayed. Lecia’s chest tightened, then steadied, her disappointment cooling to a background simmer as she considered the Representative's answer. Of course her tutor wouldn't be in the Academy now. It was late. He would be at home, and Lecia was too young to attend the Academy.

  That made sense.

  The logic settled into her mind, cooling her frustration and disappointment even further. She looked back once through the window, watching the Academy’s spires slip behind rooftops, swallowed by the night and the district’s winding streets. That majestic structure would have to wait. Lecia understood that, but the disappointment didn't entirely abate.

  Choosing to accept the situation as it was, Lecia settled back into her seat, eyes and mind forward once more. She let the disappointment sit where it belonged, a stone in the pocket of her thoughts. The Academy was still there. Waiting. And if Veilheim insisted on detours, then she would deal with it like she dealt with everything else.

  She would simply endure.