Elena stood frozen in front of the chalkboard, squinting at the jumbled mess of equations and messy script scrawled across it.
"Let me get this straight," she said slowly, turning to face Master Cleon, who had returned from a local council meeting early and decided to throw a minor economic challenge at his apprentice for 'practical learning.' "The Guild of Glasswrights is threatening to raise the prices of all mirror imports because of increased transport fees from the north, and if they do, the tax revenues from the noble quarter drop by ten percent?"
Cleon gave her a sharp nod, pouring himself a cup of watered wine while flipping open a ledger on his desk. "Exactly. And unless you can propose a viable solution by end of day, we may have to cave into the Guild's demands."
"I'm not even qualified to haggle at a vegetable stall," Elena muttered, eyes darting back to the numbers.
But it was true—this wasn't just theoretical. Over the last few days, she'd begun to understand just how tightly everything was interwoven in this city. What one merchant guild did could ripple into everything: wages, food prices, even temple donations.
And apparently, she was expected to keep up.
---
Elena took a deep breath and sat down at the long table in the corner of the study, brushing aside a stack of tax scrolls to make space. The candlelight flickered across the pages as she laid out the materials Cleon had given her—handwritten ledgers, an old merchant map of the region, and a creased document listing the last five years of mirror import tariffs.
At first glance, it was all a blur. But after working every day in the study, organizing scrolls, copying figures, and cross-referencing numbers, something inside her had begun to shift. She was no longer helpless in the face of paperwork.
She dipped her quill into the inkpot and began:
Base price of mirror (imported): 2 silver crowns per panel
Transport cost from Norvale (north): recently increased by 40%, from 30 copper to 42 copper per unit
Local tax on luxury goods: 15%
Volume of mirrors sold to nobility last month: 480 panels
Projected noble demand drop if price increases by more than 10%: -30%
She frowned. "So if the mirror price jumps too much, nobles buy fewer, and the city loses tax revenue."
But why had the transport fee jumped in the first place?
She turned to the merchant map, scanning the route from Norvale to Duskfall. A red line marked the caravan trail through the Glemwood. She noticed a scribbled note:
Road patrols reduced—bandit sightings increasing. Freight delays common. Caravan Guild complaining.
"That's it," she whispered. "It's not greed—it's danger."
The transporters weren't trying to squeeze profit. They were charging more because the roads were dangerous again. Which meant…
She shot up from her chair, scroll in hand. "Master Cleon!"
He raised a bushy brow from behind a stack of parchment. "You found something?"
"Maybe," Elena said, her heart thumping. "The Glasswrights are raising mirror prices because the caravan routes are unsafe. If the city reinstated regular patrols through Glemwood, the transport costs might go back down. That would stabilize mirror prices without bowing to the Guild's demands."
Cleon stared at her for a long moment.
Then a slow grin spread across his face. "Well done, apprentice."
Elena flushed. "I just followed the numbers."
"That's what economists do. Now, let's see if the city council listens."
---
That evening, Elena was still buzzing with a strange combination of pride and exhaustion. Solving a real economic issue—who even was she now?
She returned to her little cot in the apprentice wing, her arms filled with two more books Cleon had recommended: The Trade Wars of the Eastern Reaches and A Layperson's Guide to Urban Tariffs.
As she sat cross-legged on the bed and opened the first one, a soft knock sounded on the doorframe.
It was Lady Aveline.
"Elena," the noblewoman said, her smile gentle as always. "You missed supper."
"I did?" Elena looked up, startled. "Sorry! I didn't notice the time. Master Cleon asked me to—well, it doesn't matter."
"I heard from the steward," Aveline said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. "Your solution about the mirror tariffs is already being considered for implementation. Some are calling it brilliant."
Elena blinked. "Really?"
Aveline sat on the edge of the cot, watching her. "You've come far. When you arrived, you didn't even know the price of bread."
Elena gave a wry smile. "Now I know the price of mirror glass, bandit attacks, and patrol funding."
Aveline tilted her head. "You're not just surviving here. You're learning. Changing."
Elena swallowed, unsure why the words made her heart ache a little.
"I'm still the same person," she said softly.
Aveline reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Elena's ear. "That's the best part. You've stayed yourself, even while growing."
Elena didn't know how to respond to that.
So she didn't.
---
The next morning, Elena woke early to join Marger in the courtyard to help with garden maintenance. Despite her recent studies, she didn't want to forget the other parts of her life in Duskfall—the hands-on, gritty things that taught her more about people than any book ever could.
"Can you believe this?" Marger grunted as they hauled compost buckets. "The price of rice just jumped five copper crowns per sack! My aunt's furious."
"Is that a lot?" Elena asked.
"It is when you only make 15 copper crowns a day. One sack used to last a week for a family of four."
Elena frowned. "Why the price jump?"
"No idea," Marger shrugged. "Maybe crop failure? Or greedy wholesalers."
Elena made a mental note to ask Cleon later. But the moment passed as they both broke into laughter when Marger accidentally tipped the compost into her own shoe.
---
Later that day, she joined Liora in the scriptorium. Liora had been helping preserve old manuscripts for the Temple Archive—her gloved fingers stained with the soft ink of restoration.
"You look tired," Liora said as Elena sat beside her, holding her own copy of The Merchant's Code.
"I was learning about tariffs," Elena said with a sigh. "Apparently, everything is more complicated than it looks."
Liora chuckled. "Even bread?"
"Especially bread."
They worked side by side, the silence between them comfortable now. The warmth of the late afternoon sun spilled through the stained glass, casting golden-blue shadows across their open books.
"Liora?" Elena asked after a while.
"Hm?"
"Do you think it's... possible to understand this world? Not just live in it, but really understand it?"
Liora didn't answer immediately. She closed her book and leaned back, eyes thoughtful.
"I think you're already doing it," she said. "One page at a time."
---
That night, Elena opened the mysterious note again.
The paper, old and brittle, still carried the strange mark on the corner—the five-pointed star hidden in a circle, now etched in her memory.
She had shown it to no one. Not yet.
But the deeper she dove into this world—its economy, its politics, its people—the more she felt the shadow of that forgotten star trailing just behind her.
She had been given this note for a reason.
And someday soon, she'd have to follow where it led.
---
Yes, I'd Like to Rage… Politely
Elena Virelle had never thought she'd find herself calmly discussing taxation while scrubbing the soot from an alchemical furnace.
"Three percent on imports, five percent on guild-certified goods," mumbled Master Ilvene, who was perched on a ladder with a soot-covered ledger in one hand and a spoonful of pickled radish in the other.
Elena choked on the fumes and blinked at him from behind her oversized goggles. "Wait—five percent after the guild certification fee? That's daylight robbery!"
Ilvene's spoon paused mid-air. "That's bureaucracy, dear apprentice."
She grimaced, wiping her forehead with the hem of her sleeve, which only left more grime on her skin. "Does anyone even benefit from that besides the guild elders?"
"The Crown gets its cut. And the guilds, of course. You'll understand one day."
Elena doubted she ever would. She jotted the numbers down on the back of her recipe sheet, right between "mandrake infusion: 12 silver per vial" and "common healing salve: sells for 5 copper each unless blessed."
She did the math. If she bought ingredients for a basic salve—ashroot, springwater, powdered hornet amber—it cost her about 2 copper. If she sold it at market price, her profit per salve was 3 copper, minus taxes and fees if done officially.
At this rate, she'd make a living—but barely. Still, better than begging on the street or taking dangerous escort jobs like she'd seen some adventurers do.
Ilvene clambered down the ladder. "Right. The real alchemy comes not from boiling things but from navigating the economy."
"That's the most depressing thing I've heard all day," she muttered, and he only grinned.
---
By late afternoon, she dragged herself to the side table and dropped into the chair, sore and still mildly smelling of burnt sage.
Liora was already waiting, perched on the edge of the seat with a small book balanced on one knee. She glanced up and offered a faint smile.
"You have soot in your hair," she said simply.
"I have soot in my soul," Elena groaned. "Today I learned about taxes."
Liora winced. "My condolences."
Elena pulled out her own worn notebook. "I also learned that if you sell things without a guild's blessing, you risk fines."
Liora nodded. "It's their way of maintaining quality standards. Supposedly. Also control."
"I figured. They even regulate the cost of love potions."
Liora arched an eyebrow. "You planning to brew some?"
Elena flushed. "No! Of course not! It's just—well, they're expensive. Two silver for a basic one."
"Not to mention illegal to use without consent. And they test the product. Once a month."
"Sounds like a very awkward job."
"Imagine someone getting magically smitten with a passing goose instead."
They both snorted. A few students glanced over, and Elena quickly quieted.
Once they'd calmed down, Liora leaned in and tapped the corner of Elena's notebook. "You should compare prices across guilds. Some districts charge one copper more for the same potion, depending on if you're in the Lower Ring or Mid-Ring."
"I thought guild rates were standardized?"
"On paper, yes. But guilds aren't the Crown. They get away with a lot."
"Sounds like corruption."
"Sounds like a business model."
Elena scribbled furiously in her notebook, drawing up a new column labeled: "Mid-Ring markup = ?? Check later."
---
That evening, she returned to her shared dorm room and flopped face-first into the cot. The bed creaked like it was about to give up.
She had barely closed her eyes when the faint crackle of magic pulsed in the air.
She shot upright.
The envelope from Chapter 10—the one with no sender, no seal, and no explanation—had been tucked away in the lining of her satchel.
Now it glowed faintly, as if responding to something in the room.
She fumbled for it, fingers slightly trembling, and held it up.
The handwriting, once faded, had shifted. It was clearer now, legible.
"You are not meant to remain a pawn."
Her breath caught. The same sentence… but the ink had changed color—from plain black to a deep violet, the same hue often used in arcane correspondence.
"Okay. Okay. That's not alarming at all," she muttered.
She reached for a detection scroll—Ilvene had let her copy one—pressed it over the paper, and activated it.
The scroll hummed, but then… nothing.
No registered sender, no arcane resonance, no identification glyphs.
"That's impossible," she whispered.
There were only three types of magic that left no trace.
Divine, which required the blessing of a god.
Forbidden, which required a death.
And Unbound, which... didn't officially exist.
---
She brought it to Ilvene the next day, carefully wrapped.
He took one glance and pushed it back. "Nope. Not touching that."
"You haven't even looked at it!"
"That's exactly why I won't. If you're involved in something bigger than either of us, I'd rather stay alive. You should burn it."
"I—I think it's trying to tell me something."
"That's how it starts, Elena."
"I'm not being manipulated!"
"Yet."
She didn't press further. Instead, she slipped the letter back into her satchel and avoided eye contact the rest of the morning.
---
By lunch, she was back in the market district, noting prices for reagents.
Common salt: 1 copper per sack
Spiritroot powder: 4 copper per dram
Numbvine extract: 7 copper, occasionally 6 if you haggled well
Crimson thread (used in scrying runes): 12 copper per yard
Blank scroll parchment: 3 copper each or 10 for 25 copper (bulk rate)
She did the math again.
A beginner alchemist working solo could earn about 30–40 copper a day if lucky. That was 3–4 silver crowns per tenday—enough for food and lodging but not much else.
Apprentices like her earned less, especially while still learning. She got a small stipend of 15 copper per day, which barely covered meals.
Still, she was learning. Slowly. Grinding away like sand against glass.
And now, something deeper was stirring.
Whether it was the note's cryptic warning, or the way Liora had started walking closer to her—so close their arms brushed without either pulling away—Elena could feel it.
Change was coming.
And this time, she wouldn't be swept away like flotsam.
She would ride the wave.
Even if she had to do it while dodging guild taxes.
---
[End of Chapter 22]