Principal Albrecht had seen many things in his tenure—revolts, inspections, and even the occasional fire—but he had never seen a military officer losing a wrestling match to a ball of kitchen twine and a cow.
He saw the opening I had gifted him. If the "Stress-Test" continued, the Grey Cloak would eventually snap and someone would get hurt. But if the ground itself was "broken," the test was over.
"CEASE!" Albrecht bellowed, standing atop his chair. "Master Verne is right! Look at the way the silt-twine is vibrating! The resonance is off the charts!"
He jumped down and rushed to the Grey Cloak's side, grabbing the officer's muddy arm. "Courier, we must evacuate the children! If the limestone shelf collapses during a heavy-pack drill, the entire West Wing could slide into the valley! I cannot have Imperial casualties on my watch!"
"It's just... a man with... a string!" the Grey Cloak spat, trying to wipe pickle juice from his eyes.
"A man with a doctorate in Silt-Dynamics!" I corrected, grabbing Arin and Lysa by their collars. "Quickly, children! The sub-soil is agitated! To the exit! Follow the safety-percolation path!"
I didn't give the Courier a chance to argue. I steered my children through the laughing, shouting mob. Cyrus and Mira gave us a quick, secret nod of relief as they blended back into the crowd toward the dorms.
Ten minutes later, the Verne family was halfway down the hill, leaving a very confused cow and an even angrier Imperial officer behind.
The Architect's Homecoming
Avaris was in the garden, hanging laundry, when we crested the hill. She stopped mid-reach, her eyes widening as she saw the three of us walking home in the middle of a school day. Arin was still covered in sand, and I was still holding a tangled nest of twine.
"Ilyas?" she asked, dropping a damp pillowcase. "Why are the children home? Did the Academy burn down? Or did someone finally realize you're all a bunch of frauds?"
"The silt, Mother!" Arin shouted, running to her and hugging her waist. "The silt was angry! Father saved us with a mob and a cow!"
Avaris looked at me, her eyebrow arching so high it nearly vanished into her hairline. "A cow? Ilyas, please tell me you didn't."
I sat down on the porch steps, exhausted. "I had to, Avaris. The Grey Cloak was going to break them. I had to create a... a diversion of scale. I may have inadvertently convinced half the town that the Academy is sinking into a giant mud-pit."
I explained the "Great Silt Stampede"—the Higgins fence-post spear, Martha's G-sharp pickles, and the way the Grey Cloak looked when the twine caught his ankles.
Avaris stood frozen for a second. Then, a small snort escaped her. Then another. Within seconds, the "Sentry of the North" was doubled over, clutching her sides, her laughter echoing across the valley.
"A 'Silt-Measurement Line'?" she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, my brilliant, ridiculous Architect. You didn't lead a rebellion; you led a parade of idiots!"
She walked over and poked me in the chest, her eyes dancing with mischief. "You know, Master Verne, I've seen you build fortresses and design irrigation systems... but I think your true calling is being the 'Pied Piper of Petty Problems.' Does the Great Silt Archive have a section on how 'cool' you looked in your muddy nightshirt?"
"It was a scholar's vest!" I protested, though I couldn't help but grin.
"Of course it was," she teased, pulling me into a hug that smelled like sunshine and laundry. "My hero. The man who defeated the Empire with a ball of string and a grumpy neighbor."
Arin and Lysa joined the hug, the four of us standing there in the afternoon sun. For the first time in weeks, the shadow of the Grey Cloak felt small.
"So," Avaris said, pulling back and ruffling Arin's hair. "Since the school is 'sinking,' I suppose we have a free afternoon. Who wants to help me sharpen the 'Boring Spoons' for tomorrow?"
The family is safe, the legend of the "Silt Shift" is born, and the Grey Cloak is likely still washing pickle brine out of his hair.
The afternoon sun painted the backyard in gold as Avaris cleared a space near the old oak tree. She wasn't holding a sword today, but a wooden training lath. Arin and Lysa stood before her, looking much more focused than they ever did during a math lesson.
The Art of the Tedious Takedown
"Alright, listen up," Avaris said, her voice dropping into that rhythmic, commanding tone she used for training. "The Grey Cloaks are strong, and they expect a fight. They expect speed. But as your father proved today, the one thing a warrior cannot handle is... confusion through boredom."
She beckoned Arin forward. "Arin, pretend I'm a guard trying to grab your shoulder to haul you to a transport wagon. Normally, I'd teach you to break my thumb and sweep my leg. But today, we use the Verne Protocol."
Arin grinned. As Avaris reached out, instead of dodging, Arin simply... slumped. He became a human sack of flour, letting his weight settle in the most awkward way possible.
"Now!" Avaris commanded. "The Counter-Lecture!"
"Oh! Careful of my shoulder, Officer!" Arin squeaked, his voice rising in a pitch-perfect imitation of my panicked academic tone. "I have a slight sub-luxation of the glenoid cavity due to a childhood incident with a very heavy encyclopedia! If you pull at a forty-five-degree angle, you'll trigger a muscular spasm that could lead to a localized inflammatory response! Do you have a permit for medical transport? The sub-strata of this dirt is very slippery!"
Avaris actually stumbled. "See?" she laughed, looking over at Lysa. "He's so annoying I actually forgot why I was grabbing him. Lysa, your turn! If someone corners you, don't punch. Give them the 'History of the Brick.'"
I leaned against the porch railing, my heart full as I watched them. Arin was "accidently" tangling himself in Avaris's legs while explaining the porous nature of limestone, and Lysa was citing imaginary tax laws with a face so serious it would have made a judge weep.
I didn't realize I was staring with such a visible, goofy grin until Avaris caught my eye. She stopped mid-maneuver, pinning Arin's arm (gently) while looking at me with a playful smirk.
"Ilyas, love," she called out, wiping a stray hair from her forehead. "You can stop staring now. We aren't going to vanish into thin air just because the sun is setting. You're looking at us like we're a rare species of silt you just discovered."
I adjusted my spectacles, my eyes softening as I looked at the three most important "anomalies" in the world.
"Well," I said, my voice carrying across the grass with a witty lilt. "Technically, you are a rare species, Avaris. A Northern Sentry who has successfully weaponized a lecture on glenoid cavities? That's a biological miracle. I'm not watching to make sure you don't disappear—I'm watching to make sure I don't need to file a patent for 'Lethal Monotony' before the neighbors complain."
Avaris laughed, tossing the training lath aside. "A patent? Is that your best counter, Architect?"
"It's the most 'boring' counter I have," I replied, stepping down into the garden. "And as we've learned today, the most boring man usually wins. Now, shall the 'Rare Species' and the 'Master of Mud' go inside for tea, or do I need to explain the thermal conductivity of a cooling porcelain pot?"
"Tea!" the kids shouted in unison, breaking their "clumsy" stances and racing for the door.
The evening is peaceful, but the "Black Wing" orders still exist in the shadows of the Academy.