Aldric finally raised his hand. The room quieted instantly.
"Thank you all for your perspectives. This decision will define Aspencrest's future for generations." He paused, something calculating entering his expression. "Therefore, I propose a formal vote."
Gwendolyn nodded cautiously. "When?"
"Three days. We have evidence of coordinated preparation in the north, but exact timing remains unclear. Three days gives everyone opportunity to consider positions, consult constituencies, evaluate personal risk. Then we reconvene and decide: defend or evacuate."
Murmurs of agreement.
Elias understood immediately: Aldric wasn't just buying time. He was forcing public commitment. Creating a record of who stood and who ran before the crisis hit. So when things went bad—and they would go bad—there would be accountability.
Political maneuvering disguised as democratic process.
The Headmaster hadn't survived ninety years by being naive about human nature.
The meeting dissolved into smaller conversations. Factions forming. Negotiations beginning.
As people filed out, Aldric caught Kieran's eye. Subtle gesture: stay.
When the room was nearly clear—just them, a few senior instructors, and the three disciples who'd been on the mission—Aldric spoke quietly.
"Kieran. Reevaluation of the assessment. If we stay and defend, can we win?"
Kieran was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his smile remained—that chosen joy edged with calculation.
"Unknown variables make certainty impossible. A Class Two Domination coordinating Pact Bearers with the kind of tactical sophistication we observed?" He exhaled slowly. "We'll take casualties. Thirty to sixty students, minimum. Maybe more if internal sabotage occurs before we identify the compromised disciples."
"But?"
"But yes." Kieran's smile widened fractionally—not false cheer, but genuine defiance. "We can win. If we're smart. If we prepare. If we use these three days to identify threats and position assets correctly."
He looked directly at Aldric.
"Running doesn't guarantee safety. Just guarantees we face this scattered and alone instead of together and prepared. I'd rather stand with allies behind walls we know than flee into territory the enemy's already mapping."
Aldric nodded slowly. Then turned to where Elias, Dante, and Kaël still stood.
"Elias. You performed well."
"I survived, sir. Kieran did the heavy lifting."
Ghost of a smile crossed Aldric's face. He opened a folder, produced documents. "You're being assigned rotating field missions. Different teams. Different approaches. Kieran believes you need exposure to multiple combat styles."
"Sir?"
"Dante and Kaël are excellent classmates. They'll reach Ascended rank within weeks. But you need to see how veteran disciples operate. How they lead when there's no textbook answer."
He slid a briefing across the desk.
"First assignment: southern border. Master Raphaël leads a Class Four nest clearing near Runefell. You deploy day after tomorrow."
"Understood, sir."
"Dismissed. Get rest. Process what happened. Prepare for what's coming." Aldric's expression softened fractionally.
Elias nodded. Left.
* * *
The mission debrief officer counted out the coins with practiced efficiency. Clink. Clink. Clink. Silver pieces stacking on the worn wooden table between them.
"Fifty silver total," the officer said without looking up. "Standard rate for Reconnaissance mission with Saint-level supervision. Twenty-five base, twenty-five hazard bonus for the trap encounter and Pact Bearer intelligence gathering."
Elias stared at the growing pile. Fifty silver pieces. He'd never...
The officer noticed his expression. "First mission payment?"
"Yes, sir."
A slight smile. Not unkind. "Gets easier. Second time you won't look like someone handed you the kingdom's treasury." The officer slid a leather pouch across the table. "Sign here. Confirms receipt."
Elias signed with hands that trembled slightly. The officer swept the coins into the pouch with one practiced motion and pushed it toward him.
"Spend it wisely, disciple. Or don't. You earned it."
Elias stared at the pouch. He'd never held this much money at once. Not even close.
He walked back to his dormitory, turning the pouch over in his hands. Fifty silver pieces. A fortune.
But... what did one actually do with fifty silver pieces? When he was on the streets, he stole to eat. At the academy, he had free food every day and also a good place to sleep.
The question nagged at him like an itch he couldn't scratch.
He sat on his bed, staring at the pouch. Asked it directly: "What do I do with you?"
The pouch, predictably, didn't answer.
After ten minutes of this profound meditation, Elias made a decision. He'd ask someone. Someone who knew about... money things.
***
He found Kaël in the eastern training yard, practicing knife throws—each blade crackling with electric blue lightning as it spun through the air.
"Kaël," Elias said. "I need advice."
Kaël caught his returning dagger without looking, the lightning dissipating as his fingers closed around the hilt.. "Sure. What's up?"
"I got paid. Fifty silver pieces. What should I do with it?"
Kaël turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. His expression was magnificent—a perfect blend of confusion, amusement, and 'did you really just ask me that?'
"What... kind of question is that?"
"A serious one."
Kaël stared at him. Then burst out laughing. "You're asking me what to do with money? Like, philosophically? Practically? What?"
"I don't know. Just... what would you do with it?"
"Oh, that's easy." Kaël grinned. "Ale. Good ale. The expensive kind from Valorthane that tastes like liquid gold instead of liquid regret. Maybe some of that imported wine they sell at the market. "And—" His eyes softened. "—there's this girl at the baker's shop. Red hair. Works dawn to dusk, barely gets a break. I'd take her somewhere she doesn't have to serve anyone. Just... exist. Maybe actually taste what she spends all day making."
Elias blinked. "So... giving people what they actually need, not what looks good?"
"The things that matter," Kaël said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Elias nodded slowly. "Right. Thanks."
***
Next stop: Dante.
He found him in the library, surrounded by books and maps as usual, even after coming back from a mission. Dante looked up as Elias approached.
"Elias. How was the debrief?"
"Good. Listen, I have a question. I got paid fifty silver pieces. What would you do with that kind of money?"
Dante's eyes actually sparkled. "Fifty silver pieces?" He set down his quill. "There's a three-volume tactical compendium from the Theodoria continent. 'Advanced Strategic Analysis in Asymmetric Warfare.' Forty-five silver pieces for the set. And with the remaining five—" He pulled out a list from his pocket. An actual list. "—there's a treatise on demon behavioral patterns during lunar cycles. Four silver pieces. That leaves one silver for binding repairs on my current books."
Elias stared at the list. "You have a budget prepared?"
"I always have a budget prepared. Preparation is the foundation of success."
"Right. So... books?"
"Not just books. Knowledge. Investment in capability. Invest in yourself
"I'll... think about it."
***
Third stop: Marcus.
He found him in the armory, carefully maintaining his practice sword. The repetitive motion—oil, wipe, inspect—looked almost meditative. Or maybe just a way to keep busy when you couldn't go on missions.
"Marcus."
Marcus's head snapped up. His eyes widened—not just surprise, but something rawer. Relief, maybe.
The sword clattered onto the workbench.
"Elias." His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, tried again. "You're—when did you get back?"
"Few hours ago."
"I didn't—" Marcus stood abruptly, then seemed to catch himself. Like he wanted to cross the distance but didn't know if that was allowed. "How was it?"
Elias told him everything. Then, without transition, he pulled the leather pouch from his pocket. Let it land on the workbench with a solid thunk that made Marcus blink.
"I got paid. Fifty silver pieces. What would you do with it?"
Marcus stared at the pouch. Then at Elias. "What?"
"Fifty silver. First mission payment. I'm asking people what they'd do with it. Trying to figure out..."
Marcus's expression shifted—confusion giving way to something that might have been understanding.
"Honestly? I'd save it. Every copper. You never know when missions will dry up, or when you'll get injured and can't work. Two years I've been here, watching others advance while I'm stuck. I've learned the hard way—security matters more than anything. So I save. For the lean times. For emergencies. For when everything goes wrong."
He said it matter-of-factly, but there was weight behind the words. The weight of two years watching others advance while he stayed static.
"That's... practical," Elias said.
Marcus smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That's reality. Save it, Elias. You never know when you'll need it."