Clive became acutely aware of five pairs of eyes studying him. The look in their eyes, they were probably judging him, the weird foreigner with unusual ideas. His hand began to shake, but he clenched his fist to calm himself. Somehow, standing before this council felt more terrifying than facing down Sayid’s lightning.

  He set his first sketch on the presentation easel Bran had prepared—a simple diagram of fire spreading through traditional construction.

  "Three days ago, Sayid's lightning started fires that destroyed seventeen buildings and damaged twenty-six more," Clive began, keeping his voice steady. "The question before you isn't whether to rebuild. It's whether to rebuild the same mistakes."

  Merchant Lord Cassian frowned. "Mistakes? Those buildings stood for generations. My grandfather traded from that district. Are you calling his work a mistake?"

  I'm calling it flammable. Clive wanted to say it out loud, but held back to avoid escalating further.

  Lady Margrave's chair scraped against stone as she pushed back from the table. "Unbelievable. This boy has been here for less than five minutes, and he presumes to lecture us on our failures." Her eyes shifted sideways toward Lord Thornwald. "My lord, I supported this council meeting as a courtesy. I see now that courtesy was misplaced."

  Guildmaster Fenton rose. "I've heard enough. Foreign designs from a foreign mage who doesn't understand our materials, our methods, or our people." He looked around at the other council members. "This should have been a memo, not a meeting. We're wasting valuable time."

  "Sit. Down."

  Lord Thornwald's voice cut through the chamber. He hadn't raised his volume, but his voice was firm. “Master Weston has saved this city more times than all of us combined. He has earned more than five minutes of your attention.”

  The remaining members of the council grumbled silently but sat down regardless.

  “Please continue, Master Weston,” Lord Thornwald said.

  Clive flipped his presentation to the next sketch, the charred ruins he'd walked through. "I spoke to families who lost everything. A woman searching through ash for her daughter's doll. A carpenter whose life's tools melted in the heat. These were preventable disasters.”

  "Lightning strikes are preventable?" Lady Margrave's tone was skeptical.

  “The lightning rods I designed prevented direct strikes. They worked. But what failed was the fire response. The buildings were too close together. No firebreaks and made of wooden structures that might as well have been kindling."

  He showed the next sketch, his proposed fire-resistant designs. "Earth-packed walls between timber frames. Lime whitewash for fire resistance. Strategic spacing between buildings."

  Bran stepped in smoothly. "Our analysis shows that implementing these basic fire-resistance measures would reduce fire damage by sixty to seventy percent in future incidents. The cost is approximately twelve gold per building for materials, plus labor. For the entire district, that's fifteen thousand gold, but it prevents losses we've calculated at over fifty thousand gold in the next major fire."

  "Fifty thousand gold?" Guildmaster Fenton scoffed. " Pulled from thin air. Theoretical numbers based on theoretical fires. Master Bran, I respect your education, but I've built structures in this city for twenty years. My father before me for thirty. My guild has real experience, not projections in a ledger. We know what works because we've seen it work. Tradition exists for a reason. It's tested and proven."

  Clive met the Guildmaster's eyes. "I understand, you're worried that my designs will replace traditional skills.”

  It was a familiar fear. When digital art first emerged, traditional artists had reacted the same way. Called it soulless, artificial, not real art. They'd fought against it, denounced it, tried to gatekeep the new entrants. But technology didn't care about gates. In the end, the artists who adapted, who learned to blend traditional skills with new tools, they were the ones who thrived. The ones who refused got left behind.

  "I want to reassure you—these methods won't replace your craftsmen," Clive continued. “Earth-packing, lime-washing, timber framing—these are all techniques your craftsmen already know or can learn easily. I'm not proposing we replace your guilds. I'm proposing we make them more valuable. This makes your guild members more employable, not less.”

  Guildmaster Fenton's expression softened slightly, though he remained silent.

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  Lady Margrave spoke up. "And my properties? You're suggesting I demolish functional buildings to implement these... firebreaks?"

  Clive had anticipated this. He showed a map of her holdings—Bran had done excellent research. "No demolition necessary for most of your properties. Look here. You already have natural gaps that can be widened slightly. Alleyways that can be cleared of debris. The cost is minimal, and the property value increases."

  "Property value increases?" That clearly got Lady Margrave attention.

  "Fire-resistant buildings command higher rents," Clive said. "Tenants pay premium rates for safety. After what just happened, that premium will be substantial. Your competitors will be offering the same vulnerable structures they always have. You'll be offering guaranteed fire protection."

  He could see her calculating, weighing investment against return.

  Merchant Lord Cassian cleared his throat. "This is all very interesting. But is all this really necessary? The Vandiel attack happened once in a generation. We could simply rebuild traditionally and accept the risk."

  This was the core objection, Clive realized. The temptation to kick the problem down the road, to prioritize immediate comfort over long-term survival.

  He pulled out his most dramatic sketch. On one side, Marblehaven rebuilt traditionally. On the other, Marblehaven rebuilt with resilience. And above both, the looming threat of Vandiel's domain.

  "Once in a generation?" Clive's voice dropped. "Sayid and Bernadette attacked twice in a matter of days. Vandiel's influence is growing. This isn't a once-per-generation problem anymore. This is the new reality."

  He looked at each council member in turn. "Marblehaven is meant to be the first line of defense. A fortress city. The vanguard against Vandiel. But right now? Right now you're a city of kindling and hope."

  A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the chamber.

  Magistrate Chen, who had remained silent throughout the entire presentation, leaned back in his chair.

  "Fascinating," he said. "Truly. A brilliant speech about resilience and progress. Master Bran's projections are thorough. Master Weston's designs are... creative. But you're both dancing around the only question that actually matters."

  Chen opened his own ledger.

  "Water towers. Fire brigades. Reinforced construction. Stone instead of timber. According to these figures, we're looking at expenditures approaching one hundred thousand gold over three years. Even with the most optimistic repayment schedules, even with loans from Ironhaven or the merchant banks, even with phased implementation... We're talking about years of austerity. Decades, perhaps."

  The room fell into silence.

  "So here's my question," Chen continued, his gaze moving from Clive to Bran to Lord Thornwald. "Who pays? Do we raise taxes on merchants already struggling to rebuild their businesses? Do we reduce grain subsidies and risk famine?"

  His eyes settled on Lord Thornwald. "Or perhaps our generous Lord Thornwald would like to make a personal donation? I'm sure your family's coffers could spare, oh, thirty or forty thousand gold for the public good?"

  Clive felt his stomach drop. He had no answer. The intricacies of the cities finances were completely outside his expertise. He glanced toward Lord Thornwald, hoping for a lifeline, some clever response about investments and returns.

  But Lord Thornwald sat frozen without a word.

  Magistrate Chen let the silence stretch, then closed his ledger with a soft snap.

  "I thought not," he said quietly. “I believe that concludes our discussions. Shall we put Master Weston's proposals to a formal vote?”

  Clive's heart sank. He could already count the outcome. Cassian and Margrave opposed, Fenton uncertain at best, Chen clearly against. Even with Thornwald's support, the vote would fail.

  “How about a loan from the capital?”

  The voice came from the back of the chamber.

  Every head turned. A figure detached itself from the shadows. A man who had been standing so still, so perfectly placed in the darkness between pillars, that no one had noticed him. His boots made no sound as he approached.

  "Who are you?" Lady Margrave demanded, her voice sharp with alarm. "Guards! How did this man get into a closed council session?"

  But Merchant Lord Cassian had gone very still, his eyes fixed on the stranger's chest. Or more specifically, on something hanging there.

  The man smiled and reached into his tunic, withdrawing a medallion on a heavy chain. He held it up. It was made of pure gold, with the royal seal of the capital.

  The effect was instantaneous.

  Magistrate Chen stood so quickly his chair fell to the ground. Lord Thornwald rose with more dignity but equal speed. Even Guildmaster Fenton, who'd been slouching skeptically moments before, straightened in his seat.

  "My lords, my lady," the man said with a slight bow. "Forgive the dramatic entrance. I am Federic Corwin, emissary of King Thordan, traveling under the authority of Grand General Louis." He tucked the medallion back into his tunic. "I arrived in Marblehaven last night and was... encouraged... to observe this meeting before making my presence known."

  "My apologies, we would have prepared the most grand reception if we had known,” Chen said.

  "When one wishes to understand the true state of affairs in a city, one rarely learns it through official receptions."

  "Sir Federic, how long have you been... observing?" Lady Margrave asked.

  "Long enough." He walked to the council table. "Long enough to hear Master Weston's proposals. Long enough to understand Marblehaven's financial constraints. And long enough to realize that this council was about to make a catastrophically short-sighted decision."

  "With respect, emissary," Merchant Lord Cassian said carefully, "the financial realities of—"

  "Are about to change," Federic interrupted smoothly. "That's why I'm here. Lord Louis and His Highness Prince Sion will be arriving in Marblehaven within the fortnight. The time has come to reclaim the lands we had lost, and they would see Marblehaven transformed into the fortress of the north.”

  He produced a sealed letter from his satchel, setting it on the table. The wax seal bore the royal crest.

  "The capital is prepared to extend a construction loan of up to eighty thousand gold for the fortification of Marblehaven."

  The council sat in stunned silence.