The Academy’s tall spires eventually gave way to more mundane rooftops and a clearer view of the night sky. A stiff silence had swallowed the carriage as it rolled on, its passengers lost in their own thoughts.
Next to Lecia, Belle had folded in on herself across the bench, toy lamb crushed to her ribs. Her earlier wonder in Tradehaven had drained away, leaving only shallow breaths and rigid shoulders. She stared at the floorboards as if they might open and swallow her. Lecia watched her a moment, then turned to stare out the window at the moon-drenched scenery passing them by.
The girl was clearly anxious about what was to come, and Lecia couldn't blame her. Being taken from everything you knew by some stranger you've never met to live a new life somewhere you've never been was a lot to handle for anyone, let alone a child. Lecia could somewhat relate, but not entirely.
She had a goal. She had something to focus on. Beyond that and keeping herself alive to reach that goal, the more complicated worries of the future weren't worth thinking about. All that mattered in the here and now was the chance she'd been given to shape that future with her own hands.
Lecia, after having secreted herself away to read her grimoire and practice what meager runecraft she possessed, had returned to the orphanage shortly after the Representative's arrival. And while she hadn't managed to catch all the details, she'd overheard enough to piece together the general reason behind why the man and the Warrior were there and what they wanted with Belle.
Lecia had remained hidden, eavesdropping on the conversation as it moved from the foyer to one of the dormitories where Belle resided. After listening for a time, Lecia had made up her mind. The man, Vaelor, clearly had ties to the Academy. The robes were a dead giveaway, even to Lecia. And so, figuring she'd never get another chance, Lecia decided to take an uncharacteristic gamble.
She agonized over it for a time, but eventually, she'd chosen to expose herself. She'd emerged from the shadows, intending to say... something. In truth, Lecia wasn't even sure what her plan had been. Introduce herself? Beg for a chance to study at the Academy? Take her with them? She didn't know. It had been a sudden and intense fit of desperate hope and opportunity that had driven the action.
Ultimately, her intentions—whatever they may have been—hadn't mattered. She'd been spotted almost immediately by the larger man, causing her heart to practically leap out of her chest as he rounded on her. And if that shock hadn't been enough, she'd discovered that the Representative had been expecting her. Her. Not just Belle.
It hadn't taken Lecia long to connect the dots. The only way he'd know about her and whatever "potential" she'd possessed was if those Academy students had said something. It turned out her ploy at giving a false name had backfired in the strangest way. Whether or not it was for better or worse, Lecia couldn't say. Not yet.
Still, an opportunity was an opportunity.
As Lecia watched, the arcane glow of Magehollow’s lamps thinned, the streets growing quieter and more polished as the carriage angled toward yet another district Lecia had never seen. The air grew less charged, but somehow cleaner. It lacked the bitter stench of Darkreach's grimy streets or the potent variety of Tradehaven's many stalls and storefronts.
Vaelor at the very least had enough decency to lay out their route from Magehollow. They'd be cutting northeast into the city's inner ring where the Highspire District stood before entering Noblecrest through district's southeastern gate. It was there that they'd find the estate of this Magister Threvin, a man whom Lecia still knew little about.
He was a presumably powerful Mage associated with the Academy, he was a noble, and he claimed that Lecia had enough potential to warrant taking her on as an apprentice. He was also evidently Belle's father. That, and he was probably connected to those students who'd freed Lecia from the cellar. That was all she knew. Nothing about the man as a person.
Despite her earlier willingness to set all else beyond her goals aside, something about all of this was beginning to bother Lecia. She couldn't pin down what it was but something inside her was screaming at her to pay attention. To stay alert. Be on guard. It was telling her that she didn't know enough.
The memory of being shoved down the cellar steps came unbidden, causing the edge of Lecia's lips to twitch into a brief grimace.
The more she thought about it, the more that lack of knowledge started to make her skin crawl. Normally, Lecia preferred to listen rather than ask outright questions. That was how she gathered most of what she knew over the years, but this situation... it likely warranted some effort on her part. So with that in mind, she chose to initiate.
"The Magister..."
"Hmm?" Vaelor, who'd been staring out the window with a deep frown, blinked and glanced Lecia's way as she spoke.
"The Magister," Lecia repeated when she saw she had his attention. "Is he... a nice person?"
She'd already heard Gebel's thoughts on the man, but maybe she'd get a better answer now that the Representative was here. Maybe she'd get an answer that made more sense. Vaelor, for his part, looked as if he was about to brush off the question, but then paused. His gaze briefly shifted to Belle, who watched him with a strange, nervous intensity.
He swallowed whatever he'd been about to say and cleared his throat before speaking, his tone carefully neutral.
"His Grace is... a complex man," he said slowly. "There are elements of kindness and compassion within him, but his duties as both a noble and a Magister of the Academy often require him to make difficult decisions. And considering the current status of his House..."
He made to continue, but suddenly snapped his mouth shut. He shot his Warrior companion a wary side-eye, to which the larger man only gave a raise of the brow and a humorless chuckle.
Sighing, Vaelor started again. "Suffice it to say, the Magister is under quite a bit of pressure so, he may come off a bit... cold." His black eyes softened slightly as he turned them on Belle. "But I guarantee he will welcome you with open arms. You are quite important to your father after all."
Belle blinked at that, her already large eyes widening in both surprise and a cautious sort of hope. Lecia, on the other hand, never took her eyes off the Representative. She heard the words, and the man put on a good show of sympathy—if only for Belle's sake it seemed—but Lecia couldn't quite bring herself to take Vaelor at his word.
She couldn't place exactly why, but didn't bother to delve too deeply into the reason. The fact that she felt off about the situation was enough to reaffirm and validate her caution. No more words needed to be said, Lecia would see the rest for herself and make her own judgments when they arrived.
Pushing the matter to the back of her mind, she let both her eyes and thoughts wander far from her present company. Her fingers twitched as she thought about her grimoire and the unfathomable words and runes and sigaldric formulae within. She'd recognized a few runes here and there from what her previous mentor had taught her, but that knowledge was still a drop in the ocean of what she didn't understand.
But, assuming this new mentor was willing to teach her more, that would change. With proper lessons, she'd be able to eventually tear into the book's secrets, and then... Lecia wasn't entirely sure what would happen from there, but it would be a wonder beyond compare. She would be a wonder beyond compare. She could feel it. Real magick at her fingertips. True runecraft.
She couldn't wait.
***
The ride from Magehollow toward Noblecrest settled into a steady progression, the carriage moving with practiced certainty along Veilheim’s inner routes. Night had fully claimed the city; illumination came from rune-lit lanterns, window-glow, and moonlight catching on stone and metal. The wheels whispered over refined cobblestones, while the sigaldric drive powering the carriage maintained a restrained, constant hum.
Magehollow receded quickly. The Scholar’s Quarter shed its layered clutter—ink, alchemy, heated stone, and vibrating aether—as the route bent inward instead of following the outer ring. Lecia felt the change as much as she saw it. The air grew quieter and heavier, pressing down rather than tingling.
They reached an inner checkpoint without ceremony. Thick stone walls, narrow lanes, and a Watch presence far more structured than Magehollow’s marked the boundary. Vaelor presented his credentials, the exchange brief and procedural. The gates opened, and the carriage passed through without delay.
According to Vaelor, the route was never intended to be a full circuit across the outer ring of the city. Rather, the Vaelor had opted to pass through the inner ring to cut down on time, and it was then that Lecia got her first look into the Highspire District, the beating governmental heart of Veilheim.
The streets were broad and precisely proportioned, built to move traffic rather than invite gathering. Pale stone buildings rose in orderly blocks—administrative halls, record vaults, sealed residences—reflecting lanternlight evenly. Windows were sparse, courtyards enclosed, and decoration limited to functional statuary and jurisdictional markers. Every surface appeared maintained to an exacting standard.
Lecia leaned closer to the window and observed the Watch. Here they moved in consistent formations, armor polished but subdued, crests visible without emphasis. Pairs patrolled at regular intervals, their pace synchronized and their attention distributed rather than fixed. Their presence felt integrated into the district’s operation rather than imposed.
Lanterns reinforced that impression. They hung at measured distances from wrought fixtures aligned to the street layout, their runes producing steady, unfluctuating light. The illumination revealed everything clearly and left little space for shadow. Stone, iron, and movement all appeared accounted for.
Lecia felt her shoulders tense without noticing when it happened. Highspire carried no ambient aetheric resonance like Magehollow, nor the volatility of Darkreach. Instead, it conveyed regulation. Systems governed the district quietly, anticipating deviation through layout, access control, and visibility.
At one controlled junction, a pair of Watchmen paused as the carriage crossed their line. Their attention lifted, registered the vehicle, and moved on. The moment passed without interruption. Lecia was acutely aware she had been noticed.
She tried to imagine daily life here. Streets without clutter, movement without urgency, order sustained through structure rather than reaction. The thought offered no comfort. It suggested scrutiny that did not relax once trust was earned.
Highspire was compact, its routes efficient and connections deliberate. The carriage crossed the district quickly, threading between enclosed courtyards and record-houses. Another inspection followed at the outbound gate. Another quiet compliance, and then the city opened outward again.
The transition into Noblecrest announced itself through texture and temperature. Cobblestones turned to smooth russet brick, seams tighter and meticulously maintained. The air warmed subtly, its cause revealed in shallow sigaldric engravings set flush into the stone. The runes held steady intent, tuned for comfort rather than display.
Estate walls replaced civic facades. Wrought-iron gates framed manicured gardens, hedges trimmed to preserve sightlines as much as privacy. Windows glowed with hearth-light and chandeliers, suggesting occupancy without activity spilling into the streets. The district was active, but inward-facing.
Above the rooftops, Lecia caught sight of what could only be the pale white spires of the Grand Cathedral of the Bellatine Faith. The Bellatine sun-and-sigil crest crowned the highest tower, catching moonlight and lantern-glow alike. The structure overlooked the district without interruption. Its presence was unmistakably intentional.
She knew little of the Church beyond Matron Melora’s habits and the devotional items kept in the orphanage office. Here, the Faith was not personal. It was embedded into the district’s identity. She glimpsed white-and-gold habits and polished prayer beads, their wearers moving with precise, unhurried purpose.
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The streets were quiet. There were no markets, no open workshops, no crowds. The few pedestrians moved with relaxed posture and a seemingly unshakable sense of assuredness, as if the very notion that they might not be in complete control were unthinkable. Their clothing was immaculate, their pace measured, their expressions composed.
Lecia found it all strangely unsettling.
It brought to mind the looks she received when straying too close to Tradehaven’s core. The awareness of being out of place without anyone needing to speak. She was noticed, scorned, rejected. Here in Noblecrest, even sequestered in the carriage's cabin, she didn't get a sense of any of that. She wasn't noticed. She wasn't seen. She might as well not have existed in their eyes.
None of the Noblecrest denizens they passed even deigned to give the carriage a first glance, let alone a second.
The difference between Old Noblecrest and its current namesake was so stark it was almost surreal. And if Lecia were being honest, she preferred the haunting ruins of Darkreach's older iteration.
As the carriage rolled deeper into the district, Lecia noticed something odd. Across from her, Vaelor seemed more tense. His cold, black eyes were no longer hazy with indifference and distraction. Now the man's posture was alert—his expression almost nervous, or that's what it looked like to Lecia at least.
But what caught her attention more was the way the Representative, though silent, would occasionally glance at Belle. There was a flicker of something in his eyes whenever they landed on her, but it passed so quickly that Lecia couldn’t be sure she’d seen it at all. It almost looked like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.
Several more minutes passed in taut silence before the Threvin Estate emerged from the night, rising like a fortress against the moonlit sky. Its high walls gleamed with a pale ivory sheen, while gilded owl statues flanked the gate, looming as predatory sentinels with unblinking eyes. Beyond the wrought-iron fence crowned with sharp spikes, armed estate guards stood at measured intervals, their silhouettes rigid and watchful. When the gates finally creaked open, a chill traced its way down Lecia’s spine.
Moonlight spilled across the carefully manicured grounds, casting long shadows over hedges and stone statuary that lined the path to the manor. Lanterns burned low along the walk, their glow catching on polished armor and the tips of halberds as guards watched the carriage pass. Everything felt deliberate, arranged with the quiet confidence of authority meant to be seen and understood.
The carriage rolled to a halt before the grand entrance, where towering, ornately carved wooden doors rose between flickering lanterns. Vaelor stepped out first, then paused to the side, his posture composed as he waited for Lecia and Belle to follow. The doors loomed close enough now to feel oppressive, their carved motifs disappearing into shadow above.
Gebel descended next, helping Belle and Lecia down from the carriage. Belle hesitated, her grip tightening around her stuffed lamb as her wide eyes tracked the guards stationed near the steps and the vast stone fa?ade beyond them. The manor towered overhead, its windows dark and watchful, stretching long shadows across the flagstones.
Lecia only gave the lavish courtyard a brief once-over to get a mental snapshot of her surroundings before letting her interest fade. She, Belle, and Gebel followed Vaelor to the doors, where he knocked sharply against the heavy wood. After a short pause, the door swung inward to reveal an elderly man in a tailored dark coat, posture precise and expression unreadable—the estate’s butler, most likely.
His face held the long-set lines of someone who had spent a lifetime keeping his reactions private. His hair was cut close and fully gray. His eyes were a muted brown that did not invite questions. He looked at Vaelor first, then at Gebel, then at the two girls. His gaze paused on Belle for a fraction longer than on Lecia, then moved on with the same discipline.
“Representative Vaelor,” the man said, level voice slightly raspy with age. “Welcome. His Grace is awake and prepared to receive you. Follow me.”
He stepped aside without further ceremony, and Vaelor led them in.
The entrance hall opened wide and tall, built to impress visitors who needed reminding that a noble house did not require apology for its space. The floor was polished stone with dark inlay, clean enough to reflect the lanternlight. Several bookcases stood against the walls with glass-fronted doors, their shelves arranged with the kind of order that suggested catalogues and routine inspection.
Alcoves held artifacts set on plinths with small plaques, each piece displayed as if its existence had already been verified and recorded. Belle’s eyes moved from one display to the next. Her pace slowed until she noticed Vaelor’s impatience and hurried to keep up. She held her lamb close, knuckles pale against its worn cloth.
Her expression shifted between awe and worry, as if she didn't know which emotion was safer to show. Lecia, for her part, wondered how wise it was to keep such valuable-looking trinkets and baubles on display out in the open. Then again, maybe the occasional patrolling guard passing by was enough to deter any would-be thieves.
The sound of the group's steps changed with each corridor. The air smelled faintly of burning wood and cleaned metal. Servants moved through side halls with practiced silence, giving them all space without looking curious. Some of them looked almost as tense as Lecia felt. The few glances she caught from the maids were furtive and quickly abandoned.
This only caused the knot of unease in Lecia's gut to tighten.
They passed several closed doors and a staircase that curved upward and out of sight, but the butler guided them farther along the ground level instead. They continued down a corridor where lanterns were evenly spaced, each mounted at the same height, each flame sealed behind elegantly blown glass.
The interior of the manor was somewhat labyrinthine from what Lecia could see, but she made note of every twist and turn as she followed behind everyone else. Part of it was habit, but mostly this place just put her on edge in a way Lecia couldn't fully grasp yet. Still, it wasn't too long before the butler brought them to their apparent destination. At a pair of double doors, he stopped and knocked once, the sound measured and deliberate.
A voice answered from within. “Enter.”
The butler opened the doors and stepped aside.
The sitting room was warm from a hearth that had been kept at a steady burn. A large chair sat angled toward the fire, and a second chair faced it across a low table. A writing desk stood near the far wall with papers aligned in neat stacks. A narrow bookshelf held fewer volumes than the hall’s cases, yet the books here looked handled and used rather than curated for display.
Felicio Threvin stood near the hearth as they entered, his back cast in shadow as he faced the softly crackling flame. He wore a dark jacket cut for comfort rather than ceremony, though the tailoring still carried wealth. His spectacles caught the firelight when he turned his head. His expression remained composed, with a faint courtesy that did not reach his eyes.
His appraising gaze shifted to Belle, freezing the girl in place as they locked eyes. There was something there, but the Lord of the manor didn't let his gaze linger long enough to parse the emotion. Next, his icy silver-blue eyes moved to Lecia, taking in her wary posture and even stare with a slight raise of his brow. Finally, he looked to Vaelor.
“You arrived later than I would've expected, Gadwyn,” Threvin said in a measured tone. “Trouble on the road?”
Vaelor bowed with the quick precision of someone who had done it in front of this man before. “My apologies, Your Grace. There were some minor... scheduling issues, and preparations at the orphanage took longer than intended.”
Threvin eyed the man for a moment longer, but then seemed to lose interest in the topic and turned to his butler instead. Some silent communication must've been exchanged between the two because the older gentleman bowed low and turned to quietly close the doors to the sitting room.
Once the entrance was secured, Threvin returned his gaze to Vaelor. “Report.”
Vaelor stepped forward by half a pace. “The reclamation was completed under Noble authority using the seals as previously arranged. The Matron complied once she saw credentials. There was no commotion beyond what one expects in Darkreach. The Watch at the Tradehaven checkpoint conducted a routine inspection. No questions beyond the standard.”
Threvin nodded once, absorbing it without visible satisfaction. “And the Academy?”
Vaelor hesitated before answering, and Lecia noticed it. The pause was brief, yet the shape of it suggested Vaelor had already prepared for the question and disliked the answer.
“I filed the rest of the data you've collected,” Vaelor said. “As you directed, it passed through the most secure channels available. The Archmagister has already received it and has responded through a trusted intermediary.”
“Specifics,” Threvin said.
Vaelor’s jaw tightened and he cast the two children a side glance before giving the Magister a pointed look. Threvin followed his gaze and looked pensive for a moment. Belle averted her eyes at the attention, her timid gaze dropping to the floor. Lecia returned his stare impassively. Threvin looked between them both for another second before eventually waving a dismissive hand.
"You've nothing to worry about with these two," he finally concluded, once more switching his attention to Vaelor. "Please, continue."
"As you wish, Your Grace," the Representative sighed before straightening up. “There's nothing concrete as of yet, I'm afraid. When I arrived at the Academy, I only received a letter stating she needed more time to investigate—though she gave no specifics as to what she was investigating.”
Threvin’s fingers moved once, a small adjustment of his cuff, as if he were rearranging a thought into a more convenient order.
“Did she give any date regarding our next meeting?” he asked. “Even something provisional?”
“No date,” Vaelor replied with a grimace. ”In her letter, she states—and I quote, 'I'll get there when I get there and not a moment before'."
Threvin allowed a bitter smile to cross his lined features. “I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less of that woman.”
Vaelor did not respond.
Threvin looked past Vaelor to Gebel, who'd remained little more than a silent spectre at Vaelor's side up until now. The Warrior’s posture remained steady, yet his attention was sharp. He watched Threvin with the guarded, practiced patience of a man used to dealing with the drudgery of noble politicking.
“And you,” Threvin said. “Any incidents on the route?”
Gebel’s eyes flicked to Vaelor, then back. “None worth speakin’ on. Streets were tame enough. No tails I clocked. No one made a play.”
Threvin accepted that with a nod. “Good. Now then...”
His gaze returned to the girls. He took a slow step forward, calm and assured, the step of someone who knew how to occupy a room.
“Belladnes,” he said, his voice steady, softened at the edges.
Belle flinched at the formal name. She looked at him, then down.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
Threvin inclined his head, the gesture carrying acknowledgment rather than assessment. “You’ve come a long way, my daughter,” he said. “There will be food waiting for you. After that, you should rest. We can speak about arrangements in the morning.”
Belle’s shoulders tightened briefly, then shook faintly as her father's words sank in. Her strawberry-blonde hair covered her features as she continued to stare at the ground.
Any softness in Threvin's tone evaporated as he addressed Lecia. “And you."
Lecia met his cold eyes with an equally cold indifference that didn't quite do enough to hide the stiffness of her posture.
The Magister looked to Vaelor expectantly, and the Representative wasted no time in pulling a scroll from his robes. He stepped forward and provided it to Threvin, who unfurled it and took a few moments to scan the contents. His brows furrowed as he read.
"Lecia, was it?" he said, not looking up from his perusal of the document. “I've heard a bit about you, and I must admit, you are a curious child. There's not much of note here beyond your name and the date you arrived at the orphanage."
He glanced up from the parchment to give Lecia another assessing look, a curious glint in his eye. "Even your age is somewhat spurious. Nine years and yet that is only an educated guess on the part of the Matron who took you in. Then again, I suppose it's not that uncommon for an orphan to have some missing details from before their arrival. Still..."
Lecia didn't reply, but the Magister wasn't looking for one. He paused a moment, seemingly lost in thought, then came to some kind of conclusion as he gave a slow nod to no one in particular.
“Before I formally accept you as an apprentice, you will be evaluated,” he said, gesturing to his butler. He rolled the parchment and passed it to Merrin, who accepted it with a small bow and withdrew a few measured steps. “Tonight’s priority is simple. You will eat. You will rest. Then you will be assessed under controlled conditions, with staff present and the proper tools at hand.”
The only evidence Lecia gave that she understood was a short, stiff nod. That was enough for Threvin who, after giving a satisfied nod of his own, turned to Vaelor.
“It seems all is in order," he said. "I will handle the rest from here. You and your... shadow are dismissed."
Vaelor gave a quiet exhale before dipping into another respectful bow. “Then, by your leave, Your Grace, we shall depart.”
He motioned toward the butler with a small movement of his hand. Merrin once more stepped forward, the scroll from earlier already tucked away somewhere on his person.
“See them out,” Threvin said. “Then send word to the kitchen. Dinner in the small hall.”
“As you wish, Lord Threvin."
Vaelor bowed once more to Threvin, then let his gaze pass over the girls. It lingered on Belle with a flicker of discomfort, shifted to Lecia with cool wariness, and moved on without comment. He departed with Merrin, Gebel falling in behind them.
The doors closed behind them.
The silence that followed felt deliberate. The fire crackled, and somewhere deeper in the estate a door clicked shut.
"Now," Threvin began, his expression growing stern. "Albeit a bit late, I believe a proper introduction is in order."
He adjusted his posture, a subtle shift that marked the transition from briefing to procedure.
“I am Felicio Threvin,” he said. “Lord of this House and a distinguished Magister of the Veilheim Academy of the Runic Arts. You will address me as Magister when the topic is instruction and as Your Grace when the topic is House matters. You will not guess which is which. You will ask if you are unsure. Is that understood.”
Belle’s eyes widened. She nodded quickly.
Lecia gave a single curt nod of acknowledgement.
Threvin raised a brow at Lecia. “Not one to waste words, are you?"
Lecia said nothing in response.
The edges of Threvin's lips curled upward slightly. "Good. I detest those who prattle on needlessly." His almost-smile dropped like a stone as he continued. "That being said, I do have quite a few questions for you, girl. I hope for both our sakes that you're not so tight-lipped that you fail to provide some answers."
He eyed Lecia carefully, but eventually frowned when her stolid expression remained unchanged. Seeing he'd get nothing more out of the girl, he instead turned his attention to Belle.
“Belladnes.”
Belle swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“You will not be punished for being afraid,” Threvin said, his voice steady rather than sharp. “I know this is all new for you, and you need not fear me so long as you remember your filial piety and uphold the Threvin Family name with grace, honor, and dignity.”
Belle’s breath caught. She nodded again, shorter this time, though it was clear she didn't fully understand.
Threvin turned toward the door, the matter already settled in his mind. “Come,” he said, voice even and unyielding. “You will eat first. Afterward, rooms will be assigned. A servant will be available should you require assistance. You will follow instructions. Any needs will be routed through staff. You will remain where you are placed.”
He turned and opened the door. He did not look back or slow his pace, clearly expecting obedience rather than confirmation. Lecia rose at once, Belle following a heartbeat later, clutching her lamb as they moved after him. The sitting room was left behind—fire still burning, chairs still in place—as the doors closed and the Magister drew them deeper into its halls.
